Emmylou pulled the shot in time to remember that the customer had asked for three, not four. After a while, they sort of blended into one another, and she’d lost count. She knew how to count. But there were only so many ways espresso could make itself interesting, beginning and ending with keeping the Gryffindor graduate awake. “Shite.”

Pulling the white china shot glass away with a most unfortunate slosh of hot espresso onto the back of her palm, the girl cursed again and nearly dropped the thing. She steadied it between two  cupped hands, one already throbbing with the promise of a vague sort of blister. She had a keeper’s skills and Carter luck on her side-- and she was in a bloody hospital, at least. It could be worse. She could be serving lattes to completely useless twenty-somethings who didn’t know first aid from accessorizing.

She’d poured the steaming liquid into the larger cup and slid it along the bar. The customer should be grateful for the extra caffeine. (Though there was a good chance it was exactly the amount the person had ordered, given the bit that had just tried eviscerate Lou’s hand.) With a smile that said acid burn, she turned back to the growing list of orders. A simple one. Thank Merlin and his ten toes.

“Can we get some happier music in here?” She asked a fellow employee. The young man looked up from the register, shrugged, and looked back again. Leaning past some bit of magical machinery or another for cover, she whispered loudly and conspiratorially to the next customer waiting. “He’s angry. They’re replacing him with a house-elf next week.”

Standing straight again, she slipped her wand from its place at her side and pointed it at the magical radio, which had been charmed to play a certain teahouse-friendly catalog of songs. Suddenly the sonorus charm that had been placed all around and unobtrusively stopped mid-song, and seconds later began to project a hipper, more upbeat song. Lou grinned at her own victory, self-satisfied, and finished the order on an up note.... As she made to slide the order toward the customer, it practically leaped from her hands. The music had to be the most exciting thing the china had heard in years.

Her lips formed a sort of ‘o’ of surprise. “Oops.” She leaned back, catching her coworkers eye before promptly looking back to the customer, wand in hand. “Really sorry, man!” She looked at his robes. "Healer. Let me clean it up for you..”

Simon was trying not to yawn. He wasn't exactly sure when he'd come into work, but what mattered was that it had been at least a day. Two days? Whatever. It'd been more than a day since he'd gone home. That was about what he was aware of.

He'd stumbled out of his office after a few hour's sleep, his hair mussed up on one side and his back aching. He'd just slumped over on his paperwork rather than curling up under his desk like he usually did, and it showed. He tried to walk as officially and un-exhausted as possible, but didn't do as well as he'd like.

The coffee shop was basically empty at this time of...well, morning, technically. He headed towards the bar, smiled slightly as the coffee got poured -

Right onto a sensitive are. That woke him up faster than the caffeine therein might have, and his eyes bulged out of his skull. He folded slightly, his elbows hitting the counter.

He barely heard the witch's apologies, and simply nodded mutely. Merlin's beard, he'd need cream. And not just in the coffee.

"No harm done," he rasped, trying to give her a polite nod and kind of succeeding. "I'm awake now, certainly..." He coughed and looked up finally, eyes squinting even as they teared up. "Maybe an iced latte would work better?"

So, here was the summary: normal people graduated Hogwarts, took their pretty, glossy sheets of O’s to the Ministry, and signed up for a proper salary. Emmylou Carter poured coffee on the trousers of pretty, bearded healers, potentially rendering them incapable of producing more pretty, bearded healers. Pretty and bearded he was, indeed. Her mouth opened a bit when she realized what his face looked like. At least she hadn’t spilled coffee on that. She’d sack herself.

Not really, but she wouldn't blame herself for trying.

She stiffened and winced sympathetically as his elbows hit the counter. Not that she would know exactly how it felt. She’d never had coffee poured on her... well, she didn’t have one, anyway. Still, poor chap. They did seem to like them.

"No harm done,"

“I don’t know about that,” she admitted, before she could stop herself. What a winner! George would be so proud. Her eyes, which had moved south, finally peeled away from the... wet... region. And moved up to the man’s face. Again.

"I'm awake now, certainly..."

Her eyes shifted from the man, to her fellow barista, and back to the man. She offered a confident smile, and laughed. Saving two faces at once! She hoped her coworker heard. Everything was fine and dandy, and there was no need to fire the upstanding St. Mungo’s employee who was earning an honest living.

"Maybe an iced latte would work better?"

“Right. It’s on me.”


Well. Obviously. “But not like that.” She waved her hand in the general direction of his lap / nether region / Healer’s fitted trousers. With a wave of her wand, and a murmur that shouldn’t have been so easy given the context, she murmured a “Scourgify!”, and watched the coffee evaporate. She blinked, moving a bit closer to inspect the area before deciding it was dry enough.

She pulled back, and catching the man’s eye again. She waited. It seemed like a good time to be silent. They’d just had a moment. “I would tell you to see a Healer but you... are a Healer.” Maybe she would get even luckier, and he would happen to specialize in... trousers.

“Do you want some ice with your iced latte?”

Simon quirked an eyebrow for a moment, the awkwardness not entirely lost on him - of course, his mind was...elsewhere, for now. He'd have to inspect the area further later since the skin - hot wet strain aside - felt scalded, but...well...yes. Anyway. He cleared his throat.

"That's all right, I can pay for...it..." He trailed off as she moved in, inspecting the area. As a medical professional he had, of course, seen plenty of...areas....but it was still a bit different when there was an admittedly attractive young lady scrutinizing his. Of course she was simply doing him a kindness in stopping the burning (which he was thankful for, of course). He did his best not to comment and adjusted his tie to get his eyes and hands...somewhere else.

That said, the sensation hinted that he might need to apply burn creme later. In the privacy of his office, of course. Thankfully it was late and so the likelihood of someone walking in was slim.

He really hoped that didn't happen. He...Simon couldn't even imagine that.

"Ice? Um, yes, that'll be fine," he said, and then his brain caught up from the...odd territory it had gone into. "Oh! Ahem." He laughed. "I, ah, yes. Ice would be nice!"

Emmy pursed her lips to hide a smile at his timely throat clearing, waved his offer away with her non-wand hand, and went to work. The espresso machine didn’t have quite the same detail as the piece of culinary art she’d created on the other side of the bar... but she supposed it was keeping her from sleeping on a street corner (or in her mum’s house... which she was currently doing... but the money from serving up coffee-- in cups-- would allow her to move into a flat with Quinn, eventually).

She couldn’t help it, though, making less-than-appropriate smalltalk with her current customer. It helped to pass the time! She nodded at his neck, where a moment ago he’d adjusted his tie. “I must have raised your temperature several degrees.”

She quirked a brow in a little shrug, pulling the shot and going for another. It was called the George Method. Lou grinned and spun a quarter turn to summon ice. The ice obliged-- unlike her smooth motor skills-- and scooped itself into a plastic cup, sitting pretty until the espresso could follow suit.

She charmed more ice into a second, smaller cup. Hold the coffee. Sliding the first across the bar, she plucked a straw from an open jar, and smiled again at the stranger-healer-newly-blistered-newfound friend. She offered the second cup with a small stack of paper napkins. Improvisation. “Might want to save that for the loo,” she added wisely. “But it is a hospital.” If he couldn’t drop his trousers here, there was no hope for anyone.

“So what kind of healer are you?” Clearly the kind who needed caffeine nocturnally.

The expresso was good, even as hurriedly as it had been made. And the pain was going away, now being replaced with the oddly warm feeling of slight blisters on the make. He wasn't going to be moving much for a few minutes, that was for sure.

"Indeed," he said with a sort of nervous tone, mostly since a single-word agreement would ideally affirm that yes, whipping one's trousers off was best done in private without having to say that in so many words.

He sipped the espresso again as she spoke, pausing a moment with the glass at his lips. Well, she was new; St. Mungos' complex system of colors on their robes was lost even on people who'd worked there for years. He'd still not quite figured it out himself.

"I work on the 4th floor," he said. "Spell damage - Aurors with three left feet, memory loss, people who're in one room and their body in another. That kind of thing." He smiled slightly. "It's late work," he added, with a slightly glance at the clock. Admittedly, that was mostly by choice; they did have a night shift, but he wasn't about to leave everything to them. And, well. She was clearly new; somehow fessing up that she'd spill coffee on a head healer seemed cruel. And Simon very rarely pulled rank unless it was absolutely necessary.

He smiled again, tilting his head. "And what kind of graduate are you?"

Emmylou continued to grin, unable to help thinking that this new (or perhaps not so new for the shop, but certainly to her) customer was not the worst candidate for a lap full of hot coffee.

Spell damage. That sounded like a place Lou might have wanted to dash around before her dad had died. Of late, hard work didn’t seem like such an appealing thing... getting by and using the rest of her time to be an immature young adult was more her thing at the moment. Though, in the back of her mind, she knew she could serve coffee forever and love it. It was already driving her crazy.

“How many people have an Apparition license who shouldn't?” She asked, imagining the number of young people on holiday who splinched themselves trying to make-- or break-- curfew. Really, Emmy didn't ponder it much; it was the sort of thing a parent brooded over and Emmy thanked her lucky stars it had been a slice of cake to nab hers. (Slice perhaps wasn't the best word.) She was brilliant at Apparating. Obviously.

As for what Lou was doing...

She was less prepared to answer that. Still, straightened up, smiled with seeming ease, and shrugged. “One who’s disappointing her parents and having the time of her life... serving coffee.” Naturally. “Why, what do you peg me for?” And, because she'd walked into it... or he had... “How do you know I’m a graduate? I could be a retiree.”

Sip. Simon let her talk as he drank, wanting the caffeine to kick in. There was only so long a man could run on pure determination, after all! And the nap he'd had at his desk had been refreshing, but its effects weren't lasting as long as he'd hoped.

He laughed into the cup when she asked about licenses, the splash getting his beard. He put the cup down, wiping his beard off as he snickered softly. "The answer to that? Somewhere between 'too many' and 'not enough', depending on which Healers or Ministry officials you ask. The 'too many' usually cuts in around holidays, though. Drunk teenagers make up half our minor cases, usually." He smirked slightly. "Don't Apparate while drunk. Good ground rule. You have a hangover regardless of how attached your head is."

He was sipping again when she answered, and he smiled around the rim. "Good for you," he said. "Never do what your parents want you to do." He winked; he was only half joking, however. Parents, in his experience, wanted what they wanted for their kids, not necessarily what was best.

"Hmm. I peg you for a graduate because you're young and new to this job. We usually have an influx of part-timers after Hogwarts lets out, and you don't seem upset over wasting your summer...I'm sorry. Did I assume wrong?" He was polite as always. His smile remained, though. "And I'd peg you as the type who doesn't know what she wants to be, but knows what she doesn't."

"And never just right," she sighed with fake wistfulness. "I'll be sure to let me friends know how terribly unbalanced the statistics are..." And then she smirked, for half a second, before turning on the equally fake shock. Outrage. Lionish defense. "I never Apparate while drunk! I always have a sober side-along." Or someone to pat her back and stick her in the Floo flames. Usually, when she got wasted, it was at the corner pub, or at Edmund's place, or-- until very recently, graduation and all that-- in empty bleachers with the likes of Quinn. If it was a family event, there was a high chance of Emmy and George sneaking off with the generously-supplied, tasteful liquor those other adults fancied. Many a cousinly adventures had been had that way.

She noted his humor, nonetheless, and the way coffee seemed to be attracted to his beard. It had the right idea.

There was a lucky lull in traffic for Lou. This time of night could easily be a ghost town-- and often was-- but when the emergency ward was full, there could also be a rush that made her juggle as if she were back in quidditch practice, pretending to throw quaffles around ugly Slytherins.

Excellent. An adult who agreed with her plan for Adulthood 101! In the introductory phase was crucial, but Emmylou knew that over-thinking it would only give her headaches. And make her angry. And maybe, she knew, just a little sad. She grinned. "Is that why you became a Healer? Because your mum wanted you to be a barista?"

Harhar. If only. She could imagine the look on her mother's face if she came home and announced she was starting training at the hospital-- and no, not for double espressos. She might end up in St. Mungo's from the happiness alone.

What a saucy wink for a healer on graveyard shift.

And an accurate description of Emmylou's post-Hogwarts life. She raised her brows, then sobered her face, lips pursing mildly to the side. "Yeah, I dunno..." Those weren't words Miss Lou muttered often. "I mean, I could be your grandmother's age and on an experimental trial for Anti-Aging Potions." Hence the gig at St. Mungo's. She grinned, one last-ditch effort. "But..." Mmm. "You may be on to something," she conceded. She leaned away from the counter, beginning to tidy up for the appearance of having something to do. Her silly, gray coworker was watching. Lou appreciated that he seemed to know she was the type who was instinctive enough to know what she didn't want. "Maybe a few years ago, I would have ended up in Magical Law Enforcement..." Haha. Ha. "But they're a bunch of prats. Hopefully my friends straighten them out..." Fauna and Grace had quite the task ahead of them, but she surprisingly found she wasn't too worried. They could hold their own; it was a matter of confidence, and Lou had the utmost faith in them. She was proud of them. "I was thinking when this got boring, I could be one of those people who tests Cheering Charms and other things that are dangerous to the general public."

"That's a good plan, but I honestly wouldn't Appearate while drink, sidealong or no," He said. "Or hungover, by Merlin's beard. We had a healer do that weeks ago and were cleaning the walls up for days." He sipped his coffee and quickly added, "The travel's effect on his stomach was the issue. He was intact, though seemed under the impression he wasn't. Kept yelling and throwing up on people."

He snorted around his coffee cup, shaking his head. His mother had never been the best of them, when it came to plans. "My mother would have loved it if I was a barrista," he said, simply. "She never settled on a career herself, so I could have proposed anything and she'd have been happy with it. I could have gone into the circus and she'd have loved it. No - it was my father, in my case. I could Heal or be a professional arse-kisser to the Minister. The choice was, on reflection, very easy." Simon had long ago developed a very blunt view of how politics worked and had clung to it. It hadn't been hard to - so far, nothing had come up that would dislodge the impression.

"Hah! You could be," he said with a slight roll of his eyes - not so much mocking as a recalling of the effects of said potions. "But those tend to only go so far, to be honest. And tend to only effect the face, actually, from what I've been hearing - rather distressing for those who can't wait for them to hit the market."

He grinned at her description of law enforcement, and promptly voiced his thoughts on that. "You should work on the 4th floor," he said. "You've got the attitude towards the Aurors down pat. Everyone gets that opinion of them after awhile - even if we still partially respect them."

Her second option got much the same response. "That's a life of adventure, certainly. We've got a chap downstairs right now who got overdosed on Cheering Charms and can't stop laughing. Poor bastard can't get any sleep - we've been having to drug him til he passes out."

Lou shrugged in a ‘different strokes’ sort of way. As far as she was concerned side-along with a sober friend was fair game... although the headaches were not always forgiving. He may have had a point. But why let an adult older person believe his wisdom had won her attention?! “I’ve almost got it down to a science,” she boasted, in reference to apparating hungover. “One part Sobering Potion, two parts scalding hot coffee, lots of sugar, and the biggest pastry you can find.” It was a sure winner if you had to apparate, say, for an obscenely early morning shift on a Sunday. Then again, when all of the free coffee was at work... “Poor guy, though, he should sign up for my lecture.” She failed to add that he was absolutely correct, and that her teenage tips didn’t solve the problem of tumultuous travel stomach.

"My mother would have loved it if I was a barrista,"

Seriously?

Seriously?

“Can I get her owling address? How does she feel about adopting a legal witch with a perfectly lovely mother in the picture?”

But, ah, his father had been there to make things the usual orderly fashion of adulthood. (Although it rarely if ever worked out just like that.) Apparently, though, the man had taken well to Healing. Lou could not, in good conscious, say that it didn’t suit him well. If beards and smiles and cooling burns had anything to say about it.

Really, her own mum was disappointed in a mild, fretty way, but she was no iron fist. (She had her shockingly 'get-your-ish-together' moments, but then she would not have been Emmylou's mother otherwse.) No one in Lou's life had thus far banned her from making coffee, if that was what she wanted to do to scrape by and kill time for a bit. Plus, she was going to do it anyway.

“Yeah, the Ministry does like to be praised, doesn’t it?” She had little reason to love them, though, to be fair, Edward Pratt and company had never asked for praise. They probably only wished that teenage girls wouldn’t skip out on scholastic obligations to come harass them at work. She had calmed down a little since then-- several of her friends were now training to be Aurors-- but she was still highly eye-rolly toward the Ministry.

Speaking of eye rolls...

The confident little, lopsided grin on her lips stood its ground. “This is a top secret Anti-Aging potion. Maybe you do owe the Ministry your awe. If you’re lucky, they’ll share their secrets.”

Or maybe said Anti-Aging secrets belonged to this proselytized fourth floor. She tilted her head. If her coworker was throwing discreet daggers at Emmylou’s bar-side conversation, she didn’t notice. “Maybe I’ll have to stroll down there one of these breaks.” Probably not a good idea. The allure of the fourth floor was perhaps less immediately kind-hearted or brave. It was certainly not wise. “As long as I don’t get drugged for being cheerful.” On caffeine, of course.

She looked over her shoulder before tossing Mr. Healer a meaningful look. Back to work. Snatching up an empty cup, she nodded at him in a see you around way.