September 13th, 1895 — The Leaky Cauldron

It was rather ridiculous that he had yet to find a suitable place to live. He'd been renting a room from the nosiest landlady in existence since his return over the summer. Not only had she been digging through his belongings when he wasn't there, but also some of her tenants were incredibly rude, and he'd even had a child break into his room in the middle of the night in an attempt to haunt him. None of which were horribly harrowing experiences—though they certainly were annoying disturbances.

He'd made it a habit to drop by the different community boards in London to see if anything promising had cropped up. Thus far, the Leaky Cauldron had a new ad for a decently priced home but it had a bogart infestation that he didn't want to deal with. There was also a townhouse not far from the Ministry, but the monthly rent was exorbitant. Another week, another failure. He'd stalked up to the counter of the bar and ordered himself a strong drink. After which, he settled into an armchair in a dark corner of the establishment.

Sulking and sipping his drink, his eyes fell on a book lying on the floor near his feet. Presumably the chair's previous occupant had dropped and forgotten it. So he scooped it up and began flipping through it, only to quickly realize it was a novel written for women and was full of nonsense that he thought rather racy (especially for someone to have been reading in public!) Before he knew what was happening, he felt an odd sort of... nostalgia settle over him. It made the top of his head tingle. Suspiciously, his attention darted around the small pub. Had someone just done something to him? But no, it didn't seem as if anyone was even paying any attention. (Though that didn't necessarily mean they were innocent, just that he'd been to slow.)

The sound of footsteps coming his way had him slamming the book closed in a puff of dust and tossing it as far from his person as he could before anyone saw what he'd been reading.

Greer Owens

The following 1 user Likes Barnabas Skeeter's post:1 user Likes Barnabas Skeeter's post
   Charley Goode

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Barnabas walks with a cane • Set by the lovely Lady • plot with me

Greer didn't often frequent Diagon Alley for any reason, other than to use it as pass-through to parts of London she sometimes had to make deliveries to. It wasn't her favorite part of her job, didn't most of the people who came through the shop have servants for this sort of thing? It was irksome, she had things to do, but today she hadn't minded too much. One of her coworkers had been complaining about something her sister-in-law had done so loudly that Greer had wondered just how badly it would go if she created some sort of gag for the woman from scrap fabric.

Getting out had given a reasonably opportunity for a reprieve and perhaps she should be thankful for that. And take her sweet time getting back. She could cite and on-site fitting request if anyone was going to give her a hard time about it. That would surely have eaten up a little while. She had half a mind to stop at the Cauldron for something to eat, but supposed that might be pushing the boundaries, so she was merely making her way back through to use the floo to get back to Hogsmeade.

That was until a book went flying across the room and caught Greer right in the side of the head, causing her to both yelp and for a hand to immediately go to her cheek. "Ouch!" She exclaimed loudly, looking around to see just where it could have come from.

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The following 1 user Likes Greer Owens's post:1 user Likes Greer Owens's post
   Barnabas Skeeter

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Greer has a noticeable Australian accent. I normally mention it, but fyi!

Apparently he was a bit more panicked than he'd thought, because the book had gone flying much farther than he'd anticipated. There was a distinct noise of it hitting a person, a feminine yelp, and then a thunk as it clattered to the floor. He twisted to see who his accidental victim was—and then froze as their eyes met. The blood drained from his face as he pursed his lips apologetically. Of all the people in the wizarding world, of course it would have been Greer Owens. He wouldn't put it past her to whip out her wand that very instant and hex him to high hell.

If she hadn't seen him, he'd have been sorely tempted to dash out of there, whiskey be damned. He wasn't above hiding from her if it had come to that. But she had caught him—essentially red-handed—and now the only option he had available was to save face. Possibly literally, based on how their first (and also last) interaction had gone.

There was a small chance she hadn't seen him throw it. This hope is what he clung to as he hastily stood. "Are you alright, Miss Owens?" He asked as politely as possible, in a way that he hoped gave off an 'I'm very innocent and had nothing to do with the book assaulting you' message.

  

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Barnabas walks with a cane • Set by the lovely Lady • plot with me

Greer blinked a few times, rubbing her aching cheek. The book had caught her square in the jaw, as if she'd been punched and she wasn't entirely sure what to do with herself or where it had even come from. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment as she realized she was probably make a fool of herself and so she looked around.

Mr. Skeeter was about the last person she'd expect to approach her asking if she was alright. It would no doubt bruise wand was probably already likely very red, so Greer kept her hand up as she eyed him dubiously. "It came out of nowhere. Feels like I've been punched." Yes, she knew what that felt like. She'd been a scrappy child, one who didn't take shit from anyone and had her fair share of fisticuffs in her youth. Only societal expectations kept her from punching people now, if she were being honest.

She was still a little in shock to be appalled by the fact that Mr. Skeeter had been bold enough to approach her, but it would kick in soon, no doubt.

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Greer has a noticeable Australian accent. I normally mention it, but fyi!

Barnabas Skeeter

The fact that she hadn't immediately yelled, glared, or socked him either meant one of two things: one—she didn't recognize him, or two—she wasn't aware he was the one who had thrown the book. At least there was only one of them nursing an injury. There was only one thing for him to do. Play the gentleman and ensure that Miss Owens was alright. It was the least he could do, all things considered. "I'll fetch some ice from the bartender; one moment," he told her before doing just that.

He returned with chunks of ice wrapped inside of his handkerchief. "Here, if you hold it against the area, it will help with the swelling." Barnabas held it out to her in a peace offering. Maybe they would both be lucky and there wouldn't even be a mark?

  

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Barnabas walks with a cane • Set by the lovely Lady • plot with me