Another night, another top secret sister meeting!

Bethan was slightly less enthusiastic about this than she was letting on. It wasn't that the bubbly barmaid didn't adore her big sister, because she did. It was more that she didn't fancy being fussed over, and that was clearly the purpose of this late night visit. It had been an entire month – a month! – since that whole 'almost dying' incident, and Brynn seemed to be more traumatized over the whole thing than Beth was herself. She was feeling guilty for some absurd reason, which meant she was now making up for it by hassling Beth any chance she got. It was a gentle sort of hassling, which mostly involved sitting at the bar with a drink and chatting, but Beth knew it was hassling, so it bugged her. It was the principle of it, really. It wasn't that she was doing anything wrong, it was more that she was doing anything, period.

She was doing her best to blow her sister off, but that was a tall order. Brynn had cornered her at work, where she was stuck behind the bar for most of the evening. It was late on a Wednesday, all of the specials had ended for the night, and everything had settled down to a gentle buzz. Every so often someone ordered a drink or a small round, but that wasn't enough to keep her truly busy. The kitchen was closed, so there were no dishes to run off and help with, and she'd already cleaned the glasses twice to try and avoid getting grilled by her sister. She was running out of ideas. Besides, she was pretty terrible at keeping her mouth shut for long. When Brynn spoke to her, she answered. What was she supposed to do? Ignore her outright? That was just unrealistic. Besides, she wasn't mad at her, really – just mildly annoyed for no good reason. That didn't warrant the silent treatment.

“Well, I'm not so attached to Wales like you are, so it's easier for me,” she was saying to her sister, who had done something cruel and unusual by asking her sister a thought provoking, open ended question, which meant Beth was more or less required to stick around and perform an improvised and impassioned monologue. “I suppose the closer the better, isn't it? Or, if I have to leave anyway, I suppose it would be best to aim for somewhere nice, go where people want to be. How's Malta? Does anybody live in Malta?” she asked her sister. “Do they have a government in Malta, or are they just lumped in with somewhere like Italy? Or, well, what else is over there? Rome? No, that's not a country. What's the other one?” she asked, actually looking for an answer this time.

“Greece?” Brynn offered, trying to hold back a grin and failing miserably. It was hard for her to see her sister as anything other than a baby, and she didn't make it easier for herself when she failed to remember what country was next to Italy. These strange late night pub chats seemed to have replaced the funny talks they had during childhood, when Beth would crawl into bed with her and ask some pressing but incredibly silly question which they would proceed to chat about until they fell asleep.

“No,” Beth spat, shaking her head, her face distorting in thought. “Not Greece. What's the other one? Sounds like Malta...” she thought out loud.

“Now you've lost me,” Brynn admitted, hiding her grin behind the rim of her glass while she took a drink. “You know, I had a client who was looking to travel to Malta not long ago. I wish I could remember where I had to submit the request to -”

“Monaco!” Beth exclaimed, having pulled the name out of the far recesses of her disordered mind.

“I couldn't tell you if Monaco has aurors,” Brynn admitted.

“Well, they should!” Beth retorted, rolling her eyes.

That's when the door jingled to inform her that someone had entered. Brynn, with her back to the door, didn't see who it was, but Beth met his eyes right away, immediately making a hideous face. She widened her eyes and wrinkled her nose and finally, when he was close enough, bared her teeth. Brynn, curious as to the recipient of her sister's rather typical antics, turned around. She caught Roger's eye herself and smiled.

“What are you doing here? Nobody invited you, like,” Beth spat playfully, teasing her pal the nighthawk, a crooked but amused smirk on her mug.”Are you stalking her now? Went to her house and she wasn't there or something?” she asked, releasing an amused, hearty peel of laughter.

“I'll invite you, then,” Brynn informed him, a thoroughly tickled grin on her face that made it hard to tell if she was embarrassed or just amused. In reality, she was a little bit of both. “Come, sit,” she insisted, tapping the bar stool next to her, never one to exclude anybody, especially friendly celebrities who, as her sister informed her, occasionally asked about her.

“You can't invite him. My bar, my rules,” Beth insisted, still playfully, but with a touch of seriousness thrown in, too. She had crossed her arms over her chest and was attempting to stare Roger down, half a smirk in place. She knew what was going to happen, and she didn't want to be around to see it. Roger fancied Brynn, Brynn fancied everyone who fancied her, and Beth was a captive audience until her shift was over. Greaaaaaaat. She wanted to be sick. At least cleaning it up would give her something more interesting to look at than the mess in the bar stools. Ugh.

As the traditional Quidditch season drew closer to the finals Roger found himself staying in Scotland more and more often than he found himself home.  In fact, he hadn't been home in over two weeks at this point. Not unsurprising given the Prides were locked in a furious point war with the Harpies for the lead and even less unsurprising as two months from now the names for the National Teams would be revealed. The papers had named Roger one of the favorites for the Irish National Team, but he didn’t put much stock into the gossip rags; with only fourteen spots and dozens of talented players anyone was game.

Apparating into Hogsmeade, Roger wandered through the magical village drowning in a lazy snowfall, only half paying attention to the dark shop windows packed with Valentine displays; such a wasteful and annoying 'holiday', in his opinion. The crisp, newly fallen snow gave way under his shoes with a satisfying, soft sort of crunch which delayed Roger from heading straight to his destination: The Three Broomsticks. Of course Bethan would be there, she usually closed on Wednesdays, and it seemed to be the slowest night of the week.

Finally, the cold began to sink through his boots and Roger hurriedly made his way down the familiar route to the pub. The historic structure loomed closer, trimmed in white from the snow and ice sickles glinted in the light. A soft, low glow of golden candle light shone through the windows, but they were too fogged for Roger to see inside. Perhaps that was for the best, as Bethan couldn't see out and hex the door closed. Stepping inside, he had barely shaken the snowfall from his coat when a flurry of blond flew from behind the bar and intercepted his entrance.

“What are you doing here? Nobody invited you, like,”

For a ghost of a moment Roger looked confused, but at the mention of 'stalking her' realization clicked in his brain. His trademark devil-may-care grin slid onto his lips, red from the cold.

"Don't be upset, Beth, I made sure to coincide my stalking with visiting you! See how thoughtful I am?" Using reflexes lightening fast honed from years of Quidditch, Roger reached out to ruffle the younger sister's hair and withdrew his arm before she had time to properly retaliate and joined in her laughter.

"Come sit."

Roger smiled to Brynn over Beth's shoulder, and nodded in agreement. He'd only met her once before, but truth be told he found the older Ellis sister absolutely fascinating and wouldn't pass the opportunity to get to know her better.

“You can't invite him. My bar, my rules,”

Pulling a face full of mock hurt, Roger returned his attention to Bethan.
 
"Oh come now, I thought I was your favorite customer? Besides, it is cold and snowing outside... you wouldn't turn your favorite away, would you?" The mock hurt now turned into a softer look of plea, complete with a blink or two. It was times like this Roger enjoyed having such expressive features. Pausing for a beat, he didn't wait for Bethan to properly respond, but waited for her to open her mouth and  flashed a handsome, fox-like smile. "Cheers, Beth." Taking seat next to Brynn, he gave her a nod of thanks. "Its been awhile." he said with casual disregard.

Bethan was a brat. She was twice a little sister, a favorite grandchild, and her parents' last baby. Of the three children in her immediate family, she was the only one to be homeschooled right up until she started at Hogwarts and, as a result, had an incredibly close relationship with her mother that made both of her older siblings jealous even into adulthood. She didn't get absolutely everything she wanted, but she tended to get more than her siblings - starting, foremost, with attention. She was usually a brat, to be quite frank, but when any member of her family was around that tendency typically increased. She felt a tug toward epic brattiness in the same way a dowser felt a tug when walking over water. It was what the universe decreed! She certainly seemed extra bratty at this juncture, pulling faces and rolling her eyes and generally pulling out every annoying stop she could think of in the heat of the moment. Brynn was used to this. It had happened every time she'd ever brought a boy home, and would probably continue happening into perpetuity.

She watched as Roger reached out to ruffle her sister's hair, and the way Beth snapped her jaw, feigning like she was going to bite him. As far as she could tell, almost half of this behavior fell under the category of 'Beth acting like Beth always acted', and the rest was just a show for her benefit. Brynn was fairly certain this is what it looked like when her sister tried showing off, but the older Ellis couldn't even pretend to be impressed. She just smiled that awkward, partially-embarrassed smile as she watched the two of them have their moment. The best course of action, she thought, was to continue to act like the sane, decent member of their duo. It had never failed her before... except when it did.

”"Oh come now, I thought I was your favorite customer? Besides, it is cold and snowing outside... you wouldn't turn your favorite away, would you?”

“I do what I like!” Bethan retorted boldly, to which Brynn responded with a droll “You don't say.” It was a shame she couldn't encourage her to go run and play while she was supposed to be working. It had been a while since the last time an attractive male person had shown any sort of positive interest in her and she didn't want to miss out because her sister felt the need to wrestle him to show her dominance. It was nice, however, that the one thing the two had in common was that they both knew Beth. It wasn't like he was unused to this, so it would be a lot easier to brush off her sister's actions and take her seriously... she hoped. If not, well, she wasn't sure she was his type, anyway. After all, he was a professional athlete and she was... well... nobody, really.

“What're you drinking? Something pretentious? Yeah, yeah, alright,” Beth grumbled, stomping off bitterly to go make him his drink, finally leaving the big kids to chat, if only for a moment. She was still within earshot, but Brynn didn't have any plans to talk about anything that couldn't be said in the vicinity of little sisters.

”Its been awhile.”

“It has!” Brynn agreed, her more genuine, less humbled grin lighting up her face at the greeting. “It's a surprise, but it's nice to see you, really,” she insisted, turning on the stool to face him properly, giving him all of her attention now that she could spare it. “As you can see, I haven't changed since work. I was just stopping by to check up on this one,” she explained, indicating Bethan with a look in her direction. “I wasn't expecting to see anyone out.” She didn't seem especially ashamed by this fact. She was just stating it for the record – she'd been gussied up just the slightest bit the last time they'd met and she imagined that was the image of her he'd kept in his mind when he'd felt tempted to ask after her. Tonight she was in her regular business causal robes, her hair loose and wavy, falling where it liked.

“How have you been? And how are the cats? No, it was kneazles, yes?” she laughed, recalling that detail from their last meeting. She tended to be handy with remembering little details, and this one in particular had been easy to file away because her own cat was currently her only roommate. If she hadn't come out tonight then she'd most likely be at home chatting with the cat (if she wasn't already asleep). She lead a very exciting life. Perhaps that was why she was giving Roger her full attention, seeming truly interested in the answers to questions that others may have thought of as mundane small talk. 

Beth reacted to the hair ruffle in the manner he thought she might, and his grin widened. So easy to rile up and yet it never grew boring or spiteful. In the back of his mind Roger thought this is what having a younger sibling must be like. As far as he was concerned, Bethan was the little sister he never had, but he would never express that thought, especially to her; at least not while sober. A snort of laughter escaped him at the sister’s interaction, mostly from Brynn’s dry retort. Shooting Brynn an appreciative, knowing glance, as if to say 'ah, young folk'.

“What're you drinking? Something pretentious? Yeah, yeah, alright,”

"Cheers, Beth." Roger called after the retreating back of Bethan as she stomped away to make his favorite drink. Had it been anyone else exhibiting this behavior he might have feared for his stomach, but Bethan was a good girl and he trusted her to do nothing worse to his drink than mutter rude words at it.

“It has!It's a surprise, but it's nice to see you, really,”

In Brynn's excited, animated speech, with a glow that seemed to come from underneath, she looked beautiful to him. Mirroring her body language, Roger also turned the stool. “As you can see, I haven't changed since work. I was just stopping by to check up on this one; I wasn't expecting to see anyone out.”

"You look exactly the way I remember; you're not too easy to forget." Roger commented coolly, casting a glance at Bethan when her sister indicated, then back to Brynn. "I wasn't expecting to come out, either. As usual I find I can't sleep, so a walk to my favorite pub and my oh-so favorite bar keep would help. Beth's company usually helps at putting me to sleep." A cheshire like grin came to his lips, followed by a chuckle. Surely Bethan would have some sort of retort for that, or a flying cup; she had surprisingly good aim. "Glad to see she has her sister to rely on. I'd hate to subject her to my company."

“How have you been? And how are the cats? No, it was kneazles, yes?”

"Jack and Meg!" Roger beamed like a proud parent, both impressed and flattered she remembered. Though in reality, Roger often went on about his cats and it wasn't too hard to remember them. "Fat and spoiled as ever." He complained half exasperated, half amused. "Meg found this... thing. This toy. I don't know where she found it, I don't remember buying it,  but she is obsessed with it. She tears through the house and often will come into my room at the wee hours of morning, howling because she wants to play fetch." Pausing for a moment, thinking of his ridiculous cat, he changed the subject. "What about you? You were in the paper recently, right? Or at least your department. You work with werewolves, yeah?"

“Cheers yourself, you bloody great wan-” Bethan muttered to herself, trailing off as she retreated to fetch the special ingredients for Roger Davies' special drink, grumbling indistinct oaths all the while. She was pleased for the opportunity to put some distance between herself and the mundane blah-blah-blah of the obnoxious singles making kissy faces at the bar. She set to work, mixing not one pretentious cocktail,  but two – the first because he'd ordered it, and the second so he wouldn't bother her for another. Finishing up, she set them both down in front of him with a challenging glare, immediately yanking her arms back so she could fold them across her chest.

“I made you two, because you're rich, like, and because I need to stop serving soon, ” she informed him, her eyes flickering to the clock to verify the accuracy of that statement. In a few minutes she'd have to call time and lock up her precious poisons, and then it would be an hour until close. “Last call!” she shouted out to the bar at large, but nobody stirred from their late evening quorums in the corners of the pub. Beth shrugged her shoulders and sank down to sit on the floor, her back to the bar, effectively hiding from the patrons. It was a prime eavesdropping spot, where she was free to pull as many repulsed faces as she pleased without getting nagged at. It had been a long day, and she wanted to judge the quality of her sister's conversation in peace.

”You look exactly the way I remember; you're not too easy to forget.”

Meanwhile, Brynn was seated in a far more respectable manner atop a stool, where she was blushing a darling shade of tickle-me-pink as she glanced down at her folded hands, feeling flattered. She definitely wasn't everyone's cup of tea. Not every bloke would pay a compliment to a girl with Brynn's robust figure, particularly while she was dressed in the most modest work robes imaginable. “That's very nice to say,” she responded, certain that she needed to say something. She hadn't been fishing for compliments when she'd made the remark about her clothes – rather, she'd been hoping to fend off jokes at her expense. This was a far kinder outcome than she could have expected.

”Beth's company usually helps at putting me to sleep.”

“You do realize I can hear you?” Beth interjected from her seat on the floor, sounding just as grumpy as always. “You're not exactly a thrill yourself. Just wait, Brynn - wait until he starts doing maths on the napkins. You'll see what fun he is then,” she snorted. Roger was so easy to mock that it wasn't even fun. All she had to do was tell the truth.

Brynn grinned. “Is that a fact?” she asked, looking to Roger for some confirmation. The conversation turned to cats, however, as it so often did in the life of someone with a cat for a flatmate. Brynn hadn't always been a cat person, but in her quest to distinguish herself as an adult, she'd decided she wanted a little more responsibility, and several years ago she'd taken in a goofy looking black kitten that had grown into the world's laziest ball of fluff. He resembled a lion but acted more like a rotten log (unless there was food involved), and she loved him to bits. Somewhere along the line she must have become a cat person, because she had a cat calendar in her office and had intentionally brought up the topic of cats at a pub with a handsome gentleman. She couldn't pinpoint when it had happened, but it definitely had.

”Meg found this... thing. This toy. I don't know where she found it, I don't remember buying it, but she is obsessed with it. She tears through the house and often will come into my room at the wee hours of morning, howling because she wants to play fetch.”

“Felix doesn't have the stamina for fetch. I suppose I should be thrilled,” she laughed, thinking of her lazybones feline, whose evening activities alternated between sprawling out on her bed asleep and stalking fruit flies in slow motion. “He's got a window seat I put in for him, and he could sit there all day watching the snow if I let him. It's a lovely little existence. Sometimes I get jealous,” she joked with a chuckle. He always seemed quite content with his constant naps and his dreamy waking hours spent gazing out the window. “I imagine you're excellent at fetch, though,” she smiled.

“You know, I never understood cat people,” Beth remarked from her hidey-hole, but left it at that.

”What about you? You were in the paper recently, right? Or at least your department. You work with werewolves, yeah?”

“That I do!” Brynn responded perkily, always happy to talk about her work – even when it was for less than savory reasons. “You must mean the article about the multiple check ins at the safe houses. I certainly have my opinions on the matter, but nobody asks the caseworkers about these things, so it's not an issue I'm dealing with directly,” she explained. There were people whose jobs it was to deal with issues like safe house security, but Brynn was just a grunt in comparison. “It isn't usually a good thing when the department makes the paper. All press that uses the word 'werewolf' is bad press in the end,” she sighed. The public certainly wouldn't look at the news report and see it for what it was – proof that a marginalized group, who could so easily make disastrous choices, were choosing to make good choices instead – and, chances were, there was no convincing them.