There he was, sat at the bar waiting for her like the good boy that he was. Dearest Kurby Bagnold with the cute little sulky face and glare had received her owl and come to the Leaky Cauldron for a little chat. All that working with wolves had taught him to obey, perhaps. Or he was hoping for something more than a chat, Genny considered as she made her way around the tables to the bar.

A hand touched the wizard’s thigh and she leaned in to press her lips against his cheek. A faint red lipstick stain was left in their place as she pulled back slowly. Those silly stains had made their mark a few times on those cheeks.

“If it isn’t my favourite wolf man.” Technically he wasn’t a wolf man. Semantics.
“You’re looking good, sweetie. Rugged.” The journalist gave her friend a wink before removing her hand and lifting herself up onto the stool beside him at the bar.

“Martini. 1 olive.” The bartender was ordered and the witch span around on the stool to get a better look at her wolf man. Her smile was bright, flashing bright white teeth as her eyes danced over his face. “How are things? Are you well? Have you caught any strong beasts recently?”

Dealing with anyone associated with Witch Weekly was like playing with fire while hanging over a pit of ravenous dragons.  When he'd gotten the letter from the magazine's assertive editor, he had considered literally lighting it on fire and scooping the ashes in the trash, but the imperious-looking owl that had delivered it had started to peck at him until he'd finally given in and penned an acquiescing response.  Even so, he'd thought sourly at the time, as dangerous as meeting Genevieve Garcia-Gamp might be, considering her power of the pen, ignoring her was equally perilous.

He'd arrived early enough that he was already one beer in by the time Genevieve arrive.  Unfortunately, said beer wasn't close to strong enough to put him anywhere close to enjoying the attention.  Giving the woman a sour look, he raised his glass to take another extremely long sip, wishing that the mug housed something stronger than a porter.

"They know how to make martinis here?" he echoed sarcastically, eyebrows raised in faux surprise. 

Kurby gave a shrug, setting his glass back down on the bar as he turned enough to watch her out of the corner of his eye.  "Just grand," he said, rubbing self consciously at his cheek.  "Naw, we've moved on to taming 'em with singsongs.  How's the kid?" he countered, arching a brow at her.  "Off to Hogwarts already, or are you just startin' on drinks early?"

So, sulky and sultry and brooding!

Gen loved it.

“One would hope.” Her dark eyes jumped to the bartender who was pouring something that looked like martini at least, but into a glass certainly not meant for martini. Her fault for suggesting the Leaky Cauldron as their meeting place, really.

Genny was playing nice and the rugged wolf man went straight in with a dig. Why was she not at home being a perfect mother to her perfect kid? Well, Genny certainly wasn’t perfect and Dante had learned that years ago. His father was a Death Eater and his mother the Queen of Gossip. The boy was doomed from birth.
“What kid?” Witch Weekly’s editor asked, eyes wide as a glass of what she could only hope was martini was placed on the bar for her. There was no olive in the glass. There was, instead, a pickled onion.

“S’all we’ve got, luv.”
“Oh.” The glass was pushed back across to him. “Make it a wine. Red. No onion.”

“How’s your boss?” Much better topic of conversation than her son. “Have you managed to remain civil with this one? Does he like the sultry brooder as much as I do?”

The werewolf hunter smirked a little into his beer as his companion was forced to negotiate over her preferred quality of drink.  The Leaky Cauldron was definitely not the usual quality of haunts preferred by the Queen of Gossip.  Kurby had assumed she'd invited him here because she wanted them both to be seen by a certain part of magical society.  He'd gone along with it because he was curious and because with Genny, it was better to pick his battles.

As Genevieve changed her order and returned her attention to him, the first salvo of questions began.  Kurby arched a brow, otherwise keeping his expression blank as he raised his glass to take another drink of beer.  So that was what she was after.

He took a long sip, using the pause to consider his best response.  For all that the rest of Level Four seemed to do nothing but grumble about their new boss, he liked Alec Carter.  Carter was efficient, effective, and open to considering better ways to approach problems, so long as they were effective and run up the chain of command properly.  The whole floor likely knew about the man's marital problems by now, but Kurby wasn't about to help the Witch Weekly plaster them all over their cover. 

"We haven't really seen that much of him," he said, rolling his shoulders in a shrug as he lowered his glass partway.  "Been too busy with the werewolf singsongs, and he mostly works with the division heads.  Why?" he asked, preparing to take another sip.  At this rate, he'd be on to his third drink before Genevieve finally secured her first.  "What're you after with 'im, Gen?"

“Who says I’m after anything? Thank you, sweetie,” Finally a decent looking drink was pushed her way. It was significantly harder to go wrong with a red wine. Or so Genevieve hoped. She took it, lifting it to her lips for a sip. It certainly wasn’t of a decent quality but it was drinkable. One could expect nothing more from the Leaky Cauldron. There was a time she wouldn’t have even been able to afford this. Who was she to stick her nose up to it?

“You judge too quickly, Kurby.” She was fully facing him on the stool, leaning forward slightly, elbow against the bar, her body language extremely open. “We’ve not spoken in such a long time.” Most probably since they last got drunk together. He was more fun after a drink. Her hand was placed on his thigh, just above the knee. “I’m not always after something. I just want to know how you are. Can a girl not do that without ulterior motive?” They both knew that she rarely could.

Would she come see him without an ulterior motive?

"No," Kurby said bluntly, making a show of rolling his eyes as he took another drink.  Even though he had stuck to drinking porter, he was finally starting to feel the smallest bit of it.  Alcohol was a survival strategy for conversations like this.

There was part of him -- probably the part of his leg immediately under her hand, or close enough to it -- that was more than happy to go along with the act, even if neither of them believed it.  Genny Garcia-Gamp might always have an ulterior motive, but sometimes that motive was merely forgetting her troubles and having fun.  Unfortunately, he was at least a beer away from even starting to convince himself of believing that tonight.  If she'd gone through the trouble of inviting him out tonight, she had something else in mind.

He finished off the beer in one more gulp, and then signaled to the bartender for another.

"What's the issue about, Gen?" he asked, tapping a finger against the rim of his glass, now empty except for a bit of lingering foam.  "Drama in the Ministry?  European wizards gone wild?"

No. Such a simple word with so much behind it. Queen G didn’t like to hear the word ‘No’. It was so negative. From Kurby tonight it was so judging. He was, to be fair, working off prior experiences with the Witch Weekly Editor; but hadn’t they been so fun? Hadn’t he enjoyed himself during those experiences? She certainly had!

Her wolf man was clearly eager to jump to business, the reason for her asking to meet him. Such a pity that he wasn’t willing to play ball, but then, one couldn’t expect a wolf catcher to really sit and be played with.
“European wizards gone wild?” The witch asked, dark eyes glistening in the dim lighting of the pub. “Do you know something I don’t know, Kurby?” Her grin, playful and possibly far too flirtatious was flashed along with a squeeze of his knee.

“No.” Her smile softened and she swilled her wine in the glass. “You want to know why I asked you here; other than for your dazzling smile and extraordinarily captivating company.” Her hand was pulled back from his knee, resting on the bar instead. “The issue is about the wondrous men of wizarding Britain.” It was always her favourite issue to prepare; all those interviews with gorgeous or powerful wizards were certainly not something to complain about.

And there it was in a Doxy egg: exactly the reason why she'd been asking after Carter.  Kurby rolled his eyes for effect, just to make sure she knew how he felt about the Witch Weekly's annual bachelor edition.  He didn't care one way or another who ended up in its pages, so long as he was kept far away from it.

Except he did care a little about Alec Carter, who hadn't done anything to deserve getting plastered all over Witch Weekly's big feature.  Considering all the turmoil that Level Four's Head was dealing with both inside his department and in his own family life, he didn't need the sort of drama that Queen G liked to bring.

"Carter's too old," he said flatly, glancing past her for the bartender.  His next beer couldn't arrive a moment too soon.  "You're not goin' to sell any issues with him."

With perfect timing, his replacement drink was shoved across the countertop at him.  Kurby swooped it up, immediately raising it to take another drink.

"Besides," he added, a bit sourly, "he's got kids.  Not exactly the sort your readers are going to fantasize after.  If you want someone from Level Four, you should stick in Spectre or Gamp."

Was Kurby trying to protect his new boss? Gen couldn’t help but smile as her acquaintance came up with any possible reasons for why her magazine shouldn’t touch Alec Carter. The werewolf capturer definitely needed more to drink. Something stronger than beer!

Genny sipped at her wine as he spoke, raising her eyebrows.
“I have a son, Kurby. That hasn’t stopped you.” Not that he fantasized about her. That may have been decidedly weird. But what did one really know about another person? Gen had learned a long time ago that you could never know someone. “And I get love letters on a daily basis. It must be the murderer’s wife thing I’ve got going on.” the witch winked and took another sip of paint stripping wine.

“You do realise that you’ve just suggested 2 gay wizards for witches to fantasise about? I want to keep my job, sweetie. You keep to werewolf wrestling and I’ll do the suitability judging.”