Cillian took another gulp of Madame Rosemerta's Mullied Mead while rubbing at his tired eyes. He had had a long day at work, even though he didn't usually work the front of the shop on the weekends he was prone to taking up his personal workshops instead. It was easier to get clientele out on a weekend than during the week. He had a particularly rough class. A student whom he had told time and time again had no business being there and was only wasting their money was causing quite the disturbance putting on a rather dramatic show about how Cillian was going to be trampled by a troll. He was used to her doing this of course but he just had no energy for it. He had been troubled by visions again. This time around they were of werewolves and he didn't want to know what any of it meant.

Having spent the last eight years living in Hogsmeade Cillian was well known, particularly around the pubs. He wasn't a heavy drinker but when he needed it, there wasn't anything in the world that would keep him from it. As an adult he found passing out drunk was a better way to keep the visions at bay than drinking any sort of potion. Since his coma he hadn't touched anything, not even a simple calming draught. He didn't trust anything in a glass unless is was good old fashioned alcohol.

Today's frustrations were only made worse with the fact that Hogmeade had been over run by teenagers. Cillian remembered a few fond memories from his own experiences in the magical village as a teenager. He had thought it was so wonderful, an entire village of only magical folk. Coming from a muggle family everything to do with magic was just a wonderment, everything always seemed so fantastical. Even as an adult now there was still charm to the old village and watching the kids running around all day made him miss those days more than he ever thought he would.

Margo felt like the day had somewhat smacked her in the face with old memories brought up.  Just being in Hogsmeade for the first time in the longest time, and then buying candy she hadn’t had for months at least, then Ferguson, well, as he liked to be called, Fergie, now.  It was all very strange and somewhat surreal, like she was walking in a strange dream that wouldn’t have made sense in any other context.  It all took a bit of time to digest. 

So, the best thing to do to digest anything was go for a drink.  Now, it wasn’t that Margo was a heavy drinker – at least not all of the time, but when she wanted to just relax and process something, a glass of firewhiskey did the trick as good as anything.  Sitting around her flat with Lizard was well and good, but it didn’t really help with anything – and it certainly wasn’t as fun as being out.

The cat could fend for himself, amuse himself with one of the toys she probably left on the floor, and she would be home later.  So, strolling into the Three Broomsticks, she immediately removed her coat, revealing her caramel shoulders and red tank-top (some people thought she was crazy, but she WAS wearing a dragon hide jacket over it), and she also had on leather pants… it wasn’t as though she was going to be cold at any point.  No, she cradled the prized jacket over her arm and headed toward the bar, taking the empty seat next to a somewhat shaggy-haired stranger. 

She was definitely not shy, and flashing him a quick smile before she took her seat, Margo leaned up on the bar and called out to the bartender, “Firewhiskey, please!” she held up her hand to signal it was she who had spoken and Madame Rosemerta gave her a nod.  It was highly unlikely she remembered her, Margo had changed significantly in eight years, at least she thought she had, and she settled back down on her seat, giving the stranger a friendly look.  “Tough day?” she motioned to the glasses, putting the bag she had on her other arm – the one from Honeyduke’s – on the counter next to her. 

“I can see why,” she laughed softly, “All the kids around, it was a mess.  Not that I don’t think they should be here – I just wish I had known, you know, before I came.  Probably would have made it less shocking and far easier to get around.” 

Cillian had taken notice of the woman almost as soon as she had walked into the bar, or at least as soon as she removed her jacket. It wasn't very often you saw a woman wearing thin and 'revealing' (revealing being a relative term) clothing in the middle of the Scottish countryside in the beginning of November. The tone of her skin was also drawing his eye and though he didn't know much about fashion he had to admire how well that shade of red brought out the colour of her skin.

He smiled back at the woman as she sat down next to him. Perhaps this bad day was going to have a good ending. Not like other men Cillian didn't instantly think of getting the attractive woman into his bed but she was certainly going to be good for a bit of casual conversation. Thankfully she had started it. Even with a handful of beers in him he was still the shy little kid he had been all those years ago when they had been in school together, although of course at this moment neither was recognizing the other.

"Ye have no idea." He smiled and raised his glass in a form of cheers. He wasn't about to go into detail about what was making things so rough for him and luckily she had made a few assumptions for him. He had to chuckle though, it was rather amusing after all, "Trust me, I've bin livin in this town fer eight years, ye never get used to it, or prepared fer it. Ye jus gotta let it happen." He took a long drink from his glass and glanced at the bag she had with her, "Ye able ta git a good lot despite thee wee lil monster runnin around?"

Instantly, of course, Margo was struck by the accent.  She had grown up in London and summered in Spain, so her own accent was heavily London with just a dab of the Spanish lilt that came out in certain words and phrases, depending on the level of her passion about a subject or the anger she was exhibiting at any given time.  His accent was far less – posh, as it were, and she liked that. She grew up around people who sounded like she did and had learned to find almost instant distaste for it.  Through her travels, Wales, Sweden, and Romania, she had also learned an appreciation for the foreign and unique; she tilted her head to the side to listen.

She could not tell where, exactly, he was from, though she supposed Scotland - and was aware that he was fairly young looking.  There was something familiar about his appearance, though in places like this and on a day like today, everything was just starting to feel familiar. 

She laughed softly as he continued to respond.  She nodded along with what he said and supposed kids shared a lot in common with what she had to work with in the past, though children had the wonderful ability to verbalize their feelings, sometimes the things they said should have been left unsaid.  She had a cousin who could give people a run for their money on things they shouldn’t say, though she supposed that must have run in the family.

Nodding, she smiled at Madame Rosemerta when she delivered the drink to her, putting it down on the counter and swiftly, Margo reached out to grab it.  The pub owner walked away, but Margo remained, cradling the drink in her hand and took a quick sip.  Smacking her lips (as she had gotten in trouble for so many times before), she sighed happily, “This is good,” she smiled at her new acquaintance before taking another quick sip. 

“Perhaps,” she said with a sort of half-agreement.  “I find it easier to know when and where I’m going to have to crowd weave though,” she chuckled and then looked to the bag as he mentioned what she got, “Oh, yeh,” she nodded, pulling the bag over, “just a few things – pepper imps, fudge flies – the necessities,” she grinned easily, tucking the handles of the bag inside of it and then picked up her glass again.  “Went through a lot of trouble too.  Managed to bump into one of the kids I knew too – my cousin,” she shook her head, that same look of disbelief on her face from before, “it is so beyond chance for something like that to happen, you know?” 

Cillian watched the woman drink and held back a smirk when she smacked her lips. Although some would have found it rude he found it rather endearing. There was nothing wrong with a woman that enjoyed a good drink. As one would be able to tell from the three empty pints in front of him Cillian enjoyed a good drink himself. He wasn't drunk by any means, you live in Hogsmeade long enough you learn to build up your tolerance. The only sign of the impending inebriation was the added lilt to his own words. As a 'muggle' Cillian had grown up in Ireland and spoke through a thick Gaelic accent he had picked up from his parents. Then moving to Scotland to live at Hogwarts and afterwards Hogsmeade he started to pick up a bit of a Scottish Brogue as well.

"Definitely looks like a good haul ta me." He smiled widely, the good thing about the drinks piling up was that he was a little more willing to be social. Usually Cillian avoided social situations all together unless he was absolutely forced into them, like at work. The list of sweets was making him crave some himself but he doubted he'd get out of the Three Broomsticks in time to stop by Honeydukes. He supposed he'd have to drop by the next day.

He smirked a little bit, the back of his mind trying to figure out why she looked so familiar, the fact that he hadn't seen her in over eight years was making it hard to place her face, "I take it ye didn't know he went ta Hogwarts?"

Nodding at his assertion that it was a good haul, Margo agreed fully.  It was a pleasant little present she got for herself and was going to be glad to share them in the lunch room on Monday.  Everyone in the office seemed to enjoy at least a little bit of her unruliness and even joined in at times, despite the fact many of them had been pushing paper far longer than Margo had.  They were all dragon people, a little bit of pyromania came with that. 

She would offer some now, but mixing alcohol with pepper imps was a bad idea.  It’d create quite the flame, which would inevitably lead to trouble… well… if it weren’t in a public pub, she would have tried it.  Strangely intriguing.  But, she had to remind herself, this was public.  Public meant no fires.  That would also mean she would probably lose her job and have a whole hell of a lot of damage to pay for.  She retracted her hand from even near the bag and instead lifted her glass to take another drink. 

She finished her sip as he asked about what she had expected and she smiled. “Oh, I knew he was in Hogwarts – all Amhersts go to Hogwarts,” fairly recognizable wizarding family name, a longstanding Hogwarts fixture and all that.  She heard it all the time from family on her father’s side.  Mum’s side were Beauxbaton’s, but Margo had absolutely no desire to learn French or go to the Mediterranean for some sissy school.  Hogwarts was the obvious choice and Margo had gone there – as had all of her siblings, cousins, and extended family.  “I just forgot how old he was.” 

“Fifth year,” she shook her head, “I hadn’t seen him in at least six years.  It was completely bizarre.”  Clearing her throat, Margo actually realized at this juncture she had no idea who this person was and the only cryptic clue she had give for her identity was Amherst.  “I’m Margo, by the way,” she smiled, "forgot my manners for a few minutes there."

Cillian smiled finding himself completely transfixed by the woman. Perhaps it was the way she was dressed, or the slight hint that she had a tattoo or maybe it was even the slight exoticness to her voice and appearance. Whatever it was Cillian was finding that he couldn't look away from her, which probably was going to make her uncomfortable real soon. Cillian was typically a very shy person but since she had started the conversation he wasn't about to be rude and brush her off, that would have just been bad manners.

When she mentioned the name Amherst something in Cillian's mind clicked. Unfortunately with the amount of alcohol he had already consumed the fuzzy sense of recognition wasn't getting any clearer. He knew he had heard the name before, perhaps he knew her cousin, the one she had run into. It wasn't that odd of an assumption. He had been working and living in Hogsmeade for the past eight years and if her cousin was a fifth year then he was either fifteen or sixteen which meant he had been visiting the village for at least the past two years. It was very possible for Cillian to have come across the youngster.

However when she formerly introduced herself Cillian's fuzzy sense of recognition smacked him over the head like a brick. He knew her. He actually knew who she was not her cousin. He had gone to school with her and though she had been a year older than him and in a different house he knew full well who she was. She had stood out for him, all arms and legs and in his opinion a very pretty young woman but he had never had the guts to even talk to her at school, then after his coma he had pretty much stopped talking to everyone all together.

He licked his lips wondering if he should tell her. Would she even care that they had gone to school together? It wasn't like they had been friends. This wasn't some kind of freaky reunion of old friends who had lost touch. For all he knew she had no idea he had even existed. For the time being he decided it was best to to tell her. A formal introduction of his own was in order and if she recognized him from there then well all the better.

"Cillian Cuthbert." He offered her his hand for a friendly hand shake, "So what brings ye ta Hogsmeade, I mean other than thee wonderful haul of candy."

Margo was not usually aware of people staring at her.  In fact, it was something she got used to over time.  Between the skeptical looks to the dirty looks to the complete stares of confusion, there was a lot of things that she was used to.  The weird look with the kind of glassy eyes of being slightly drunk was also one and Margo did not let it bother her (how could she, really?).  Truth be told, as she finished the first glass of firewhiskey and the second was already waiting for her on the counter, she was not perturbed. 

Taking that drink in her hand, she raised her eyebrows as he seemed to realize something.  He sat up a little more and licked his lips – body language said a lot and Margo wondered how on Earth she was getting that reaction.  Whatever the case, she supposed maybe she was a recognizable sort of person.  As a dragon researcher, she wasn’t exactly an unknown figure and then anyone even around their age who went to Hogwarts would probably remember the girl who spent more time screwing up than doing anything productive.

Of course, that immediately begged her to try and recall who in the bloody hell he was.  It wasn’t intentional that she would forget something like that… but… well, she couldn’t help but be a bit embarrassed.  She usually didn’t feel embarrassment, but forgetting someone was a different circumstance.  Smiling as though she knew who he was, but totally wracking her mind for the person – and then he said his name.  Well, lacking all the grace of the well-bred girl she was, Margo could not help but start laughing.

She remembered this kid!  Cuthbert, the coma kid!  “You were the coma boy!” she called out, like it was no big deal, and wiped the bottom of her eye with another laugh, realizing quite quickly that she probably shouldn’t have done that.  Clamping up her mouth, she tried to stop laughing, and giggled softly instead, until she came to a stop.  “I mean, I uh… I remember that.  You were in school at the same time as me – it was kind of a big deal… if I remember right…” she did. And it was. And she had laughed over it, of course, she probably wouldn’t mention that now – and to the person’s face.

Rubbing the back of her neck, she took another moment to take a drink of her firewhiskey and smacked her lips again, out of an unusually unladylike habit and shrugged at his question.  “Just the candy, a chance to get out – working at the ministry now… So, I try to find ways to get out of doors.”  It was an accurate assessment of her situation and smiled easily, though still stained slightly red on her tanned cheeks from the earlier 'coma boy' comment.  "What about you? You said you lived here, but I can't imagine you would come here every weekend."

To be honest Cillian hadn't expected her to know who he was. She had been in the year ahead of him and had been in a completely different house, he had known her, even admired her but who was ever going to remember the tiny little Irish kid that rarely spoke to anyone even his own friends. Then again he should  have known that anyone who had gone to school with him would have remembered the kid that put himself in a year long coma from drinking a poorly concocted potion. Even though his coma had happened only a month or so before Dumbledore's unfortunate death, it was still something people remembered. He supposed that whole period in time, everything leading up to and including the second war was memorable.

Cillian had gone a deep red from the embarrassment of it all. He knew she hadn't meant to embarrass him, that much showed in her face. Cillian exchanged a glance with Madame Rosemerta who gave him a highly sympathetic look. Those in Hogsmeade that knew him knew how he felt about his unfortunate accident and by now they were so used to this sort of thing that only those who didn't live in the village looked up at her exclamation. In a way he was kinda glad she wasn't falling over herself desperately trying to apologize to him. It had been an honest mistake, there was no need for that kind of reaction.

The colour started to fade from his face as she casually continued on with their conversation as if nothing had happened. He was fascinated to find out that she had been working for the Ministry. He would have never suspected that of her. She always seemed so wild and unruly. He thought the Ministry would have been too controlled and rule heavy for her liking. He took a long wash of his mead before answering her about himself, "I work at thee Inner Eye jus done thee way. It sells Divination supplies and what not. I also do personal readins. Once me boss found out I was an honest to goodness Seer he started usin that ta bring in business and every weekend I teach a Divination workshop."

He smiled now that the blush had completely gone from his features, "I've bin livin in Hogsmeade ever since I left school. There's a quaint little flat above thee shop that I've bought. I'm here," He nodded towards the bar in general, "because I had a bad workshop. There's this one woman that jus drives me crazy but she pays so me boss won't let me kick her out." He rubbed his head a bit, "Also havin bin gettin much sleep, nightmares again."

He decided a change of topic was due before she tried to get more out of him. He was used to people bothering him about his 'gift' trying too hard to get a glimpse of the future. He hated it, especially since he was really bad at interpreting his own dreams. At the moment he honestly didn't want to know what all the nightmares about werewolves meant.

"So what do ye do? Workin at thee Ministry jus seems out of character fer ye."

Margo never intentionally embarrassed people.  It was one of her assorted talents to be able to do that without having to really do much of anything, and thankfully, she was not exceptionally easy to embarrass.  She had grown out of that, after about ten years old, she just stopped caring.  Her family conditioned her for that, she figured, especially when they were closer to the extended branches of purebloods that thought she was the most horrible excuse for a young woman there could be in the family.  After that point, she just… it didn’t sink in anymore.  Of course, when she made someone else embarrassed, and not intentionally, she did feel that familiar tingle on her own cheeks and coughed into her hand before taking a drink. 

That was a good mask for the moment and she smiled, continuing regardless.  She wouldn’t let it stop her or turn her away, after all, she was too friendly and definitely not mean-spirited in that way.  She had done far worse things than put herself into a coma – at least that was a self-inflicted thing, she generally messed with everyone else – like accidentally making Professor Flitwick grow an entire coat of thick, white fur during class one day.  It had been a complete accident, of course, but Margo was ridiculously bad at charms – or really all wand work, so it was not unexpected.  They were some of the first classes she dropped when she had the chance. 

Thankfully, he did not continue with the whole thing and she didn’t either, so they could move on.  Nodding at his description of what he did, Margo could see something like that.  He had always been that quite kid, who, like she announced to most of the people at the bar, had gone into a coma, and then was rumored to be a seer.  Now, Margo always hated divination, but at least she had been able to fudge her way through it with the most ridiculous things she could come up with – Trelawney seemed to like that – and her active imagination always had fun when she was in the class dealing with those sorts of things.  When the Centaur took over, well, Margo was not exactly thrilled, but she tried. 

And he was working with that kind of stuff, though it appeared he took it far less… insanely than the professors she had dealing with it and apparently something hadn’t gone right today.  His accent was a little thick for her and she had to lean forward to really get a handle on it – she had to curse the fact she had been so many other places that when it was an accent from her own backyard, it was hard to place it.  And then there were nightmares or something – why would he tell her that?  Shrugging her shoulders just a tad, she nodded and took another drink from her glass, “Well,” she gave him a crooked smile, “a drink or two will surely put you out for the night,” she laughed a bit, wrinkling her nose with a bit of a laugh. 

Then the focus came back to her and Margo could not help but laugh outright at his assessment of her character.  Was it that obvious?  Grinning ruefully, she swirled the firewhiskey around in her glass and chuckled, “I handle overseas personnel for the Dragon Research and Restraint Bureau,” she started, “I used to research out in the field, you know, Wales, Sweden, Romania, etc – I did behavior studies, particularly feeding aggression, but there was an accident and I came back to do some desk work.  Not even half as exciting,” she chuckled softly, “but it’s a job – and far easier to do after everything.”  She waved her hand dismissively as she took the last bit of liquid from the cup and pushed it forward to be taken away and replaced with another. 

“Never would have dreamed having a desk job,” she laughed softly, “But, I guess things change for everybody, right?” she smiled, turning that smile toward Madame Rosemerta when a new drink was placed in front of her.  She loved this place.  "I decided to come down here to get of London for a bit - cheers to a good day."

Cillian laughed along with her taking his drink down as well. He didn't want to admit how true her statement was. It was known, at least to Madame Rosemerta, that whenever he was having issues with his Seeing ability that he was seen more often at the Three Broomsticks, often staying until last call. Since he wasn't the kind of guy to just strike up a conversation with strangers the matron of the bar had made a point of chatting him up, probably just to get more drinks down his throat but it had been welcome company. She knew now that if Cillian was sitting at her bar drinking the night away it was better not to ask what was troubling him. After eight years of this, it was just something they had both gotten used to.

So Margo worked with dragons. Cillian felt his mouth curve into a smile at the thought. That was just well . . . down right sexy. Cillian had never put much thought into his personal life, as far as women were concerned. He wasn't the social type afterall so getting a date wasn't really one of his talents. There were some women in his past but more often than not they were trying to use him for what he could do for them. Although it came to him as an odd and out of place thought he knew that Margo wouldn't be like that even though he didn't think he was actually think of her like that.

She spoke of her accident the same way he often spoke of his coma. He knew better than to ask her what had happened. Even in his just slightly inebriated state Cillian could still put pieces together. She worked with Dragons, she had been studying their eating habits, she had some kind of accident and now she was working at a desk that made it easier on her. He didn't want to jump to any conclusions but if he had to he would say she had received some kind of permanent injury to her body that would have kept her from doing any intensive field work. It would have had to have been something very serious since as far as he knew you had to be in tip top physical shape to work with dragons, one wrong move and you were their next meal.

He lifted his glass to click with hers and smiled. He had noticed earlier that she had leaned in to be able to hear him, since the bar wasn't all that loud tonight he could only assume that she had a hard time understanding his accent. He had to admit it wasn't the cleanest, an awkward mix between Irish and Scottish not to mention the extra slur he got from drinking. He made a conscious effort to speak clearer for her, "And here's to a good night." He gave her what he hoped was a pleasant smile.

The lack of questions was almost surprising.  Margo did not expect the accident to go without even one single question asked.  Usually people had so many questions to ask like what was wrong and what happened and how ti was to survive something like that, but he didn’t say anything.  She was almost disappointed, but then again, she reminded herself it wasn’t exactly something anyone should really know about until they had to – and that point was like… when she was too drunk to function and had to use them as a crutch to get home – or they were joining her home for some other reason.

She did not foresee either things happening this evening – though, to be honest, she was not the seer in the room.  Laughing softly to herself, she shook her head and looked at him out of the corner of her eye.  He was cute, a little young looking, well, really young looking, actually.  And he could be a bit awkward, she decided, but then again, she was Margo Amherst and had no room to talk about being awkward.  At least his face was cute, even if he was just a tad short… well… a lot short, from what she remembered, he was sitting now, so she couldn’t properly gauge how that had ended up. 

His awkwardness was a little endearing though, and she chuckled softly – usually awkward  was like her specialty. She nodded to his assertion about a good night, tapping the edge of her glass against his before taking a long drink from her glass, setting it down with a sigh.  “Definitely a good night,” she grinned and leaned over to touch his knee, just lightly – she was a very touch oriented person after all, hands-on everything.  It was why she was so bad at wand work, she used her hands for everything – they were how someone connected to things, and though she could manage, hands always trumped any other method of doing anything.  So, at this gesture, she thought nothing of it and let herself smile with ease, looking at her old acquaintance through her thick, dark eyelashes. 

“I’m really glad we got to catch up,” she smiled as she squeezed his knee just once before sitting back up and drinking a little more, peering at him over the rim of the glass.  “It’s been that sort of day – like a timeturner or something,” she laughed, “only we’re not kids anymore – Thank Godric, right?” she laughed and sipped again – apparently as more glasses accumulated, the easier – and faster – they went. 

Cillian had always been a shy person by nature. Even when he was young and had no idea about his gift or the fact that one day he would be a wizard he was still shy. He had no idea where it had come from, he had been raised like any other kid his age, his parents hadn't coddled him nor had they neglected him. In his opinion they had done everything parents were capable of doing for their children, it was just who he was. Personality wasn't something that was taught, it was just something that was there.

And so having her suddenly lean over and place her hand on his knee had caused Cillian's mind to blank and start reeling all at the same time. He watched her curiously. He wondered if it was just a natural reflex for her or if she had intentionally done it. Was there some kind of hidden meaning behind those dark eyes that he was just being too dense to pick up on?

When she squeezed his knee Cillian was ready to jump right off his stool. The simple action had caused a sort of electric current to run through his body awakening senses that had long lay dormant, reminding him that he was a man in the company of a woman he had found attractive for over a decade. Once again his cheeks filled with colour and he quickly occupied his mouth his his own drink to make sure he didn't start spouting any unnecessary idiocy.

His blush didn't reside any as she mentioned how good it was to catch up with him as if they had been good friends in their Hogwarts years. It almost made him feel special and he suddenly missed the small amount of warmth her hand had given to his knee. He wondered if there was a way to subtly get her to touch him again and the thought started to consume him.

"Must be weird being back here, rememberin the good ole days," He chuckled and drank more of his ale looking her over more intensely than he had before, hoping he didn't come across as creepy, "So," He wracked his brain for something to keep the small talk going, "What you drinkin?" He scowled inwardly at himself for such a lame conversation opener. There was no way she was going to touch him again if he kept being such a lame idiot.

Margo was not the most observant person in the world.  In fact, when she wasn’t dealing with dragons, and only with other people, there were some that would venture to call her dense.  She did not see her actions as having such a serious affect as they might were she dealing with a dangerous creature.  So, the idea that she was doing something that seemed completely normal and blasé to her could be something completely different to someone else.  It did not strike her at all, and she took a sip of her fire whiskey, happy to laugh at his assertion about it being weird.

“You have no idea,” she responded with a cheeky sort of grin, lifting the newest glass – number four, and sipped it slower than she previously had.  In fact, when she put it down, she pushed it further up the bar, just so it would take more effort to grab it next time, not wanting to completely mess herself up.  She wasn’t over the exceptional line, but it had only been a short while, and taking on the fourth glass in less than an hour?  She was not going to make a mistake that would end her up curled awkwardly around a waste bin.  She did not need to act like she was nineteen again (in this particular situation). 

She did not notice, at this point, he was looking over her with some scrutiny, though she felt as though she was being watched (not exactly knowing by who) – not that it mattered, and looked at him as he searched for something to talk about.  Drinks?  Turning a bit on her stool to kitty-corner face him, as that was a far more comfortable way to talk to him, she let a lazy grin form on her features, “Well, I was throwing back some firewhiskey,” she informed him with the blunt honesty some of her family members had attempted to drum out of her as a small child – that had failed miserably. 

“It’s much better than some of the other stuff I’ve grown accustomed to,” she was reminded of the very popular plum brandy in Romania, shivering inwardly at the thought – never again.  “I think I’m slowing up on that one though,” she chuckled, “What about you? Any particular poison you feel akin to?” she couldn’t help but push his shoulder a little bit as she teased, used to very physical friendships and conversations.  She was just used to touching people and using emphatic expressions, mostly from working with people in close quarters, living in tents, and eating family style meals every evening.  She was just used to touching, it was a sign of comradery – and drinking together was definitely a sign of a comrade situation. 

It usually took some outwardly, obvious sign for Margo to think of anyone as more than just another comrade.  Unless it was a dragon, the nuances of a person's look or the tone of their voice was usually lost on her, unless it was completely transparent.  She put her elbow on the bar counter and held her head up with her hand, grinning easily as she waited for his answer - eyes just a little glassy from the quick addition of alcohol to her system.

For years Cillian had been using the drink to help stave off the nightmarish visions his gift provided him, which led him to be more than pleased with the fact that simply conversing with Margo seemed to be enough to keep any nasty or forboding thoughts about werewolves pushed into the deep recesses of his mind. It also helped that for once someone wasn't stumbling over themselves to use his gift for their own personal gain. He imagined it was the same feeling she had when he purposely neglected to ask about her accident. He always felt that with that kind of information, if the person wanted to divulge it they would given sufficient enough time.

Cillian's blush returned as he admired her cheeky grin. With her body turned to him he took the time to admire the fact that Margo Amherst was now a woman. If for any reason he had thought about her in the last eight years it would have been a vision of a tall almost gangly girl that didn't conform to society standards. He had thought her to be pretty then but that was nothing compared to what he was thinking about her now. He did his best to convince himself the thoughts were bourne of the three pint glasses he had already consumed but his conscience seemed to be wavering on that fact. Perhaps he would have thought this of her in any given situation, the alcohol was just making it clearer.

He chuckled at her blunt honesty and was happy to see that his lame attempt at conversation wasn't dismissed, "I've never really been too adventurous with my drinking. Ever since I was legal I've been living here so I've become partial to the mullied mead Madame Rosemerta makes in the cellar." He lifted his fourth pint and drained it almost completely. He took note of how she had placed her drink farther away. When you spend as much time in pubs as Cillian did you pick up on the little subtleties people had when trying to slow themselves. He was surprised that she was already acting as such and he suddenly became worried that she would be leaving soon.

Fire burst over his skin as she playfully pushed him and without thinking he playfully pushed her back allowing his soft finger tips to grace her bare shoulder. He swallowed a large lump in his throat. Perhaps he needed to be slowing himself down as well or he'd quickly be finding any excuse to touch her, whether it be welcomed or not.

"So what are you're plans for the weekend? Surely the ministry doesn't have you sitting at a desk on a sunday morning."