8:00 PM

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Today had been a stressful day at work—he’d nearly gotten gored by a confused Romanian Longhorn, the most recent victim of the dragon epidemic.  He had escaped with a few scrapes, but no burns. The ill dragons were unable to produce flame.  There were some specialists that were currently working on medicines, but none had yielded any results so far. He had tried every treatment he could think of, but the dragons were just becoming sicker.

The ill dragons were severely impacting the potions market—you couldn’t harvest contaminated blood, horns, or scales from them. It was a safety hazard, and those ingredients were unstable and volatile.

So here he was, spending yet another one of his nights at the Leaky Caulderon. Alcohol may not have been a great healer, but it was damn good at numbing. It helped him relax, even if the relaxation was only temporary.  Next to him, sat one of his favorite coworkers (though he’d vehemently deny that he picked favorites), Margo Amherst.

“We had a few close calls today.” Al murmured, swishing around the scotch in his glass.

There was no denying it: tenacity had eventually paid off and Margo was allowed to do minor field work, mostly with the wee dragons or eggs, but it was exponentially better than being stuck in a cubicle for five days a week.  From sunlight exposure and exercise she was just as ruddy looking as she had been almost two years ago and feeling quite healthy. 

It was actually sort of a strange contrast to what she was doing.  While she had once entertained dreams of writing a text on the feeding habits of dragons, she supposed she could get used to early development.  Healthy versus sick eggs looked so different, and responded so differently.  Margo had learned quite a bit about it overseeing the nurseries and the young dragons were touch and go most of the time. 

Feeding them was a handheld task, which was sort of cool, outside of the fact that it came from an epidemic that was spreading like wildfire with no foreseeable end – or solution.  At least they weren’t breathing fire, part of the reason she was allowed to go, she guessed, since who needed an even more crispy Amherst hanging about in the office, right? 

Whatever the case, the day had been long and the scratches on her arms and hands were small in comparison to the satisfaction the beer in front of her was going to give her.  She just went back to her flat, changed out of her field wear (there were some things even Margo held sacred) and swaggered into the bar where she had met Alphonse Zephyr, an odd friend and companion considering his connections and her… generally felt status as a leper of all things societal. 

“Cheers to that,” Margo grinned and clinked her glass against his swirling one while managing not to spill anything.  “Bloody depressing though,” she pointed out before taking a long sip – long enough to give her a frothy mustache. 

“Cheers.” He finished up his drink and set it on the counter. The bartender didn’t even need to ask before generously refilling the glass. ”Depressing, yes. But that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” Alphonse smiled bitterly, “I don’t know what we’re going to be doing next.” He had tomorrow scheduled off of work… But he highly doubted that day off would happen. Not with the way things were at the moment. They needed as many hands as possible to help deal with this issue.

So it was likely that he would go into work tomorrow, nursing a mild hangover while trying to detain ill dragons and separate them from the healthy ones.

“You’ve got a mustache. It’s a good look for you, consider keeping it.” Al teased, though his tone was even and serious. He was fond of Margo, and was thankful that she was able to be in the field again. He had gotten in trouble with Balfour for dragging her along on a mission, but she had handled herself well so far-- and it was more than obvious to him that she was ready to work on something other than paperwork.

“Funny,” Margo smirked, “I thought I was just here to look good.”  She shrugged, obviously playing and quickly unzipped the leather jacket, shucking it off her shoulders hastily and draping it over the seat.  “I guess depression works too though,” she added with an overly ambitious wink – comically over exaggerated.  She probably looked like a complete nut.

Oh well, that was nothing new, especially when Al pointed out that she had a mustache decorating her upper lip.  She used her tongue to ingloriously lick around her upper lip, collecting foam as she went and sighed.  “It’s all the Spanish blood,” Margo grinned, “makes me a perfect canvas for unnecessary body hair.”  Rolling her eyes, it was a potential TMI moment – but Margo didn’t care. 

“The scratch suits you, by the way,” she added, since they were complimenting one another’s appearance now, and she saw the faint line of red down his forearm, which Margo always found oddly cool.  Her body was covered in so many scars – from the unintentional wound to the very intentional tattoo that she could appreciate a good marking or two.  “Very rugged,” she teased and leaned toward him, bumping shoulders to signify the edge of a joke.  “Fix the roll on your sleeves and you won’t have to leave alone, Al.” 

She could’ve wiped her mustache off with a napkin. But no. She had to continue on and be ridiculous. Alphonse shook his head—that was the only proper response he could really give her to that.

Al looked down at his scrape and immediately unrolled his sleeves, pulling them down to  his wrists and buttoning the cusps. He preferred to look neat, clean, and put together—even if he was drinking at a bar. “I would rather not look rugged.” He replied, “It’s sloppy.” Even when he was working with dragons, he tried to keep his handler’s gear immaculate. Still, his body was covered in all sorts of scars. It was part of the job—if you didn’t get hurt, Alphonse figured you were inexperienced or too timid to be working with dragons.

“I don’t mind leaving alone anyway.” He gave her a stern look, “And don’t you dare try playing wingman for me.”

“Spoiled sport!” Margo announced, frowning at the fact he was covering up his arms.  That was so not cool.  She’d meant it as a compliment – something for him to relish in!  But now he was being a big baby and covering up.  She rolled her eyes, making sure to be entirely too visible about the whole thing.  “You clearly haven’t seen rugged done right,” she added, biting her lip in thought.

Rugged worked best for her.  A little bit of facial hair, just slightly unkempt hair, plus the ‘I don’t give a shite’ attitude about fashion and whatnot… maybe it was a little sloppy, But, it was good.  She didn’t like guys who cared too much, though she supposed that’s what got her in awkward places in the first place.  Thank you, life. 

Other than that though,  she was sure he was being ridiculous.  Anyone who worked with dragons had to be hot blooded, and that could only mean a couple of things.  “C’mon, Zephyr!” she nudged him with her elbow before she took a long sip, “You know I’m an amazing wing woman, I have a list of references if you need them.  You won’t leave tonight without the prettiest woman… or women here,” she winked with a laugh. 

“Don’tcha trust me?” 

“I prefer clean and put together to ‘rugged’.” Alphonse replied swiftly. “There’s no such thing as rugged done right. It’s messy.” So whatifthat offended Margo. She could handle it. He cleared his throat, “It’s chaotic. I don’t like that.” Of course, he meant outside of work. He loved dragons—and working with them was chaotic and messy. But at least he knew what to expect from them. Dragons were forward when they wanted to burn you. Humans? Not so much.

“A list of references? Really?” He laughed, “I trust you with dragons, I trust you in the field. I do not trust you when it comes to matters of romance.”  He paused, wondering if he should apologize.

Naaaah. It could be fun to see her blow up on him-- if she took offense.

“You clearly haven’t spent enough time around me,” Margo grinned and tossed her hair over her shoulder.  She liked to think that she had a certain level of… style about her.  Even if it wasn’t exactly a style anyone else was rocking, she loved her leather and the way she put herself together.  It put off exactly the image she wanted: total badass who couldn’t give a shite about who you were or what you thought, unless it was something good about her.  Haters could see their way to the door. 

She didn’t really think Alphonse was being a hater though; he was just sort of a dweeb when he wasn’t in the field.   She told him as much when she grinned, “You’re just a nerd, you don’t get it.  I won’t hold it against you,” and took a sip of her drink and winked as she swallowed. 

He was relentless though, and that meant Margo was going to be the same way.  She never shirked from a challenge and if someone was going to question her authority, well, maybe fashion and romance were the places to do it, but Margo wouldn’t readily admit it!  She had some pride after all. 

Besides, he had missed the real point of what she was saying:  “I don’t recall ever saying it was romance that I excelled at,” she grinned deviously. 

It seemed, that Margo didn’t take offense. Alphonse wasn’t sure if that was a relief or a disappointment.  He brought  his glass to his lips and emptied it, before setting it down. The bartender didn’t notice this time, so Al waved him over and soon there was another drink in front of him.

“You really think I haven’t been around you enough?” Al laughed—and even his laugh was polite and composed. “We work together. We drink together. We end up waking up in my home, on the floor, in hula skirts.” His face flushed slightly. That hadn’t been a proud moment in his life. “Please, tell me more about how I don’t spend enough time around you.” He probably spent too much time around her!

“I’ll happily be a nerd. You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He grinned.  Though,  he supposed many people preferred something in between rugged and composed when looking for a partner. Honestly, Alphonse wasn’t interested in finding someone to share his life with, not yet. But he’ll play her little game. “Fine. Work your  magic.”

“To Hula skirts,” she cheers’d again with an impish grin.  That had been one hell of a night – not that she remembered much of it.  Waking up on his floor had been interesting though, at least no handcuffs that time, and she wasn’t missing any articles of clothng from that venture… more than she could say for going out with Balfour. 

Margo raised her glass to her lips, waiting for the most carefully timed retort of her life.  She casually sipped until she saw Alphonse bringing the glass to his face and really hoped that her timing would be just what it needed:  “Well, you haven’t seen my tits yet…” she commented in a dead pan sort of way, hoping for a reaction. 

But the golden words were said and now Margo knew she had to pull through:  she couldn’t let a brother in arms go home empty handed.  She hadn’t really felt much for the whole game in a while, so helping him was just about as exciting as her life was going to get for a while.  “Excellent,” she put her glass down and rubbed her hands together. 

“My eyes are open and alert,” she smirked, “D’you have a type?” she asked, eying him curiously.  That information would definitely help. 

“To hula skirts.” He murmured half-heartedly, wondering what mistakes he made in life that led to him toasting to his own humiliation. He raised his glass to his lips when—

“Well, you haven’t seen my tits yet…”

Al didn’t choke, he didn’t snort, nor did he spill his drink all over his front. No. “I didn’t realize that getting to know you required seeing your tits.” He replied steadily, “Well. You learn something new every day.” It would take more than a crass phrase to get a rise out of him. Al was a man with an even temper, and the composure he worked towards was easy to maintain, and difficult to shatter.

“But—do I have a type? Clean. Preferably not a bigot.” He shrugged, “Passionate about equal rights for beings.” Alphonse was not a fan of the  wand ban, or any restriction of rights or of knowledge for vampires, werewolves, goblins, or other 'non-human beings' as the ministry put it. His opinion on these matters was far from a secret, and he sent frequent 'letters to the editor' and opinion pieces for the Daily Prophet.

Ah! It didn’t work.  That was completely anticlimactic.  She at least expected a tiny bit of sputtering or something.  He was so uptight she could have at least guessed at some beer dribble down the front of his shirt.  But, she had no such luck with that one.  She almost frowned, but then something equally as brilliant struck her and she smiled.  “I mean, as far as I’m concerned that’s one of the perks.” 

Obviously true, and suitably as ridiculous as anything else she could possibly say in response.  Since she was all about the shock factor it was just about the best thing she could put forward. 

The conversation was more interesting now anyway (as amazing as her tits were, his likelihood of getting near them was slim to nil, so it didn’t afford much in the way of future talking points).  His type though, clean and not a bigot?  Well, that should have made things fairly easy – then he had to go and add the third bit.  Sighing, Margo shook her head.  She didn't want to get into it: she didn't really know how she felt on the issue and she'd been around some people who had very strong opinions on the issue that she couldn't reasonably weigh in without a heavy bias and more information.  It was a joy afforded by working with dragons: the issues surrounding them seemed so much less... debatable. 

“You really intend on getting to know her that well to care?” she frowned, took another sip of her beer.  “You’re just trying to make this hard,” she added, looking around the bar with a discerning eye.  At least the the clean part wouldn’t be too hard.  “You don’t have anything more concrete?” she asked, seeing a variety of women around, “You know, skinny, thick, dark hair, light hair?  Or are you just in it for the personality?” she elbowed him in the ribs with a smirk.  What a nerd. 

All he could do was shake his head and smile. To be honest, that was Alphonse’s response to most of the ridiculous things that Margo said for shock factor. But then there were moments where she genuinely caught him off guard—and those were aggravating. Sure, they were funny later, but in the moment it usually wasn’t so funny. Unless he was drunk. Very, very drunk. As in, waking up the next day wearing a totally different outfit drunk.

“Well, personality’s important!” Al playfully elbowed Margo back. “Fine. I’ll play your game.” He paused to think—Alphonse really couldn’t think of a constant in all the people he had dated in the past.

“I like…People who look sure of themselves. Confidence.” Was that really a physical trait, though? “I like my men and women tall, but I won’t say no to someone short.” Alphonse cleared his throat. This was much harder than he anticipated.

"If they can cook, that's a bonus. Think about it. Cinnamon rolls every day.... That's the life."

“It’s important, if you want to keep ‘em around,” Margo shrugged.  She was just happy that Alphonse was going to attempt to play along.  She was sure she wouldn’t get anything out of him that was going to shock her, it’d probably take a tattoo and bondage fetish from the guy to make her turn her head and be surprised.  Though, that’d be interesting.  It was usually the quiet ones that you had to worry about. 

 Apparently not so much in this case though.  But, she could have some fun with it.  “Confidence?  Tall?” she lifted her beer to cheers him, “If you’re in love with me, Alphonse, you might as well just tell me now.  I wouldn’t want to go on breaking your heart,” she laughed and took a sip of her beer, refocusing herself on the other people in the bar. 

If he was in love with her (she doubted it of course), he was going to be out of luck anyway.  “Oh! Ruined it, can’t cook,” she laughed – so true.  There was no cooking in her apartment, unless her parents or siblings sent the elves over and decided she needed to eat.  His point though, that was legitimate. 

Pursing her lips, she looked around the bar, scanning over the people present in their immediate vicinity first.  There was a ginger witch with an upturned nose sipping on a glass all too nicely.  She was boring.  Margo moved on to the blonde witch who was a little further away, but she was leaning her elbows on the bar, which seemed like something a confident witch would do.  She also didn’t appear to have a wizard near her, so that was a good sign.  “What about her?” Margo tried to discreetly point (emphasis on tried) and also inclined her chin in the woman’s direction. 

Al groaned, “No. Of course I’m not in love with you!” He gave her a stern look, “You’re too unstable. I like stable. I like predictable.” Besides, she couldn’t cook! The only thing he could predict when it came to Margo, was that she was going to do something reckless and unpredictable. Now, Al wasn’t going to try to change that about Margo—he appreciated that aspect about her. But when it came to a partner, even if it was a one night stand— stability was important.

He glanced over at the woman Margo pointed out. She did seem confident, but…

‘She’s too made up.” Alphonse declared. “Not confident enough in her own skin.” Now, that was just a matter of personal opinion, even if it wasn’t necessarily true. To  be honest, he was probably just looking for any reason to say no.