June 6th, 1895 - 3BS

Alvin hadn't quite been ready to head home yet. Sloane and Harry were off in South Africa and it sounded from their letters, that they were enjoying themselves. It didn't stop him from worrying, but he hoped it was good for them. The house was much quieter without them around and Alvin was still a little hung up on his last conversation with Sisse. It haunted him a little bit, even if he felt like he did the right thing. Hopefully the guilt would ease, but he was still beating himself up about it.

So instead of heading straight home after work, he'd stopped at the Broomsticks to get something to eat. It was a little crowded, but Alvin didn't mind. He liked disappearing into a crowd. The people around him were too caught up in their own reasons for being there. He recognized the look of escape on a few other faces and was fine to be left alone for the most part.

Currently he was swirling glass of whiskey with his bad hand atop the bar that he had no intention of drinking. He'd thought about it more in the last few weeks than he had in a long time, but he still hadn't indulged. Liquor had never been a problem for him in the past. More like a good social lubricant back when he was younger and dumber. Until he'd gotten so drunk that he'd he'd thought playing with a burnishing tool was a good idea. He flexed the fingers on his hand around the rim of the glass. It was about the narrowest thing he could hold these days and his grip was terrible, but Alvin worried if it put the glass in his good hand he might actually take a sip. Maybe he should head home.

He couldn't quite muster the energy though, still stewing in discontent when someone sat down next to him. It took Alvin a minute to realize he recognized the guy. It had been a while, but they'd been just a year apart at Hogwarts and had similar interests back then. "Greengrass," he greeted with a nod, looking away from the amber liquid in his hand for a moment.

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Noble Greengrass

  

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Sometimes the Broomsticks felt like getting fresh air, which was not particularly healthy but did admittedly give him a few minutes away from his family. One drink would be good, would be fine — and then he could go back home.

It was the proximity, probably, between his workshop and the house — sometimes he could go whole days without leaving the property.

It was lucky to see someone he knew; social interaction with a non-Greengrass would probably be good for him.

"Bixby," Noble said, after perching in the barstool next to the other man. "I hope you're well?" he asked. Based on the liquor in his glass, and the expression Bixby had been wearing, he was not doing particularly well — but Noble wasn't going to go right out and ask about it. Not yet, at least.

  

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set by Lady

Alvin huffed out a sigh at the question. It was a polite question when you hadn't seen someone in a while, but still loaded and he wasn't quite sure how to answer. They had moved in similar social circles, but hadn't been friends or anything, so Alvin wasn't sure he wanted to unload his sad life story on Greengrass at the moment. Lying was annoying though, especially when he was sure that he didn't look well.

"Been better, but surviving, yourself?" It was honest enough and left it open to Greengrass if he wanted more details or not. Hopefully not, but since Alvin didn't really have anywhere to unload all of these thoughts bouncing around in his brain, he might just spill it all anyway, vaguely of course.

He waved a hand at the seat next to him if Greengrass wanted it. He was still idly playing with the glass of whiskey in his hand, but had less of an inclination to drink it now. Which probably looked weird, but that would be easier to talk about than everything else.

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"Oh, surviving," Noble agreed, with a shrug of his shoulders. He was better — he hadn't found the clarity of purpose that he so wanted, but he was starting to feel like it was out there. He would find it. He was sure of it. This could not just be it — there would be some clarity eventually.

"But I have no complaints this evening," Noble said, after a brief pause to order a pint from the bartender. He took a sip of it, noting silently that Bixby had not actually taken a sip of the whiskey he was playing with. "Do you?"

  

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set by Lady

"Loaded question, I suppose." Alvin answered, looking down at the glass in his hand, still making no motions to drink it. "Nothing about today was particularly egregious, but it's a continued state." Alvin set the glass down, feeling a twinge in his fingers of discomfort. His hand didn't often ache unless he moved it a certain way or he pushed what he was actually capable of. The burns made his skin so uncomfortably tight sometimes that he had to use his good hand to stretch out the muscles beneath.

It was fine, he didn't want the drink he kept toying with, but there was something about having in front of him that felt right at the moment. Alvin pressed the back of his bad hand with the opposite thumb, feeling the damaged tendons roll under his skin in an familiar ache. "How's business been?" Just because Alvin couldn't continue with his chosen trade, didn't mean he was the kind to begrudge others for maintaining their passions.

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So Bixby was in an ongoing state of difficulty; Noble wasn't sure if he knew the other man well enough to try and dig into why. But he understood a continued state of egregiousness, that was in many ways how he would describe the last few years.

He took a sip of his drink, aware that he'd taken several in the time that Bixby had taken none. Bixby's drink looked untouched. "It's been — picking up," he said, with a small smile, "Things always pick up at the start of the season."

  

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set by Lady

Alvin flexed his fingers uncomfortably one more time before setting his forearms on the edge of the bar once more. He didn't want to pick up the whiskey again, it was almost too tempting.

He supposed he could see why the summer season would be busy for a potioneer, but had never quite made the connection before. "Lots of superficial potions needed?" He chuckled. Superficial might not be the right word— and it was nothing against Greengrass, but Alvin had to assume that the boost at the beginning of the season was debutants and their mothers trying to magically fix any flaws that might make them less desirable for the marriage mart.

"Sorry that was unfair of me, I'm feeling pessimistic." Alvin's levels of sarcasm fluctuated with his moods, but he didn't think it fair to subject Greengrass to this depth of it.

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Had he known that Bixby could be that sarcastic? Noble wasn't sure — but he liked it. He huffed a laugh into his glass.

"No, it's all right," Noble said. He shrugged his shoulders. "It's a lot of beauty potions, stuff like that. How's the Ministry?"

He'd rather be a potioneer at the whims of his clients than work for the government. Noble was not sure that he would have been able to handle having an actual boss.

  

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set by Lady

Well, he hadn't been wrong and Greengrass didn't seem put out by his snarky comment. The inevitable question about the ministry had him unintentionally bristling. It should be a perfectly benign inquiry, if he didn't hate his job.

"It's... not what I'd like to be doing." He flexed the fingers on his bad hand, annoying for the millionth time that he couldn't just ball his hand up in a fist to show his frustration. With his broommaking career over, Alvin had suspected that at least maybe working with brooms in some capacity might help him stay connected to what it was he'd like to do, but it had only proved to be so far from that expectation that he wasn't sure he'd set himself up for further failure of it he was just not cut out for it.

"And therefore a little miserable." Alvin hadn't admitted as much aloud in quite so many words to anyone, but he suspected that this was more of a superficial conversation and he could handle that.

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