Outfit | Title Reference

It was the season of job hunting. A long (and very hardcore) summer had left Quinn with a serious headache and a mental conundrum worthy of a breakdown. Just how was she going to get a job? And where? She'd had a part-time set-up at the ice cream parlour one time, but that had only lasted three days; turned out you weren't allowed to give free stuff to your mates. A lacklustre résumé and qualifications to match hardly made the outrageous blonde employable, and things were starting to hit an all time low.

She'd filled out countless of forms, and again, nothing back. Deciding to take the battle to their front door (and after hours of hassle from her understandably concerned parents), Quinn ventured out into Diagon Alley that day to try and secure something. If they met her in person, they'd be impressed... right? Her outfit had caused her mother to frown, but it was all tactical. Short skirt, no tights, ridiculous heels and hair that had been perfected to look messy. It was a rare occasion for Quinn to throw on something more than a pair of shorts and some battered old boots, but the former Gryffindor didn't half scrub up well - even if it was a little inappropriate for job interviews.

A nearby second-hand bookshop had almost screamed her out the door in fright; it seemed two ancient, strangely perfumed witches weren't her target audience. "No, no, no, no vacancies!" they'd unconvincingly shrieked. Fine. Quinn would stomp somewhere she'd be more appreciated. It turned out bartenders in tiny taverns off the Alley were more than pleased to have a conversation, and one had even offered a trial shift. That was all it took, just a few giggles and innuendos and she'd already got a trial shift. It wasn't ideal work, waitressing to rowdy down-on-luck musicians busking on a weekend, but that type of fellow was Quinn's kinda bloke. Tips and totty? What wasn't to like.

A lot, according to her father. A quick owl to tell him she was done for the day was met with sheer anger: "no Quinn, get a proper job you bum. I'm not having a load of fellas ogle you for work." Hmmm, maybe he had a point. Not a lot of room for job progression, and the wages were embarrassing to say the least. She'd spoke to a few more shop assistants, managers and the like. Reception was mixed, but that couldn't stop a girl from trying.

Her day took a strangely familiar turn, however. Attacked by an express owl as Quinn took a resting pew to reapply some tactical lipstick, it was a message. From George. She didn't tense up, not straight away, but smiled. They hadn't really spoken all summer - it'd been best to keep apart since they called their brief tryst off. Apart from a pair of extremely kissable lips, Quinn had missed the lad-fuelled banter the two had shared, and when he was asking if she was down Diagon and fancied a pint, well... Who'd refuse? Clasping her clutch, Quinn trotted off to the Leaky Cauldron immediately, thoughts filling up her mind. It wouldn't be awkward - they'd never been awkward in their entire friendship, and there was no reason to act so now. It was simply two old friends meeting for an impromptu drink, and Quinn couldn't have been happier.

As the pub came into view, there he was, sat outside on a bench with two large, overfilled glasses of buttberbeer leaking froth onto the worn wooden table. Beaming at him, Quinn immediately reached out to give George a tight hug; it really had been too long. "Well, hello there stranger," she giggled, tilting her head to the side as if examining the boy (well, man) even further. "Where've you been all my life, dude?!"

The things stuck in George’s head were overwhelming him. There was a lot to process for the young man. Plus, he had to get used to the fact that it was August, and he wasn’t in the process of settling in at Hogwarts. Instead, he was diving into practices and trying to figure that entire... thing out.

Especially now that he had to work with Edmund Klint. Thinking about it made him want a drink. Luckily, the pubs were open. What better way to spend his Sunday than by himself? Waker was busy for the afternoon, so he... well. That was its own conundrum.

In fact, he needed an extra beer to help with his nerves. When he thought about what all had happened in such a short time, a nauseous feeling would hit him wrong. What better way than to swallow it down with some alcohol?

Why, then, did his thoughts wander to Quinn?

George couldn’t be entirely sure, but he wasn’t about to stop himself. An old mate, catch up, have someone to share the beer with. Anything, right? And if she couldn’t, he was sure he could find someone else... Maybe another cousin, or Trent, or even Waker, if she wanted to.

He’d just received two new drinks when the easy-to-spot-in-a-crowd former Gryffindor came up. Grinning, he stood up and hugged her back, considering things in his head. She was just a mate. Smirking in response, he motioned to the seat near him and sat back down, watching her carefully as he did. “Working. It’s a new concept for me.” Beaming at that, he lifted one of the drinks and handed it over before his free fist took control of the other drink.

“Summer has kept me busy. What have you been up to since graduation?” Leaning forward on the table, George finally focused off of her outfit and on to her eyes, an easy grin slipping on suddenly. Maybe a drink before she arrived was not his brightest ideas. “Hungry?”

"I'd hardly call catching Quaffles working," Quinn tittered, taking a seat opposite and receiving the drink as easily as a wizard flicked his wand. "Cannons, eh? Interesting choice, George, very, very interesting..." She gave a sharp intake of breath, smirking before refreshing her throat with a sip of beer. As always, Quinn was well-informed on the Quidditch scene; if it wasn't tuning in to her wireless before sleep, it was furiously debating topics with her father: the Harpies were far better than the Wasps, any day of the week! Learning of George's induction to Chudley was surprising to say the least; they were a rather tragic team in need of some rejuvenation; perhaps the Hogwarts whipper-snapper could do just that.

And Klint. Quinn had nearly screamed with laughter when she heard of his signing also. Edmund and George, sworn enemies, now teammates. It was almost Shakespearean (one of his comedies, of course). The former Ravenclaw had done nothing wrong in Quinn's eyes; sure, he was a little pretentious and a complete pretty boy, but he had a good heart, and most importantly, he made Lou happy. Quinn guessed however, that George was nowhere near as understanding.

"You pleased to have dear old Edmund at your side?" she giggled, raising an eyebrow. Taking another gulp of beer, Quinn leaned forward, resting her chin on a gold-adorned fist. "Bet you two are getting on like a house on fire." Okay, okay, so maybe it wasn't fair to tease - but she just couldn't help herself. It was like Hogwarts all over again, but better. Namely because of the distinct lack of rules in regards to drinking and the unabashed comfort she felt with George.

The topic pressed onto graduation, and Quinn rolled her eyes giving a sigh. "I've learnt a few things." Tapping her fingers individually as she progressed, the blonde chuckled light-heartedly. "One, I'm totally unemployable. Two, I need to move out of my parents' place ASAP. Three, dressing like a total 'ho can get you a job. And four, dressing like a total 'ho and getting a job in a place that encourages this sort of behaviour is frowned upon by very protective dads." Shrugging, Quinn sighed, glad to be off the job search for at least an hour or so in good company. "I'm just completely bored all the time, nothing new. How's things, anyway? Aside from Quidditch, and Klint, and on the way to becoming a totally adorable sportstar."

George mentioned food, and Quinn nodded enthusiastically. Despite shapely hips and a metabolism that wasn't so quick these days, there was nothing wrong with some good old pub grub.

He ‘pshed’ her as he shook his head and rolled his eyes as if he couldn’t understand her point of view, grinning even as he did. “It’s a hard job, but someone has to do it.” Glancing down into his beer, George merely nodded. It was his only choice. Shrugging suddenly, he laughed. “I think I can pull off orange.” He’d have to.

At the mention of Edmund, his mouth twitched before he gave her a concentrated frown. “We’ll see who comes out shining.” House on fire... he rather liked that comparison. Smirking, he nodded in agreement.

Eyebrows rose in slight shock. “Learning still? Were you a Ravenclaw in disguise?” It was only fair if he teased her back. “I like the outfit.” Which didn’t help Daddy McAvoy’s worries, obviously. “I mean, I’d come and visit you at work.” George didn’t understand the desire to move out of a perfectly good bed with home-cooked meals to suddenly fend for yourself.

He loved his room... and the desserts his mum made for him (and Waker, now). His clothes were washed, laundry folded, and all he had to do was keep his room tidy! How bad of a system was that? Then again, Waker had been all for moving out of her parents house...

Thinking on her, and their situation, and everything that had happened--it made George feel a lot older all of a sudden. Staring down into his beer, he shrugged. Food, though, could make him perk up! Waving over a waiter, he ordered himself some fish and chips, let Quinn order, and then settled back into a conversation. “Things are moving. Haven’t had much time to do a lot outside of Quidditch.” Liar, liar. “Aside from my signing, the summer has been uneventful.” Pants on fire.

“Where are you looking for jobs anyway?”

"Jokes aside, congrats mate," Quinn said, giving George a friendly dig to the upper arm. Smiling as the same hand ran through uncharacteristically curled locks, the Gryffindor party queen humbly sighed. "I'm really proud of you." Despite her own lack of post-graduate progression, it was nice to see her brother-in-arms doing so well. Everybody seemed to be doing well. Lou had managed to get a limbo job before decisive action was taken, but what about Quinn? Hopefully a few more jokes and eye-lash fluttering would finally get a regular paycheck.

As for the Ravenclaw comment, well, some jokes were simply just too far. "You better watch your mouth, Carter," Quinn giggled, feigning insult and horror. "I've got more Gryffindor in me than Godric himself." She purposefully ignored the 'outfit' remark: it seemed her raised eyebrow and omniscient smirk spoke volumes. Unaware if this was an intentional flirt or not, she chose to act none the wiser; he was on best terms with a former love, or so Quinn had presumed. It was no longer her business, and although he held ounces of rugged, male appeal, Quinn was holding up her golden shield of good morals. Gryffindor determination (or was it stubbornness?) often overpowered Slytherin-esque temptation.

Fish and chips sounded too good to miss: Mama McAvoy refrained from any sort of frying: something about health or other. "Same for me," Quinn enthusiastically agreed, giving a well-practised smile to the waiter. Well, it couldn't hurt, right? He could be acting manager with a contract of employment for the young jobseeker. "And a portion onion rings, and a side salad. And a pitcher of butterbeer." Giving George a grin, Quinn raised a shoulder, this time in mock innocence. "What? A girl has to eat."

Crossing one leg over the other, a slowly-getting-warm beer wet her scarlet lips, traces of lip paint sealed on the edge of her glass. "I'll take any work that isn't illegal or morally compromising," she laughed: in other, none-wiseguy terms, anything she could take.

Accepting the playful hit to the arm with a grin, George nodded in agreement. He was proud of himself, mostly. It was the Cannons... but it was better than nothing. It also meant he stayed in school for no reason but to prolong the inevitable (at least, he thought so). Still, he had his degree. And a few other things. Remembering what he couldn’t forget, he scratched the back of his head and glanced down at the table for a moment.

Laughing as the conversation kept lighthearted, George put his hands up in a feigned attempt in self-defense. “My mouth can’t be helped.” An eyebrow rose as he eyed her. “More Gryffindor in you, huh?” It just seemed too easy to fit a that’s what she said remark in, and so he smirked knowingly and wiggled an eyebrow at her instead.

Sometimes it was more fun to stay immature, especially when life decided you needed to grow up and figure things out.

“Of course. And the side salad and onions, those are part of your daily vegetables.” And the pitcher of butterbeer was like water, right? At least it went down like water.

“There goes being my manager.” Crossing his arms over his chest, George grinned at her. “So what do you consider ‘morally compromising’? Or whose morals are you using?” Was the job at the bar out of the question because her dad had a problem with it? Or because she also did? He picked up his beer and took a gulp, enjoying the flavor. He could almost taste the battered fish all ready.

"Oh," Quinn replied in response to wiggling eyebrows and all-too-familiar smirks. "I'm not house discriminate in that area, George, surely you know that?" The girl laughed, tapping her painted fingernails on the wooden surface of the table. She never understood those who went for particular houses; that shy Hufflepuff, that cocky Slytherin: why limit yourself to one cuisine when one can sample the entire buffet? There was no prejudice with Quinn; if they were good looking, knew how to have a good time and made the blonde laugh, then all boxes were ticked.

Taking a hearty gulp of her pint, she nodded in agreement. Salad had vegetables (it didn't matter if you coated it in cheese and salt) and onion rings were made of onions, which had some sort of acids in her mother loved to spout about. Quinn was tempted to order a glass of something a tad stronger, but it was only midday; butterbeer would have to do. For now. It'd been so long since a major, 'end of the world' party: it was tempting to owl everyone immediately and throw one that very evening. Perhaps concentrate on the job hunt first?

"I don't think your missus would appreciate me being your manager," Quinn added almost instantaneously. She did have a point. Waker and the Gryffindor had never seen eye-to-eye, and she presumed that such animosity would only increase. "I'm sure she already thinks of me as some boozed up 'ho that's macking on her squirrel." Quinn smirked, giving a long and drawn-out sigh. There was always hopes that she and George would remain friends, and they had, but the topic of Waker had yet to be tackled, and Quinn figured it was better sooner than later.

"I just need a job in Quidditch though, fast..." Her words were cut-off as two huge platters of fish, chips, peas, salad and onion rings plopped onto the table. Rubbing her hands together, Quinn gave a squeak of excitement. "Aw, sick, thank you very much." Giving a gleam of overcrowded white teeth, she offered the waitress a galleon tip.

It was easy to laugh with Quinn. Her sense of humor went easily with his, and her willingness to banter about anything was always pleasantly surprising. Though, by this point, it really shouldn’t have been... “Why limit yourself when you can try all the flavors?” George had done it. He would have agreed with her sentiment as well; why hold yourself back?

Never knew who was going to rock your socks. Hell, it was some shy minx of a Ravenclaw who had taken up residency in his head. ‘Shy’ being a loose term, now.

Similar mindsets, however, were always very comfortable to be around. Gryffindors, as a broad spectrum, had similar ideals as one another. At least at eleven. It did make sense to stick in your house and date, because you’d have more in common (in theory) there.

George licked his lips and glanced down for a moment at the thought of what Waker would or wouldn’t feel. Rolling his eyes, he laughed and looked over at Quinn. Leaning his chair back onto the back legs, his hands went behind his head. “She shouldn’t. You’re not boozed up yet.” Winking at her, he finally shrugged, his laugh dying out. “I don’t think she has any reason not to like you. At least not because of me.”

He could understand her sentiment with wanting a Quidditch job. Though it was tough, it was so much better than having a real job. Raising an eyebrow at the huge tip, George settled his chair back down and nodded his thanks, laughing as he picked up a hot chip. “I’m sure there are some openings, right? Have you looked yet?” Popping the steaming chip in, he almost regretted it, swallowing a bit of butterbeer with it to help wash it down. Leaning over, he picked up an onion ring before quickly retreating to his plate, biting into it before Quinn could disagree, a mischievous grin on his face.

"You are so right," Quinn nodded, comically enthusiastic as a blonde lock twisted around her index finger. "Speaking of flavours, I'm heading down to Hogsmeade at the weekend to check out the Durmstrang talent." A year younger or so, who cared? Quinn's obsession with your average Durmstrang boy was a well-known fact amongst the group of friends. For some reason, she presumed that Eastern European heritage ensured great arms, aggressive attitude and an insatiable appetite for... Fun-loving Gryffindors? Well, Quinn hoped the latter was true.

Taking a swift gulp of her butterbeer, the timing on George's 'boozed up' joke was coincidentally perfect. Damn. He just always had to get one up on her. Trying to contain a snort of laughter (fizzy beverages going up the nose and ejecting all over the nearest surface/person was never a good look), Quinn patted her chest, forcefully swallowing. Of course, George would say that his beloved had neither problem or suspicion regarding herself. He didn't want to be caught in the crossfire, and would feign ignorance to the bubbling contrast that had simmered ever since Quinn and Waker met in first year. "Everybody knows we don't get along, George," she sighed with a grin, shrugging her shoulders. "You don't have to pretend your girlfriend doesn't hate me to protect my feelings. Feelings are for girls, and girls are yucky." Sticking out her tongue, she tried to keep things light.

Feelings were for girls, and boys too. And Quinn did not want to revisit the feelings she suffered in the trophy room; yes, it was probably best to laugh it off.

"Of course I've looked, I'm not that bloody lazy." She wasn't known for due diligence, but Quinn had scoured every internship parchment form and opening the Prophet ever since graduation. Openings for Quidditch-related jobs were slim, and notoriously competitive. "They all want good grades and good references, and I have neither dude." Meh, she was hoping to get lucky by flirting with some attractive manager. Being a locker room attendant for the likes of Weidman could be quite the career opportunity indeed. "Please put in a good word for me Georgie-boy," she mock pleaded, taking a bite of a chip and almost fainting at the delight dancing on her tastebuds. "You owe me!"

She immediately regretted her last statement, and almost flinched at her own spoken words. Owed her? For what? For Quinn getting the wrong impression? For Quinn to encourage him back into the arms of perfect Waker Nolan? Trying to paint these thoughts over with their regular Quidditch-lad-silly-I'm-better-than-you banter, she merely smiled. And took another hefty gulp of butterbeer.

“Definitely not a flavor I’ve tried, but it does seem very you.” He did feel a little bitter that he couldn’t be at Hogwarts to compete in the tournament, but as Waker had reminded him, he had his very own trophy with baby on the way. He pursed his lips before taking a big gulp of beer. Much more fun than winning the wizard school tournament and going down forever on that giant cup. George wasn’t bitter.

“Maybe you’ll hook up with the next champ.” He could wish Quinn good luck on her journey to finding the perfect hook up. Or just a good roll in the hay.

Talking about Waker made him fidget in his chair a little, arm slipping over the back as he tried to lounge as nonchalantly as he could. “But it’s not because of me. That’s all I meant... And I think ‘hate’ is a bit harsh, mate.” He stuck his tongue out back at her. “I like girls well enough.”

“You think I had either?” Well, his grades had been decent, but he didn’t really need them with his current job. “You have a personable... personality.” He had it going, and then the intelligent run of words slipped his mind. Laughing, he tore off a piece of the fish and watched the steam a moment. “Owe you?” Making a noise of disagreement, he finally chewed on the bite. “Mm... Shure.” Food in the cheek while he talked--his mum would have been mortified.

He swallowed and continued. “I think they are restructuring the team anyway. Since the new owners took over, at least.” With his first paycheck in Gringotts (or what was left of it), George was enjoying his lunch! “I just found an apartment.” He was kind of proud, even if he had neglected to tell Waker yet. The idea of leaving his comfortable room with meals and laundry done... it seemed unnecessary. But Waker had brought up good points as to why they should have their own place. “Well, yesterday...”

Shaking his head, he popped another piece of fish in his mouth. “Party place in Devon!” Well, on two conditions, really. One, if Waker allowed it, and two, if they could fit more than two people in the studio apartment.

"Hate, dislike, who cares?" Quinn shrugged with a grin. It was probably best to steer conversation away from Waker and all her scholarly charm, but for some reason, her mind couldn't push such thoughts away. Perhaps it was easier to dislike the girl, and to share that feeling. That way, she wouldn't be treading on any more toes than necessary. Flirting dangerously with a fall-out from Lou was bad enough, and Quinn was glad that betraying Waker also was never an issue.

George's disagreement with Quinn's IOU made her shuffle uncomfortably in her seat. Wincing at his comment, she tried to brush it off. "Uh, whatever," she mumbled, casting a glance at black leather heels and trying to forget the pain of the trophy room. It was well-enough being good mates, and Quinn truly was happy for George's rediscovered happiness, but it was impossible not to compare herself to the former Head Girl. For one, Waker was beautiful, as in that heart-stopping, head-turning, jaw-dropping beautiful. There weren't many girls who could match her in looks, and whilst a fun blonde, Quinn had never been considered 'beautiful'. It wasn't like her to feel self-conscious, or a little insecure, but George and Waker and the golden couple of Hogwarts was a rather huge concept to deal with.

"Your own place?" Quinn raised her eyebrows, taken aback at how things were moving. She immediately added Waker into this equation - happy little couple playing graduate grown-ups. "Wow, George, that's pretty impressive." It was an honest comment, and it seemed her party-loving compadre was growing up a lot faster than the Gryffindor party girl. Everybody was slowly transforming into real people, and Quinn was slowly getting left behind.

"I am so down for some coastal chaos," she added with a grin, dreaming up a situation in which George and Waker had a party that it would be acceptable for her to attend. "Guestlist woes though, the joys of adult life!" Quinn quipped, giggling. "I mean, do you invite Klint? Trent? Knight? I swear, we're the biggest motley crew graduates ever."

“She doesn’t care for most girls I’ve dated.” Smirking at that, he shrugged as well. Hate was such a strong word, but dislike seemed so much more... grown up. Besides, he shared the same fondness for those Waker had been with. Still, it seemed odd that Quinn and Waker couldn’t find common ground. George disliked school (look, he was being grown up), but that didn’t stop him from getting with the Head Girl.

Quinn and Waker in that way? Best not to let the imagery take him away.

The young witch across from him didn’t do herself enough justice. Then again, most girls didn’t. Thankfully he didn’t have to hear the thoughts in Quinn’s head (and she couldn’t see into his). It was part of the reason he’d never caught on to Legilimency. George didn’t want people in his head, so he certainly didn’t want in others. Usually. Except when he was feeling particularly snoopy and curious. Anyone was prone to that sort of speculation, though.

Nodding at her question, George grinned. Or tried to. Better to think of it as a party house than a... grown up house. Guest list woes? Frowning in confusion, George leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow.

Groaning at the name ‘Klint,’ he laughed and shook his head. “Klint isn’t allowed in my place.” Wiping his hands off on a napkin, George popped another piece of fish into his mouth. “We need to, uh...” Wincing, he shifted in his chair. “Party it up before it gets baby proofed.” He gave her a small grin before getting his fish down with a gulp of beer. “Looking at the next best dad.”

"Oh, right, I'm just another tart on the scrapheap?" Quinn teased. Giving George a light slip on the arm, she rolled her eyes, tutting and quite clearly pretending to be all insulted and ashamed. "It's cool, it's cool, I'm sure we'll be great friends some time and paint each other's nails and talk about boys and Witch Weekly and which guy from Three Owl Standard we'd have." She granted her fellow Gryffindor a warm smile, keen to resonate an uncaring image. Her well-practised grin and wrinkled up nose had been perfected over the years, but no matter how many white teeth she flashed, that dull pang in her stomach never ceased when she thought of George and Waker.

Klint popped up once more, causing that familiar groan. Quinn giggled, taking another hearty bite of fish and almost squealing at the joy that was dancing on her tastebuds. "You're too hard on him, George," she mumbled, half swallowing, half talking. Raising her empty glass towards a nearby waiter, she pointed at it with an enthusiastic grin. He nodded knowingly - another one. When in Diagon Alley Rome, eh? Wasn't like she visited this place at least once a week. "As far as I'm aware, him and Lou aren't splitting up any time soon. And he isn't leaving the Cannons any time soon, either. Gonna have to swallow it up like a big, brave boy, okay?" Quinn reached over to George's face, grabbing his cheek and tugging it like an overly-doting grandmother to a chubby toddler. "You're a big mister now!" She giggled quietly, picking up her knife and fork once more.

Face down and concentration on her peas, Quinn laughed once more, shaking her head at George's claims to being a father. "And you're looking at the best mama going," she sighed. Self-deprecation was key to her humour on most days. "I take my kids to Quidditch practice, attend a ladies' conference on wizarding art with the Whitmans on an afternoon and still manage to make a Shepherd's Pie for my lovely husband when he gets in from Gringotts." Quinn and domesticated bliss? Pull the other one.

Taking a deep breath after minutes of continuous chuckling, she heard no response. Quinn glanced up to George, confused, frowning and unable to understand why he wasn't joking. That's because he wasn't. "Are you... you're going to be..." she stuttered, wiggling her knife and fork as if doing so would unravel the mystery before her. "You've knocked Waker up?!"

Quinn's jaw almost hit the table, and she placed a hand on her forehead in fright. "Waiter, make it a large glass of Firewhiskey."

Nothing he said was right! Laughing and rolling his eyes, George nodded to agree instead of arguing. Just another tart might have been how Waker viewed them, he wasn’t really sure. He laughed harder at the idea of them painting each others nails. “The drummer, they’re always crazy.” But maybe Waker would play it safe with the singer. They were always the softest in the group. Feelings and all that.

A face was made at the continuing conversation of Edmund. “I’m not swallowing anything.” Grinning as he popped another piece of fish in, he defied his own statement. “I have to see him more than I ever did at Hogwarts. Even when Lou and him were dating. I’d prefer taking his beater bat and showing him how to hit a proper bludger.” The bludger being Edmund’s head. The two boys could argue about why the sky was blue.

Thinking about Lou, he winced a little and shifted. His family wasn’t the most thrilled with his screw up, but they were supportive. He had yet to inform Lou, if she hadn’t heard all ready. He pulled away from her hand a little, chuckling at the cheek tugging. “I know something he could swallow.” It was a grumbled and mumbled response.

”And you’re looking at the best mama going.”

George blinked at her reaction, and his small smile slid off. She thought he was taking the piss? Finishing his glass off, he stared down into it a moment. He half listened to her as she droned on. George wasn’t a big fan of Shepherd’s Pie.

”Are you... you’re going to be...”

He looked back at her and raised an eyebrow. He was. And he had, though the wording made him grimace and shift in his seat. “It took two of us...” George should’ve done something, but they were in the situation they were in either way. He chewed on his lower lip for a moment before motioning to his empty glass as well. “No, we’ll just take two more beers.” Waker would be less than impressed if he showed up drunk as a skunk to take her to the surprise apartment he’d chosen.

“Wait, why were you laughing? I think I’d be a great dad...”

"Make mine a firewhiskey then," Quinn blurted out, needing something a little stronger to cushion the blow. The earlier grin she'd given the waiter was replaced with a look of sheer concern. Was he really going through with this? They were graduates, but that didn't mean they were adults that settled down and had things like... children! It was all far too much to process, and Quinn quite selfishly pictured herself with a baby. It was a shuddering thought.

Leaning back in her chair, she forgot about the comforts of pub grub, staring at a nearby wall. It was a lot to take in. Waker was perfect, wasn't she? Good grades, a promising role at the Ministry (Quinn had overheard, anyway) and a track record that was, for the most part, shinier than Quinn's sovereign rings. And now she had a bun in the oven? And George was quite happy to play family on the southern coast? It all seemed a little too idealistic, and the words 'rose-tinted glasses' sprang to mind.

She paused, careful to be a little more eloquent than usual. "George, I think you'd be a terrific dad..." she began, placing both palms flat on the table. "But in a few years maybe. I don't think anybody our age can be a parent, not really, I mean, you've been employed for all of five minutes. Kids are tough, I mean, kids are hideous. They scream, they moan, they drink up cash, they're a huge strain." There were a thousand things Quinn wanted to say, and banging George's head against the nearest brick wall seemed a perfectly good idea. He needed some sense right now. As much as Quinn desired a violent intervention however, she simply gave his arm a squeeze of reassurance.

"George, I really don't think it's a good idea," she continued, biting her bottom lip nervously. "Everybody wants a family, but maybe it's better to sort things out first with you and your career. You're going places, and let's be honest, so is Waker. I might sound way harsh but a child is going to derail so many plans, we can hardly look after ourselves these days."

A thousand things she wanted to say, but Quinn bit her tongue. For once, it wasn't her that had all the drama.