The Cackling Jarvey
11:15 pm

For the first time in a long while, Duncan had gone through the evening itching for a fight. Whenever he had too many emotions to deal with, or they were too intense, a good brawl had always helped him let out some of the energy. The resulting adrenaline was a bonus.

Earlier that afternoon Duncan had told his cousin he didn’t get in pub fights anymore.  Nights like this one tended to be an exception.  Learning what had happened to Iona McBoid, who was responsible, and that very soon her soul would be gone for good had him teetering between sorrow and anger.  Anger was easier for him to deal with and he let his sadness fuel it.

There were plenty of good pubs in the magical community.  Sometimes he’d stop by the Leaky Cauldron for lunch.  None of those places, however, were good for letting off steam.  The chances of aurors or law-abiding citizens being in the area was too high.

The Cackling Jarvey, however, was a somewhat displaced in London.  It was a simple place, open room for the bar and tables, bathroom in the back, and a hidden cellar behind the bar where the alcohol and other things were stored.  Nestled between old buildings away from the magical hub it was a better place for people of a shady nature to meet.  It was the perfect place to find a fight.

Duncan found his brawl with a pair of wizards drinking at the bar.  He’d had time to drink a couple of beers before he heard one of them had been talking down about his girlfriend, calling her all sorts of names.  The Scotsman had called him out on it.  They want back and forth but after few more verbal barbs they came at him, thinking it would be an easy fight due to the two on one ratio.  At best, all they did was make the fight more fair.

The other bar patrons either ignored them or watched with mild curiosity on who would win.  If someone was about to get slammed into the bar or one of the tables they just moved their drinks out of the way giving annoyed or amused glances.  Duncan was just glad for the outlet.  Bruises, cuts, and broken bones (if he got any) could be healed.

Niobe Thursby was out with three of the Holyhead Harpies Beaters. Being a notable journalist, and former girlfriend of the notorious Dominic Wiedman had its perks - that is getting to party with professional Quiddy witches. Her girlfriend Foy was in France to track down a source and had bade Niobe a brightly colored, don't-do-anything-I-wouldn't-do night. So far, so good.

Crash!

"That's a holy show! Blin'me!" Niobe shouted with the other Harpies when a tangle of white boys erupted into a fist fight. Making a mess, carrying on, the testosterone, so thick you could slip on it. That was the Jarvey for you. It was where you went for a bit of privacy when you wanted to act the fool.

She shifted in her chair to get a better look - Niobe was always getting a better look - and ah, "that's bollocks, it's two on one."

"You should go even the odds, Nibs," said Juno just before they evened themselves.

"I think he's handling himself fine," she laughed.

"Fine is right. Right looker," added Mal.

"He looks like he's going to get himself arrested," Niobe judged. The Harpies were happy to let the boys knock their heads together, but Niobe who was too bold broke off. She'd had a few and it just didn't seem right for a pretty face like that to get a) messed up more or b) photographed in a mugshot.

"Oi! Oi! Boyo!" Niobe broke Cackling Jarvey 'decorum' and moved towards the fray with her hands wide, like she was trying to stop traffic. Her voice was strong, clearly accustomed to using it. She was treated to jeers from other patrons who might like to see the battle continue, but she was hardly fazed.

"You fancy getting popped by MLE, sweethart?" she asked Duncan, the fight's former underdog. His opponent was recovering from getting thrown into a chair. "Because soon as that fella figures out you're going to kick his arse to Sunday, it'll be wands."

And wands meant hexes and hexes meant curses and curses meant someone was going to call the law. Niobe laid a firm hand on Duncan's shoulder and nodded her head toward the door.

For a few blissful minutes Duncan lost himself in the fight and forgot about the world. He forgot about the cruelty and injustice as everything he felt went into each blow. In his opinion, this was a much better outlet than moping around the house and feeling bad like his brother was doing. Then again, he’d always been a fighter.

Suddenly there was a voice, calling for his attention and pulling him back into the world and even asked if he minded getting arrested. “It wouldn’t be the worst part of my day,” Duncan retorted.  When his accent came out slightly thicker than normal he paused.  He tasted blood but had yet to feel any pain.

Feeling her hand he gave a light shake of his head, “Alright, alright.” First, though, he put some money on the bar and took the unopened beer bottle the bartender handed him. Then he let the woman steer him outside and away from his still dazed opponent and the boos from the crowd. Hopefully he hadn’t made things worse the the bloke’s girlfriend by kicking his arse.

Outside the wind was still blowing but otherwise the evening wasn’t unpleasant.

Duncan turned his green gaze towards the witch, “This the part where you play bouncer and go back inside after kicking me out?”

She hadn’t kicked him out, but it sounded a lot better than any of the alternatives. He still thought he could have knocked the bloke out before he could pull a wand but that didn’t matter now.

"Eh, shut your gobs!" Niobe barked back at the hecklers as she and her new friend walked out the front door. She offered a middle finger as salute. In the corner, her Quiddy friends were laughing it up. Their Niobe could never leave well-enough alone. Nor could she resist the naughty and rugged.

Once outside, she reached into her pocket for a crumpled up bar napkin. She traded it for the bottle in his hand.

"Nah, course not. Here, you're bleeding." Niobe touched her own lip to indicate where he should have a care.

In the flickering streetlights she could get a better look at him. Better look up at him. He was the tallest bloke she'd seen in ages, and he had that rugged I-Live-In-A-Cabin look to him.

"I'm called Niobe," she said. "What's your name?"

Duncan let the witch hold his beer in exchange for the napkin she handed him and dutifully dabbed at the spot she implied He glanced at the blood that came off before dabbing it again. As far as busted lips went, this one was good but not the worst he’d ever had.

Niobe. He’d seen that name often enough to one person. He had to check. “Niobe Thursby? It’s a pleasure, I’m Duncan.”

The fight had helped break up his building emotional tension but he still had no plans to go home for several hours yet. Any physical complaints from his body could be ignored until the morning. At least then he could focus on being responsible and the steadfast member of the family again.

“Since you’re not leaving me on the curb, what do you recommend we do now? I think you'd trust me in another bar." He was done with intentional fights, however.

Ha. Niobe always got a little thrill about being recognized. She grinned and leaned against the brick wall, then took a sip of Duncan's beer.

"Duncan," she repeated, so she wouldn't forget. Duncan the disaster. As if she would forget the six-foot-plus Scottman who started fights at the Jarvey.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, boyo. We'll just have us a chat right here." Niobe handed back his beer. "Feel free to thank me any time."

She crossed her arms and inspected the nails on her left hand, her missing ring finger leaving a windy gap. A missing finger always to remind her to think twice once in a while. Niobe wondered what reminded Duncan to think twice - he didn't seem at all perturbed that a) he'd been in a fight, or that b) he'd been interrupted before he could win handily.

With his lip not bleeding anymore, Duncan scrunched up the napkin and put it in a spare pocket of his robes, glancing over as she handed the beer back.

“Thanks for what?” He offered a grin to show he was playing then seemed to consider for a moment. “Alright. Thanks for not calling any aurors or leaving it as a potential story. Wouldn’t have been a good one anyway.”

He could practically see the looks he’d get from his brother or uncle if either had happened. If he had been arrested they would have let him sit there and wait it out, most likely. Duncan wouldn’t blame them for it in the least.

Since they weren’t going anyway, the Scotsman leaned back, getting comfortable against the wall, taking a drink. He could have apparated away and left the witch to her own devices but he supposed he was curious about Niobe Thursby, Daily Prophet Reporter.

"As a trained reporter, do your questions come naturally or is there some premeditation involved?"

"A trained reporter, I should plant you in front of me boss and get us a raise," Niobe said, looking up from her fingers. For a wizard who looked very much like he'd be a right lout, Duncan was defying expectations by using a big word or two, by not hitting on her, and by not being as stinking drunk as Niobe'd figured a barfighter would be.

"Trained indeed. No, just naturally nosy."

Niobe was being modest. That and she wasn't used to other people asking her questions. Since Duncan was turning out to be unexpected, she decided to give some kind of honest answer.

"It does take practice, I'll admit it. You figure out how to ask a question a lot of different ways, and if you start with easy questions someone'll be more likely to answer hard ones. The trick is to show up with as much info as ye can. The more you know, the more you can ask."

She smiled. "And what do you do, tall man? Other than getting rescued by women not minding their own business?"

Duncan nodded, understanding about asking questions in different ways. His niece was terrible about willingly giving information and normally gave the shortest, vaguest answers possible. The idea of Thursby questioning Moira was an amusing one. He wondered who would win.

The witch asked him a question in return which was only fair. Too bad he couldn't be completely honest about it.

“I raise winged horses with my brother.” Mostly they dealt with Aethonans and Granians, but there were a couple Abraxans at the farm too. The latter certainly took more of a firm hand to work with. “Not nearly as exciting a career as yours.”

"Winged horses? Like a pegasus? Cool."

Niobe nodded approvingly. That line of work seemed to suit Duncan, bloke his size.

"I've seen a few, when Hogwarts had that tournament. Beauxbatons showed up with a massive team of them. Really spendid creatures. Don't know that I'd have the patience though. Not really the country type. I'm a soft city dweller."

She held out her hands.  "Have a look at these, never worked a day in her life." Indeed her hands were not those of anyone who'd been within miles of a farm. The most work they'd seen was a typewriter and the insides of a Runespoor's maw - her missing left ring finger was evidence of that.

Duncan gave a nod of affirmation, lifting his beer for another drink, “Nothing wrong with that.”

Country life was not to everyone’s tastes or capabilities. He had only discovered his own suitability for it after moving in with Angus.

Growing up his parents had hired staff to take care of all the hard labor while they focused on the business aspect. Once he moved out after graduation he began working at the Ministry and had a nice bachelor flat in Diagon.

The change in lifestyles had taken some getting used to. Fortunately he had been kept extremely busy getting the farm back in shape, otherwise he would have found himself wandering aimless for a while. Most likely the Scotsman would have been found staring into a bottle at different pubs, because he refused to go back to the Ministry once the war was over. Duncan lost contact with a lot of people because of it.

“We have Aethonans and Granians mostly, but we do have two Abraxans like what you saw at the tournament. Ours aren’t quite so flashy, though.” Aethonan horses were extremely versatile, while the Granians were best known for their speed. Abraxans were simply huge and powerful and the beasts knew it.

“I’m curious. What brings you to a dive like this instead of some of the more popular places in Diagon?” Duncan took another drink.

Aw, nice lad. Not going to tease about cushy city livin' where no one looked another in the eyes. Niobe stood up from the wall to pace a little on the pavement, moving a little to stay warm. It wasn't that bad, but she'd left her coat inside.

"The Harpies," she said with a big glinting smile. "No one - not no one - is a better time than my Holyhead Harpies."

She barely knew them, but they'd all hit it off. "Met them through my ex, he plays with Falmouth. Nice to just pretend the whole doesn't exist, you know? Get away from Diagon and all the usual places and faces. Who knows, you might run in to someone new. And I like new."

And that Niobe did. She crouched down and picked up a cigarette butt and flicked it into the bucket of sand sat next to the door.

"What about you? You're here alone."

Folk could go to the bar alone; Niobe'd done it many times. But there was always a reason, or else you'd just have a drink at home.

Duncan watched the witch as she began to pace while he remained propped up against the wall. He wondered if she was restless or chilled but her answer to his question derailed that thought train.

“Really?”  He had figured that with Niobe's job she undoubtedly met a lot of people. Meeting a popular group like the Harpies through an ex hadn't crossed his mind.  Of course, everyone needed some sort of social life.  His own was rather lacking, aside from dropping in on his uncle or unsuspecting cousins.  “Funny how people can meet new friends sometimes.”

Back at Hogwarts he had enjoyed Quidditch as much as any other student.  It had been exciting and a nice break from the regular routine classes, studying, and getting into fights.  Now he didn't actively follow the sport except for what he read in the paper.

Niobe returned the question and Duncan offered a half shrug and a grin, “I've had a lot of tension built up and I needed an outlet.” He pointed towards the door of the Jarvey. “All good now.” Until he got home anyway.

"Aye, funny," Niobe agreed. Friends or not, Duncan here wasn't forgettable although he seemed to be trying to be. Great lug, not possible. Not with that half-smile of his.

It took Niobe a second to catch on to Duncan's full meaning, and when she did she scoffed loudly and shook her head in delighted bafflement.

"You showed up looking for a scrap. Just especially for that! You're a madman. And, and - " Niobe snapped her fingers at him, wrinkling her nose. "You squared up on those two bleedin' ogres. What the hell is in your great block of a head?"

Niobe'd had a few and what little tact she had was left in an empty glass or few back at the Harpies' table. Words alone might come off as disapproving, but really Niobe was impressed and fascinated. "Built up tension, I'd love to hear that go over in court."

She smiled and shook her head slowly.

Duncan couldn’t help but laugh at the witch’s reaction once she fully caught on.

“Calling them ogres is a bit much I think. First one to go down was favoring his left knee from the start, couldn’t maintain his balance and put him at a heavy disadvantage. The second one has a bad shoulder.”

There were many who would assume, having seen no such signs from the two blokes, that Duncan was spinning a yarn. Years of getting into such scraps, however, had taught him to look for the small and subtle signs. Finding their weaknesses

“I don’t know about court, but it never went over well with any of the professors way back when I was in school.” Any and all excuses he used never got him out of detention. Often Iona would try to lessen his sentence or get him out of detention.

Damn. Duncan took another drink of beer.

“What about you? What do you do in such situations?”