((A time in Sissel's pre-Hogwarts career with the Time Travel Investigation and Regulation Bureau, hot off the heals of a series of crazy missions))

Perhaps there was something to be said for why, in this particular drinking establishment, there wasn't the crowd you got in the Leaky Cauldron who would know any better. It was fringe, off the beaten path, the kind of joint that collected an odd variety of characters, from those that wanted to brood over malts in the dark, to those that...

"And then?! *KABOOM*" slurred Sissel, having tipped off the end of tipsy, slapping the fellow sitting next to him on the back so hard that he spit out the contents of his last sip. "They all go pop, like someone set off fireworks in the street, and all that's left is the snowfall of underwear tatters that remained from the laundry."

After the spray had vacated his mouth, the other guy pushed Sissel away, teetering to his feet but still capable of movements in an upright fashion. "Critics, critics," Sissel mused, finding another seat at a different table and collapsing into the new seating.

There he was, giggling like an idiot boy engaged in passing humorous notes with his schoolmates, at that tender age when anything inappropriate was comedy gold. "Say stranger," Sissel said across the table, "you seem awfully familiar..."

Silas may have been the only person in the bar who wasn't drinking. At least, he wasn't drinking as much. He'd gotten dragged along for after-work drinks by the guys who ran the soundboard and promptly abandoned in favor of the never-ending pursuit for pretty women. Given that Silas was (one), not interested in women and (two), barely two months into his new position as WWXZ's primary announcer, he was content to nurse a single beer and peruse his notes for tomorrow's show.

That is, until a disheveled and very drunk stranger dropped into the chair across from him and giggled like a schoolkid who'd just found dad's dirty magazines.

"Say stranger, you seem awfully familiar..."

"Do I now?" Silas smiled amicably and gave the fellow a once-over. He seemed considerably older, like around Feli's age, which ruled out schoolmates. His hair, while pretty and artfully messed, did not ring any bells in the realm of ex-boyfriends or one-night stands. And he didn't think they'd had an interview before, but then again... "Been in the news lately? Might've met in the press corps."

"News, news? Nope, not my business to make the news." This was followed by a chorus of more chuckles, Sissel regarding the contents of his mug.

In mock serious Sissel propped his head up for a piercing scan of the occupant across the table. There was something so familiar but the age was off. Though the perception of age meant little to Sissel in his inebriated state.

"You don't happen to like cats, do you?"

"I do, actually." Silas chuckled. Honestly, he'd never heard of a single witch or wizard who didn't at least appreciate the usefulness of cats, even if they didn't enjoy their company. There was a reason that dogs had never caught on as familiars, and wasn't just their fleas carried Purple Pox.

Still, most wizards would never know the sort of cat he hung out with. Felinus moved out of their previously-shared apartment a month ago, and already Silas found himself missing his cousin's unprompted transformations into the King of the Jungle.

"House cats are nice enough, but give me my druthers and I'll take something bigger anyday." He sipped a bit of foam from his own mug and collected his notes, setting them aside so they wouldn't be ruined if anything happened. "You still don't ring a bell, I'm afraid. What exactly is your business, if it's not to make news?"

"Druthers," Sissel repeated with nary a clue as to the importance of the word. "Fudder-druthers and sons, incorporated."

Tipsiness always went with spiciness in Sissel's non-humble opinion. With a shortage of wings, however, he resorted to reaching into his pocket for a bottle of hot sauce. A few generous drips were placed into the remains of his drink.

More giggles were brought on by the question. "If it's not to make news. It's the secret kind of business, obviously."