The Hopping Pot
7-8:00PM

The one thing Lala enjoyed most about her work was the flexibility of her schedule, and by that she meant no schedule at all. But the single, most epic thing was not having to dress up. This time, however she'd been contacted by some big corporate game developer, with a big shiny, glass building. So she had to actually dress like little corporate minions did. The thing is... when Lala looked in her closet for clothes she was this close to finding Narnia instead. So that had been hard.

As was the meeting. Those dudes were so bitter and unoriginal and boring, and she isn't saying they were stupid, but they were really, really unlucky when it came to thinking. But she sucked it up and nodded through it, because they were paying well and she always needed the money. That didn't mean that the second she got out of that conference room, she didn't scream in the elevator and banged her head against the mirror until she felt she no longer had the urge to squeeze the life out of someone by wringing their neck.

So, when put like that, it made perfect sense that Lala was currently seated at the bar of the Pot wearing an actual blazer. And glasses. But that was better explained by the fact that she'd managed to drop one of her contacts in the toilet just earlier in the day. Nursing a G&T, she was leafing through the design brief the company had practically placed in her lap before politely sending her on her way. When she got bored of that, she closed it with a scowl and threw it in her bag, turning around just as the entrance door was closing.

With her mouth slowly, ever so slowly dropping open, Lala raked her eyes over the guy, from feet to head. Only to stop and swallow loudly when she realized who he was. "Well, balls" she muttered softly, awe in her eyes as she reluctantly raised her hand in the air to signal the guy. "Mister Marren" she practically squeaked, torn between putting her babysitter face on or climbing him... Like a tree. A really hot one. Burning in the Sahara desert hot.

"Huh—hi! Hello" she greeted, scratching at her head, completely confused and so done. Just so, so done. "Ugh, long time no see. Are you meeting someone or—" she took her bag off the stool next to her and basically threw it at the feet of her chair. Smooth, Lala... So smooth. "How—How's Aiden?" she blurted, hand feeling for her glass and taking a a quick, healthy gulp. That wasn't awkward. At all. She was fine. It was everybody else that obviously needed therapy.

Jason had had a rough few months. The end of 2009 had not been Jason’s more memorable. The torture and confinement caused by Marc Donnelly had left him almost a shell of his former, friendly self. He had spent all of January in St. Mungo’s (but not as a worker). It had taken time for physical healing to happen, as well as a bit of emotional trauma.

By February, he needed out. Jason was tired of only seeing his son every now and again. Sam didn’t return his owls (he didn’t even know exactly what Marc had done as him to her, and part of him never wanted to know). All he knew was that he was, once again, alone in the world. Sometimes that threatened to bury him deep underground, the weight of it pushing him down into the quicksand of give up.

He had picked up his things from the shared apartment and Jason had been bouncing around friend’s couches and his parents spare room since. It had taken him a couple weeks to finally look at getting back into work, and even that... was hard. It was a load off his chest that Marc was dead. Jason was just sad he hadn’t been the one to do it...

The overwhelming amount of work that he had waiting for him each time he went back into his office drove him out of it evening after evening. Still, he took a stack full home each night to work on, wherever he was sleeping. Because, as of late, he didn’t sleep very much. Memories and nightmares and sleepless nights; they were all a thing of the new Jason.

Tomorrow, he was going to look at cheap apartments. A steady flow of income was once again coming in. There were also small changes in security, ways to verify a healer’s identity. It was all a load of bullocks.

Regardless... he needed a pint. Four would probably suffice, actually. Fiona was going to let him stop by on his day off (tomorrow) to spend time with Aidan, at least until Jason found a suitable place for their nearly three year old son to sleep.

He pushed the door into The Hopping Pot, rubbing his hands together as the door closed behind him; it was still a little chilly outside. The warmth of inside, however, had him undoing the buttons on the long sleeve flannel, rolling one side up before starting on the other.

“Mister Marren”

Blinking, Jason looked up, searching for the voice. His hand paused on his sleeve, halfway rolled up, when he saw her. He inclined her head, grinning a little before he made his way towards her. A friendly face was always welcome at a bar. Better than sitting alone... “Miss Styles.” Once his sleeves were rolled up, and his top three buttons undone, he felt more comfortable. Scratching the back of his head, he gave her a partly confused grin.

So much to respond to in one breath. “I’m just here for a few pints... Aidan is well, little rambunctious, getting into everything.” Definitely had his mum’s spirit in some ways. Plus, he was in those terrible twos. His hand rested on the back of her chair while the other patted the now empty stool. “May I?” Jason slipped into the chair, brushing his knees against her as he swung it forward.

Elbows rested on the bar top before he turned his attention to her. “What are you drinking?”

Lala didn't now whether to choke on just air or find something to fan herself with at being called Miss Styles. Usually it made her laugh like maniac or straight-out snap at whomever had made that grave mistake. But, there was something about this guy calling her that, that simply made her stare for a second before she quickly resorted to solve the issue with alcohol. So she took a sip, taking the opportunity to ogle him shamelessly over the rim of her glass.

Things had always been a little (a lot) awkward for Lala when it came to Jason Marren. When she'd started babysitting for Aidan, she was a bit of a mess. Barely a year out of Hogwarts, 18 and a wee, doing all the odd jobs she could muster, including babysitting... To say she'd had a little crush on him would've been a big fat lie. Lala crushed hard on Mr. Marren. But that was just it, he was Aidan's dad. She didn't like kids, not really, but she'd liked Aidan and while she may have had a few mental breakdowns at first, and some epic fails here and there, in the end she actually enjoyed babysitting the tiny human. And he was married, and then he was divorced and then dating, and in the end he was her employer and—did she mention, Aidan's dad?! But then, Mr. Marren fell off the face of the Earth and she hadn't heard shit from him for a few months.

But now—now, Lala had done her growing up, she was a rising artist, supporting herself - okay, fine, barely supporting herself - and she was a ballsy - she just needed to finish her G&T, okay?! - young woman. And now Mr. Marren... just wasn't Mr. Marren no more. So, buh bye Mr. Marren, hello Jason! Hot-like-the-burning-sun Jason. "He is at that age, isn't he? The little troll..." she said with a fond little snort. She nodded with a little playful smile tugging at her lips, tilting her chin towards the stool.

If her eyes darted down at where his knees had brushed against her, and if her eyebrow arched a little, she hoped Jason wasn't paying attention. What she did, on the other hand, was turn her body to face his, crossing her legs, lazily bouncing one on the other. With a little grin, she picked her glass and threw it back, emptying it in a few gulps without once removing it from her lips. With a little chuckle she placed it back on the counter and shrugged her shoulder. "Well, apparently nothing now. What are you up for?" If anybody asked, there was zero, absolutely zero innuendo in that question. Well, ugh, not really. Smooth talking was so not a skill Layla Styles possessed. Speaking of—

"And just—Lala, please" she shook her head, waving a hand around. "Or Layla if I did something really wrong" she added, eyebrows raising slightly. "Miss Styles is—" she stopped, eyelashes lowering over her eyes, tucking her chin in to hide a sly smile. "Just Lala" she raised just her eyes, watching him intently over the rim of her glasses.

Jason smiled a little wider, a little more genuine, while thinking of his son. Thoughts of Aidan had kept him sane while in captivity. Other times, he had other things on his mind that helped focus him, but none were quite as amazing as his son. “He’s definitely got potential.” For what exactly, he wasn’t completely sure. It was still anyones guess as to how the little man would turn out more like.

As long as he was a decent person, Jason supposed he didn’t care one way or another. There were definitely admirable traits that Fiona had about her; he had been with her for a long time, after all, and had found things about her he had loved.

He felt her moving next to him, and once he settled down in the seat, his eyes did take her in. A shrug escaped him at her question, laughing lightly. “I really was thinking of some ale.” Then she corrected him with her name, and his eyebrows rose a little before he smiled, knees bouncing. “Are you prone to being naughty?” Jason shook his head and smiled. “Lala, then. And please, call me Jason.” Mr. Marren... did not fit well at the bar.

After placing an order with the bartender, and getting whatever Layla wanted, Jason leaned back in the chair and turned towards her just slightly, his foot closest to her resting on the bottom of her stool. “What have you been up to lately, Lala? Staying out of trouble?” Once his ale was there, he picked it up and cheered her, taking a hearty gulp. It was like sweet nectar... life warming deliciousness.

Oh little Aidan had so much potential, what, with a daddy like that... But, perhaps, that train of through should be stomped on, burned and then buried six feet under. Aidan was an amazing little person, but right now, this was all about his father. His really, really hot father.

Lala's brows shot up at his choice of beverage only to furrow at the middle, while she shook her head disapprovingly. "How does ale actually constitute as alcohol?" she asked, sort of rhetorically, with a scoff. Her head snapped back at him as he commented on her... wording. She eyed him carefully for a second, then her lips played a cryptic smile and she raised her eyebrows slowly, letting them drop back. "Sometimes" she answered perfectly honest, no hint of playfulness, then she tilted her chin up almost defiantly.

"Jason, then" she said with a grin, stopping short of making a comment about saying (screaming?) his name. When the bartender took their order she went for a classic Screwdriver, needing the citrus flavor to shake off the exhaustion from that friggin' meeting. When he leaned back in the chair, Lala couldn't help let her eyes roam over his torso for just a second. "Oh, ye know... here and there, this and that" she said with a little snort, then stopped to look at him intently. She picked her glass and raised it to his, with a little nod.

"And I can't help it if trouble finds me. Or that I like it doing so" she offered casually, eyes lowering to her glass as she slipped the end of the straw between her lips, and only raised her eyes to him when she hollowed her cheeks to take a sip. "What have you been up to?" she asked, freeing the straw with a little pop.

“Probably because they ferment it?” A laugh bubbled out before he shook his head, eyebrow raised as he assessed her. “It tastes amazing. What would you have me drink?” It was a fair question, since she disapproved of his choice. He loved the taste of beer; the more full-bodied it was, the longer he wanted it to last. Jason loved to let it roll over his tongue, tasting it as long as possible before swallowing it down. Sometimes you could taste all the ridiculous things they said certain beer could taste like if you took the time to appreciate it.

Another laugh escaped him; it felt good to relax and let things not feel so serious. His head tilted as he once again looked her over. Sometimes seemed appropriate. A screwdriver sounded good, but it wasn’t breakfast time. He ran his tongue over his lips to catch any remaining ale before resting the glass on the bar top.

Jason had had enough trouble to last him a while. Unless she meant... no, surely she didn’t. Hopefully she didn’t know the kind of trouble that had plagued him for months. A groan escaped him at her question, stretching his arms above his head as he yawned. Finally he settled back against his chair, free arm resting along the back of her chair. “Work.” It was true enough, anyway. His legs moved him back and forth on the swiveling stool, eyes taking her in once again.

If he stared at her lips and the straw, and how she... it had been a long day. “I guess I needed a little play to balance it out.” He gestured with his hand at the ale before picking it up again, taking another gulp. “Do you just come in to drink, Lala? Or... are you any good at darts?” Eyebrows wiggled before he leaned forward closer, elbow resting on the bar while pointing between them, past them, towards where there were some dart boards. “If you want. Otherwise I can play by myself.”

"It tastes like juice" she snarked back, obviously insulted by the simple idea of it actually falling into the alcohol category. "Hard liquors" she replied with a grin, because tat was the absolute only way to go about booze. With the random beer or wine, she supposed. But those were like appetizers... did alcohol appetizers exist? Was that a thing? "Tequila" she added, with a dreamy sort of sigh. "All the tequila ever" she clasped her hands over her chest and batted her eyelashes with a little dumb grin.

She watched his shirt fall open, pulling into view the stretch of his tank taut over his muscles as his arms went above his head and she swallowed tightly, because that— Lala was so done someone needed to take her out of the oven. Like... yesterday. When his arm came to rest on the back of her chair, Lala -hopefully- casually leaned back in her chair, taking another sip of her glass. "All work and no play?" she asked pouting around the straw between her teeth, which she was lazily chewing on at the moment. What? She had to keep her mouth occupied, she had a lot of energy to burn.

"Preach" she said with a grin, straw back between her teeth, wagging her eyebrows at the glass. When he served her the challenge, Lala was just about to tell him to bring it. But then he leaned forwards, and she followed his hand, from himself to her then towards the boards. With a soft humming noise, she stared at the darts for a second then she turned  to him, game face on and ready. "Playing with yourself isn't much fun, now is it" she said with a little snort, one eyebrow cocked, half-smile at the corner of her lips.

"I demand a handicap, however" she said seriously, leaning back and tilting her head down to where her hand was moving from her thigh to her ankle, stopping to tap at the buckle of her high heeled shoes. "I'm as much a danger to myself as everybody else in these" she said with a pathetic little laugh, directed at herself. Uncrossing her legs, she hopped off her seat and took off her blazer, hanging it on the back of the chair. With a crack of her knuckles, she grabbed her drink and raised her eyebrows expectantly at him. "Well, ready to get your ass kicked?" she grinned, all cocky and toothy.

If there was anything Layla Styles owned in bucketloads, it was precision and a steady hand. It came with being an artist.

“Part of any good breakfast, I’d agree.” It didn’t necessarily taste like juice, though... He wondered what hefeweizen she had been sipping on. Still... Jason could appreciate someone who ... appreciated hard liquor. “Is Hogwarts offering classes in drinking?” Jason smirked. If so, he had been doing it wrong. Then again, he had grown up around beer. It was like water.

Tequila... could make all sorts of promises to you, and in the end you knew it was lying. Jason grimaced a little; he enjoyed his liquor top shelf. At an age where he could usually afford it, why not? He wasn’t a struggling healer-in-training, living paycheck to paycheck.

Jason nodded at her rhetorical question. It made him a dull boy, that was for sure. Perhaps, though, that was for the best. He didn’t need much more excitement in his life. The fact it was all turned upside down and flipped around made him want to keep drinking. Drowning sorrow didn’t work very well, but it was worth a shot.

He couldn’t disagree with her sentiment, as double edged as it might have been. It was decidedly not fun playing with yourself. It was always nicer to have someone else to play with.

Which was why he was asking her.

Even if she was demanding a handicap. Eyes followed her hands down to the shoes, chuckling. “I didn’t force you to wear those.” Glancing back up to her face, he let the hand that had pointed the way to the darts fall lazily between them. “You could also take them off. For safety.” After another gulp, he finally relented. “But I can give you a handicap. You’ll need something to help your plight.”

Eyes followed her as she got up, glancing over her petite figure before he stood up as well, ale in hand. “I didn’t realize your handicap made you that amazing.” After getting supplies from the bartender, he stepped after her towards the dart board, leaning comfortably on the high table nearby for their drinks. Offering her the darts, he smirked. “Ladies first.” Another gulp of ale brought him a warm belly before Jason set the glass down on the table. Maybe a round of shots was called for?

"You didn't" she dead-panned with a little chuckle. "But without them, I happen to be about as funsized as a thirteen year old" she added, grave expression, eyes downcast as she nodded slowly, once, twice. "You should be thanking me, actually" she laughed softly, cheeky smirk in place. "I know you wouldn't be so rude as to let me talk with your—this" Lala spluttered, eyes wide and stupid with awe and a tinge of want, making a rectangular sort of shape with her hands, near his chest, because wall of muscle, all broad shoulders and sculpted chest, just didn't seem to be cutting it.

"So imagine having to look down at me all the time" she snorted, shaking her head only to immediately freeze, a tense furrow pulling at her brows as she worked that into her mind. Her stance relaxed minutely and a wolfish, if maybe a tad coy, smile stretched over her features. "Well...Your neck might get stiff" she finished, eyebrows raised, eyes wide and innocent, poker face smile in place. "So, let's leave the shoes on, hmm?" she batted her eyelashes sweetly,  and offered a grateful nod as he agreed with her handicap.

"It's not the handicap that makes all of this—" she dragged her hand down her sides, and gave a rather more hard pat than she'd intended to her own hip as she continued walking ahead towards the board. "Completely and utterly kickass. It's the skills, yeah?" She's a little defensive and a whole lot irrationally proud, because that's Lala, and whoever can't handle Lala's particular brand of awkward, sure as hell can't handle the rest of her. But that's okay, really. Even Lala can't handle Lala at her worst. Shut up, It's called being a complex human being, okay?

But then she was turning around, and she got way too distracted by the actual tower of hotness that was just lazily leaning against the high table to actually throw a comeback about how much of a lady she actually was. Because motherfuck, how was she supposed to deal with that? It took her a few more seconds for her brain to boot back up, and she really hoped her jaw wasn't hanging wide enough to be able to actually drool, because she was certain that was a very high possibility at that point. Look at him, just leaning there, all tall and gorgeous, like the place was made for him and there was some high-fashion photographer just waiting around the corner and Lala just happened to stroll accidentally (of course, accidentally) into that set. Jeeze, he was giving her a complex... And a whole lot of 'gimme'.

With a face that was still doing a set of complicated things that basically said a lot about the almost religious epiphany Lala was having, she grabbed her glass, opening her mouth to mold her lips around the end of the straw, only to stop at the last moment and give it a highly offended expression. She grabbed the straw with a mutter, tapped it a few times against the rim of the glass and placed it on the table like it had dared ti imply her mother was a llama. (You can't even imagine how insulting that was yeah?) Then she threw her glass back, lips basically fused to it until there wasn't a single tiny drop left in it.

With a last look at Jason - that Lala regretted deeply, because there was a serious threat of noises that might actually be considered needy whimpers in sight - she grabbed her darts and positioned herself one step over the oche. That was her handicap, okay? She took her stance, taking a deep, steadying breath, one foot in front of the other and weight pulled back. Arranging her grip on the dart, she took aim, slightly upwards, but in a straight line and threw the small projectile confidently. She repeated her actions another two times and finally took a loud breath, shaking the tension out of her body by jumping on the spot a few times. Triple ring on 18, a bull, and a double on 20. Not bad, not bad.

Obviously pleased at herself, she stepped to the chalkboard and subtracted her score out of 501. When that was done, she rubbed her hands together to get rid of the chalk, then retrieved her darts and walked back to the high table with a smug smile in place, a hand on her hip and making the best out of walking on high heels. "How about we make it a little more interesting, hmm?" she offered, placing an elbow on the table and resting her head in her hand. "A bet, maybe? Tho, you're a healer, and I'm a freelancing artist, so I think that might be a bit unbalanced if we're talking money" she let it hang there, eyebrows raised expectantly, hoping he'd come up with a more intriguing alternative.

"How about I get us some B-52s while you throw? Or... Boilermakers, if you're up for it?" she batted her eyelashes. Personally, she would've preferred a Screaming Orgasm. How—ehem, coincidental. She really loved vodka, tho. So... there was that.

Jason raised an eyebrow at her; funsized, that was one way to put it. Glancing down to where she motioned, he chuckled and shrugged, glancing back to her face. Jason (like a lot of men, he was sure) always appreciated he way heels made a woman’s legs and ass look, but just because one appreciated something did not necessarily mean he wanted to have a taste. That was definitely something he’d learned from his divorce.

Eyeing her from the stool, he finally laughed and shook his head. “I’m used to looking down at patients. And Aidan. I’m sure if I can handle that, then my neck is fine.” Not that he would compare Layla to his son. He shrugged, however; he wouldn’t want to walk around without shoes on, personally. But he also made sure to wear comfortable shoes. “Sure.”

Eyebrows rose slightly at her pat, shaking his head slowly before settling where he was. “Obviously the skills. Hence why you need a handicap.” Still, Jason wasn’t going to take it away from her. It might have been a little bit since he played darts, but he had spent enough time in pubs to learn the game rather well. Plus, once he zoned in on something he wanted, he tended to go for the bullseye.

Whatever her face was doing, he wasn’t aware that he was the reasoning behind it. Jason glanced over his shoulder. Maybe she really needed to use the loo? Once his attention turned back to her, she seemed to have composed herself, and he brushed it off. Jason did admire the way she took her alcohol, though, smirking before he took another gulp of his ale. If he looked down sadly into it, it was because it was almost empty.

Glancing over her stance, Jason tilted his head and considered it. He opened his mouth to give her a pointer until he saw her hit the bull. Jason smirked before standing back up, draining what was left in his cup. A slow breath was taken in. “A bet...” Eyes darted from her face to the scoreboard, judging how long it might take him to get back in the hang of the game. A smirk slipped over his lips before he shrugged.

“How about... we line up a few shots, then. If the other makes a bullseye, you take a shot.” He grinned. “And if you miss the board entirely, you take a shot.” When she brought up other drinks, he scratched the back of his neck and moved over to the board, pulling out the darts. “Whatever sounds good, I’ll drink. Why not both?” Jason raised an eyebrow with his challenge, moving to the oche and making his own stance, leaning his weight slightly on his front leg.

He tested the darts out individually, deciding if he liked how they felt or not. Scrutinizing the tip, he finally shrugged. It was just a pub... The first landed low; a 3 for the lucky Marren. He squared his shoulders and aimed again before letting it fly. inner 19; he was definitely closer. Smirking, getting the hang of it, he tilted his head back slightly as he readied his dart. Triple 16. He would take it for a first shot. Moving forward, Jason marked himself down. After pulling the darts out, he waited near the table for Layla.

Once she came back, he raised an eyebrow. “So, bet wise... loser has to do something the winner says?”

Lala was about to correct the whole looking down thing, with specific Lala innuendos, but then Jason brought up Aidan and—oh, wow... Awkward much? This was such a thing line she was walking. There really were only two ways to go about it: awesome or epic fail. So far, it really didn't look like much but the possibilities... Well, Lala's brain was probably about to melt out of her ears. She was ambitious, if nothing else. At least, in this sorta thing.

"Hey! You try holding perfect balance on 13 centimeters high heels and then we'll talk" she replied, with a little hmph, but not very serious. She'd actually pay to see that... She snorted awkwardly and shook the image out of her brain. And honestly, Lala felt she needed to evaluate her life choices over there, because that really wasn't supposed to be as hot as it was.

Her eyes grew big with excitement and she grinned, brimming with a hell lot of YES at his genius idea. "That, sir, is brilliant" she grinned mischievously, tipping an imaginary hat to him. "Although—" she watched him intently, with the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth, and a small wolfish smile, blatantly checking him out before her gaze turned back up at his face. "I sure do hope you can hold you alcohol" she finally continued, something a challenge in her tone. But then he went and returned hers in full, and she raised her eyebrows in surprise, of the best kind.

Turning on her heels, she took a steadying breath and walked to the bar. After a short exchange with Zeke and a wistful, cryptic gesture towards Jason back at the dart boards, she shrugged and grinned. She hadn't been able to resist her craving, so she went ahead and got herself the shot she wanted and one for Jason as well. Because... well. Balancing the tray on one hand (thank you, odd jobs), she made her way back to the high table and placed the tray on it. Pushing her glasses up on the bridge of her nose, she checked his score from the distance and cackled a little.

"Oh you can bet your sweet ass he will" she said, practically yelling the masculine pronoun in caps lock, with the most shit-eating smirk, she could've mustered at his offer of a dare for the loser. More like a command than a dare... And again, that was just—she probably should listen to the advice of her friends and give a try to therapy one of these days. "I look forward to telling you what to do" she added cocky, but voice also breaking a little as her gaze darkened.

Attention back to the tray, she pushed the B-52s and Boilermakers to the side and singled out the two shots, she picked one between two fingers and placed it in front of Jason and then she grabbed hers. "I know it's customary to end with a Screaming Orgasm" she raised her eyes coyly to him, one finger playing around the rim of her shot glass, mouth open and tip of her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "But I figured we should set the bar high" she said, obviously referring to the other shots, like the Boilermakers. Obviously.

Raising her shot glass to him, she smirked minutely and threw it back, never once taking her eyes off of him. With a little clink the empty glass was back on the tray and she picked her darts, hungry eyes still glued to him. She smiled again, then turned around walking slowly, and teasingly towards the throw line. Triple nineteen, just to keep her score on the right path, a lousy 17 this close to the bull and finally, thank fuck, an actual bull's eye. She fist pumped, mouthing a booyah as she turned on the heels of her shoes, not before grabbing her darts and putting her score down.

She walked assuredly back to the table and leaned with both elbows on the table, one leg bent behind her and a smug grin that was never getting wiped of her face. She was so going to win this. "Drink up, Marren" she wagged her eyebrows and chuckled darkly.

“I’ll leave you to do the balancing.” It was definitely not something Jason was curious about trying. Just the thought of being on his tip toes all the time... it made his feet cramp at the notion. Still... they were eye catching, if that’s where you happened... to be looking. And once she drew his attention there, well, he did look.

He smirked; brilliant was one word to describe him. He looked over her face as she paused, licking his lips absentmindedly. A laugh escaped him. Once he got control of himself, he merely smirked. “I guess you’ll see.” He considered his history; growing up, beer was easily available. Hogwarts? They always found ways to sneak the good stuff in. Post Hogwarts? There were pubs that he frequented between shifts and when he wasn’t working. Dating Fiona? She didn’t know what water was; they drank together as a hobby. Or as a way of life...

And then after Fiona? He used alcohol as his therapist. Whatever that meant.

“He? What, you don’t think I’ll get better?” It had been months since he’d thrown a dart, after all. If he needed a couple rounds to get back into the way of it, then that was allowed. His eyes moved slowly from her face to her feet and back up, leaning in a little. “We’ll see what you can come up with.” It was a poor judge of character on Jason’s part to think she was innocent.

Fingers wrapped around the shot glass, picking it up after she sat it in front of him. Blinking at her, he smirked, running his tongue over his lips slowly before focusing on her face. “If that’s as high as you set it...” He shrugged and toasted her before swallowing his shot. A small shake of his head was all the reaction she would get. He dropped his glass on top of hers, smirking while licking up any excess liquid from his upper lip.

Jason sat on one of the stools, leaning on the table while watching her shoot. He feigned a groan as she got a bullseye. His feet sat on the foot rest of the stool, knees relaxing out as he watched her carefully. “Are you hustling me, Miss Styles?” He reached out for a shot, eyes catching hers as he took it fast, swallowing with another clink on the table top.

Stepping down off the stool, he got awfully close before taking the darts from her. “Let’s see what the dart gods have in store for me, shall we?” He rolled them between his hands before stepping up.

He rolled his shoulders before smirking, aiming. Triple 13, single 15, and... Wait. He blinked at the dart sticking in the black outer ring. “Huh.” Shrugging, he stepped forward, fixed his new score, and grinned as he brought the darts back to Layla. If he could just drink and focus on other things, aside from real life, he could feel good.

Jason brushed her hand before dropping the darts in her palm, sliding past her to sit down on the stool. “Where did you learn to play darts so well, Lala?”

If there's one thing Lala actually excelled at it was drinking. Since she'd started getting a steadier income of money from various commissions, she spent most of her time in pubs and clubs. Truth be told she was starting to get a little worried for her liver... Then again, she was a witch and she was young. So she had a few more years before she would really have to start thinking before pouring a copious amount of rum in her morning coffee or drank almost her actual weight in alcohol in a single week.

"I dunno" she said wistfully. "If you're gonna go on like this, I'm not seeing a very bright ending for you tonight" she teased, raising a challenging eyebrow. His next words made Lala smirk, because everyone who underestimated her usually ended up eating their words. But unsuspecting victims were the easiest to beat, tho.

Her eyes darted to his lips and she felt heat pool deep in her body. His words barely got through her head, but she huffed softly. She kept her eyes carefully glued to him and at his head shake, she leaned closer, head cast down, watching him through her eyelashes for a second, a small hum at the back of her throat. And before she turned to toss her darts, she let out a shaky laugh. "Oh, it's high Jason..." she drawled, slowly. "I'm not usually a screamer" she then added quickly, laughing under her breath, blush high on her cheeks and holding eye contact just for another second before she went for her throw.

When he called her Miss Styles like that, her grin was wiped off her face only to be momentarily replaced by want. She quickly composed herself, however and put on her best innocent face as she fumbled with the elastic holding her messy bun in place. "I would never presume to hustle you, Jason" she said coyly, as her hair was released from its hold, tumbling past her shoulders and changing into a bright pastel pink. She blew her fringe out of her face with a pained sort of expression while Jason took his penalty shot, smirking at him when their eyes met.

It was his turn and when he got close to her, so close, her lungs had momentarily stopped working, and the only thing she could do was inhale shakily through her open mouth while looking up at him. And then he was gone and s were the darts in her hand and she had to actually give herself a slap on her thigh to remember to breathe. She sat down on the other stool, fidgeting in the seat and crossed and uncrossed her legs for all of five times, while Jason had his turn throwing. Jesus fuck it was getting a whole of desert hot in here.

Her hand opened instinctively and she curled her fingers around the darts, breathing heavily through her nose. "I spend a lot of time in pubs" she answered absently, fumbling with the top button of her shirt with her free hand. "Also I'm Irish and I grew up in Dublin" she said seriously this time, with a grin and a wink because she had basically played since childhood. When her mom went down at the pub, she always ended up shooting darts from the shoulder of her mother's friends.

Taking a steadying breath, Lala went up for her turn more tense and pulled tighter than spring. She took her pose and threw. When the first throw was a measly 11, she grunted something, but that was okay, 'cause she could do this. The next one was a six, and this time she actually exclaimed a loud balls through clenched teeth. But when the last shot hadn't even gotten anywhere near the board, she simply stood there shock all over her face, before she quickly and violently put her score down and took her darts. With an accusing finger and a murderous glare, she walked back to the table.

"This is all your fault" she muttered, dropping into the stool with a pout and her arms crossed. She placed the darts on the table and quickly dealt with her penalty shot. She dared a glance across the table and calmed down instantly. She laughed softly and shook her head, arms coming to sprawl over the table and head quickly following them. She stayed there for a while, cheek to the cold surface of the table, then turned her head and gathered her arms under her chin. "You fuck with my focus, Jason" she said, a little shaky and a little softer, words muffled, and a smile at the corner of her lips. She quirked an eyebrow and lowered her eyelashes a bit, not really knowing what next.

Jason could agree with Layla’s assessment of his playing abilities, at this moment. It didn’t look bright, especially with the scores she kept hitting. He just needed to warm up his arm, obviously, get his fingers back on track. Maybe he was leaning forward too much or putting too much spin on the dart.

“I’m not usually a screamer”

Jason blinked, his eyes widening slightly, as he looked after her. And then he was looking at her back. If he felt a sudden wave of heat over him, it was because the pub had the radiators set too high. Obviously. Still, he supposed she was just responding to him. Not necessarily anything else. Just a natural verbal sparing.

“Funny... your score was saying something different.” Not that Jason minded if she was hustling him. Either way, he planned to have a few drinks. If she won, that would just be one more thing he’d have to do.

He noticed the way her blouse unbuttoned just slightly. Jason was observant in other ways as well, such as how nicely her skirt hugged her hips, or the way the heels accentuated her legs. He was just better at admiring while keeping it all under wraps. Years of marriage and long term relationships had helped sink in the ability to admire but not ogle, lest you want to try and make an irritated female happy again.

It was not easy.

When he came back with the darts, he glanced down after her hand, staring briefly at the button she played with. “Dublin, eh? I grew up in Dundalk.” Dublin was a decent town to go and enjoy a few pints in. It wasn’t terribly far from his parents home, anyway. Especially if one took their wand and apparated. Or a port key. Still, he understood how she could pick up darts from that sort of history. His dad had a dart board in the garage.

Growing up with two brothers meant they had a lot of time to throw darts at the board (and at each other).

Jason didn’t mean to laugh... it just kind of slipped out. And continued, despite her finger and glare. “Obviously.” He watched in amusement as she took her penalty shot, reaching over for the darts. “Your focus, love, wasn’t the problem.” Undoing the flannel, feeling a little warm now, he draped it over the back of his chair.

Standing up and stretching, he beckoned her over, taking her hand and walking them to the oche. Once there, he tucked the darts in his back pocket. “You’re leaning too far forward when you throw.” From his spot behind her, he pulled out a dart and aimed at the board, eyeing it momentarily. “You just have to...” And he let it go, hitting the bullseye. A small fist pump brought it back to behind her.

“Now...” Moving her feet apart with gentle tapping of his toes, Jason finally settled in behind her, handing her a dart. With his hands on her hips, lightly, he smirked and spoke loud enough for her to hear him. “Aim... and throw.” Jason was willing to help keep her from leaning forward too much.

"Can't say I've been, but I passed through on my way to Belfast. Nice town" she replied absentmindedly, rolling that particular bit of information in her mind. Growing up in Ireland, but in an English home, had resulted in sort of a lack of accent, which sometimes made the information that she was actually from the old sod a bit of a shock. But truth be told, even with the fact that she owed her Irishness to her deadbeat absent father, she still considered herself 100% Dubliner.

Being called love had Lala raising her head off the table, so fast she was pretty sure she'd heard a sure crack. And then he was removing his shirt, and Jesus H Christ, Lala really wanted to write poetry about his arms. But she really sucked at poetry... maybe a song? An ode? Anyway.

He stood up, and her eyes followed him, mouth half parted, taking in all his glorious self one bit at a time. And then he was beckoning her over, and she stood there stupid before her brain finally got along with the plan. She felt his hand around hers like it was burning, but a good burning and then it was all gone as he was telling her something about leaning forward too much. She would've liked to say she was paying attention, but at the moment she couldn't focus on too many things at the same time. So instead, she chose to watch how the muscles in his arm rippled under the skin, as he threw the dart. Damn.

Her feet fall apart instantly and—perhaps Lala could take a second to analyze just how had she gotten so, ugh responsive and whether or not she should just stop how high-ing in these situations. But this sure as hell wasn't the time. She leaned back a little to balance herself, feeling the hot press of his chest against her shoulders and bit her lip to keep—remember those noises from before? Yeah... those. His hands came to to settle on her hips and Lala was just done. She was 500% done with everything and she could no longer be held accountable for her actions.

Taking the dart in sort of a daze, she turned her head around to watch him, eyes falling to his mouth, because... well, because.  She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, her eyes flickering all over his face. Unconsciously she tilted her head towards him, slowly, so slowly, breathing heavily. But then she stopped and smirked, turning her head forward again, leaning even further back into him. Gripping the dart gently, she took aim and after a few seconds, let the dart fly towards the board. It wasn't a bull's eye, but it was a bull.

With a little chuckle, she turned her face, back and up to watch him with a quirked eyebrow. "Anything else you can teach me, Jason?" she asked shakily in a low voice, as her eyes got back to mapping the shape of his lips.