The door to the Sword & Chant cracked open, letting in the sounds of the crowded Alley and a very angry-sounding Layla Styles. "And I do not spew profanities, I enunciate them clearly, like a fucking lady" Lala yelled behind her, just as she was throwing the door wide-open and walking in. Once the door was closed with a bang and a helpful kick from the girl, she exhaled loudly and muttered something about crazy old ladies. Decidedly walking towards the bar, Lala threw her bag on the nearest bar stool and hopped on the one right next to it.

"I swear to God, man, the world keeps getting ruder and crazier by the bloody second" she muttered at the bartender, unzipping her leather jacket. "The crazy old hag shoves me with the force of a fuckton elephant and then she has the nerve to tell me to watch where I'm walking?!" she continued scandalized, patting away at the dirt on her jacket, from where she was practically dragon-kicked into the damn pavement. "I mean what the actual hell? And bloody ow! My bum hurts" she whined, fidgeting into her seat. The bartender continued to wipe a glass, watching her with an amused expression as she ranted.

When she was finally finished, she took a loud, long breath and pinched the bridge of her nose, slowly shaking her head. "Anyway. Vodka, please? Your strongest. Perhaps in a jar or, you know... a bucket—just leave the bottle" she waved her hand about, with a resigned expression. The bartender snorted and set about getting her bottle. Finally taking the time to look around her, she spun her stool around and noticed the relatively crowded state of the bar, some people looking strangely at her and whispering. She scowled and rolled her eyes, stopping only to hiss at two witches close-by at a table, staring exceptionally rudely at her. Her eyes continued to pass over the clients, zeroing in on one table—"Oh hell naw" she almost grunted at the sight of one George Carter that was looking right in her direction.

"JFC. Lord, stop testing me" she muttered, crossing her legs and resting her head in her hand, with a long sigh and a completely defeated expression.

Practice had kicked his ass. In fact, judging by the pints around the table, it had knocked a couple other teammates off their brooms. Not that two pints each was impressive, but the fact it had only been half an hour... was a telling sign. George was going to be sore tomorrow; why not help loosen his muscles up before the game?

Eventually he would make it home, and by the way they were putting the pints back, he assumed it would be sooner than later. Or however soon was in Waker-work-mode. He’d sent an owl letting her know where he’d be, with whom, and that he’d be there whenever she got off work. There were nights she stayed and devoted way too much time, in George’s opinion. Plus, maybe if he had a few drinks that loosened him up... he could woo her into a little pre-game workout when they got home.

Laughter rang around the table after George retold an exceptionally close call at practice. It was always funny when one escaped bodily injury. Sometimes it was even funnier when one didn’t. Which was the story that the guy next to him started to spout off. His arm was still in a sling, encouraged to let it heal while ‘resting.’ “Mate, you have to take it easy. Another round, I think.” Agreements arose from the other two. George lifted a hand to beckon someone over when an all too familiar voice started to shout.

Glancing over his shoulder, George watched Layla kick the door closed. Smirking in amusement, he shared a look with his mates. “She would’ve made a decent Gryffindor.” His head cocked to the side, motioning to her as she moved to the bar. “Carter, Gryffindor isn’t the only decent house.”

George’s eyes widened as he took in a deep breath, puffing out his cheeks as he considered that statement. He had hooked up with all the houses in his time. Except maybe not Hufflepuff. Letting the air out slowly, he finally laughed and shrugged. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Hoff. I’m sure you were a great Huffie.” The reserve seeker puffed his chest out and nodded while grinning, despite George laughing at him.

Stretching his arms over his head, a yawn escaped before he scratched the back of his head, finally ending with a scratch on his chest. He glanced around once again; if he happened to catch Layla’s eye... well, how lucky for him. Giving her a half smirk, he lifted his pint and tilted it her way. “Styles! Bring some pints, would’ya?” George attempted to shout across the buzz of conversation in the pub, wiggling his eyebrows at her before grinning as friendly as possible.

"What am I? Yer bar wench?" she hollered at him over the heads of quite a few costumers, and while turning around to get her bottle, noticed the absolutely terrifying glare a girl behind the bar just gave her. Well, snap. "Ha, ha... I mean no disrespect to—ugh... female bar employees. Heh" she said swallowing nervously while scratching at her jaw. "Another round, for the idiots over there?" she said awkwardly to the bartender that served her before, that was actually straight-out laughing at her now and shaking his head. Rude.

Taking her bottle (leaving the glass, because, hah! Layla Styles didn't need no glass when she had a bottle) and grabbing her bag she made her way to Carter's table, closely followed by the... inadvertently bar wench, muttering behind her. She hung her bag on the back of the chair, while the girl dropped the pints on the table forcefully, making a few of them splash over, before storming back towards the bar. "Who ate her bowl of sunshine this morning" she muttered, arranging her jacket on top of her bag and taking her seat.

She watched the people at the table with a sort of clinical detachment, stopping to stare Carter up and down for a second and ending with a snort in response to his t-shirt. "Your devotion to your team is so adorable. It's like little league Quidditch all over again" she clasped her hands over her chest and almost cooed at him. "We're just missing the t-shirts in pink and themed cupcakes." Her expression turned bored, immediately after, and she rested her elbows on the back of the chair behind her, nodding to the rest of the table.

"Yo" she said as greeting, narrowing her eyes at the lot of them. She leaned forwards grabbing the bottle of vodka and downing a healthy gulp. "I'm Lala and no, I'm not on drugs I'm just really, really weird" she said as introduction apropos to absolutely nothing.

"Already hitting the pub, Carter? Adult family life getting to ye so soon?" she batted her eyelashes at George with a shit-eating grin.

George laughed himself back to the attention of his mates, shrugging at Hoff’s incredulous expression. “She’d make paint drying seem interesting.” His legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, glancing around for a moment. He listened to his mates, absentmindedly bouncing his toes back and forth as his feet swung lightly.

He glanced up as Layla made her appearance, smirking as his head swung to the bar wench, giving the girl a wink before shrugging, sitting up once again and reaching for a fresh pint. “I’m more surprised she followed you.” He had only just lifted the glass to his lips, the foam barely touching it, when she made her assessment of him. Eyebrows rose, cocking at her as he took a sip, setting the beer back down on the table as he laughed.

George had done little league Quidditch. Looking down at his shirt, a hand grabbed the bottom and pulled it out a little to get a better look at it. Eyes traveled to her shirt as he let go of his, smirking before finally settling on her face. “Your mustache isn’t quite as noticeable as the one on your shirt.” He shrugged and gave her as innocent a grin as he could muster. Not that Layla had a mustache. George just liked to prod at people some times, and he could become insufferable after a couple of beers. Just ask Waker.

When she introduced herself, he realized that perhaps he should’ve done a better job of it. He lifted a hand, motioning to his mate next to him. The prickly former hufflepuff eyed George for a moment, frowning however slightly. “This is Hubert. He’s-”

“Already hitting the pub, Carter?”

“-a few years out- wait, what?” He made a face as his hand hung in the air, finally settling down on his thighs as he leaned forward, laughing and shaking his head. “Waker’s at work, so the boys and I are having a pint or two.” Or three, now. “Until she gets off. I’ll need someone to safely apparate me back to my bed.” Shaking his head, he finally lifted his pint back up, head nodding towards his mates. “So, that’s Hubert, and that’s Charlie. Or Charles, if you’re going by what his mum calls him.”

The guys laughed and Charlie rolled his eyes, reaching over to greet Lala. “Not all of us can sport that Gryffindor stupidity all the time.” George narrowed his eyes at his mate, smirking as he waggled a warning finger at the chaser. “Why are you in the pub, Styles?”

Without really wanting to, Lala's eyes followed George's hands as they grabbed the t-shirt, lifting it just enough for a teasing strip of skin to pop into her view. Her eyes fixed to the trail leading down his pants, when she suddenly remembered this was George bloody Carter and she almost spluttered her vodka all over the table. When she raised her eyes to him again, he was looking at her, at her shirt, more exactly, and she did not friggin' blush. She didn't. She also did not find Carter attractive. No. Nope. This was Carter. Ha ha ha. Ha. Fuck.

"That's just terrible" she quickly said, fidgeting in her seat and tucking a strand of hair under the beanie. "I spend so much time grooming it, in order to be proper English gentleman. Tut tut" she said casually, still not looking at him, because, heh... No. She grabbed her bottle forcefully and put it to her lips, swallowing three times before she finally put it back on the table. She scowled as the liquid burned her insides and took her hand to her throat, rubbing gently as if she could take the burn away.

She calmed down, as he continued talking, watching him terribly bored as he... explained why he was here. She inadvertently raised her eyes to him again, just as she heard the word bed and, obviously another, wave of heat came rushing in. She eyed the bottle with narrowed eyes and noticed half of it was already gone. Well, that explained it. Right? She cleared her throat and inclined her head at the rest of the dudes. She extended her hand to both the guys and chuckled at Charlie. "Nice to meet ye both, and don't even get me started on Gryffindors. We'll be here all night and I still won't be finished" she rolled her eyes, and then quickly narrowed them at Carter, ignoring the way his smirk made her stutter just a wee bit.

'JFC, I'm cycling through emotions like I'm in a decathlon to crazy' she thought to herself with a tinge of panic, keeping a casual smile on her face. Not healthy. She cleared her voice again, and took another mouthful of vodka. "I dunno what you mean Carter, I'm out almost seven days a week" she said completely calm (not really), playing with the neck of the bottle. "I had a shit day" she said after a moment with a little sigh. "And I've been hungover most of it, so one nail drives out another and all that" she waved her hand absently, staring at a very interesting spot on the table. "At least I remembered to wear a bra. I feel like that's a big accomplishment right now" she snorted, then stopped and slowly raised her eyes to the guys again, with an awkward, nervous smile. That filter... she really needed it.

"I'm getting another bottle, care to join me?" she tried for a change of subject, raising her eyebrow in question.

George nearly snorted into his beer. Proper was the furthest description of Layla that George could come up with. Which was kind of impressive; sometimes, words didn’t come to him easily. “Well, keep trying. I know there’s a potion at the joke shop that would help.” Not as if a group of boys at Hogwarts had used them for practical jokes, and later as attempts to encourage facial hair to grow.

And not that, even if that were true, George had been part of it.

Not after thirteen, anyway. And now? He already had extra hair, even if it was varying degrees of light and harder to see. Aside from his sideburns, he preferred his face free of extra itch. It took a while to let a mustache grow out enough to not chafe when applied to sensitive skin.

Layla seemed to be enjoying her bottle; whether that was worrisome or not... well, George wasn’t her babysitter. If she wanted to get knock-down-drunk, that was her own deal. Vodka was perhaps not his drink of choice... but he wasn’t the one drinking it. If he hadn’t already known Layla was weird, her behavior with the bottle, and her seemingly singular desire to keep her eyes on it alone, would have sealed that diagnosis.

He merely smirked and rolled his eyes at the Gryffindor bashing. It seemed imprudent to remind Layla that her professed best mate had been a former housemate of his; it would just remind her of all the other things he had been. “About how awesome we are?” He ran his fingers through his hair, lightly interlocking his fingers behind his head; his shirt, fit as it was, tugged up slightly, and he leaned back comfortably as he considered it. “Much better than Slytherins, anyway.”

George flashed a toothy grin around the table. He pushed himself back in the chair on to the two back legs, balancing.

A hangover sounded awful. “Street food’ll clear that up right away.” Something heavy and greasy and delicious usually helped when he woke up still fuzzy from the night before. Not that he had had as much opportunity for them as of late, what with Waker being confined to non-alcoholic beverages and all.

“At least I remembered to wear a bra.”

She brought attention to it, and so George looked. The other two might have also glanced, but Hubert quickly recovered, mentally hitting himself, while Charlie continued to glance when he thought Layla wasn’t noticing, making sure for himself.

George merely grinned as his eyes came back up. “I hear those are as much fun for ladies to put on as it is for gentlemen to take off.” Hands slid from the back of his head as he settled his chair down on to all four legs with a thud, picking up his pint and taking another hearty gulp. He shared a look with his mates before shrugging and standing up, patting his stomach in agreement. “Another bottle, then. You sticking with vodka?” His gaze was slightly down turned; George loved when he was taller than someone.

Lala glared at George because, despite her fabulous brush-off with the whole 'stache thing, Carter persisted in...  being Carter. While definitely a fan of joke shops, that was not a potion Lala could find much use for. On herself, at least. Okay, fine, maybe if she was really, really drunk. Which, apparently she was well on her way of being... Because traitorous bloody brain.

Speaking of traitorous body parts, Lala's eyes flew to Carter's chest, throat going dry at the way it stretched over his pecs, almost straining from the pressure. It only got worse as her gaze dropped low, where the shirt, the fuckin' shirt, was once again, showing a teasing bit of skin and Lala, honest to God, actually gulped.  "Fuck" she muttered barely audible, only getting back to herself when she heard Carter's blasphemy. She cleared her throat, taking another swift, sorta desperate mouthful of vodka and flipped her hair as she lowered the bottles back on the table. "Awesome? Better than us?" she said completely unimpressed with a perfect bitch face. "Carter, sweetie, it's sad to see you so deluded" she offered back with a dramatic sigh, followed by a pitiful tut tut.

Food... Greasy, cheap, first I'll kill your cholesterol then you-food, would've been absolutely fantastic, except for that tiny detail where Lala didn't really have the money for both the booze and the food. It was one or the other and the choice had been bloody obvious. But food was the last thing on her mind, as she realized she'd basically screamed 'look at my boobs. now' and hah, obviously they did. The thing, however was that normally she wouldn't give a crap, but today was obviously the day Layla Styles was having some sort of mental breakdown. So Lala bit her lip, decidedly not looking at Carter.

That didn't mean she couldn't still save the situation, so when she noticed Charlie attempting to not so very subtly... check her out, she waited until she caught his eyes and winked at him, grinning a little shit-eating grin. "Dunno what ye've been doing, Carter but ever tried using your teeth?" she smirked and wagged her eyebrows. Her eyes slowly raked over him, from stomach to his face way... too tall even if he hadn't been standing, and she nodded seriously. She'd be needing tequila soon. Preferably in industrial quantities. 

Hubert was astonished at the amount of alcohol a single person could ingest in one sitting. His eyes were actually fixed on Layla and the bottle, widening whenever she took another gulp. The former Hufflepuff was already buzzed from his two pints, and he had only started to sip at the third. He wanted to stay sharp for the match against the Catapaults tomorrow, even if it was a later game.

Charlie, on the other hand, watched her with amusement, glancing towards George now and again. As the oldest of the three, in his late twenties, he felt he had to supervise the current situation. And the way Layla was nursing that vodka... she might need a little help back to her apartment. Deluded was a fantastic term for his reckless teammate, no matter how funny Carter could be. The wink Layla sent his way, however, was returned with a smirk.

None-the-wiser, George could be a bit of a dunce in these sorts of situations. His mouth kept opening up to shove a foot in further, but not enough that he couldn’t still get something just as stupid out. Like talking about taking off or putting on bras. “On a bra? No.” George did laugh at the idea; his patience was not quite good enough for that.

At her nod, he tilted his head towards the bar. It was quickly followed by a foot, his body pivoting, and suddenly he was making his way through the crowd towards the bar. Hubert and Charlie (who pulled his eyes from Layla’s backside long enough to answer his mate’s question) relaxed at the table.

George leaned on the bar once they got there. He turned his head to her, grinning easily; even if he wasn’t completely over the top from the three beers (or two and a half, if he was keeping track for real), he was definitely feeling the start of a buzz. It was waiting for something stupid to make its full appearance. Luckily he had a little tolerance... Motioning to the bartender, waiting for the man to make his way to them, George leaned his elbow on the bar top and turned his body to face hers. “I didn’t expect you to ever be civil, Styles. Look at us, maturing.”

"Sucks to be you" she hummed absentmindedly. "More like, sucks to be whomever you have deprived of that" she continued in the same distracted voice, only turning to him after a few seconds to eye him with curiosity and only a tiny wee bit of panic. It took her a few seconds to react, getting up to follow George, not quite sure why she was being so bloody reluctant.

When they reached the bar the first thing Lala did was demand a shot of tequila. After she was done pouring the salt on the back of her hand, she raised her eyes to George, that suddenly seemed way closer than Lala felt it was healthy. A hundred feet would probably be enough, until she was properly sober. She narrowed her eyes at his grin, watching his face intently and with a sort of confusion as she was distractedly raising her hand to her lips. 'I can't decide if I want to slowly cut off his head with a toothbrush or climb him like a tree' she suddenly thought to herself, only to stop and shake her head at herself, then scowl. Muttering something, she licked the salt, quickly poured the contents down her throat and fiercely bit into the little lime slice imagining it was... something else.

As George motioned for the bartender again, Lala turned around, leaning against the bar with her hands extended on the counter. With her head turned towards him, she raised an incredulous eyebrow at his next words and rolled her eyes. "I know, right?!" she said with half-faked Valley-girl enthusiasm. "Look at me being all mature and crap..." she smiled the fakest smile she could possibly muster. "But, trust me, when I woke up today I had no plans to be brilliant, but shit just happens" she shrugged, a not bad expression on her face.

While they waited for the bartender, Lala had an internal battle... mostly revolving around not looking at George. And when their order was finally placed on the bar, she grabbed her bottle and lazily walked back towards the table without even waiting for George. In a moment of uninspired brilliance, Lala circled around the table and stopped right next to Charlie, way into his personal space. "Can I?" she asked with a quirked eyebrow, looking at his lap. "My bum hurts, it met the sidewalk today" she snorted softly. With a cryptic, yet determined look to George, Lala took a little shaky breath. One nail drives out another, eh? Hopefully... Because she was 500% done with her traitorous brain.

“Just because I don’t use my teeth on a bra doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use my mouth.” George challenged that. Nodding as if that settled that, he took another gulp of his beer before it landed back on the table. His mates were looking at him odd, but he merely shrugged and grinned. “Some of us have a talent, mates, and it shouldn’t be squandered.” Hubert shook his head while Charlie roared with laughter.

Once at the bar, however, Layla seemed to be... well. She was enjoying a tequila shot. He watched the salt sprinkling around, cocking an eyebrow before eyes made their way up to her face. “You can’t just take it straight?” Not that George was drinking hard liquor, but...-yep, there went the lime.

“Right...” George squinted at her, leaning in a little as he put a hand to her forehead. He quickly retreated, however, laughing as he did, not wanting to get swatted at. “Guess you don’t have a fever. Good on you.” Brilliant days were to be cherished, after all.

While she walked away without another word, George paused long enough to glance after her and then around the bar, searching for a clock. Once he had the time, he jumped forward, almost jogging back to the table, grinning as he sat down in his seat, waggling his eyebrows at his mate. Good for Charlie, and... Layla, he supposed. Tilting the chair back on two legs, he watched in amusement.

Charlie, on the other hand, looked up at the presumptuous young woman, smirking as his eyes traveled over her once more. Finally he pushed his chair back, arms out in invitation, one hand lightly touching her waist. “You should probably have someone check on that.” He kept a fairly straight face, his other hand resting on the table as he waited for her to take her ‘seat.’

George rolled his eyes and took another gulp of beer. “Going to turn the Sword and Chant into a strip club?” He continued to balance himself in the chair, glancing over at Hubert (who was enjoying his beer to try and not pay attention to the two in the chair next to him). “So... the bottle?” Or was she just going to hog the entire thing? “Hubert looks like he could use a couple swigs.”

Lala would've loved to deny that she almost choked on air and her eyes almost took to popping out of her sockets, because, really, why the bloody hell should she even care what George Carter could or couldn't do with his mouth? TMI! Tho, now that he said it, by bloody fuck if she wasn't curious. She'd have to casually bring it up with Ellie... sometime. Or, you know, not. Tha'd just be a really bad idea.

Lala stopped to glare, unimpressed, at George, because doing straight tequila shooters was bloody blasphemous. it was the ritual, the preparing, the expectation that made tequila shots what they were... besides, if she did a straighter right now, in an hour, top, she'd be so incredibly wasted, she'd lose all brain function, faster than you could say George Carter is an ass. But a hot one. Shush, you. There was alcohol involved, okay? As George's hand came to rest on her forehead, Lala's eyes attempted to dig their way out of her skull, as they watched the hand, almost going cross-eyed. She held her breath for as long as it stayed there, her brain, the bloody brain, empty of anything and everything.

Which is why when the hand was removed, and George said something about fevers, Lala's brain obviously came back with a vengeance. "No touchy, Carter" she hissed with a strangled voice, around the high blush on her cheeks. Bloody hell, this guy... This guy and her traitorous brain were obviously demon spawns sent to torture her into an early grave. She got the hell out of Dodge. As in—back to the table.

A better person, and by better person, Lala meant anyone that wasn't herself, might've thought twice about this entire thing. But not, Layla Styles. Sitting diagonally, meant she'd be showing her back to either George or Hubert, she couldn't have that. So she sat down, face forward, legs on either side of Charlie's and for one moment she really, really regretted not wearing heels today. Ah, well, being drunk was the same as not feeling the ground under her feet, so not much change there.

She fidgeted on his lap, to better arrange herself, and leaned back, Charlie's chest flush against her back. She turned to watch him, feeling a bit cocky at watching him from above and smiled slyly. "I dunno about that, I don't really trust healers, let alone around my ass" she chuckled, ending with a little smirk. Ugh, she rolled her eyes at George... But she was safe now. From herself. So, she saw no problem smiling innocently at him."It could sure use it" she answered, batting her eyelashes, as she looked around, just a usual pub, nothing really interesting going on.

She pushed the bottle towards the middle of the table, with a little longing look towards it. She glanced at Hubert and decided that yes, he could indeed use a couple of swigs. "Since you're so observant today, Carter... And so keen on a strip show. Anyone up for some chicken?" she grinned, raising her eyebrows. "Vodka shooters. One right after the other, no diddling, no half mouthfuls, no spitting. The second you can't down another one, you take something off" she shrugged as if it was nothing. For her, it wasn't.

Hands went up to ward her off, laughing a little before shrugging. “Sorry, mate.” If it came out a bit sarcastic, maybe she was too far gone to notice. Or if she did, that seemed to be the nature of their relationship. She didn’t like what he had done to her BFF, and took it out on him, and... George was George. To the right person, he could be the best person ever. Other times, he came off as a pompous ass. His ego and confidence pushed boundaries that others wouldn’t tread.

When she left, he merely rolled his eyes. Typical.

Once back at the table, George’s eyebrows rose in... quiet surprise at Layla’s willingness to meet and greet with new faces. Or, rather, their laps, since she wasn’t really looking at Charlie’s face. Not that his mate seemed to mind. Charlie rested his hands on her waist, helping her shift for comfort. Hands rolled forward over her hips, resting on top of her thighs as she settled against him, smirking at Hubert over her shoulder. Charlie’s legs spread out a little, forcing hers to follow suit.

Her lack of couth came out, causing George to choke on his own spit. He washed it down with his beer, eyeing her briefly before smirking. “I think Charlie had a medic course.” The more players who could do simple first aid on the pitch, the better.

“Would you really trust anyone near there?” Surprise, surprise. Hubert fell into the trap of asking a question that didn’t need to be thought up. George laughed as he wiped a hand over his face, eyes rolling as he sighed. Hubert’s face turned a brilliant shade of pink as he realized what slipped out. George clapped his mate on the shoulder, smirking before turning his attention to the bottle in the middle of the table.

Had he said he was keen on a strip show? Charlie voiced his assent to chicken, and George saw Hubert turn some shade of green. He settled his chair back down on to all four legs once more, taking a slow breath in as he considered.

At only three beers in, it didn’t sound like the best stakes in the world. Plus, he’d watched her drink vodka like it was water. It did not bode well for a happy ending. He considered it, however, attempting to do math; there were four of them, after all, and one bottle of vodka. Of vodka. George was all for pushing boundaries, but... “We’re in the middle of Diagon Alley, Styles. You think we’ll get a piece of clothing off in here without getting a free trip to the Ministry?” Fingers drummed on the table, however, as he considered. “Truth or dare?”

Lala curled her lips in an o shape as her really tight skirt (bad decision after another, Layla) rolled up as her legs drifted even more apart with Charlie's movement. it quickly turned into a little smile, and a sideways glance behind at Charlie, as she hooked the tips of her boots around his calves. What? It gave her better support. And balance. "Even better" she said with a completely shit-eating grin. "I'll know my ass is on good, trained hands, then" she wagged her eyebrows at George and giggled a little, because whyever the hell not.

At Hubert's words and the outrageously cute blush that followed, Lala laughed heartily, throwing her head back over Charlie's shoulder. "You're adorbs, you are" she said almost cooing at George's teammate. "I just want to pat you on the head, bake you some cookies, and reassure you that, yep. Yes, I would" she said with a cryptic smile and turned to look at Charlie with a completely casual shrug of her shoulders just as her hair turned a pastel shade of pink, growing past the middle of her back and spilling into Charlie's lap. Lala wasn't the person to be ashamed of most things, let alone this.

She gave Hubert an innocent smile and batter her eyelashes once. She also would've liked to reassure him that yes, someday he would get laid. How anyone in professional Quidditch had kept that sort of shyness and innocence, she had no friggin' idea. It was refreshing, however, she thought with a quizzical look thrown at George and then Charlie.

She would've pouted, really she would've, at George being a party pooper, even tho, he had a point, bloody hell. But she didn't have time to pout, because, astonishingly Carter came up with an even better idea and she grinned, absolutely terrifyingly. She forgot for a second, that she and George hadn't really ran in the same circles back at Hogwarts. Ye know, because he was cheating pig and she had BFF's to comfort by hating in solidarity.

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back again, with the most casual expression on her face. She was Queen of truth or dare. "Bring it on, Carter" she drawled with a please smile. "Dare" she continued, serious, no-bullshit expression taking the place of the smile, in a matter of seconds.

Charlie couldn’t deny that he liked the tenacity of this girl. Her toes held on to his legs, and he shifted his lap a little more, settling in comfortably as his hands gripped her upper thighs, glancing over her shoulder at her skirt. He smirked knowingly, causing Hubert to frown in confusion and sit up far enough to see-and quickly retreat to his pint.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, or perhaps the fact she was on his lap, but Charlie lifted a hand and lightly smacked as far back on the side of her hip as he could. “Capable hands, Lala.” George rolled his eyes again and watched them from the table surface and up. He was not about to peak around for a show. Not yet, anyway. Wasn’t it ok to look, as long as he didn’t touch? There were blurry, unspoken don’ts in relationships.

The sudden change of hair color (and length) startled them all. Hubert’s face had reddened slightly with her words. He would never... no, not near there. His girlfriend was also not into that sort of thing, thank Merlin. George shared a smirk with Charlie before glancing back to Hubert. “Not everyone is so wild, Layla.” Eyes darted back to her face. “Some like to live that vanilla life.”

George was aware of the lack of history he shared with Layla. Once he’d screwed up with Ellie, it had ended any potential for fun with her. If he had been preoccupied with other girls at Hogwarts who showed him broom closets and bleachers to explore... he’d still received a well-rounded education. Still, her grin made him reconsider his replacement game.

And now... he had to bring it, it seemed. His face screwed up in concentration as he eyed Layla’s, considering all the possibilities. Most of them were as inappropriate as stripping with shots. Finally he glanced around before sitting forward suddenly, grinning wickedly back as he rested his elbow on the table, pointing a finger at her. “If you don’t accept a dare, you take two shots.” He figured there should be ground rules before this ridiculousness started. “I dare you-” George paused for dramatic effect, licking his lips.

“To kiss the waitress you offended. And not some little peck on the cheek, either.” He finally leaned back in the chair, smirking as he crossed his arms over his chest. This game could potentially get them booted from the bar as well, but it could take longer. Charlie gave George a look over her shoulder of disbelief; where was his solid? Why hadn’t George dared her to do that to Charlie?

She turned to Charlie with a raised, daring eyebrow and a microscopic smile tugging at the corner of her lips, the second his words were out of his mouth. She watched him like that for a second, and then she leaned back into him, with her back arched and if the movement happened to be accompanied by a very subtle, slow roll of her hips... Well, then. "We'll have to see about this capability, won't we?" she  said in a lower voice, as close to his ear as possible. She smiled, then, innocent with an edge of dangerous.

She smiled a sort of pathetic little smile at Hubert and really had to hold in the urge to slow clap at the dude. Look at that... They still made gentlemen. Sort of. "I never got why everyone discriminates vanilla. Vanilla can be pretty hardcore when it wants to" she nodded and snapped her fingers in Z formation with an I shit you not expression. When George leaned forward, elbows on the table, Lala was soon to follow, staring him down, smirk on her face, and eyebrows raised expectantly. She nodded brusquely, having zero problems with the punishment game for utter dare-failure.

She scratched absently at her jaw as she waited for George to make up his damn mind and when he finally did, she was actually surprised. She sat back and wheezed a small bewildered huh, but she was soon grinning like someone had just informed her the zombie apocalypse was coming. And, yes, that was fuckin' terrific news for Styles. She lifted her right leg over Charlie's lap and passed it to his other side, hopping off of him and practically sprinting to the girl, currently clearing a table not too far from them.

When she reached her Lala grabbed her wrist gently, turning her around, while dragging her finger along her hand until she was holding her hand. She leaned closer to her and started animatedly telling her something with a no-bullshit, angry expression then turned around to point at her table and the guys sitting at it. The waitress mouthed something disbelievingly, and huffed while Lala nodded fervently at her then scowled. Only second after she was asking her something, much more shyly than before, shrugging her shoulders and biting her lips nervously. The other girl looked determinedly at her and nodded solemnly, only for Lala to have her fingers carded through her hair, just seconds after, and leaned closer to the waitress.

Their lips touched, shyly, almost imperceptible at first, but then Lala was pulling her in and settling her other hand on her waist. Slotting her lips against the other girl, the tip of Layla's tongue prodded at the seam of her lips, asking for entrance and, just like that, their mouths were mashed together in a smush of lips and tongues and just a hint of teeth. Finally, looking as if she was letting her go, Lala pulled back a fraction, only to softly bite into the girl's lower lip, watching her with half-lidded eyes. The pink-haired girl placed a final, soft peck at the corner of her lips and took a step back, grinning from ear to ear and nodding. The waitress, high-flush and bewildered expression on her face nodded back, slowly, almost outrageously slowly and gave her a tiny, tiny smile back.

Lala waved at her, with a fond smile and turned around to face her table with the most self-assured, cocky smile ever. Clasping her hands behind the back of her neck, she stretched for a second then lazily made her way back to the table and passed George, turning to wink at him and sticking the tip of her tongue out. She sat back down on Charlie's lap, legs spread like before, this time taking his hands and placing them under hers, around her waist and spread out on her thighs. "Charlie" she drawled, leaning her head back while decidedly looking at George with a cryptic expression. "Truth or dare, hmm?"