Bethan was unaware of the extent to which she subconsciously idolized her older sister – but it must have been a whole lot, because her sister was nice, and her sister wanted her to do nice things, and every so often Beth found herself going against her gut and actually doing them. This favor, she supposed, wasn't the worst bit of charity she could think of. Sometimes she lost track of all of the people and families that Brynn was perpetually worrying about, but she didn't forget the Flickwicks, because she'd gone to school with them (and she'd quite liked the youngest one). Even if she hadn't forgotten them, they'd sort of faded out of focus in her mind, blurring into the background – probably because half of them had left the country. Apparently at least one of them had come back, however – Emily, the Ravenclaw she'd gone to school with and had never bothered with a day in her life. 'She lost her mother,' Brynn had reminded her, 'She's come home for the first time in ages. She needs a friend.' Beth had informed her that if she wanted her to have a friend so badly, she could call on her herself and spend the night braiding her hair and gossiping. Brynn had not been amused. Beth had acted surly for five minutes, then she'd felt bad. She'd made plans with Emily the next day.

It wasn't anything out of the ordinary – nothing she wouldn't be doing anyway. She hadn't spent too much time at the pub since she'd started training as a hitwizard... at least not in comparison to when she used to work at a pub and was pulling pints six nights a week. A trip to the old Sword and Chant had always seemed welcome back when she felt the need to let loose and escape her usual pub patrons. These days it just felt luxurious. She'd told Emily to meet her there. Earlier in the day she'd considered leaving early, taking her new, ministry-issued broom, and flying the whole way, but it was a long trip from Wales, and it was raining over parts of the city, and it just didn't seem worth it. In typical Bethan fashion, she'd woken up five minutes before she was expected there, put on some shoes, and apparated straight from her bedroom. Who did she have to impress at the pub?

She hadn't seen that old stray dog, Wulf, in ages – he didn't come around anymore. She liked to think that someone smart had seen how great he was and had taken him home to be a pet. Even so, habit was habit, and she found herself crouching by the head of the alley nearest to the pub entrance, whistling sharply, just in case. Emily'd see her – if she decided to show up at all.

Two weeks back in the country and Emily already missed balmy Greece. That was her own fault, really, moving back at the beginning of Autumn. Did London really have to be so dank and dark all the time though? There were still boxes piled around her tiny loft as there was simply no storage whatsoever and hadn't had time yet to sort out the proper spellwork to put it in any kind of order.  There was also a drippy pipe that refused budging no matter how many repairing spells she shot at it. Her second mistake in this move was not reclaiming her room at the Flickwick residence. She really wanted those shelves.

The move hadn't been entirely negative or for naught. She'd gotten to see and speak with Sophie for the first time in ages. The guilt of not being a better sister would only be soothed by promising herself to simply be better. A promise she would be sure to follow through with, this time.

Tonight, Emmy wasn't sure how to describe. On the one hand, going out and being social was supposed to be a good thing. On the other, she'd so wanted to be settled at her job and her flat and just being back before she started adding to the list of people she could potentially disappoint. The only real reason she agreed to go out with a former classmate at all was because she happened to be Brynn's sister. It was a bit like reconnecting with family, which was on her to do list anyway.

She'd come almost straight from work, stopping at home to change only to change her shoes. The shoes, it turned out, should have probably stayed her sensible flats and not the three inch heels she'd given herself as a gift for getting her new job. At first when the light hit the blonde, Emmy was positive she'd misremembered Bethen Ellis. The girl was petite, but the person at the mouth of the alley way was darn right midget. It was then that the light hit the girl's legs and Emmy was able to see that she was simply crouched down, looked for something.

"Did you drop something," Emmy asked, curious and peered into the alley as well.

When addressed, Beth's first instinct was to look up – which was an instinct honed over years of assuming that she was the shortest person in any room. This time, however, she had to look straight up to make out features, most of which were obscured by the blinding glare of a poorly situated street lamp shining directly over the other witch's shoulder. She squinted, settling one hand, visor-like, over her brow, as she balanced in a crouch and, once she was sure who she was talking to, dropped her gaze. That was when she noticed the shoes, and responded with a rabbit-like nose-wrinkle and a soft snort. She thought she was being subtle. She often thought that. She was often wrong.

“What?” she said a moment later – just late enough that it seemed like she genuinely wasn't listening. She'd heard the girl just fine... she'd just been distracted by the torture devices she'd chosen to strap to her legs. “Oh,” she said once a second had passed and the question had some time to register, “No, nah, nothing like that. There used to be this old stray out here that I used to feed and that. I hadn't seen him in a while, like, but I though...” she trailed off, shrugging, as she settled her hands atop her knees and hauled herself upward to her full, still entirely pathetic height. “Well, he's not here, isn't it?”

Now that she was standing properly, she had the opportunity to look the Flickwick girl in the face. Did she look older? For a moment Beth thought so, but then she had to wonder if that was just because she'd never done much looking at her before in the first place. At the same time, she wondered if she looked any older herself – since finishing school, anyway. Nobody seemed to treat her much different. Maybe it was because she didn't go around strapping bricks to her feet. For half a second, she had a positive revelation about those shoes with heels – they were really just socially appropriate stilts. Stilts were cool.

“You wanna go in?” she asked, as if there was really some other valid option. “They got really good chips.”

By the look on Beth's face, she really should have foregone the shoes. In fact, she should probably should have just changed entirely. All at once she felt entirely too done up. Grabbing a pint after work was a thing, wasn't it? Emmy crossed her feet, one in front of the other to try somehow minimize them. One hand plucked the clip from her hair and the other massaged the locks loose. There was a pause and Emmy crossed her arms at having to repeat herself. "I'd asked if you'd lost something."

Beth, as it turned out, hadn't lost anything and instead was looking out for a wayward dog who haunted this very alley. "Oh." Emmy's wave of irritation pulled back out to sea. There was a menagerie at dogs at the Flickwick house she missed dearly and she peered into the shadows to see if she could make anything out. "Doesn't look it."

"Might as well," Emmy replied. "Unless you intend to win your canine friend with pure charm." Emmy herself was waiting to see if this experience warranted a promise not to wear things that made her tower over her companion. Not many people could make a 5'4" girl feel tall, besides her sister Sophie anyway. "So, how have you been anyway?" The question was thrown over her shoulder as they moved toward the entrance.

“I used to come out here and feed him maybe once a week,” Beth explained, smiling a cheeky smile in response to Em's 'charm' comment, “Back when I was working at the Three Broomsticks – I used to get Tuesdays off. I'd take him whatever leftovers I could get. It was the best day of the week for both of us,” she grinned at the memory, even if it was a bittersweet one. She supposed there was no owning a stray dog, but nobody else in the world greeted her quite like that dirty mutt had, with or without a hunk of chicken hidden in her pocket. “I really gotta get a dog,” she remarked with a shake of her head, “A puppy. As soon as I move into my own place. I keep saying it, so it has to happen sometime... but I gotta move out first, isn't it?” she chuckled. How long had she been talking about getting a dog for herself? It must've been years - maybe her whole life. She had the money to rent a place, but she lacked the impetus to actually do it.

“I've been alright,” she said, answering Emily's question, shuffling toward the entrance with her companion for the evening – she was in no rush. “Started a new job not too long ago, and that's sound. And it'll be my birthday on Sunday,” she admitted with half a grin, pushing the door to the pub open and stepping inside. She knew this place well, and usually sat at the bar so she could shoot the breeze with whoever was working that night. She walked over that way automatically, not even entertaining the idea of a table. She was happy at the bar, near the taps and the action. She practically had to vault in order to situate herself on a stool, but once she'd climbed up there, she seemed very much in her element. She hadn't brought a purse or anything like that, so there was nothing to worry about stashing or tucking away.

“And yourself?” she asked as they waited for the busy barkeep to make his way toward them. “My sister said you were away or something like that? Traveling, or...?”

"Puppies are like babies and twice as much work." Emily supplied. All the dog talk made her want one of her own. Some older, sleepy kind that wouldn't mind being left alone all day or mess up her things. A girl could dream anyway. As for the issue of Beth not having her own place, "You could always do what I did and leave for a year or so. No one expects you back at the house after that."

Emily nodded a long, humming her approval as they made their way to the bar. It wasn't her first choice, but Beth was already on her way and climbing onto a stool and there was nothing to do, but follow suit. At the bar top, Emily danced with what to do with her bag. On the bar top seemed like a terrible idea and with a skirt on, she couldn't very well wedge it between her legs. With a bit of finagling, she managed to get it to hang on the hook beneath the bar. She resisted the urge to examine the room too closely beyond a cursory glance around.

"I was studying in Greece. Oracles, artifacts, lots of little white gloves." She flexed her hands. "I'm working at the museum now." The barkeep arrived and the first and only thing that she could summon to order was, "White wine," which definitely wouldn't go with the order of chips she was now craving. "Whatever she's having." Emily gestured to Beth. "And chips. So," she turned her attention back to Beth and attempted to recover some semblance of having it vaguely together. "New job?"

“I know they're trouble,” she explained, speaking of puppies, “But I reckon that's why I want one. I can handle trouble. I'll finally know what my mum went through with me,” she admitted with a sheepish grin and a single, gruff laugh. She was, without a doubt, idealizing the puppy thing. Who didn't, really, except someone who was actively in the process of raising one? If she was going to get a dog, she figured she may as well go through the trouble of really bonding with one from the beginning – not that the old stray from the alley hadn't been fantastic. It was just... a dream. She kept getting denied those. She'd be twenty before the week was through - two decades old. Shouldn't something good have happened to her by now? She knew the universe didn't owe her anything, but couldn't something nice happen by accident, just once?

Anddd... that was why she drank. Well, one of the reasons, anyway – kept her busy, mostly. Whatever the case, the pub was nice and familiar, and once she was situated she almost forgot that she was there to entertain a near stranger. At least the near stranger had done something interesting lately, which meant they'd have something to talk about... maybe. Bethan never traveled – her childhood had been a little too tumultuous for family trips, and now that she was out of school she couldn't be bothered. She hummed in response to Emily's explanation of where she'd been and where she was now, muttering an intrigued “Is that a fact?” She puckered her lips in thought. “What kind of artifacts were you looking at over there?” she asked, “Cursed objects? Like that?” That would have been interesting.

Before they could delve too deep, the bartender was over, and she met his gaze with a massive grin. “Hiya, alright?” she asked, sticking out a hand for a shake as she popped up to kneel on the stool, giving the bloke a proper greeting. “Whatever I'm having,” she repeated with a hearty laugh, “You know what I'm having, mate, and, right, the chips.” She wasn't fancy or fussy – she drank ale from the tap. Usually she asked for whatever was cheapest, but that was mostly because she'd been drinking on a barmaid's salary. It still hadn't really sunken in that she was making a real salary now. Luckily, she had Em there to remind her.

“Yeah, it's...” she started, wishing she could be entirely thrilled about her new position but, due to the circumstances, she was still hot and cold about the whole thing, and it showed in the less than enthused look on her face. A row of wrinkles formed on her forehead as she scratched at her scalp, stalling. “I'm training to be a hitwizard,” she admitted at last, the wrinkles smoothing, “And I know I don't look the type, so you don't have to go pointing it out, like. It wasn't my choice, really. I got recruited, and I'm not really in a position to turn it down, am I?” That was when the beer was set down in front of her, and she didn't hesitate to lift it to her lips and take a long sip, going nose-first into the foam, which she wiped away with the back of her hand.

"Some cursed some not." Emily tilted her head back and forth. "Mostly cultural research. Piles of parchments and dusty books. Especially now." Having an actual title only meant she was paid to do the grunt, dusty work.

It was Emily's turn to laugh at Beth's scrunched up face while she searched for the way to explain her job. In the back of her mind she could hear her Yaya's voice muttering about age lines coming on so much sooner than her nineteen year old granddaughter cared to think about. "Please, try to contain your enthusiasm. We're in public for Merlin's sake." Emily cast a furtive glance over her shoulder. Regardless if she looked the part or not, a fact Beth was quick to say not to mention, being recruited for an elite and dangerous task force was far from the painful experience Beth was making it out to be. 

The drinks arrived and Beth dove into hers, inciting an amused sigh from Emily as she wiped the foam from her face. "What's wrong with being a hit wizard?" She asked trying to remember whatever she could about the blonde and it dawned on her. "How's it different from being an auror?" Foam clung to her own lip despite the delicate sip and she thumbed it away. 

“So you work at the back of the museum, in the parts they don't show you when you go with your parents as a kid?” she asked, trying to create a realistic mental picture of what was going on behind the scenes while she'd been up front, complaining of boredom and searching every crevice for the promised dragon skeleton. She'd always just imagined the back of the museum as storage for more weird stuff... but she supposed that was where they hid the new hires who hadn't earned the right to sunlight or social interaction yet. She knew what that was like, being the new kid on her own unit. They'd been letting her out in public a bit more recently, but it was always clear where she stood in the ranks.

She had to snort at Emily's dry remark about containing her enthusiasm. “Oh, it's contained. So well contained I'm having trouble finding it at the moment,” she admitted with a slow, exasperated shake of her blonde head. Her feelings about her job were complicated, and Beth didn't do so well with complicated feelings. She was great at declaring her intentions to clobber someone, and she wasn't too bad when it came time for the actual clobbering... but talking feelings? Well, it was hit or miss. She was a ranter and a rambler, and that was a fact, but she didn't reciprocate empathy enough to get away with the amount of talking she liked to do. She was excellent at righteous indignation, however, and not too bad at complaining. Bitter mumbling was also a strength.

She might have been fine with a bit of vague griping if Emily hadn't gone ahead and mentioned the 'A word,' which had the effect of almost immediately boiling her blood. She set down her mug and instantly her teeth seemed to attract each other like magnets – she clenched them hard, working her jaw a bit as she thought. “Nothing wrong with being a hitwizard,” she muttered after a moment, “But think of a hitwizard right now. Go ahead. You're gonna picture some bloke six heads taller than me – and it's always a bloke, like, no doubt about that – and he's got little muscles that are wider than my arse, which is bloody impressive, until you look at the big ones.” She released a bull-like sigh through her nostrils.

“Aurors don't have to be big, because they're quick and they're tough. A wand's enough for an auror. You see that red and you respect them, no questions asked. Am I right?” She was thinking, now, of Tamis Raynor. She'd been a lot more god-like before Beth worked in her office, but even so, the witch was an adversary... and she was Beth's size, or smaller. Her authority came from something besides the way she looked... and, apparently, that was something Beth herself lacked. Coincidentally, it was the one thing about herself that she was sure she possessed, even if she couldn't name it. “It's all mixed up,” she sighed, “It's all mixed up, and everyone seems to accept it.”

This is what came of never really developing your social skills with people your own age. You went and stepped in a bit of muck and didn't have a clue as to how to back track. Her question, no matter how well intentioned, had set something something off. It was amazing, really, if one was able to stand back and think about it. Emily would wonder later if it was a Gryffindor trait or simply a trait of small people. She would remember, vividly, little Sophie laying into her about a well placed jab Emily had given the week before. Her squishy cheeked sister had gone all hard edges and much like today, it had taken Emily by surprise.

Beth wasn't wrong. The image she presented wasn't far off from what Emily imagined as a typical hitwizard. Tall, extremely fit, no question they could take on dark wizards. In this moment, Beth speaking on it, Emily didn't doubt her ability to take anyone on, least of a all a wanted criminal. "It is mixed up," Emily agreed after Beth finished. "It's not what you wanted." Her hands gripped her mug to keep from reaching over and giving the other girl a reassuring pat. They didn't know each other well enough for such gestures and if there was anything she'd learned from small girls and their moods was that you didn't touch them if you wanted to keep all of your limbs.

Emily had reached every school and career goal she'd set her mind to so far. She couldn't even consider being unable to achieve something and she didn't know what to say to Beth to even begin to make her feel better about it. A drink of her beer didn't bring anything instead of a need to wipe her lip again. No wisdom, no insight, not even a sarcastic quip to get the girl's mind off of it. "I'm sorry. We can talk about something else?"

This was how Bethan Ellis operated – you got her good and passionate about something and just watched her bubble over. She could talk for days on a topic if she really cared about it... and her future as an Auror had always been one of those topics that got her going, whether what she was hearing was positive or negative. One could easily argue that she, too, lacked social skills – but in a direction quite opposite from Emily. She knew no stranger, would talk to anyone... and wouldn't stop talking. Some found it endearing, and could match her word for word. Others, like Emily..... didn't.

It was nice hearing someone agreeing with her, anyway - even if she was only doing it because she feared for her life - and she took some comfort in that. “Not what I wanted,” she echoed, nodding, “Yeah.” It was strange hearing someone articulate her thoughts so concisely, since she didn't seem to be able to do it herself. It was complicated, but when you broke it all down, it really was that simple. She glanced down at the bartop for a moment, and the expression on her face was an odd hybrid between surly and wistful. She sighed, her voice growing a tone softer. “Thing is...” she started, looking up and turning toward Em again, “Thing is, I'm qualified. On paper, I'm qualified – as qualified as anyone. And I want it. And it wasn't easy! I'm not good at exams and that. But I did what I had to, isn't it? I just thought it would count for something. And now I have to start all over.” 

Emily was a nice witch, suggesting they change the subject like that... but Beth didn't work that way. Once she got herself good and interested and irritated, it was a challenge for her to switch directions quickly, like a stampeding bull. Once you picked up enough speed, you couldn't just stop.  She considered the suggestion, wrinkling her nose, and took a great sip of her ale. “It is what it is, I supposed,” she declared. “What about you? You always wanted to be a... museum person? Whatsis?”

Whether or not you suited the task on paper didn't much seem to matter in some cases. No doubt there'd been a stack of perfect candidates that hadn't had to sit another N.E.W.T. because they, like Emily, were excellent at exams. Even still, so few would be accepted and of those, fewer still were ever guaranteed to pass through the training at all. "If you're qualified for one, you're qualified for the next," Emily suggested. "Barring an arse smaller than some imaginary baseline for the model hitwizard that is." She smirked. It was an aesthetic she could appreciate, but not the end all, be all of attractiveness. Or qualification.

Beth didn't look like she was ready to stop talking about it and Emily wasn't sure if she wanted her to either. The subject was something she was clearly invested in. A change in topic was offered though, in the form of the direction of her own career. "Junior curator." Emily filled in for Beth. "It's a fancy title for being the bottom of the chain." And not entirely what she'd set out to do either, if she was being honest. "I started in Greece studying ancient oracles in connection to modern seers." There was a long line of them in her family and the subject had always interested her. "I interned attheir museum and got into artifacts. Unfortunately, there were no positions available so coming home was my only option if I wanted to be paid."

“It's not about my arse! It's about my...” she trailed off, pausing – there seemed to be a delay of several seconds before the words that she was publicly shouting properly registered, and she snorted. She didn't change the subject, but she did take things down a notch (for the second time), readjusting so that she was speaking at a slightly more human volume. That succeeded in stripping some of the fire out of her voice... which, frankly, was a lot more appropriate. “It's about everything else,” she finally continued, “If you want your hitwizards big and scary, why train me? And not just train me, but go out of your way to train me?” She looked down and gave her head a broad shake, her lips pursed up on one side of her face. In other words, she didn't understand why, if she wasn't good enough for the position where size didn't matter, they hadn't rejected her point-blank. She'd been trying to sort through the reasons why since she'd been hired. Her confusion was melting into the disappointment from the initial rejection and mixing with her pre-existing feelings of self consciousness, and it was creating this – a wishy washy witch with too much inner passion to grapple with this kind of vague frustration. It was real nice talking about it, though – feeling heard.

The least she could do, then, was listen to Emily ramble on about whatever she was doing in the darkest recesses of that old museum – which, frankly, was kind of interesting, if only because Beth didn't think about it much, if ever. Something she knew even less about was divination – everyone in school used to say it was bunk unless you had a real affinity, and she'd never been one to waste her time on bunk... or extra homework. “Could be worse,” she interrupted, “Some of us are at the bottom of the chain and don't even get a title.” She smirked, listening to the rest.

“So what you're saying,” she concluded one Emily finished, a slow smile spreading from the corners of her mouth, “Is that you wish you were still over there, doing something interesting and important, but instead you're over here, doing something only kind of interesting, mostly to get paid, and feeling bad that you're not doing the other thing?” she asked. When you removed all of the specifics, the two witches really were on the same page. That shouldn't have made Beth feel any better but, somehow, and for selfish reasons, it did.

“But what do you do?” she asked at last, drawing attention to the final elephant in the room, “You look at things and then... what?” She took up her mug, then, anticipating an explanation that might give her enough time to make some progress on it.

Beth's assessment of the Emily's situation was not at all how'd she put it herself, but there was little to form a counter argument. Cut down to their simplest parts, it was exactly that. No, Emily supposed, it wasn't exact way she'd pictured things playing out. Being back in dreadful London certainly had been her first choice, not yet anyway. It had been in line with the next logical step, though, hadn't it? Emily shifted in her seat as she considered this new insight. "It's like that, yes." Emily admitted after a moment. "I'm doing important work here too. That and I've got family here, which is just about as important as a salary, right?"

What exactly did she do to earn said salary, Beth wanted to know. "Oh." Emily shook her head. "I'm a record keeper, essentially." That was the easiest way to explain it "I see to the details of the information they've got posted and sort through the files to ensure the authenticity of everything on display. Artist, gallery, exhibitions, trades." Although security and protocols seemed especially high since a theft earlier in the year. "Sort through the storage and upkeep everything not on the floor is in top shape for when it will. One day I'll be allowed to arrange my own collections. Once they've deemed me worthy."

Beth nodded right along when Emily stressed the importance of family – though considering Beth lived with her parents, a little bit of distance from family didn't seem like the worst idea in the world, either. She'd probably appreciate them a whole more lot if she'd spent a year somewhere else – but she hadn't spent so much as a weekend somewhere else in an age, so it was hard to put it into perspective. “Family's more important than salary when you're not paying rent,” she smirked, knowing full well that, for all the negatives that came with living at home, there were definitely some perks – like the amount of gold she had in the bank, which she hadn't had to use for silly things, like toilet paper or feeding herself.

“Brynn said your family was all over the place,” she observed, repeating what her sister had implied during the conversation that had lead to this very outing, “Traveling or something? Is that right?” She was fuzzy on the details. She knew about Emily's mum, of course, and though Bethan could be blunt, she wasn't about to say anything about that. Beth had a special sort of relationship with her own mother – they'd spent more time together when she was young than any of her siblings had. Granted, the circumstances were rotten, but that didn't change much. They were tight, and even thinking about that kind of loss made her insides tense up and go hard like ice. It wasn't the sort of thing she liked to dwell on.

She was curious about Emily's job, however, and listened to the other witch's words, her head cocked to one side like a puppy. “Reckon I'd be rotten at that – all of it,” she admitted with a goofy smile, “I couldn't even keep my homework straight at school. I doubt they'd even let me in the door as a visitor – they'd board the place up and pretend to be closed if they heard me coming down the street,” she laughed, teasing smile lingering on her lips. She was making her way through her first pint and she was almost, but not quite, ready for another. That was the good thing about fine conversation... it had the tendency to keep her sober for slightly longer.