It was Freya's first time at Spellpunk.  Theoretically, she was staying with her Gran, tonight, but Gran was a softie and understood that girls had to be girls.  This was the last weekend before Hogwarts reopened after the Yule hols.  Tomorrow, the place would be teeming with tweens with their back-to-school bash.  Tonight, however, there was an older crowd-- everybody in the place was surely at least a ripe old eighteen.  That meant no curfew and no foo-foo limit on drinks.

Freya flipped over her right hand and examined the garish red stamp on the back, disgusted.  Not that it should matter, since she hadn't been able to wheedle a purple, over-seventeen stamp from the bouncer.  Still, the crowd would be more mature, which Freya preferred, since she considered herself mature.

She glanced at her tablemate.  She knew next to nothing about Eveline Chancelier, except that she happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, making nice to Freya when the latter was planning this adventure in her head.  She was a Hufflepuff.  There was a chance she was over seventeen.  She probably didn't drink anything stronger than butterbeer, though.  Freya made a rude noise.

But she was here, which meant Freya didn't have to sit alone looking lame and possibly being hit on by old men (old, in her mind, being twenty).  And she was really only here because she heard the rumor that Flobbergeist would play a post-New-Year's gig.  That was worth sitting with a hundred Hufflepuffs.

She hoped the Hufflepuff wouldn't ask when Kurby would get here.  She hadn't a clue who "Kurby" was, only heard a rumor and played it up, suggesting that "Kurby" frequented this particular club and they would surely see him.  Kurby... somehow, that name sounded familiar.  Old guy.  Like... thirty.  MoM?  Nah.  Couldn't be.

"What color'd you get?" she asked, tapping Evie's hand to see her stamp.  It wasn't-- quite-- loud enough in the club, yet, to shout.

It was Eveline’s first time at Spellpunk too. In fact...except for the COMC Mixer...it was her first time going out with any friend or acquaintance that her Mum or Dad, her brother Razzy or her cousin Bea hadn’t set the whole thing up. But this term Razzy and Bea seemed to be busy with other friends. That left Evie pretty much on her own, which in a way is how she came to be here tonight. After Fauna had told her about the first SAWS meeting of the new term, Evie offered to help pass on the word. Then she ran into Freya outside the Great Hall at lunchtime, and thought she remembered seeing her at the last meeting before holidays, hanging out near the back of the room. So...she approached her about the upcoming meeting.

Now she glanced around the club, feeling a bit out of place. Over the holidays, as usual, her Mum had dragged her...dressed like a pink sugarplum...to one ghastly party after another. Evie had sworn as soon as she got back to Hogwarts that she was going to burn that monstrosity of a dress. But instead...still fearing that someone might see it...she had stuffed it in the back of her closet. Now she thought perhaps if she had worn it...maybe ripped it just a bit and dyed her hair to match...that she might fit right in. But no...that was Bea’s style, not hers.

She pulled off her black hoodie...it was a bit warm over her Hufflepuff-gold sweater and black jeans...and hung her purse on the back of her chair. When Freya gave some sort of odd little snort, she wondered if it was on account of her preppie-look.

She was wondering if and when Kurby would get here, and at the same time she was wondering what she would do if and when he did.  After all she hadn’t made much of an impression on him at the mixer. Then again...if she’d made little enough of an impression, maybe by now he would hopefully have forgotten her...so she could just enjoy herself looking at him, without his noticing...

"What color'd you get?"

“Color?” Evie asked absently. “Oh...purple. I’ll be 18 this May. Why?”

She wasn’t planning on drinking anything stronger than butterbeer, it was true. But...the best laid plans, etc., etc., etc. ...

Freya shrugged as if it didn't matter.  "No reason.  You want a butterbeer?" she asked, pulling a deep-purple, velvet bag from her pocket, holding it up and jingling it.  "Channukah gelt.  Gotta spend it on something."

The fact was, Evie's black hoodie and black jeans were probably halfway cool.  If she ripped the sleeves from her Hufflepuff sweater and cut it off at the ribs, it wouldn't look that bad either.  Counter-establishment, at least.  But Freya imagined her companion would be appalled at the thought of abusing her school uniform.  Freya herself was wearing her Gryffindor tie... as a belt, holding up her puffy, short, low-slung skirt so it didn't slide off her hips entirely (which most clothing tended to do, on Freya, since she hadn't any curves to speak of yet).  Her stockings weren't fishnet-- she wouldn't be caught dead in that-- but they were torn.  At the same time, in honor of the supposedly more "refined and mature" crowd, she'd chosen a simple white button-up with a pressed collar.  Also her school uniform.  Topped (or bottomed, as it were) with the ever-present black Docs.

The band had arrived, though they weren't playing yet.  Instead, the lead singer seemed to be embroiled in a noisy argument with his sound crew, punctuated by loud repetitions of, "Check.  Check.  Checkcheck.  Lonely.  Loooooooooooo-nelly.  I'm tellin' youse, Bob, there's feedback."  His chin-length hair hung in his eyes and from time to time he would jerk, flipping his fringe back over an ear only for it to slide forward again when he leaned over the mike to croon, "Check, check," for the umpteenth time.  The drummer batted feebly at his drums from time to time, grabbing the cymbal to quiet it when the singer shot him a glare.  A backup singer sat at the edge of the stage, swinging her feet, snapping gum and looking bored.

Slowly but surely, the place was filling up.

"Butterbeer sounds good," said Evie. "Erm...Hanukkahgelt? I didn't know you were...well, Jewish. I mean...well...before I was accepted at Hogwarts I went to a Muggle school for awhile and there were a few kids who celebrated Hannukah. But the only Hannukahgelt I ever heard about was those chocolate coins. You know...the ones covered in gold foil." She laughed. "We played with a Dreidel in class and I lost all mine."

She would have been absolutely appalled if she'd known Freya thought she'd look cooler if she cut the arms off her sweater, right down to the ribs. She herself was thinking Freya wouldn't look so much like a starving puppy if she wore clothing that actually fit her. But she knew more kids dressed like that these days, than the way she did. And anyway, she'd rather hang out with somebody who dressed like Freya, than some of those fashion plate types at Hogwarts. The only girl  like that she actually got on with was Kit; but that was because though she always seemed to have  just the right outfit for whatever occasion, Kit could actually carry on a conversation about other things than clothes, hair, fingernails and boys. 

Of course it was not so long ago that Evie herself would have been seen as the fashion-plate type. But that was when her mother was still choosing her clothes...

"I've never heard this band before," she said, eyeing the young man whose hair kept falling in his eyes. "Do you know them? Are they any good?"

"I'm not.  It's my da," Freya admitted.  "His family was never happy about the mixed marriage.  Witch I mean.  They're okay that mum isn't Jewish, but they have to pretend for the neighbors.  There are lots of Goyum party tricks that try to look as if they're Jewish, like chocolate coins.  But Channukah gelt is real money-- which is a good thing since Bubbi Jansdotter sees me rarely and Jewish Guilt means I rake it in during Hols.  And before you ask, Passover officomen is real matza, too."

Freya stood up, ready to dash off to the bar when Evie asked if she'd heard of the band.  "He-- heck yeah.  80s nostalgia, mostly.  Headbanger stuff.  Proto-punk."  And with that she disappeared, ducking into the building crowd to make her way to the bar for butterbeers.

Ari eyed the two young girls as the club filled with noisy patrons.  An odd crowd tonight: torn fishnet and fauxhawks scattered through the joint with black leather motorcycle jackets and safety pins worn as jewelry.  In short, his torn black tee, black dragon-leather pants and steel-toed boots fit right in for a change.  The more crowded it became, the more bodies there were to hide his presence and in effect, Ari was invisible to anyone who didn't know what to watch for.

The band warmed up with a DK tune, California Uber Alles.  A little louder than it needed to be, but then, it was Dead Kennedys.  Fauxhawks started whipping up and down and here and there, fingers pointed in what was once called "The sign of the Devil," though it was more applause than Satanism, like lifting a lit lighter to show appreciation for a heart-rending ballad (the reverse).  He liked the crowd, even if they were probably posers and would go off to their Junior Ministry jobs tomorrow with starched white collars and crisp robes without a hint of the heavy black eyeliner and black-dyed locks they sported tonight.

The band finished up their opening number and switched to a classic Weird Sisters tune, something about locking teachers in the dungeons and taking over the school...  Heh.  If only...  The scrawny girl was lost in the crowd, high-heeled "goth" boots making everyone taller than she was so that she had to crane on tip-toes to be seen by the bartender.  Her friend sat alone at their table, looking out of place.

To Ari's eye, she was a kid though a flash of her hand showed him an over-17 stamp.  Who cared?  Girl out of place, dressed as she was... easy mark in this crowd.  He edged closer to the purse slung over the back of her chair.  Bodies pressed in around her, heads jerking to the rhythm of the music, bumping into her chair... she probably wouldn't even notice.

He slid into the crowd, slipping a thumb under the strap.  If he could just...

Searching the crowd, trying to see where Freya had disappeared to, Eveline did not notice the bloke behind her. However, as she reached for her butterbeer, a girl who’d been drinking something a bit stronger stumbled, fell across the table and then bumped into Evie’s chair, knocking her over backwards.

Evie landed on her backside, hard, and immediately decided she was glad she’d worn jeans rather than her usual pleated skirt and tights. Then she noticed the boots standing right next to her, and looked up to see who was wearing them.

From the floor she was not in a position to see what he was doing with his hands, especially since the mosh pit was still swirling around them both. But even if there had been no one else there, Evie would not have noticed.

Merlin…was he ever gorgeous!

Ari didn't bother to hide his hands, since he was only leaning against the back of the girl's chair nonchalantly and when she fell even that probably went unnoticed.  He recovered smoothly and when she didn't rise again immediately he offered her his hand.  "Unless you prefer the floor," he teased, giving her his most winning smile and forcing a sparkle into his eyes.  "But I warn you, with a place this packed, you're unlikely to get back your chair if you give it up."

He might have cursed his luck, except the place was packed with many students on a final fling before term started.  Tomorrow there would be more of them for the "Back-to-School Special."  He could probably snitch a tip or two from the tables to pay for a drink in the meantime.

And the girl looked so stunned and completely out of her element, he almost laughed, but he eyed her as he waited to see if she would take his hand.  Young-- perhaps too young, except her stamp showed she was old enough to drink.  Well-dressed: she obviously came from a good family and probably had a regular allowance.  Cute, in that Hufflepuff-next-door way...

And then he clamped down on the thought.  His mother had been a Hufflepuff.  But he never lost his smile...

((There's a bit of Language in this one...)) 

Evie  blushed when the good-looking...make that damn good-looking!...stranger  offered his hand to help her up. Kurby Bagnold was instantly forgotten...at least for the time being.

Her rescuer was right about the premium on chairs. "Excuse me..." she said, as a scrawny guy with a blue mohawk and safety pins through both ears tried to lay claim on hers. "But I do believe this is still my chair." She patted her handbag, which amazingly was still hanging by its strap, as proof.

"Ooh," said the would-be chair thief , genuflecting with wide- eyed  mock subservience.  "A bleedin' debutante, she is. And I suppose that there' s your knight in shining armor."

Evie glanced shyly up at the stranger. "As a matter of fact he is. So...bugger off." My mother would faint dead away if she heard me say that, thought Evie. But it worked. Almost.

The chair thief gave her The Finger, and...

Ari caught the offending finger instantly.  Had he a wand, he might have made it swell to proportions that matched his head, or cursed it to fall off entirely.  The winning smile never left his face as he replied to the insult, "I believe you've mistaken 'debutant' for 'lady.'  As in you don't--"  Even over the music, a crack could be heard.  Overwhelmed by the initial shock and pain, the chair thief didn't even try to run.  "Try."  Another jerk and another crack, and the chair thief knelt in an attempt to relief the pressure.  "To steal."

"Bloody Hell!" the chair thief breathed, barely more than a whisper.

"A lady's chair."  He released the young man's finger and he shook his hand, regaining his feet.  "And you heard the lady.  Bugger off."

He hadn't broken his finger.  As a matter of fact, the threat was more illusion than fact.  The chair thief looked as if he might be considering the challenge when Ari shifted his gaze to the safety pins thrust through his earlobes at jaunty angles.  The chair thief's hand rose of its own accord, as if protecting this tender anatomy and suddenly backed away.  "Sure, mate.  Just a joke, see?  I know she's a lady of refinement and... and... breeding."

Was that a snigger?  Ari feinted a lunge and the young man decided enough was enough, fleeing into the crowd.

He turned and offered his hand again to the girl on the floor.  Maybe Ari wasn't a knight in shining armor, since he planned to steal her pocketbook before the night was through, but he wasn't the sort to flip off a member of the fairer sex.  His first inclination was to hold their chairs and pay the check...

As her tormenter tried to slip away into the crowd, Eveline reached out a foot, hoping to trip him. She was  pleased to note that he stumbled, bumping into what had to be the biggest man Evie ever saw. He had a shiny shaven head...it actually looked oiled. He was wearing a tatty leather vest with no shirt, and had what looked like large metal spikes embedded in his neck.

“Watch where yer goin', Doofus!” growled the big guy, looking at Blue Mohawk  like one would look at a cockroach on the kitchen floor.

“Sorry, sorry!” whined Blue Mohawk, still clutching his middle digit. Smiling sheepishly he edged away from Spike, then whirled and scuttled away into the crowd  like a crab into the surf at low tide.

 Evie looked up at her rescuer, thinking again that he was the most gorgeous male she had ever seen.

Eyes shining, she reached up to take his hand. “Thank you.”

Ari took the hand she offered him and pulled her up with one fluid motion, making it seem effortless, and shrugged.  "No problem."  He smiled his ingratiating smile again and held the chair for her.  "But just in case... It's best to reserve seating with a... seat in it."  Blue Mohawk was probably right, especially since Ari had made the same analysis only a moment before: the girl was a debutante.  Probably from money.  In Ari's opinion, old enough to be interesting yet young enough to be naive.  If he couldn't steal her pocketbook, she might still be good for a galleon now and again, if he mysteriously came up "short."  Then again...

She had spunk, but she was... well, she was sweet.  Debutante or not, she was in an odd place for a daddy's girl, and the smile she offered him was genuine, not calculating.  He'd seen enough debutantes in his day to see through them.  Underneath, this one was as sweet as she was on the surface.  Or so he was convincing himself.

On impulse, he offered his name.  "I'm Ari."  Immediately he kicked himself, since it would help her to identify him in a lineup.  On the other hand, he hadn't offered her his last name.  "Rintala."  Aghast, he tried to think of some way to take it back, make it sound like he was gagging on a peanut or commenting on the band, but he came up empty.  His conscience had gotten the better of him.

He kicked it into submission, determined not to let it get in the way.

"No problem...But just in case... It's best to reserve seating with a... seat in it."

Evie smiled. “But then how do you ever get to dance?”

She blushed. Would he take that as a hint for him to ask her to dance? She had never danced in her life, except at stuffy pureblood parties where she had to waltz with some cousin or other, who generally stepped on her toes. She bit her lip as she observed the mosh pit, not sure she was up for that at all. But of course she wouldn’t want this dashing stranger to guess that she didn’t know how to dance…

"I'm Ari.” He paused for a beat, and then added, "Rintala."  He sounded like he had a dry throat or something. For that matter, Evie’s throat felt a bit dry too. This guy was certainly too old for her parents to ever approve of her wanting to know him better…

“Eveline,” she replied, pronouncing it with the accent on the last syllable,  Evahleen. “Eveline Chancelier. It’s French, you see. I was born there but I’ve lived here a long time now. And…my friends call me Evie.” Merlin, she was babbling!

Evie looked down, suddenly flustered. “Would you like a butterbeer?”

“But then how do you ever get to dance?”

Ari's jaw dropped.  Was she asking him to dance?  She didn't seem the type... then she blushed.  She was asking him to dance, by Merlin!  "I don't," he answered off-handedly.  "Unless you want me to twirl you around the floor.  I never got into the slam or jiggle."  That wasn't entirely true: in school, Ari had been carefree enough to crash into his friends, laughing over spilt blood and split lips.  Now...

Ari wasn't sure if he preferred 'Evahleen' or 'Evie.'  One was stuffy and precisely the sort of name that girls his parents would approve would claim.  He'd chased that sort of skirt enough for one lifetime.  On the other hand, 'Evie' sounded... well, like a first-year.  He might have come to the conclusion that she was entirely too young for him, but obviously she wasn't that young, considering the stamp on her hand.  Not Azkaban-bait.  Young enough to require special consideration but not too young to wed.  Not that Ari planned either.  Still...  "Eve," he called her, splitting the difference.  "I would love a butterbeer."  Actually, that was probably the lowest on list of drinks he'd prefer.  But when in Rome...

He tried to catch the harried waitress' eye, but she stubbornly refused to notice him.  "Wait here," he told 'Evie' and slipped into the crowd, catching the wench about the waist, slipping a galleon into her apron and murmuring into her ear.  No one could hear what he said over the racket but the waitress blushed, shoved at him playfully and thrust out a hip.  He declined the blatant invitation with a raincheck-- no sense burning bridges, especially when she might spit in their drinks--   and returned to Evie.  The seat next to her opened up and he flopped into it.  You snooze you lose... He knew it belonged to her friend, but her friend had disappeared and now the spike-haired girl who'd taken it after her was gone as well.  He regretted spending his last galleon, but it was in a good cause...

"I don't,” said Ari when she asked about dancing, "unless you want me to twirl you around the floor. I never got into the slam or jiggle."

A twirl around the floor might have been nice, Evie thought, but not here. She looked around, curious about what passed for dancing with this crowd. She could see what Ari meant by ‘slam’; some of them were downright ferocious with each other. But…jiggle? She blushed. That sounded…rather naughty.

"Ev," he said, giving her a new nickname which she immediately decided she liked because it made her feel like a grownup. "I would love a butterbeer."

"Wait here…"    She watched as he caught up to the waitress, whispering in her ear.  When the wench gave him a playful shove and thrust out a hip, Evie scowled. Shameless hussy!   

But it got her nowhere, Evie noted wth satisfaction. Ari returned just in time, as the seat next to her opened up. Evie supposed she ought to be saving the chair for Friday, but who even knew where she might be?  Probably ‘jiggling’ with some spiky-haired bloke...

The waitress arrived with two bottled butterbeers, both opened. She smirked as she looked at Evie, but since Ari had come back Evie was feeling generous. She held out a galleon but the waitress held up a hand. “ It’s all covered, Luv.” Still smirking, she disappeared into the crowd, blowing Ari a kiss over her shoulder before vanishing.

“Oh,” said Evie, flustered. “I wouldn’t have asked about butterbeers, except I meant to buy them…”