This was a very exciting moment in Claire McByrne's life.

She was actively disregarding the fact that she was kicked out of her apartment since she hadn't paid rent in six months. Nor was she thinking about how Zonko's was having the worst business month Claire had ever experienced in all of her years working at the shop. She wasn't thinking about how little her family would be able to help her, even if she asked them to. It would be nice if they could help her pack up her stuff, because that sort of thing was the worst. But she wasn't thinking about that, either.

No, she was thinking about the couple of galleons she'd found between her mattress and the box spring. For once, Claire decided to put the effort in to make her bed properly. She'd given up when she attempted to put on the blasted fitted sheet that went on the mattress. No matter which way she finagled the bloody thing, it didn't work and one corner always went popping off. In her frustration, Claire had magically flung her mattress across the room. It resulted in a loud crash, but also in the discovery of a handful of galleons she'd apparently been hiding from herself.

Before her landlord could have a chance to investigate what the noise was all about (and in turn ask her for the way past-due rent), Claire escaped to Knockturn Alley for a couple drinks. She'd been avoiding her local scene of Hogsmeade, fearing that she'd have an unfortunate run-in with her proprietor. Perhaps these galleons could be better spent on the cost of her flat, but that was much too responsible for Claire. She'd been kicked out anyway, only allowed in to move her stuff to..... somewhere.

She headed into the Demon's Head, a place she'd never been and one that she assumed she'd stick right out in. Claire, in her fuzzy weird purse and brightly colored clothes that may or may not have been meant for children, did not exactly represent the stereotypical Knockturn crowd.

"Whiskey on the rocks, mate, and some peanuts if you've got 'em," Claire requested of the bartender. Claire wasn't exactly the biggest fan of peanuts, but normally they were free, and so they would suffice. Besides, if she filled up on an actual meal, the whiskey would not be nearly as potent.

There was a young witch sitting beside her all of a sudden. Andromeda didn't look herself tonight, she had decided to change her appearance using a metamorph abilities. Her hair was blonde, and she had decided to dress for her surroundings with a suit jacket and nice shoes. Because she was an auror she would be recognised by some people in The Demon's Head. But they did a good drink and sometimes she heard things here. There was a 30% chance she would see someone she wanted to arrest. Even if she was not working her mind never stopped.

She heard the girl order peanuts with her whiskey. Andromeda avoided peanuts. Never knew what rat had pissed on them.
"Here, have these too." Andromeda placed a dish of them towards Claire. She did not want them for reasons mentioned before. She reached into her jacket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. She slotted one into her mouth and lit it with her wand. She saw Claire look at her and offered her one begrudgingly.

It was hard not to notice Claire McByrne, whose style was as colorful as her inventions. Gwen was a slip of a witch, whisking through the hoards without touching so much as a bunched shirt sleeve. The crowd’s conversations rose up like smoke, made the air a humming shield. Pubs could be the best place to conduct interviews, if the timing was right and the seating prime. People felt at ease, secure. A drink helped. It was catching that balance that was the trick. But that professional sensitivity was hardly the reason Gwendolyn Irving found herself here so often.

It was simple, off the clock pleasure. The barkeep was good and the company wasn’t bad.

Hazel eyes darted after a proffered bowl, like an animal tracing its target. They doubled back to the other witch. Gwendolyn sized her up. From the back, she was unfamiliar, and so the Irving witch chose the seat on Claire’s other side, hunching a bit, turned a fraction toward Claire and threw her a nod of greeting. A small upturn of lips accompanied. “Thanks for the Graffstic suggestion, they were perfect,” she said quietly, before turning her gaze on the bartender and requesting her usual.

There were few places Gwen couldn’t find a way to squeeze into on her own, but sometimes it wasn’t worth the risk. And in a recent case, Claire’s invention had been the perfect solution for observing around tight corners and around piles of rubbish in a no man’s land of alleys.

Finally, her eyes roamed further down the bar, and from this angle, the woman’s face was familiar. Gwendolyn knew most of the aurors by appearance, if not name, because she inevitably landed in their office a few times a year, at least— turning in a suspect who committed a major crime, or requesting (and sometimes being denied) information on a lead or old case. It was a gamble, whether one on the force might be a friend or roadblock to Gwen’s own investigations, and they were forever trying to find the right compromise. Gwen had plenty of clients who did not trust law enforcement. For reasons that were plenty, she kept her distance where she could, but kept her eyes open. Buttering up to all of them would be playing an entire hand too soon.

“Nice dinner,” she added, looking back to Claire with an amused breath through her nose. Her drink was placed before her, and fingers curled gently around it, unhurried as hazel eyes continued their assessment of the night. When they returned to Claire yet again, they seemed to ask if she knew the auror. Gwendolyn had not learned her name, but she wouldn’t forget it once she had. Not least of all because this one seemed to have changed her appearance rather noticeably since the last time the investigator had set foot in the department. She almost squinted as she thought it over, the last time.

“Create anything new this week?” She asked instead, her face relaxing.

Claire didn't know how she failed to notice the blonde bombshell next to her. She forgot how fancy and sexy the women of Knockturn Alley could be. It wasn't like Claire paid much attention to those sorts of things normally. On an average day, Claire might feel vaguely attracted to a witch or two but never really did anything about it. There'd been the thing with Elixia but that had been months ago and besides, Claire wasn't flirtatious. She just didn't know how to do it.

The woman offered her a cigarette and Claire leapt at the chance to get something for free. It had been a while since she'd last smoked but she took the offer. "Tanks, mate, cheers," Claire said affably as she lit it. She was a naive sort for someone who was constantly pulling pranks, she was awfully trusting of strangers. You weren't strangers if you knew each other's names, though, were you? "I'm Claire." She took a drag of the cigarette.

Smoke filled her lungs and although it burned it felt like a great complement to the whiskey. It gave her head a little buzz, giving the alcohol an edge. She turned to look at the familiar-sounding witch who'd approached the bar and saw an old friend - Gwen Irving. "Ey, Gwennie!" Claire greeted her, gesturing with her drink to insinuate that this was an occasion for drinking. She took a long sip and slid her glass back onto the bar. There was just a bit left so she signaled to the bartender that she'd be needing more.

"Well, ye know what they say," Claire said in response to Gwen's comment on her food while dragging on the cigarette, "food now only robs you of a good drunk later." She winked and threw a couple of peanuts into her mouth. "Nothing new lately, but I'm hoping some antics I pull tonight will inspire me," she joked. "If I remember them."

The girl took one from the pack and uttered a thank you. Andromeda withdrew the pack and put them away before pulling on her own.
"Ada." Andromeda replied. It was not her real name of course, but close enough to make it easy. Claire was quite pretty. But it looked like she could do with looking after herself a bit better.

It looked like that was the end of that. Another witch sat down with Claire. Andromeda tried not to stare when she heard the name. This witch was the Gwen that she had seen occasionally bothering aurors. Good job she had changed her appearance. It looked like Claire and Gwen were friends. She decided to stay a while and eavesdrop.

The secondhand smoke hit like the sudden, mouthwatering air of a chef’s kitchen. Gwendolyn’s face remained casual, with a hint of drowsy indifference that was not the truth where cigarettes were concerned. The hand on her cup fell with a rag doll’s limpness from the bar’s ledge into the witch’s lap, where acute fingers soon crept into the pocket of tight black jeans.

Gwen continued to eye Claire as she thinned, with masterful habit, her own stash. She angled her head  in mild question, as another might raise their brow’s. It wasn’t really a question, even if she hadn’t heard drinks for dinner put quite like that. “Whatever method works,” she concurred, raising her own smoke to healthy lips.

She took a drag and tilted her chin up to exhale in a lazy, would-be blown kiss. Eyes remained pinned in place despite this, and Gwen stared at the bar top through a frame of downward lashes. As if the grains reminded her of something, as if she were something out. But she let her head fall back into place; the white stick idled adjacent the cup’s rim. She turned to Claire again.

"There are already inventions that let you remember,” she reminded, the sageness in her tone a friendly enough suggestion. Cheeks almost tugging in a smile. She was sure even if Claire didn’t employ a pensieve or Rememberall, or something more likely to help a witch when she was sloshed, the roots would make their way back to the inventor, and there would be more Graffsticks, or whatever else she eventually came up with.

Gwen used such things— pensieves— for record-keeping. Or keeping clients from hexing her, occasionally. Forgetting had never been an issue. The not forgetting was often a bigger hurtle.

“Or have they roped you into nine to five?” A chiding question she might have asked of the auror a seat over, in the right setting. She had not arrived in time to hear the other woman’s proffered name, or to make any educated guesses about why she seemed to look so different. So had almost not recognized her, and certainly would not have it weren't for the habits that kept her employed. There was a flicker of lashes, another question for Claire hanging there like the smoke. Was she cozy with the half-a-mystery witch?

Instead she asked, “What are you two drinking with your peanuts?” There was a humor in her throat. Her way of including— and inquiring— after the other one. There were plenty of people she couldn't be bothered with, and she liked the freedom her job gave her, but Gwen didn't usually let an unknown auror listen too closely without spending any of their own words.

"White elven wine. It is dire." Andromeda replied. She had been listening to their conversation. The question drew her back into it on purpose. "She's eating the peanuts. They would not improve this." She turned around properly and studied Gwen. Perhaps the investigator could have a guess at who she was. As long as she did not yell it out to the place it would be ok. She stubbed out her cigarette and finished her wine. Her nose wrinkled.
"Drink here often?" She asked. Old one, but a good one.

The cigarette was burning her lungs, and she forgot that they weren't as soothing as joints could be. It was harsh on her insides but Claire maintained her cool by downing the rest of her fresh glass of whiskey. She sputtered only a little, spraying just a slight misting of spit on the chatting women near her. She quickly ahem-ed and faced them again, blinking coolly. The bartender brought her another whiskey and she winked at him and gave him the finger-guns.

"There are already inventions that let you remember," Gwen pointed out, which made Claire wrinkle her nose. Sometimes Gwen could be so logical. "That feels like cheating" Claire whined. It was fun for her to try and figure out the mystery of the things she'd gotten up to the night before. "Besides, I'm pretty sure they stole that idea from me." She just couldn't remember; it had definitely come to her during a night of heavy drinking.

The woman who gave her the cigarette said her wine was dire, so Claire felt like she deserved the whiskey Claire had received. Generosity tended to produced more generosity, which meant to Claire that she might get a few more free things out of the deal. She could really use this -- she'd been homeless almost a month now, and relied on the charity of friends to get a roof over her head most nights. "Take mine, mate. Hope ye don't mind whiskey," Claire said, giving the glass a push in Ada's direction. She signaled to the bartender that she would need another. The bartender was a plain, gawky guy who seemed to have a thing for Claire's wacky style and often sent free drinks her way. Poor bloke.

At Claire’s reaction, the investigator laughed through her nose, a small snort. She reached for her drink, brows questioning— just not very hard. “You say cheating, I say working smarter.”

She wasn’t beyond bending a few rules to solve a problem, but she didn’t think pensieves and rememberalls qualified as rule breaking in the first place. But then they might be for an inventor. The trippy headspace in their own echelon of non-nine-to-five conformity was at times a mystery even to Gwen. And she liked to think she was rather inventive… (She had to be, to solve a steady enough stream of cases without involving the aurors.)

They stole it from her. There was the spirit.

This was why Claire was always a fun drinking buddy.

“If you need someone to look into that—” She paused, opened her mouth in a near philosophical expression, inhaled inaudibly, and then closed her mouth again. “Good luck.” (Even if they were only joking, all kinds of requests like that that came knocking on Gwen’s door with the sincerest insistence. People claiming their ideas had been stolen by centuries’ old moneybags, that the government had records on it. Occasionally Gwen took these cases because the money was good, and once in a while there was someone with evidence to back up the claim.)

Gwen had never ordered white wine here, and usually didn’t order it in general (but she wouldn’t turn it down if someone was offering). Drinks could certainly something about people that they wouldn’t say about themselves. As the witch assessed it as unpalatable and was offered whiskey as a replacement, Gwendolyn gripped her own glass loosely. “Sometimes.” Not the most thorough answer, maybe. But it was the truth. “The whiskey will keep you coming back,” she added wryly with a shrug. Just like it would at most bars. Being in Diagon meant being able to lose one’s self in a crowd. There was bar upon bar. But she did like the atmosphere of this one. “If you’ve never been here,” she clarified casually, no trace of interrogation in her tone. Her stare was plain, though, as she assessed the woman. And there was genuine enough curiosity it in it. The auror association aside, the woman seemed calm, quiet, classy.

Whiskey was Gwen’s drink of choice, too. (Though if the bartender knew her order, he wasn’t quite as intent on the investigator as he seemed to be on Claire.) “If we stick with you, we might get to take the bottle home.” She looked pointedly at the man as he turned to pour the drink. “If you don’t take them both home.” Just as the man turned back toward them, Gwen added, “Your landlord would love that one."

The whiskey was well received. Andromeda knocked it back with little hesitation.
"Thanks. I can see where you're coming from." She told Gwen. The bartender's interest in Claire was noted.
"I wouldn't share him with your landlord." Andromeda advised. She swung her legs off the stool and got to her feet. Someone had caught her eye and they were heading for the door.
"It's been fun." She stopped to tell them both. She left her pack of cigarettes on the bar. "See you around. I've business to attend to." Andromeda gave them a wave.

Another whiskey grabbed Claire's attention. The clinking of the ice cubes seemed to say drink me, drink me as if they were some type of Wonderland pastry. Like Alice from the muggle books, Claire obediently drank a good portion of the whiskey. Her size didn't change, but her perspective was surely altered. She was just about to begin brainstorming with Gwen and their new friend when the new friend up and left. She was out of the room before Claire could do much more than blink dumbly, wondering if the woman had only been after her whiskey this entire time. Perhaps she'd been upset that the bartender's favoritism didn't swing her way.

"Wos it somethin' I sed?" Claire asked Gwen casually. She didn't really care what people thought in general, and the whiskey was helping to enhance that quality.

"If we stick with you, we might get to take the bottle home... If you don't take them both home... Your landlord would love that one."

It was true, Ol Grechy could do with a bit of stretching, but it had been several weeks since Claire had been allowed back into her flat. It even looked like some people were moving into it. "Well wit'out a landlord, I may jus' have te go home wit' him" Claire joked, although part of her felt that it might actually be true. "Ye know I love an experiment." Claire was pretty virginal in the sense that she hadn't actually done much with either sex. The belch that suddenly exploded from her hinted at why that might be. She had always preferred looking at girls, had always been more interested in them. Like her brothers, she found herself chasing them around to see what they were up to, seeming like an entirely different species. She drank more whiskey.