23rd December, 1891 — The Three Broomsticks
Rhys Gallagher/Elsie Kirke

The Three Broomsticks was near to closing for the night, and Ester had – until a short time ago – been having a delightful time.

Her usual haunts were all in London; she was notorious enough at the Hog’s Head; but Ester was a far less recognisable patron at the Three Broomsticks, at least in this era. She had half-hoped some of the elder Hogwarts students might be spending their holidays drinking Butterbeer here – she would have liked a glimpse of one in particular – but she had soon been waylaid from that aim, and instead occupied herself in general carousing and a generous few rounds of drinking.

But now tempers were a little loose, and things a little heated, and the pub was supposed to be closing, except for the matter of payment, which simply could not be settled. (Ester knew it had been an error to have quite so many rounds put upon her name.) And now the constable had been called.

“I shall explain the situation,” Ester said, stepping in and sliding off her chair to approach the constable before the manager of the inn could get any angrier at her. “We have all been having a lovely evening at this gentleman’s bar, but as I went to pay my final dues and beg my leave –” she widened her eyes in expert innocence, “– I discovered my purse to be missing.”

Only the most drunken gullible lads in the bar had believed this story an ounce, and Ester was not certain whether the very-sober constable would be taken in for a heartbeat – but the fact remained that, even if she had brought a purse along, the one from her bedroom drawer left for safe-keeping, it would have been stocked with a bottle of laudanum drops but entirely empty of coin.

But it was not her fault all the dregs of mankind left here tonight were the miserly kind, and refused to pay her tab for her.

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While he was not pleased to be handling this himself, it was past both Dorset and Woodcroft's bedtime. Not mention some drunk and disorderly conduct at the Broomsticks needed a particularly imposing figure to cut through the bullshit. The lad (who should also be in bed by now) hadn't exactly given him much information on what was happening, but Rhys rather thought it required someone who could physically handle it.

His arrival at the Broomsticks was met with mixed reaction, some obviously unhappy to see him and others relieved that the situation would be handled. He headed straight for the manager, but was cut off by a lass who appeared to have imbibed just a bit too much herself. She was going on about what happened, but really all Rhys needed to know was that there were tabs to be paid and no money to do so.

He passed the woman a skeptical look, thinking she might look vaguely familiar, but couldn't put a name to the face. "This seems to be a recurring theme around here." He read the room and the faces surrounding the matter before looking toward the barkeep for his side of the story.

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By his skeptical look, she was sure he was not yet taken in by her excuses; Ester, on the other hand, was more than taken in by the chiselled contours of his handsome face.

He was one of the constables, though – the chief constable – so she really ought to be on her best behaviour, shouldn’t she? She ought to try and make a dash for it when he turned to the barkeep, but she really did want a longer look at him, too.

“I had it when I came in tonight, my purse,” Ester offered, in half a ploy to keep the constable’s eyes off the barkeep and prevent the pair of them from lumping all the blame on her. “Cross my heart.” She traced that cross over her breast with her fingertip, maybe hoping to draw his attention a little, and then added, as she cast her own mournful look about the room in search of someone else to blame: “I truly had no idea Hogsmeade had so many thieves.”

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The following 2 users Like Ester Montgomery's post:2 users Like Ester Montgomery's post
   Marlena Scamander, Rhys Gallagher

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Rhys cast the bartender— who he knew fairly well at this point, a glace of disbelief, but let the woman speak anyway, keeping his eyes resolutely on her face. He was a softy on the inside, but he was no idiot either. Unfortunately this was not a clear-cut situation in which he knew who to believe straight away.

"Would you like to make a formal report about that?" A false report would be hard to disprove, but it could also get her in trouble if it were the case. It wasn't that Rhys suspected she was lying, but it was sort of hard to believe a lady was out so late and drinking in public if she didn't have a looser set of morals. "I feel as though I should ask around to make sure you haven't misplaced it." Or if the barkeep happened to notice if she'd come in with it at all. He needed more information here and he wondered how best to go about this.

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“A formal report?” Ester echoed reluctantly. Not only did that sound like the dullest activity in the world, she was sure the more formal things got, the more probing questions would be asked and the more likely she would be the one to end up in a holding cell tonight.

No, no, that wouldn’t do. Her night of fun could not possibly be over just yet. She had done a hard day’s night of drinking and now all she needed was a nightcap to top it off, some warming reward.

“Ask around? No, you mustn’t bother with that,” Ester said swiftly, and she plucked up his hand suddenly to pull him nearer, setting it on her hip insistently, as if she were doing him a favour – and grinning a little too wide for the innocence she had previously intended. “Pat me down, if you like, be sure I haven’t got it on me.”

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The lady's reluctance to follow the proper avenues of letting him do his job made things even more suspect and Rhys quirked an eyebrow at her as she took his hand. He withdrew it immediately, reaching into his pocket for his notepad instead. "I'm afraid I really must follow procedure, Ma'am." And he'd be starting with the bartender, because Rhys was pretty sure that the bloke had the best vantage point. Of course that also begged the question why the debt had accrued to quite so much, but that was another matter.

"When did you notice the purse go missing?" He asked as he flipped to a blank page to take notes. Once got her side of the story, he could start asking around.

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Well, he hadn’t gone for that at all. Saints, he’d snatched back his hand as quick as if he’d been touching hot coals; and retreated behind his notebook, as if it wasn’t far, far too late for a poor constable to still be working.

It was far too late for Ester’s brain to be working, at any rate. So she didn’t have an ounce of focus required to make up a story about the time and place she had last seen her ‘missing purse’. So she just kept grinning indolently at him, because she was, quite simply, off her face.

“When did you get so handsome, love?” She drawled aloud in turn, eyeing his jawline with feeling. “Like a statue of Adonis come to life.” She ought to see if he might model – oh, yes, that was a spectacular idea: her artist friends would be wild for him.

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The following 1 user Likes Ester Montgomery's post:1 user Likes Ester Montgomery's post
   Marlena Scamander

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Under her gaze, which Rhys noticed even from behind his notepad, his first instinct was to retreat. Humiliating that his first instinct was to back away when he had nearly a foot and easily seven stone on her, but there was just something about the way she looked at him that had him panicking.

Then she spoke again, and he nearly did take a step back. "Ma'am, I think you're intoxicated, which is not helping matters at all. I'm going to need you to come down to the station." He could lock her up, let her sober up and fix the problem in the morning. That was a good solution. Hopefully he could convince both the woman and the barkeep that would suffice for tonight. Frankly it was too late, he was too tired and she was too drunk for anything else.

Unfortunately it meant he was likely to be sleeping in the office tonight.

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Intoxicated? She was never! Well, maybe a little.

Well, maybe a lot.

Though personally, Ester thought the situation would be more quickly ameliorated if he were somewhat less sober, rather than she being any less drunk. But she sensed he would not take kindly to the suggestion that she get him a drink, not given... all this.

So coming down to the station was as happy an alternative as any: Ester was not much considering the consequences here, beyond getting to stare at an attractive man for a few hours more. And she’d spent worse nights in worse places. So if he was expecting her to argue, well...

“Oh, I’d be delighted, if you’re escorting me,” Ester purred, undeterred, and waggled her eyebrows just to prove it. “I’ll go anywhere you like.” Before he could take it back, she curled her hand around his (strong, muscular) arm – because if they were actually going anywhere, she was going to need some assistance to stay upright.

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That was... too easy. Evident in the way in which she grabbed his arm. Rhys sighed heavily and folded up his notebook, tucking it safely back into his pocket along with the quill he had been taking notes with. He gave a nod to the barkeep. He would check back in tomorrow to see what exactly could be remedied here, but for now it looked like he was going to be spending the night babysitting his new company.

Wonderful.

"Alright, let's go." He reluctantly, and trying to keep as much distance between them as possible, started for the exit. It was going to be a long night he suspected.

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