May 11th, 1894 - The Augurey Beak Cafe

Dean didn't often find himself on this section of London for his drinking escapades (a little too close to work) but he hadn't been to the ABC in a while and figured he was in the mood for the atmosphere tonight, if nothing else. He liked that it could be a little raucous and a little political and people were fired up or passionate about whatever it was that had set them off that night. Without a plan tonight, he was content to park himself at the bar, near the corner end, and watch whatever the night had in store to unfold.

There was a tiny loudmouth waitress threatening to throw a boot at someone in the far corner and he laughed when she actually followed through and with expert aim, knocked the lad in the head. She might have been small, but Dean had already learned not to fuck with her. Feisty was putting it mildly. He could appreciate that.

By the end of his second drink, Dean was contemplating a third or heading to another spot to see what kind of trouble he could stir up. He had half a mind to head home and call it a night, but it was barely midnight and that seemed like a sad ending for a Saturday night, so he wound up ordering another whiskey, vowing that if nothing interesting happened during this drink, he would head out. Distracted by some other nonsense happening between two rather inebriated gents at the far end of the bar, Dean hadn't even noticed when someone sat down next to him. "Wait for it, a swing and a miss, I guarantee it."

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Arthur Pettigrew

  

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The Augurey Beak Cafe was loud and dingy, and the drinks were cheap. Art wasn't there very often, but he rarely regretted it when he did go. There was always something happening in the bar that made him feel less like he was being observed than he did when he was in Hogsmeade.

Tonight, it was the almost-fight between the two men — who may end up provoking the irritated bar-woman before they hit each other. Art took advantage of having her by his end of the bar to order a whiskey before violence broke out before he slid onto the barstool next to another man. Things were looking even closer to blows when the other man seemed to notice him.

Art smiled crookedly. "Unless the bartender beats them to it," Art said. "I don't think she misses."

  

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"She already threw a shoe at another chap, got him square in the forehead." Dean roared in laughter, still glued to the tension nearby. Voices kept climbing and there were nearly nose to nose, red in the face, trying to make themselves taller. Frankly it looked like two animals squaring off to fight over territory, but Dean wasn't quite sure what had provoked them to this. Could have been anything from quidditch to politics, but he wasn't inclined to ask.

Taking a sip of his whiskey, Dean laughed again, "I doubt it, let them knock each other out and then that'll be that." She diminutive barkeep was barely half the height of one of them and couldn't weight a hundred pounds soaking wet holding a brick, so unless she was as good with her wand as she was with a boot, Dean rather thought she ought to stay out of it.

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Arthur started leaning over the bar to get a good look at the bartender's feet. "Did she ever get her shoe back?" he asked, scrambling — with the length of women's skirts (although this one was wearing a bloomer suit) it was hard for him to tell. He was half-craned over the bar now, ready to pull back swiftly if the barkeep started looking at him and contemplating violence.

"When they hit each other let me know so I can look at that instead," he added, from his odd position.

  

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"Oh, she did, summoned it right back, knocked some random guy on the way through. It was pretty funny." Dean was going to have to start coming here more often, if the entertainment was this good. While his company looked over the bar, Dean kept the fight in sight, things heating up a little bit as voices rose and the gap between the two gents got smaller and smaller. That might have been the most amusing part, however, as Dean would have assumed they were going in for a good kiss, but knew that was hardly the case with men like that.

"Oh, oh, it's tense." He warned as he downed his drink in one gulp, ready to scram if a brawl broke out; Dean didn't have any interest in that tonight.

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Arthur was half-over the bar by the time he verified; the little bartender had gotten her boot back. He wondered how she'd done it, but that was when the other man warned him. He slid back into his barstool with a little bit of an oof, and reached for his own drink. "Ready to go if things explode?" he asked, seeing the other man's glass empty — Arthur followed his lead and downed his own whiskey.

  

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"Indeed," Dean slapped some coins down on the bar, hoping they would find their way where they belonged. He would be back though, so could always settle up another time if not. Stuffing his change back into his pocket, he looked back up just in time to see the first punch thrown.

"And time to go." He confirmed, slinking around the bar toward the open back door he could see from his seat. Dean spilled out into the alleyway laughing, trying to get his bearings and figure out what to do next, before looking back over his shoulder to see if his new friend had bothered to follow him this way or not.

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The punch hit one of the gentleman's cheeks with the solid sound of impact; Art slapped a few coins down on the counter and trotted after the stranger out of the back of the bar. A loud cackle spilled out of him once they hit the alleyway. "That was good," he said cheerfully, "But now I have to find somewhere else to drink tonight."

  

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"I can help with that," Dean promised, still laughing. "Dean Hudson, by the way." He extended hand for a shake. "What's your poison?" He had noted the other man had also had a glass of whiskey, but it could have been an arbitrary pick; more than the drink he meant atmosphere. If the ABC was a haunt, Dean had another little muggle pub like it, but he also had a collection at home and he knew of a little house party going on tonight that he had half a mind to visit, but that would depend on how open-minded his new friend was.

Regardless, he started down the side street toward the main drag, any of their possible destinations could be reached from there, or a quick apparating trip.

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Art often fell into journeys like this with others on a night out — so he was completely happy to tag along with the other man, Hudson. "Arthur Pettigrew," he introduced easily — it wasn't often that Art had to introduce himself, and he supposed there was a significant chance that Hudson already knew who he was, but it was the polite thing to introduce one's self.

"Something divey," he offered, with a gesture back at the ABC. He wasn't interested in fancy drinks tonight.

  

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Pettigrew. The name sounded familiar, quidditch maybe, but Dean had never quite been into the sport, just the players. He could be into Pettigrew, too.

Something divey. Now that Dean could do. He had a couple little holes in the wall within walking distance that had the same vibes as the Augurey and it wouldn't take long at all to get there. "There's a muggle place a few blocks from here, if that works for you? Pints are cheap, if nothing else." Dean couldn't guarantee there wouldn't be any fights there either, but he supposed the likelihood of two in one night was lower than he'd bet on. He also didn't care much for beer, but he could probably get a cheap whiskey. "Next best magical place is honestly the Cauldron." Dean only went there every once in a while, too close to the ministry for his liking, but this late at night it would probably be fine.

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"Let's go to the muggle place," Art said, without missing a beat. He didn't want to be anywhere that Witch Weekly might see him, lest they suggest again that he was trying to get his wife to leave him. Besides — he'd grown up in a purist family, and there was still something alluring about a muggle bar.

"I always want to try somewhere new," he added, in a helpful, cheerful tone.

  

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Dean had been leaning that way too. The Cauldron saw too much familiar foot traffic for him to be truly comfortable, even if he went there during daylight just fine. Grinning he started off toward the direction they needed to go. After exiting the alley they'd found themselves in, Dean  Then it was just a few quick turns and they'd be there. It was a little basement establishment that Dean wasn't quite sure was actually legal, but he'd never had any problems there.

The warm spring air was as refreshing as late night London could be. Dean was looking forward to the summer weather, even if he'd much rather be on the seaside somewhere instead for it. "I make no promises, it's a little dingy." Dean warned as they neared the entrance after only a few minute's walk. "Down the stairs," he motioned for Pettigrew to go down the spiral staircase first.

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Art made a mental note not to bring up Quidditch when they were near the muggles. Otherwise, he didn't often wear robes and wasn't tonight, so this should be relatively low-drama — and maybe he could add it to his rotation of haunts. He grinned at the sight of the faded spiral staircase.

"I like it a little dingy," Art said brightly, and proceeded down the stairs. Once he made it, he motioned for the bartender to give them both a whiskey. Luckily he kept a few muggle coins on him most of the time.

  

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Dean had to quirk an amused eyebrow at Pettigrew's comment. A little dingy could mean a lot of things, he supposed, but only time would tell. He certainly couldn't complain about having a whiskey bought for him. Dean usually had any variety of foreign currency on him, but it might have taken him a moment or two to dig out the muggle coins from somewhere in his pockets.

"I take it somewhere dingy allows for a bit more anonymity?" He guessed as he took a seat at one of the tall bar tops while they waited for their whiskey. Dean wasn't complaining, he liked the fluidity of coming and going where nobody knew who he was or what he was up to and he wasn't even a known quidditch player.

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   Arthur Pettigrew

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"Oh, sure," Arthur said, with a nod — he definitely liked it when he wasn't immediately recognized by people. When his reputation was particularly dodgy or attached to a World Cup, anonymous muggle locations were one of the one places he could rely on no one knowing him.

He slipped onto his tall barstool next to Hudson. "But they also make me feel younger," he added with a wicked grin.

  

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