Nothing could charm Claire faster than an offer of free donuts.

Granted, the donuts came with the purchase of candy, but the sign hadn't promoted that idea quite as largely and obviously as they had with the free donuts. The problem with wizarding advertisements was that you could really manipulate what drew the eye in, and when you were Claire McByrne, you fell for those tactics rather easily.

She wandered into Alohomocha expectantly, waiting in line patiently for her free donut. When she finally reached the cashier, she proudly told them her order, and he told her the price. "...I thought they were free?" Claire asked, mystified. The man patiently explained the circumstances of the deal, and Claire stared wide-eyed in response. Well, didn't she feel foolish.

"Well... I'll take a tea then..." Claire told him reluctantly. She could make tea at home, so it aggravated her to pay for such a thing, especially when her rent was overdue... but what the hell. "Throw in a biscuit too." This had been a very trying experience, and Claire deserved a reward. She begrudgingly paid for her things.

It was the beginning of the second week at work--and therefore the beginning of forever in Sterileville St. Mungo's--and the end of her shift.  As she considered the menu carefully, Ahmes had begun to regret the choice of venue for meeting up with McByrne.

"I'm just saying," Ahmes said, leaning in and grinning at the barista across the counter--from the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Claire, her afternoon "appointment"--and briefly waved before returning her attention towards negotiations, "that a more...diverse menu'd attract customers." 

"What kind?" The barista was cute--no denying it.  But he had an awful lack of imagination.  The kid was clearly no older than 20, but Ahmes was laying it on thick.  She didn't mind. He didn't seem to, either.

"All kinds," she said with an easy shrug.  "My kind."  She leaned over the counter to look at the various concoctions being frothed about by self-stirring cauldrons and mugs, biting her lip. "These are the only kinds, then?"

"Kinds of... of drinks?" he stammered out.  At her raised eyebrows, he furthered, "Well...yes. But--they come in eight sizes..."   He gestured at the assortment of brewing teapots and cauldrons, and ready-served cups and mugs awaiting their owners.  But no steins.

Reaching down into her bag, she fished out her flask.  Unscrewing the lid with a lazy, cocked brow, she once more leaned over, this time dropping a fair portion into one of the mugs.  "Oops." She gave a lopsided grin. "Tell you what. I'll take that off your hands.  The batch's clearly contaminated. How embarrassing."  She held her hands out, waiting for the barista. 

When he hesitated, cup in hand, she bounced up onto the balls of her toes.  "Unless you want to give a taste first, Barista-Man?"

"Steven."

She gave an amused frown, holding back a chuckle. "...Steven..." she repeated in a cajoling voice.

"Well... I don't know how much to charge... You see--we don't..."

Reaching over quickly, she scooped up the beverage, delivering a brief kiss on the bewildered lad's cheek.  "I'm sure we'll think of something, luv," she said, once more shouldering her bag and hustling over to the table where Clarie sat. 

"And that's how it's done," she dropped her bag heavily upon the floor--hearing the heavy clunk of glass, before settling down onto a stool beside Claire. "Want a taste?" she asked her friend.

Within a couple of moments, a surly looking waitress came by with a piece of parchment--a bill.  With a slight sigh and roll of her eyes, Ahmes stooped down, scrounging in the bag and producing the required bronze coins.

"Soul-sucking badgers," she grumbled before returning her attention to McByrne. 

"So, how's life in the free world? You know, outside of... Sterileville," she said, gesturing vaguely to where St. Mungo's... probably was.

It was hard to miss Ahmes, the tricky cherub who had gotten Claire here, spending all her hard-earned sickles on baked goods. She was not only glittering gold, but making quite a show of getting a drink. She'd gotten a lot more out of the barista than an extra pastry, that was for damn sure.

Claire had never been to Alohamocha, had never even noticed it really, but found their sofas to be rather too cushion-y and their donuts astoundingly costly (i.e., not free). So far, not so good -- luckily the donut had been worth the price of the tea. It was delightfully sugary and jam-filled, just as Claire liked her donuts best.

Finally Ahmes made her way over to where Claire was seated. "I'll take som'a that straight, tanks," Claire said, gesturing with her eyes to Ahmes' bag. She'd seen that flask up there while Ahmes was working her charms with the barista.

An annoyed waitress came by and charged Ahmes for her drink, which made Claire bust out with a huge grin and a snort. "Hah," she commented. When the waitress left, she added, "Don't worry. We'll get 'em later." Whenever Claire felt she or one of her mates had been treated unjustly, she was always prepared for revenge of the most immature kind.

"So, how's life in the free world? You know, outside of.... Sterileville."

"Seriously lacking in free donuts," Claire commented. "Honestly, I feel duped." Claire shrugged. In all seriousness, things weren't great. She was about to get kicked out of her flat, and sales at Zonko's were low now that school wasn't in session. Of course, it was entirely un-Claire-like to mention this to her friend. "Not bad, though. How's Sterileville? Sterile as ever?"

"I'll take som'a that straight, tanks," Claire said, gesturing with her eyes to Ahmes' bag.

Ahmes made a show of rolling her eyes as she handed over the glass flask.  "Fine, then."  In all actuality, Ahmes had no trouble sharing her things.  The trouble usually came (for others), when she applied the same liberality to her things.  As if on cue, Ahmes held her hand out for a bite of donut.

"We had better," she said throatily--lacking the necessary venom to make the threat of retribution at all real.  "They charged me extra for the booze," she grumbled, looking at the handbill.  "For my booze." With a sigh, she stuffed the parchment into her bag, then held her hand out for the flask.  She supposed if they had even thought about it, Ahmes could have actually paid for her drink, received the free donut, given it to Clarie, and the two could have split the cost.

...Then added the liquor.

Ahmes smiled, pleased at herself with that thought-process.  That was almost...strategic!  "Next time we'll put our heads together and work the system," she concluded.  "They can't get us down."

She gave her friend a more piercing glance at her two-word response.  Not bad... well, she'd get to that eventually.


"Mungo's isn't all-bad, either," she said with a shrug.  "I mean--sterile as it has been the last week... I'm still learning the ropes of the place.  Walked in on a mediwitch changing an elderly wizard... you can't unseen those things."  She shook her head. "I haven't set fire to anything yet, and no one's set fire to me, so it's decent..."

She looked back at Claire.  The (unspoken) purpose of this meeting had been to get a better read of her friend.  Ahmes had been so busy with the switch in jobs, then her nosy parents, and a boy or two, that she'd quickly lost track of Claire for the past eight or so months.

"You know two words isn't enough.  Dish. What's your newest project, and how are you planning on bewitching those sickles and nuts out of young schoolchildren's pockets?"

Eyes lighting up, Claire immediately took the flask from her friend and chugged an impressive portion, handing Ahmes one of her pastries as she did so. The fuzzy, warm feeling of liquor washed over her as she passed the flask back. "Tanks, mate," she said with a tip of her imaginary hat.

Ahmes shared her observation about the liquor fee and Claire gasped dramatically. "That cant be legal," Claire demanded. Injustices like these tended to make her want to get loud revenge. You couldn't charge a gal for her own booze! That was just downright fascist. Vengeful ideas began to brew in Claire's head.

Claire cringed when Ahmes explained about the old man, but gave a thumbs up when Ahmes revealed that she hadn't yet set fire to anything. "Well done, Ahmes. No arson yet. Save it for a day when you see two nekkid geriatrics." Claire sipped on her tea.

"You know two words isn't enough. Dish. What's your newest project, and how are you planning on bewitching those sickles and nuts out of young schoolchildren's pockets?"

Stuffing some pastry into her mouth so she could stall on answering, she cursed Ahmes' gift for friendship. She really knew when something was wrong, which was an issue when you preferred to repress all of your worries and feelings. Finally, she swallowed. "No schoolchildren to dupe a' the mo," Claire shrugged. "I've been feelin' kinda brain-farty too." This was something she hadn't wanted to admit out loud -- but telling it to Ahmes made it real. She hadn't come up with a new invention in weeks. Or rather, no new successful inventions. "I thought I might do somethin' with garden gnomes, but..." Claire shuddered. "No."

At the mention of garden gnomes, she narrowed her eyes and leaned in, knowingly.  "They turned evil when you fiddled with them, didn't they? I never trusted them. Those glassy eyes. Looking into me, like they know something." 

A halt to creative genius was always a looming fear.  "Writers block" to the writers, it could just mean unemployment to the inventors.  "Hm. Sounds like we need to work on the product development side of things."  Because that was the code word for something fun.  And--at the moment--Ahmes wasn't envisioning getting high and concocting implausible blueprints.  That could come into play if Plan A didn't come to fruition.

"Have you gone shopping recently?" Ahmes did. For hours and hours sometimes.  Just to see the displays, the things that people were apparently into.  It was a sort of... market research, right? It was just the responsible thing to do.

And if you managed to buy every gadget in the place, well... that was just more intensive research.  Thus explained her collection of cauldrons, scopes, and mirrors of various reflective qualities.

This shopping habit might also have been one of the primary motivations, for, well, a soul-sucking job.  At least it paid well.  Nearly twice her last two-bit job.

"Or, I mean, we could alway hang out in Diagon and start talking to the schoolchildren.  Because that's not creepy, and not likely to get us any negative attention at all."

It was like Ahmes had read her mind about the gnomes. Claire nodded solemnly, momentarily flashing back to the sinister look in the gnomes' eyes -- it was a look she would not soon forget. Apparently their vile nature was a well-known fact -- yet another piece of vital information that Claire had missed out on. She always thought they were cute and funny. Useful knowledge seemed to drop out of her head like apples from trees. She was left behind with the sour apples, the runt apples, the leaves and branches -- all with such potential.

"Have you gone shopping recently?"

Claire wasn't like other girls, the ones who enjoyed spending hours pampering and preening themselves. It was difficult to tell if Ahmes was one of those girls, but she was awfully sparkly and clean. Claire made a face, revealing that the concept of shopping was a rotten one. "Just food and booze," Claire told her. "The necessities." When she could only afford one or the other, she stuck to booze.

"Or, I mean, we could always hang out in Diagon and start talking to the schoolchildren. Because that's not creepy, and not likely to get us any negative attention at all."

Ahmes' idea wasn't necessarily terrible, but it certainly wasn't the recipe for a Felix Felicis potion. "Erm, Ahmes, I think that may be a misdemeanor. If yer lookin' for a date, look no further," Claire struck a pose. She was joking, mostly -- Claire was a terrible flirt, and besides that she was fairly certain that Ahmes didn't play for the same team.

"I just need to find an adult who appreciates a good stink bomb," Claire sighed. "They're the ones with the galleons." It didn't occur to her that such an adult might not exist -- that perhaps it was best if her invention plans moved past childish gags and pranks. That perhaps she was a grown up.

Ahmes raised one brow slowly, and, well, archly.

"I [/i]know[/i] y'dinna just go self-righteous on me right then," she said as Claire pulled a face.  It was a baffling phenomenon, among her friends.  It was sometimes the freer-spirited ideologues that seemed to more aggressively demand things: an open mind, unshackled from a slavish expectations of capitalistic normative behavior.

Or something.

Claire--she'd been free from those sort of rants before, but she hoped it wasn't coming on. Likely not, from the flirtatious pose, which softened Ahmes' expression and brought a cheeky grin. 

"I thought this was a date," she countered, making a show of a quiet sort of disappointment.  "Aw...kward," she said as she began to, teasingly, gather her things.

"But I mean, really.  Come shopping with me.  I'm meaning [/i]any[/i] shopping," she said, taking another sip.  "What ye're asking of folks when y'invent is to part with their sweet, sweet sickles because what ye're offering them canna be done without... And ye've got t'know what people are unwilling to do without. What they'd give anything for."

She raised her eyebrows.  Ahmes didn't have a particular product in mind, so she let the unspoken question hang in the air.  "I mean, it's yer job, as an innovator to improve on the things people already love.  Now, I dun think that ye're on a bad path with the pranks and hijinxes, but y'really otta look into the competition at Weasley's from time ta time, then--or figure out what the kids are into..."

Damn. She was sermonizing.

"Anyhow." She shook her head.  Ahmes had never thought of herself really as a business woman, but she could already produce several nuggets of advice for her young friend.  Like bothering to develop the sort of things that the adults with money would purchase for their biggest money-drains: their children.  Even with the booze--Claire's weakness, and well, every other adult's weakness...

Well, she'd venture to opine on that.  "With the booze--I always thought it'd be champion t'develop a line of additives.  Not the sort of mixology things, though.  But... I mean, sort of embellishments that adults'd like."  She paused. "I'm not talking anything date rape-y.  Cuz that is a misdemeanor." 

As her good friend Ahmes started bring up way too many valid points in regards to business, Claire found herself tuning out and thinking about why she had never eaten a donut a la mode. Forcing her way into blissful ignorance was Claire's go-to strategy for facing responsibility. So far it had done her well-- it had been years since she'd actively listened to anything unsavory. When it came to things she wasn't interested in or didn't want to talk about, Claire was selectively deaf.

The only phrase she'd really heard out of anything Ahmes said was 'bad path.' It was a term Claire had thought her sister Nora had coined, at least when talking about Claire's lifestyle. She munched on her pastry and thought about reaching for the flask again.

It was time to tune back into Ahmes-radio, though, it seemed: she was talking about booze and had a rather killer idea. "Hm, yeh, maybe a gillyweed cocktail," Claire commented with a wink. "Not a bad thought though, Ahmey. I like the way you think." It had been a long time since Claire had come up with an idea she felt confident about, and here Ahmes had done it in a few minutes. Just spitballing.  Claire found herself feeling a pang of jealousy.  She gestured to the cash register. "Ye think I'd be able to get them to charge double for it, just so I can sell it cheap?" It was a business tactic only Claire McByrne could come up with.

"Them?" Ahmes repeated incredulously. "God no.  These people wouldn't know a good drink if it was right under their noses."  And it was, she decided appreciatively, as she sipped from her own drink.  "Not a bad idea, though.  Maybe try it with Weasley's with some other products?"  Except that if they got wind of it, the prank war that followed would be epic. Ahmes suspected Claire wasn't afraid to fight dirty, and George Weasley of course would be willing to risk anything.  "Definitely Weasley's," she goaded unnecessarily.  Claire did not cave to peer pressure, and even if she did, it was most certainly because it was something she already wanted to do.

"Gillyweed... I like it," she hummed approvingly.  "Mandrake?" she asked, arching a brow. "They're said to be aphrodisiac..." 

"Mandrakes- they're said to be an aphrodisiac..."

Claire shuddered at the idea of this. Like the gnomes, Claire had one idea about how things should go and the product had quite another. "Last time I tried sommat with the sexy, damn ear every peepin' tom in town came to Zonko's," Claire frowned. They were on the right track, though, and that was something. It all seemed like a lot of work, but it had been quite some time since she last invented something.

She used to really have a passion for it, but things weren't going as well as they used to so she was rapidly losing interest. It was more than a little boring, laying around the shop with nothing to do and no people to talk to (or even buy things). Sighing, Claire munched on her donut. "What else've you got in that bag? Whensa last time you got arseholed in the middle of the day?"

Ahmes began to cackle at her friend's response.  "Yeh... I'm not so sure how I am with the sexy, either." She paused before confiding, in a slightly lower tone, "I was weth  a coupla friends--Margo Amherst and Charlotte St. James?" she input quickly, just in case there was a name recognition.  So Claire would know the sort she was talking about.  The elegant, fierce, pureblood sort.  "They got me to thinking about setting up me own... well, it'd be a shop for..." she stalled, not knowing how this would go over.  Separate from the ambiance of a dark club with thrumming music, it seemed ridiculous, somehow... "romance.  Not sexy, per se... but I'm not sure people'd trust me to actually come to me for that."

"I may not have much to lose. I mean... there are worse problems than a peeping tom problem..." She smirked.  "I mean, if the toms are worth looking at..." But Claire had her eyes on a different objective.

"What else've you got in that bag? Whensa last time you got arseholed in the middle of the day?"

Ahmes' eyes lit up gleefully before, slowly, her smile ebbed.  "... I mean, it hasn't been too long since I have--but since I started m'job..." She sighed and slumped.  "Dammit."  In defeat, she held the flask back out to her friend.  "I shouldn't have any more," she said in defeat. "Hate being respectable," she muttered darkly. 

She began to dig through her purse, though, unearthing several things of interest: a chocolate frog, two mints, a quill nib, one of her rings--she'd been looking for that--and her lip balm.  Absently beginning to dab at her lips, she added, "but, I mean, I think the secret comes in enhancing the drink.  I think if y'came up with drink additives--people could make their own designer drinks themselves..."

She frowned.  "I think the real issue comes in the fact that kids just... dinnae have a great deal of money t'spend... Maybe branching out to another demographic? Or... crossover?  Teens are goina be interested in deff'rent things...Maybe get 'em hooked younger to yer line, then transition to th'next age?"

Maybe she was being too businessy.  They'd come to get treats and drinks, right?  Ahmes sighed.  What if, somehow, she'd become a boring adult when she wasn't looking?

[ATTN plot point *ninja slinks away*]

"Ye were w' Margs?!" Claire cheered. She was happy to hear it when friends knew friends. It represented good judgment, or at least an ability to socialize well with similar people. She was glad that in adulthood there was no separation of Houses, nor any other type of distinction between people. Margo was an old pal of hers, one of her favorite drinking buddies. They were always sure to get smashed when they drank together.

As Claire was pondering the interconnectedness of different relationships, Ahmes started going on about a business idea she was having. Claire's ears perked up when she heard the word 'sexy.' "Ye openin' a brothel?? Madam Ahmes 'as a nice sound to it." Claire reached for the flask. She didn't have anything better to do, anyway.

"Respectable" Claire said with overdramatic disgust. "Yer not respectin' me very well if ye watch me drink alone, now." Respect never mattered to Claire much anyway so she mooched some more alcohol. Since she found out about her - erm - housing situation (she couldn't face the actual word yet! the wound was too fresh!) -- drinking had been her favorite coping mechanism.

"Ugh, feck the kids!" Claire groaned. Making all these inventions for snot-nosed kids who tried to steal them anyway was getting a bit old. They weren't even clever about it. And even the ones who paid for the stuff -- half the time they used it completely wrong, then complained when it broke. What was even the point with these children?! Their puny brains couldn't handle the Byrnes. Claire guzzled a bit more liquor, then looked at the flask. "Wha's in 'ere?"

"Course I was with Margs," she made her best Claire impression, smiling goofily.  "I was at a pub." The two things went hand-in-hand.  Even if she hadn't gone drinking with Margo, the wizarding drinking establishments were so poorly varied, that she usually ended up drinking with her by the end of the night anyhow.  They always seemed to find each other. 

"You're not drinking alone. I'm drinking this.  Caffeine and the alcohol'll cancel each other out, right? Keeping it neutral," she rationalized, giving Claire a wink before her friend paused.  Ahmes didn't know if the elaboration was a request for a recipe or a comment on her mixing skills.  "Er...Pretty much everything I had, mixed together..."  She shrugged, trying to remember. "It's summer, so--" Ahmes liked her flavors. "...Prolly tequila... coconut rum... I think there might be some gin? ?"  Did it matter?

Well, she did just propose the idea of creating drink mixes as a money-making scheme...

Maybe she wasn't the best candidate for that. Or, come to think of it, for 'sexy.'

"Aye, Claire.  I [i[]am[/i] opening up a brothel--on a budget, mind. So it will really be a mattress in the small storage cupboard featuring various hot friends of mine.  Like a 7-minutes in heaven scenario.  With a fee." She paused. "I should start pimping out my friends, now, in fact." She gave a vicious smirk leaning in.  "Easy money, Claire..Eeeeeeasy money.."[1]

1.	A plot! Yay. Indirectly took the bait.

As Ahmes began to explain what was in the flask, the taste began to make more sense. Claire had detected the powerful bite of gin, but now also sensed the subtle taste of flavored vodka. Nodding approvingly, Claire downed some more as Ahmes rambled on about her potential brothel. Claire had been joking -- but Ahmes took the bait. If only Claire was so enterprising. Perhaps then a few of her sarcastic suggestions could've earned her a sickle or two. Pimping entrepreneur Ahmes made an offer to Claire, who guffawed loudly. This would have been her response whether Ahmes was serious or not.

"Could definitely use the money -- maybe ye need t' find me customers a blindfold first, though," Claire responded with a smirk. She was getting a buzz on now, which was probably what made her add, "I'm not sure how well I could please yer male clientele, but I could work me magic on the ladies." Claire wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Maybe blindfold 'em and tell 'em me name's Carl, though." For someone who made so many crude jokes, Claire was surprisingly inexperienced sexually. Sexually, romantically, intimately -- Claire was too immature to settle down and work on a 'real' relationship. For now she was satisfied with random hook-ups, even if they were few and far between. Hey, if Ahmes' business model worked in Claire's favor, she could be getting paid for it.