When Jules Deville wanted something, she committed herself to attaining it. It had been so since the day she was born; she was not one to sit around and wait for something to happen. So that’s why, one day after announcing that she wanted a baby, she was after one. It did not occur to level-headed, confident Jules that perhaps this desire had come from the traumatic loss of her youngest patient. No -- in her mind it made perfect sense.

One didn’t need to be a healer to know how babies happened. Jules was, and she was also so fiercely independent that she ‘knew’ that she could raise a baby on her own. She managed to juggle a floor full of patients and staff, and she’d kept pets for years. Jules was positive that she could learn how to parent in no time at all.

There was one key step, though, that Jules could not manage on her own. Sex had always come easily to her, the hourglass curves of her body proving valuable assets in the dating world. And to be fair, Jules was not much of a ‘dater.’ Sometimes she couldn’t tolerate the company of another person. She preferred to keep her romances at a distance. One-night stands were much more her style.

 She had never wanted sex for its intended purpose, though: conception. Now that she had proclaimed that she wanted to be pregnant, she had to get it. That was the Jules Deville way. She wanted a child of her own, a baby to coddle and raise. Her DNA had its benefits, but again, she knew how babies worked: she needed a father with at least a few decent inheritable traits.

And so she found herself at Rovers Fancy, dressed with an end goal in mind. Things were pushed up and together, her face painted in a sultry way. Lingerie that would touch on fantasies, confidence that could split logs, a shine to her high cheekbones. This was a practiced act for the chronic one-night-stander. With one last fluff of her hair, she walked into the bar and ordered herself a martini.

The pub was for the most part dead the day after New Year’s save the regulars who either wanted to drink their sorrows new for the year or the few bums who were about to have their final call of sorts. Both sets were about to be ushered out regardless. Pigs Can’t Fly was still on a holiday break until tomorrow evening, the third. Paddy and that staff deserved it considering how hard their arses worked up towards the holiday season. Both establishments were stable enough with their own monetary gains, Rover’s finding a little more friendly competition once Margo opened up Death and Co. as of late. Still, everything was good and Rufus was grateful for it.

Currently, said proprietor was heading back from a Vietnamese restaurant on the Muggle side of London. Laden with a sack filled with hot pork spring rolls, chicken pho, tofu coconut curry for someone in the kitchen, and a papaya with prawns salad. The aromas were absolutely killing him in less than pleasant ways, but Rufus knew once he made it back in, he’d devour what was there without an iota of mercy. What he wasn’t expecting was Jules Deville returning to his establishment and certainly not the wardrobe attire for the evening.

Passing through the delivery entrance, Rufus was whistling[1] as he dropped off the curry, nodding his head to the ‘thanks, mate!’ given, smile on his face. Eyeing the crowd through the window as fish and chips were floating off to a table nearby, Rufus paused at the sight of the blue dress and the flaming red hair that he hadn’t seen since the incident from Mungo’s. His stomach grumbled but his eyes and body said entirely a different set choice of words. Hm. Placing the plastic sack down whilst muttering a warming spell, the Irishman headed off to Jules’ form. The martini was in mid mixing when he took from his bartender’s fingers the martini shaker, soon pouring its contents into its respective glass.

“Out of all the Irish joints in the Isles, you’ve got to be the one who orders the martini? F’shame, Deville. . .” he drawled, smirking. “And dressed to the nines, t’boot. What’s the occasion? Didn't miss a New Year's invite, did you now?”

1.	The Minstrel Boy | The Coors

As she waited Jules extended her fingers, watching them stretch. Knuckle to ultra-pointy nail. They were painted a deep ruby red, bloody spikes on the end of her hand. She turned her bracelet so it showed properly, then flicked some copper hair out of her face. From behind her came a voice, an Irish brogue challenging her drink order.

“I didn’t think I could trust anyone else with a whiskey order,” Jules said with a sideways smirk. She crossed her eyes and propped her chin on her hand, and the almond-shaped nails on her other hand strummed on the bartop. Jules was waiting, for something. Her eyes followed Rufus as he moved about the bar.

Every action she took tonight was carefully calculated -- it was a scientific guide to mating. Jules could hardly consider herself an expert on the topic, but she didn’t have to question her confidence in getting it when she wanted it. Tonight she had to be more selective, as the traits of this man could end up in her future spawn’s diagnostics. She was …familiar with Rufus, had been a few times. He was a good go-to when she was looking for her carnal fix.

“And dressed to the nines, t’boot. What’s the occasion? Didn't miss a New Year's invite, did you now?”

It was true; everyone else seemed to have finished ringing in the new year and were now spending time nursing their hangover and bloated bellies. The holiday season was a fast and tough blast of celebration and chaos, leading to an overwhelming festive neuroticism. When it was eventually over, the last popper popped, the calendar restarted and everyone had to move on. Jules had always found solace in this.

“Still celebrating,” Jules said, smoothing out the bar napkin at her place. “Getting started on some resolutions.”

The whiskey was being poured methodically, replacing the martini, two glasses given. Raising his glass, Rufus swirled the contents before drinking his down, smiling at Jules in high amusement. Naturally, Rufus was interested enough to hear and wonder what Jules had under her nails. Those nails definitely matched what could occur if there was refusal or game afoot, no?

"Resolutions, hm? That outfit definitely says you have more than one up your sleeve, hm?" Rufus remarked, a smirk creeping upon his lips. Pouring another glass, Rufus drank the second a bit slower. "I've dinner in the back and would hate to see for it to go to waste, especially considering the rice noodles in that pho isn't going to hold forever, hm? So, if it's me y'lookin' for -- of which, by that outfit, I have a feeling it is, then what say you to comin' on up? We're about to close shop, after all."

The glass thunked against the wooden bar, Rufus raising an eyebrow.

"Aye?"

Most of the new year had been spent poring over data surrounding the subject of pregnancy. Not much thought had been given to genetics and pediatric health when choosing a mate, making this night more like a medical procedure than a romantic encounter. Jules had spent years taking a potion to prevent just that, filling herself with one-night stands and fleeting nights of debauchery. Tonight she had taken a potion that would, ideally, be an entirely different type of birth control.

She took the whiskey and sipped it in sync with Rufus, eyeing him over the curvature of the glass. Jules may have been admiring Rufus - or she might have been analyzing his hairline to see if he exhibited any signs of male-pattern baldness. “I haven’t even finished my whiskey,” Jules commented, swirling the contents of her glass around. Jules’ eyebrow arched, a smirk curling the ends of her lips. Jules was determined - but that didn’t mean she’d give it away for free. “What is it that’s putting you in such a rush, is it the pho or the fuck?” After all, she had to make her intentions clear.

There was an unmistakable grin creeping to his lips when Jules asked what exactly was the motivation behind the rush. Ask Rufus Delacroix between food and sex and it became a brief predicament. In this situation, Jules Deville was definitely the one to be chosen. Leaning forward, Rufus stroked an index finger down her cheek, neckline, grinning wickedly. "Oh, you're particularly feisty, fiery today, lass; I love it," he drawled out, his voice intentionally gravelly, gaze unfaltering. Rufus finished the shot, soon tossing the pair of glasses to the dirty tub for someone in the back to clean.

Nodding at Jules, Rufus extended a hand, giving Jules the personal escort from the bar through the kitchen, eventually leading upstairs to his private quarters. Once inside, the bag of food plopped onto his desk and he gave a brief incantation to keep it warm - it'd hold for the most part, after all - before eyeing Jules once more.

"How's this for a rush, fiery temptress? Too fast, too slow? Just right?"

A chuckle as Rufus approached Jules, wrapping his hands around her waist, right above the hips.

"Because I feel like I'm looking at a meal better than the damn pho."

Jules remained statuesque in her aloof reaction to Rufus’ touches. This part bored her- it was all a means to an end. She raised her eyebrow slightly in response to his attempt at seductive talk. Normally it was part of the fun. Jules liked the chase, the necessary banter in flirting. But tonight she was on a mission.

Lately it was all she could think about. And as much as she enjoyed sex, it seemed like the least significant part of the birthing process. The act was satisfying in an entirely different way. She had options - simple fixes to that. If she didn’t want to sleep with someone, she didn’t have to, but why give up the opportunity?

In his apartment was food, which made Jules realize that she actually was rather hungry. But the last thing she wanted to do was eat now, before letting someone scrutinize her entire body.

"How's this for a rush, fiery temptress? Too fast, too slow? Just right?"

There were many times Jules wished she still had her flashy lavender hair. The idea of ‘fiery temptress’ very much appealed to her. Hands on her made the corners of her lips curl into her signature smirk. She peeked around him to look for alcohol, any alcohol.

"Because I feel like I'm looking at a meal better than the damn pho."

“How about drinks?” She took off her short little jacket as she started walking toward a set of tumblers, then left the jacket on the back of a chair. Beneath was a corset that accentuated her dramatic curves. She plucked them from their place and made her way back to Rufus. She pressed the glass to his chest and raised an eyebrow.

“How about you fill these,” Jules told him, in a way that made it clear she wasn’t really asking.

Rufus' brain racked to stay attentive, but damn, was Jules Deville, (Devil more like, his brain mused) making it pretty damn hard with the removal of jacket and assertion of drinks. But he wasn't going to disappoint her, not by a mile. So, the tumblers placed rather assertively into his hands went to the liquor cabinet and poured two glasses full of the good amber liquid before returning to Jules.

"Is this an early Valentine's Day gift? Cos, I wouldn't be at all mad at you if so."

Jules' tumbler went back into her hands and with a soft clink of the glasses touching one another, Rufus raised his own tumbler, drinking the contents slowly, eyes watching the scarlet woman in front of him curiously. Sure, they'd spent time in the sheets before, there was no doubting that, but he was perhaps a little more than curious what she had in mind for this evening than the good ol' rumble tumble. Rufus soon grinned, lowering the glass.

"What made you think about coming here? Haven't missed me that much, have you, Dev?"

Jules sighed and watched as the amber liquid rose in the glass. Once her drink was satisfactory she pulled it away and took a long and necessary drink. There was so much talk involved in the progression toward the bedroom. It wasn’t an efficient means of reproducing at all. Her impatience showed slightly, so she flashed a smile and clinked glasses with Rufus.

“Cheers,” she said, then took the obligatory sip with a raise of her eyebrows. She made eye contact with Rufus and then looked down at the tumbler. She gave it a swirl and drank more. Then Rufus was talking, talking, talking… more delay to the plan.

Covering his mouth with her free hand, Jules thought she was making her intentions clear. “Shhh,” Jules shushed him, smirking. Once she felt that he understood what she was getting at, Jules slowly moved her hand away from his mouth, letting it slip to the top button of his shirt.