Really, this was Freddie’s way of congratulating his mate’s entrepreneurship.

He grabbed a handful of floo powder, which was a rather outdated way of traveling but that Freddie felt was too flashy to forget. It was certainly a way to make an entrance if you were looking to make a scene, which Freddie was. As he dug his fingers into the bowl by the fireplace the powder got under his nails; he made sure he got a good bit. The more powder, the bigger the smoke plume (he assumed).

Stepping into the fireplace, which was a bit cozier than he initially predicted, Freddie threw the smoke down confidently and yelled the name of the bar where he planned to wreak havoc. “Death and Co!” His plan was to test his pal Margo with an assortment of tests. Obstacles, really.

Arriving in a puff of purple smoke, Freddie stepped out of the fireplace with his hands behind his back, feeling unembarrassed of how cramped he’d been in the brick-framed hearth. There were a number of people ogling the tall man wearing a fluffy jumper. Freddie thought he fit in rather nicely, as he already had a drink in his hand, but when he looked at it he realized it was filled with dust and possibly a bit of drywall. Several people had already noticed this, but he surreptitiously threw the contents of the glass over his shoulder.

He sauntered up to the bar which had a large number of people milling by it -- but Freddie forced his way to the front and assumed a very casual face. “WELL,” he said, a bit too loudly. He cleared his throat. “Well,” he said to the people who’d raised their eyebrows, who, accepting this volume as natural, turned back to their conversations. “What do we have here!”

Margo had recovered quite nicely from opening night.  It was successful, as far as Margo could measure because she had fun and there seemed to be a lot of people present.  There’d been a hang up or two, but nothing that a little smoothing over didn’t fix and Margo was happy with the way things were going.  She also had a rather consistent base of people who could come in.  Level 4, particularly in the beasts division were keen to make their way over. 

Margo was happy for it, since she was depending on her friends to sort of… keep things going.  True, she had her staff, and they were well and good, but they weren’t the people she’d spent nearly a decade almost dying next to.  So, it was an adjustment period.  Thankfully though, there were plenty of things to distract her.  Raul’s lists were definitely helpful. 

Her and Dorsey worked through most things, and standing behind the bar, Margo was just happy to be leaning against the wood and staring out at the people around.  She was on the look out for the Dragon Research team, but they probably wouldn’t be in for a bit, she realized as she glanced at the clock on the wall.  Huffing, Margo wondered when she should change the album playing… switch things up.

Didn’t seem to be her choice though.  The floo widened and out spit the very spindly and bizarre frame of one, Frederick Dodger.  She’d been to his pub, it was an odd place, and he seemed to fit in more there than here.  The grunge aspect of Death & Co was not quite… compatible with the fuzzy jumper. 

He was making a show of himself, goblet and all… and Margo stood up, a grin growing on her still healing.  “It’s more like what have we here?!” she announced, throwing her arm out to gesture to him.  “Come to get a decent pint of beer, eh?” she grinned, and looked toward Dorsey.  “Get this man a solid pint.  He can taste some real beer, eh?”

“Why ‘ello doll,” Freddie said to Margo, keeping his feathers unruffled. He watched the bartender pouring his ale very closely, essentially ogling the boy.

  “Come to get a decent pint of beer, eh?” she grinned, and looked toward Dorsey.  “Get this man a solid pint.  He can taste some real beer, eh?”

“Oho!” Freddie burst. “Jokes, Margy, always with the jokes…” Smirking, he sighed dramatically, taking his hat off and using it to gesture towards his rival. The bartender was smart enough to pour it in Fred’s goblet that he’d brought from home, that much Freddie could give him credit for. He stuck out his hand and swirled it as if it was a fancy wine. He sniffed it and took a sip, smacking his lips a few times to absorb the taste.

“JUST as I suspected,” he said in his little-bit-too=loud voice. “You’ve opened a bar!” Fred looked around at the place, which he had to admit was rather cool. In looking around he noticed that there was a bit of ash still on his furry sweater; he blew it off and took another sip of beer.

“You do realize, this makes us competitors now,” Freddie remarked. Of course that didn’t mean he was mad at his friend, that would be simply ridiculous. A little friendly competition never hurt anyone. Even Freddie tossed a quaffle ‘bout the garden sometimes. It normally ended in broken windows, but that was beside the point. “‘Course, you do have an advantage, being half bionic.” He knew Margo had been injured in the explosions, lost a hand. He had to admit, it really did look posh.

“I’m gonna have to test your wits, Margy, Gotta know I’m competing against the best.” With a snap of his fingers, Freddie had covered everything in the pub with giftwrap. Each individual glass was wrapped in paper; the lights were muted by the brightly-colored paper.

It was a little-known hex -- not too many people called for such a spell. But Freddie loved those spells best of all, the ones other wizards would have trouble reversing. A man who had been playing darts looked surprised as the dart he had just thrown dropped to the floor, now heavy with the festive paper*.


---
[something along these lines...]

Margo did not know where she found some people.  Or how she found some people.  It was usually by accident and having met Fred with Vincent and some of the other guys, well… he was a character.   Her general stomping grounds were much closer to home, but when she’d been up in Scotland for the reserves, Hogsmeade was always closer and everyone needed drink after a day of inoculating dragons.

She hadn’t been up there in a while, and wasn’t sure when she would be back.  So she wouldn’t say she had expected Fred to show up. Quite the opposite actually. 

Placing her hand on her hip, Margo snorted as he pretend to be a connoisseur of ales, sniffing and swirling like a git.  “It’s not a pinot noir,” Margo informed him, “It’s an ale – drink up!”  The order was given in jest, but really.  She had picked everything they had stocked – the only kind thing to do would be to compliment her excellent taste in brown ales.  She liked that one: it had nut and caramel notes, even apple.  Margo might not really know how to run a business yet, but she did understand how to pick the stock! 

The amazing beer went without comment though – and now more customers were turning their heads (thankfully the crowd was small) and he continued  - sort of like a cartoon Muggly villain.  There was no real threat here, they were totally different bars in different locations.  Fred was going on for whatever reason – at least he was funny.  Even Margo had to chuckle at the bionic comment.  She looked down at her hand and flexed her fingers – they shifted a little bit, but movement was still being worked on.  She was reminded it was a slow process.  She hated that. 

Turning her eyes up again, Margo was surprised when with a snap of his fingers the whole bar seemed to change.  The lighting was dimmed, there were sounds of crinkling and crackling and both Margo and Dorsey were forced to jump back as the bar was enveloped in paper.  Patrons jumped as their stools were quickly covered.  Bottles were suddenly wrapped in paper.  Each individual lime was wrapped in paper.  Margo’s expression turned from amusement to horror and she looked at him.

Her eyes narrowed and amidst the colorful barrage, she slammed her fist on the bar.  “It is on, Dodger.”  She slammed her fist on the bar.  “You are going to regret this.” 

"Just a friendly lesson on home decora'in' from your wise elder man, love." He sauntered calmly over to the enraged little lady, who Freddie actually should have probably been afraid of. Thankfully he was tall and with a winning smile. There was also a bizarre charisma that Freddie had, where people were so confused by him that they found him amusing. He’d grown up playing that up, distracting people with oddities and getting away with more than he probably should have.

He was harmless though. Most of his hijinks were in good fun. “Gotta stay current, my little half-metal dragon lady, and it is the holiday season innit?” It was well after Christmas and New Years, but that was besides the point. Freddie sauntered over and took Margo’s cold, new hand in his gave it a polite kiss. “It really is so chic. Positutely spiffing, that is.”

After letting her hand go he put his back on. “Well, I should be goin’ luv, unless you wanted me to stay?” Freddie asked with a devilish grin on his face. “I mean I do love ter watch people open goodies, but blimey, there are just so many. Dunno if I got that kinda time, yanno?” Freddie eyed Margy with a mischievous smile.

“Elder’s right,” Margo snorted and looked to Dorsey, who did not look happy at all.  The joke was not going over quite so well with the tiny bartender whose arms were crossed and dark brown eyes trained on Freddie.  If looks could kill, no one would even be able to find Fred’s body.  That was why Margo loved Dorsey – she didn’t take that kind of nonsense. 

Margo was, of course, mad.  But, she was far more easily able to hide it.  Or at least appreciate a good joke.  Raising her eyebrows at Freddie, Margo was not impressed right now, at least now with the smug smiling and whatnot.  “Dorsey, I need a drink.”  This request was taken seriously – unlike Freddie – and Dorsey began to rip away at paper.  Jefferson, finally emerging, looked like a scared puppy as his nervous fingers ripped at paper too. 

Margo’s cheeks reddened when he took her hand and she pulled it back instantly.  She wasn’t the best at reading cues, she didn’t think he would actually openly mock her injury – everything else had been in jest, but boundaries.  “Thanks,” she said flatly, and then took a deep, full breath. 

“Oi!” she barked out and heads from all over the pub turned to look at her.  Margo was undeniably loud, but rarely did she command attention in a forceful way.  “Whoever unwraps the most of this bar gets a free night of pints,” her eyes turned accusingly toward Freddie, “On me.” 

Money wasn’t really an object.  And it seemed to work as several patrons jumped out of their seats and stools.  The sudden sound of ripping and tearing filled the place.  “We’ve got it under control,” she responded smugly, holding out her good hand for Dorsey to place her drink into.  Timing was good on that. 

”No need for an audience,” Dorsey finally added, probably not too mad to speak anymore, though there was a certain cut to her accent as she began to unwrap limes.   

Freddie squirmed with uncomfortable delight at the hijinks he’d just caused. There was not much he loved more than causing a scene. When he was younger it had been riots, the occasional mosh pit, strange parties where he’d often showed up in fancy dress. You, know: costume. Not anything like how he dressed today. His style had really sophisticated.

“Well if I remember correctly Margy, you know how to party,” Freddie drank the rest of his goblet. “I hope you know, this does mean we’re at war.” He put his goblet on the table like a trophy.. “Must be off!” he chirped.

Freddie snapped his fingers and apparated just as his goblet transfigured into a fountain spurting glitter. Glitter was a lot like Freddie: sparkly, pretty, festive, and sticks to you as if fused to your skin.