kick up the dust. [tag: harlan]

"But I don't want to go!"

The complaint came from a tall woman who was pouting like a toddler. Her friends had forced her into a chair in front of a mirror and were hastily pinning up her hair. Wine had been flowing for hours. It was a girly night. Or rather, it was meant to be a sleepover before Karen, one of her friends, decided they were going out. Erika had been comfortable in her tartan pyjamas but now, the house was awash with activity.

Apparently, there was a new club opening in the swanky part of London town. Sitting obediently and scowling as she was stabbed in the eye with a stray mascara wand, Erika huffed. She'd made popcorn!

There was very little point in complaining; they were all going out. Stomping into the bathroom and grunting as she pulled out the various pins, she pulled her hair back into a neat ponytail and hastily applied a slick of deeply plum coloured lipstick that she found in one of the foreign bathroom cabinets. Not hers but she didn't really care much. Letting the girls get ready, she rummaged around before slipping into her clothes. Black on black, timeless. Modest but cheeky, understated. Maybe she'd be left alone.

Half an hour later in a cloud of perfume and hairspray, the seven girls tripped out, giggling onto the street. The walk wasn't long away. It was a nice night, warm and the sky looked like a watercolour; the clouds tinged with pink, purple and orange. Erika wasn't really a glitzy bar kinda girl. She was very much a country pub kinda girl. She liked ones with a roaring fire, exposed brick work and a dart board but pulling up outside, she soon realised that it was anything but.

There was a long line of scantily clad girls outside. Covered in fake tan and presumably fake jewels, Erika sighed and joined the back of the queue, not at all jazzed to be attending. All of a sudden, there was screaming. Jolted, her big blue eyes widened as three men strode up, bypassing the line and ducking right inside. "They're Quidditch players!" someone ahead of her screamed, causing Erika to wince. This seemed to ignite a riot. There was screaming and scuffling as the women surged towards the doors, causing the bouncers to bodily pick them up and remove them, kicking and screaming.

Rolling her eyes, Erika grabbed her friends' hands and hauled them in whilst the bouncers were distracted. Once inside, the bar was nothing special. Dimly lit, free champagne, shiny floors, mirrored walls, black leather sofas and booths. Her friends had smelt blood. Once they were aware that handsome, rich men were around, they left her and disappeared like a fart in the wind.

The music was loud and unfamiliar. Pounding bass that throbbed in her chest and rattled her teeth. Snatching a glass of something fizzy from a tray, she sipped it as she looked around. Erika didn't follow Quidditch that much. If anything, she supported the Montrose Magpies. Suddenly, the sound of a scuttle caught her attention.

Grunting and noises of a struggle made her turn, just in time to hear names being called. Photographers? Paparazzi. A fight? Yup. A fight. Her eyes widened as she saw a broad, buff man seemingly reach to grab a camera, looking as thought he was about to launch an attack. Erika sprung into action. Skirting the club goers, she stepped forward. "Oh my goodness!" She exclaimed, eyes wide. "Is that Rupert Hartwood?!" She replied, pointing in the opposite direction. The photographers turned, snapping away and in the brief distraction, she reached out and grabbed the angry man's wrist.

Turning, she pulled him with her as the people clambered behind her, looking for Rupert…except he wasn't there. It was a distraction. Managing to pull him away to the sanctity of the bar, she looked at him with wide eyes. "Easy tiger," she told him softly, letting him go. "You nearly got arrested, buddy. Hi," she said with a smile at the barman. "Could I have two beers, please?" She asked sweetly. "Can't do champagne," she explained. "Makes me do terrible things."

This was Harlan Bellamy's nightmare.

The broad wizard, donned in all back in an attempt to camouflage himself, dwelled on the fact as he snuck in the side door of the already packed club. Not only was it some grand opening, the Gravesend Griffins management had agreed to get in on the fun by hosting their celebratory post-win night out (press included, of course). Although he did his best to get out of the pain that was the nightclub, his bosses were relentless in their efforts to convince him that the night simply could not be without their newest captain who had a penchant for making headlines.

Harlan skipped out on the pseudo red carpet, though, opting for a late arrival in the hopes that he could avoid some of the more unbearable moments that came with an event like this. Photos and interviews were notoriously not his strong suit, and over the years the press had copped on to his less than charismatic public persona. It wasn't that he was an unpleasant person, but the invasiveness shown by some of the more entitled news sources was enough to have him rolling up his sleeves.

Immediately upon entering the swanky new spot, the Quidditch captain was met with a headache of noise that had only just scraped the requirements to be considered music; the thud of the bass putting him on edge. Harlan gave a quick nod to the management team at their table with a flock of press, internalizing their looks of approval before forcefully making his way to the bar, nearly knocking over a floating tray of champagne flutes in his wake.

One shot of whiskey down and about seven to go. Harlan had long decided that the only way the night was going to be bearable was if he was liquored up, and he was not wasting his time to get there. Just as he was about to neck the rest of the amber fuel, a pair of voices from his side immediately caught his attention. One belonged to a particularly sweaty, balding photographer and other a greasy prophet reporter in green dress robes. "Not tonight boys, cheers," Harlan nodded curtly, his grey eyes scanning for an easy out of the situation. Rob was across the room, talking to two scantily clad women, a perfect excuse to get away.

Just as Harlan went to leave, the duo blocked his way, prodding with questions about his departure from the Magpies and his less than savory relationship with their captain after rumors swirled that the Beater had been sleeping with his girlfriend. "What did I say?" Harlan's jaw clenched as he took a step forward. One more snide comment from the one with the body odor was more than enough to set Harlan's fist pummeling toward the camera.

Just as his hand made contact with the piece of equipment he was being directed in the opposite direction, no doubt by one of the fifteen pr detail that were assigned to keep the blond man out of trouble and out of the paper. "Hey," Harlan protested before his gaze met the assailants. Well this was unexpected, he mused with pursed lips as his eyes lingered on the blonde stranger for a moment. The Griffins had certainly knew what they were doing hiring pretty little things to keep the man in line.

"Arrested," Harlan repeated with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lip, his hands steadying himself on the bar as he tried to calm down. "Ah, I wouldn't have done any damage..." The man assured, the glimmer of mischief in his eye giving away his less than honest response. "Cheers, thanks," Harlan nodded appreciatively. "Cheers to," He paused his eyes searching her own for an idea. "To you not being a Griffins publicist?" Harlan held his glass up, waiting for the mystery woman's response. "I sure as hell hope not," He smiled.

Good. Her haphazard plan had worked. The journalists had turned, scrambling, fighting amongst themselves for a glimpse of the singer. He wasn't there, of course, it was a diversion. Rupert was hot, sure but Erika wasn't going to get into a fight with a million pre-teens over him. Hopefully, the photographers had left the building and were busy being lead on a wild goose chase.

Yanking the man to the bar, she blew a lock of her bright blonde hair out of her eyes as her pale fingers set about adjusting her lacy crop top and stylish  black cigarette trousers. She'd picked the outfit up in Paris. London fashion…left a lot to be desired. Sleek, chic and stream-lined, she stood out from the other girls in the bar. Short, bodycon dresses that looked cheap but they were clearly working. The more skin they showed, the more men became interested. The dim lights of the bar made her earrings sparkle as she handed over the money with a smile, dropping the change into the tip jar.

Erika smiled and sipped at her bottle of beer, giving his hands a once over to see if they were injured as he decimated the other man's camera. "Perhaps not but I can assume that you'll be sent a bill for that," she said, nodding towards the departed journalists.

She laughed, high and clear. He was funny! "I'm sure you wouldn't hurt a fly," came the cheery response as she grinned at him, taking the time to sit down at the bar on a spare stool. Her little ruse seemed to have shortened the line at the bar so if he needed anything, now would be a good time. Erika didn't know if it was an open bar or not but she never assumed it would be. Besides, she and her friends had sort of gatecrashed the party regardless.

She smiled again as she took him in. Erika knew exactly who this man was. The new captain of a rival team that sent shockwaves and bitter resentment through the ranks and the fans of the Magpies. She'd read stories about him and the reasons he'd chosen to leave. A disagreement with the manager, better money, he'd put his dick somewhere that he shouldn't have. Various things, really. He did have the build of a Beater and the temperament of one too, apparently.

"You're welcome," the pretty blonde said at his thanks. She hadn't minded hauling him away from breaking someone's nose, nor did she mind springing for a beer. She didn't know Harlan at all but something told her that he was more a liquor than a champagne kinda guy. Once upon a time, there had been a poster of Harlan on her wall and she blushed faintly at the girlish nature of her crush. It had been a crush because after that, she'd become wholly fixated on Murphy and lost her head a little bit.

Erika was a bit alarmed to see him studying her so intently. He was a man. She was confident that the low light had disguised her rising blush and he hadn't noticed it as she coughed and drank more beer swiftly. Whoopsie. She laughed again. "Absolutely not," came her swift response as she clinked her bottle against his glass and drank. "There's no way in Hell that I could keep up with you lot," she said with a casual shrug and a tilt of her head. "I hope you pay yours a lot," she added cheerily. The poor man or woman must have their work cut out for them. Both the Magpies and the Griffins seemed to be employing a bunch of brawling, headline making lunatics.

"I'm actually a journalist," Erika said as she said as she turned to face him, her knees pointing towards him. "I was planning on writing a story about your boozy, testosterone filled nights out," she said, her bright blue eyes sparkling. There was a hint of a smile playing around her mouth as she spoke. Her? A journo? "I wonder if you had a comment about the kerfuffle that had just ensued?" She asked, her eyes bright like a cat's before she grinned at him.

"Kidding!" She gushed, reaching out to touch his forearm in a very light and friendly way. "Can't stand them," she added for Harlan's benefit as her face turned dark and stormy suddenly, hinting at a bad experience that had happened to her in the past. "Don't look so panicked," she grinned as she absently began to peel the label off her beer bottle. "I'm Erika," she said sunnily as she stuck her hand out towards him. "Cursebreaker, Mexican food aficionado and dog lover. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Harlan's grey eyes were hard, the color of steel, as they moved swiftly around the crowded room while taking in every detail with a slow precision. The thirty-year old could hardly even keep up with the amount of slimy social climbers breathing down the necks of anyone with even a hint of fame and girls wearing close to nothing, wobbling around on heels that could kill even the most seasoned professional. The man had a hard time hiding his disdain, and instead focused his attention on the blonde woman in front of him who had saved him from at least a weeks worth of tabloid covers. Once upon a time the foreign land around him was his atmosphere, but currently he was perfectly content where he was.

"I think the reputation proceeds us," The Griffins beater protested with a glimmer of mischief detectable in his countenance. There was no denying that his team held the name for the most down and dirty team in the league, their captain spearheading the campaign with his colored past. "We're truly quite nice," The blond shrugged a shoulder, the smirk on his face all but hidden. "Very lovable... honest,"  He spoke from behind the lip of his glass before taking another sip of beer and relishing in the taste as it danced over his tongue.

At his new companions next statement, Harlan raised an eyebrow, taking his time before responding. And she had a sense of humor? He could get used to this. "Boozy and testosterone filled?" He repeated with exaggerated interest. To be honest, his nights as of late were anything but, although he would entertain it for the sake of the conversation. "Oh, if that's what you're looking for..." The beater nodded at the scantily clad waitress who had served him before and signaled for two shots of whiskey. "...Miss journo, you won't be disappointed," He slid the shot glass full of amber liquid to Erika before grabbing his own and thanking the waitress.

"Harlan," He smiled, taking her hand in his own free one with purpose. "It appears you might get your story after all Erika," He brought his glass to hers on the bar. "Cursebreaker, Mexican food aficionado and dog lover," He repeated, waiting for their cheers.

After the burning sensation in his throat had subsided, the wizard took a half step closer to Erika who was sitting in the stool next to him, his palms planted on the bar firmly. "What brought you out tonight?" He asked, genuinely curious. As far as he could tell she was alone,and not at all interested in the zoo that was the Gravesend Griffins celebration, which was refreshing. While all the other women in the club hung all over the players, the blonde in front of him couldn't appear less interested and that alone was enough to pique his interest.

Erika laughed, high and loud, like a tinkling bell. He was funny! "Something like that," she said casually. His team were bruisers. Their reputation really did proceed them. She didn't know any Quidditch players, except her cousin, Torsten. He always got a bit nervous when facing the Griffins. Who wouldn't? They ripped teams apart, limb from limb. Begrudgingly, she did sort of find herself being a little bit in awe of them but alas, family dictated that she had to support the Magpies and Erika didn't really want to become a pariah.

The tall blonde grinned, making her go from being merely pretty to downright beautiful in an instant. The dim, soft lighting was really working for her tonight. She tilted her head curiously, her bright blue eyes watching Harlan carefully. "You're going to have to prove that to me," she concluded as she followed suit and sipped her bottle of beer. Yeah maybe it was a little flirty but when in Rome and all that.

She nodded as her slim fingers deftly peeled the label of her beer bottle in one, easy movement, smiling with satisfaction as she proceeded to play with the removed label. Absently, she placed it on the bar and slid it towards him. One of her many cousins was a psychologist working at St. Mungo's and Erika remembered her saying that removing labels from bottles often suggested a person was suffering from sexual frustration.

Honestly? The curse breaker wasn't sure that she bought into that whole thing. A sudden thought occurred to her; did offering Harlan the label mean that she was hinting that she wanted something more from him? She supposed that'd only work if he took the label from her. Which he probably wouldn’t. Phew.

"Boozy, testosterone nights are often the best," she added casually. Erika liked a man's man. She was attracted to hulking guys. Ex-rugby players, builders, athletes, anyone with broad shoulders and a filthy mouth. She was really one of the guys. She wasn't that romantic. She didn't really like quaint picnics and dinners. She preferred to have her ass slapped and her hair pulled after a clumsy snog in a back alley. Perhaps that was part of her problem.

Laughing again, she took the shot glass. "Here's hoping. Bottoms up," she said, saluting him with the shot and downing it, pulling a face and slamming it against the bar. Growing up in the West Country, she was very much a scrumpy and cider kinda gal.

It was rude to make assumptions. For all she knew, he could be a nice guy. He could be civilised. He could like French cinema and art museums. He might drink red wine and wear a smoking jacket. Who knew? But she'd seen that look in his eye before he was about to pummel the photographer's face. A spark of something. Anger, frustration, danger. He did have an air of dangerous excitement around him, she supposed. She caught sight of his profile. Strong, clean angles. And she did like a beard. Uh oh.

Smiling broadly, she have his hand three business-like pumps, just like her father had taught her. "Oh darn," she said with mock wide eyed surprise. "I seem to have forgotten my notebook. Looks like we're going to have to go off the record," she said with a lopsided grin. They were on an even playing field when it came to drinks but she slid the two glasses back towards the barmaid.

Aware he'd shifted, she smiled but kept her eyes on the bar. She was single but he might not be. How awful would that be? Christ. He could be married but she'd been polite and friendly. She wasn't really sure what she was planning on doing at the moment.

"Not really my idea," Erika said with a grimace and she was being honest. "We've sort of gate crashed," she said with a smile as she turned to face him, swivelling on her stool with her long legs crossed at the ankle. "My friends heard about a new bar opening and hoped we'd all be able to get a couple of drinks and they weren't wrong," she said as she downed her whiskey and coughed, wrinkling her nose swiftly. "Gah," she said, wrinkling her nose swiftly. "It tastes like licking a battery," she complained and shivered.

"Plus they're really big fans of yours," she said, nodding her head in the direction of three pretty but kind of dim girls. They were dancing in a circle, men's eyes were on them and Erika turned her back, making no move to join in with their gyrating bodies. "I've been in a bit of a funk lately and bless them, they thought this was the best thing for me," she said quietly as she heaved a sigh, her shoulders shrugging. "Not that I'm not having fun," she said quickly, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his forearm in case he thought that she was being a bit rude.

"It's just not really my scene," Erika told Harlan, finding herself being unusually honest with him. Maybe the alcohol had loosened her tongue somewhat. "There's not even a pool table," she lamented at the twinkling lights and deep bass. The clientele was all wrong. Thin, conventionally beautiful women. Handsome men. Soulless atmosphere. The air was heavy and suffocating. Everything here felt forced. "And I'm really, really good at pool," she told him with a nod.

"How about you?" She asked, giving Harlan her full attention. "Are you contractually obliged to be here?" She joked with a cheeky grin that made her eyes sparkle. "Bummer. I bet you'd love a jail break."

Harlan found that with each passing moment he was more and more intrigued by the blonde woman in front of him who was working furiously to peel the label from her beer. Erika was unlike the average female he met on a night out; for one she was wearing more than a scrap of clothing and for two she wasn't throwing herself at him to cash in on her five seconds of fame. She seemed genuinely disinterested in the the craze that was the professional quidditch world and, to be frank, that was exactly what he needed on night like the one he found himself stuck in the middle of.

"I'd be happy to," The captain responded with a quiet confidence, he gaze meeting her own for a moment before scanning the crowd for his teammates briefly. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary and Harlan breathed out in relief. As the relatively new captain of the Griffins, he found that even off of the pitch he was silently monitoring his team. Everything they did was a direct reflection on his leadership skills, and he was certainly not keen on losing, in any sense of the word.

Erika continued her quest to peel the label from the bottle as Harlans steel color eyes surveyed her actions, taking in the careful precision every fiber of her face, pausing on the concentration of her half bitten lip. It wasn't until she spoke up again that the man realized he had been staring, unaware of the words as they escaped the very mouth that he had found so distracting. "Is there..." Harlan paused to inspect the tattered label that had been gifted to him. "... any particular reason that you've given me this?" He couldn't contain the small smile that was tugging at the corners of his lips. Erika was different, and he liked different.

The heat of whiskey as it carried down his throat and into his chest, although less intense than the first, was still significant. Letting out a breathy sight, shaking his head and the heat from his system as he caught the rest of his new company's statements. "Gate crashing?" The Beater repeated with a faint smirk, a hint of mischief flashing through his gaze. "Best keep your voice down, kid," He warned, nodding to the large security that had the place lined. "Besides, given that you aren't a Griffins fan, Harlan had made assumptions based on her statements. "I've got no reason to not have you removed," He joked before taking another drink of beer.

"I understand," Harlan spoke again after feigning his distaste for Erika's less than satisfactory reviews of both the evening and his team. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't feeling the same," He confessed with a nonchalant shrug. The newfound captain of the Gravesend's glory had no problem speaking his mind, in fact, he didn't even attempt to guise his disdain. "Contractually obliged is exactly what I am," The wizard shook his head disapprovingly.

"Why? You wouldn't happen to know of any hole in the walls with a good pool table 'round here?" Harlan inquired in all seriousness, setting his beer down as his eyes scanned the mass of people that had filled the room for the management team. It seemed, much to his chagrin, that the club was filling up with the young witches and wizards who waited until after midnight to show their faces. "Fuck it," He grabbed Erika's wrist with purpose and led her to the back door of the club, nodding to the staff who were surely just assuming that he had found his conquest for the night.  He couldn't stand one more minute in the suffocation that was this grand opening, and he was going to find them a new location.

That bloody label!

The fact that he'd realised made her die a little in shame, furthermore when he actually voiced his question. "No," Erika blurted out swiftly, her pale cheeks burning a deep shade of red as she snatched the label out of his fingers and hastily lobbed it over her shoulder and under the high heel of a pretty young woman. Internally, she groaned. Had she not been in his company, she would have crawled under her bed and literally died of shame.

Visibly cringing in her seat, she was aware that she looked like a bit of a loon. Part of her wanted to explain to Harlan about the label significance but on second thought, he better not find out that she was a bit mental. It'd ruin a perfectly nice evening.

Despite her chagrin, she managed a laugh. "If you knew me, you'd understand," Erika said breezily. She was a thrill seeker, a risk taker. She was fearless. She threw herself into things headfirst and worried about consequences later. There was the rush of adrenaline she felt whilst breaking rules. It was addictive. Rules were more like guidelines to her. She was strong, tall, invincible. She was young and foolish and headstrong. Now that she was no longer dating Murphy, a small part of her wanted to be reckless. She had no responsibilities, no strings, no one to look after and in return, no one to look after her. What did she have to lose?

She followed Harlan's eye to the security guard who looked bored and straight-laced. "I doubt he saw us sneak in," she replied smoothly. Her friends had dispersed. They were all young, single girls. They all usually went home with someone new. Erika was still nursing a broken heart and a pretty battered ego so she was less inclined to follow suit.

The tall blonde looked up sharply, her eyes wide as he called her out. "I never said that," she blurted out, looking horrified before she realised the man was joking and she grinned. Erika shrugged casually as she sipped at her beer. "But your defending is a joke." The words tumbled out before she could stop them and she realised way too late. "You keep leaving gaps for the other team to get through. Your Beaters are strong but you fight dirty. They're not agile enough. They're like chimps on brooms! You're so concerned with breaking people's faces than breaking records scoring goals." Once it was all out, she gasped and clapped a hand to her face in shock. "Wow," she said, eyes wide. "No more liquor for me."

Erika pulled a face and stuck out her tongue. "That can't be fun." She said gently, looking around. It was all very fancy. Champagne and sparkly dresses. She sighed. "So you need to sign away your soul to investors to be able to play professionally?" She asked, wondering if Harlan's entire life was mapped out for him by busybodies. She wondered if he endorsed anything. Like cologne or a calendar. If he did have a calendar, she was tempted to purchase one and have a look at the photos.

The treasure hunter snorted. "I do," she said casually. In all fairness, there were plenty of dive bars she tended to frequent, much to her friend's dismay. "There's actually a particularly dire one called Flanagan's Hole not too far away --" With a squeak, she was up and off her seat, clumsily tripping after Harlan through the crowded club.

Erika didn't have chance to tell her friends she was leaving or scream for help in case he was trying to abduct her or something. His large hand was firmly around her wrist and pulling, leaving her floundering in his wake and the cool night air hit her like a shovel in the face and caused her to recoil a little.

Turning her head, she had a startled expression on her pretty face before she blinked and shrugged it off. If a handsome man wanted to buy her one more drink, what a fool she'd be to dissuade him. "As I was saying," she said, realising he was still holding her and she gave him a tug to get him walking again. Erika really didn't want to be in any of the papers in the morning. She really didn't want to be labelled as a "floozy" or a "Quidditch hoe" or anything. How awful!

She lead Harlan to what looked to be like a dilapidated building. Red bricked and sloping with a flickering neon sign hanging out front, she pushed the door open and the smell of beer, cigarette smoke and leather smacked her in the face. She inhaled deeply, visibly relaxing despite her overdressed appearance. There was a fully stocked bar, low lighting and graffiti. Her appearance had caught the bar tender's eye.

"Hey Ronnie!" Erika called, a beatific smile lighting up her face as she leaned over the bar to kiss his cheek. Ronnie was a tall, broad grey haired man with an impressive beard and a raggedy pair of jeans. He had a booming laugh that could be heard all the way to Timbuktu. In the dishevelled bar there were a few older men in leather jackets and grubby shoes. A mixture of dark, heavy rock music was loud and oddly danceable.

Smiling broadly, she clapped Harlan on the shoulder. "Mine's a pint," she told him  with a smile. The options of drink were limited here. There was beer, ale or "poncey stuff" as Ronnie called it which turned out to be blonde beer. Leaving him to get aquatinted with the locals, she skipped over to the pool table where she casually rubbed a small cube of chalk on the tip of her pool cue. "Rack 'em up, pretty boy."

They had entered an entirely different realm. Where once was a bevy of women in short skirts and men with shirts that were un-buttoned just one notch too far was now a room spotted with men in plaid and women in crop tops and leg tattoos who sized up the duo as they made their entrance. Erika, though, was right at home, sashaying to the bar as if she owned the place. Harlan's gaze explored the room only momentarily before giving in to being captivated by his new blonde companion as she leant over the bar to place a kiss on the cheek of the presumed owner of the establishment. A grin crept over the quidditch player's mouth, resting an arm on the bar to face Erika, his amusement far from hidden.

"Make that two," Harlan took the grey haired man's hand in his own with purpose, giving it a shake as he slid sickles across the bar. "Cheers," The wizard leaned back on his elbows as he waited for their drinks, his eyes glued to Erika as she grabbed a cue with practiced precision. This was clearly not her first rodeo. The experience was certainly a welcomed reprieve from the shallow interactions he would have been having if he stayed at the club opening. Surely he would pay for slipping out early, the public relations team would be in a tizzy trying to explain his absence, but in the moment, Harlan couldn't be farther away. Being anywhere but in the presence of Erika Trickett had proven to be impossible, he realised.

"Pretty boy?" Harlan repeated underneath a smirk as he pushed himself toward the pool table. It certainly wasn't the first time he had heard it, although he couldn't quite understand it. "And, what's at stake, pool shark?" He twirled the cube of chalk in his hand as he made his was to the other side of the table to set the game. "Pool shark, Cursebreaker, Mexican food aficionado, and dog lover..." Harlan quipped, recounting her previous statemenet as he steadied his shot, grey eyes flicking to Erika's briefly before making the first move.

The sound of impact hardly made a dent in the rock music that pumped through the walls of the bar, infusing a sense of life that was absent in the bass of the club that he and Erika had escaped from. A striped ball floated into the pocket closest to Erika. "You're solids, then," Harlan quipped. "Will your friends be worried about you?" He absentmindedly questioned as he eyed the table. To be honest, the concerns of her friends were the last of his worries, but the thought did cross his mind that they may wonder where Erika had run off to. "This wouldn't be their scene?" He caught her gaze inquisitively. Something about the woman left him with an insatiable curiosity. 

"Cheers," Erika said in response as she picked up the glass and clinked it against Harlan's swiftly. The glasses weren't terribly clean but it didn't bother her. She liked dive bars. She liked loud music and flickering neon signs. She liked that no one paid attention to her. She sipped at her drink delicately as she nodded, giving Ronnie a grin. They went way back and they were friends.

The Quidditch star was attracting curious glances and she didn't know if it was because he'd entered with her or the fact that he was a new face in the bar. Erika was in no means a local here. Well, she had been in her youth. It was dark, the alcohol was cheap and not a single person asked to see any identification.

"Well you are pretty," Erika said with a shrug and a smile as she drank her pint and balanced the glass on the edge of the pool table. She wasn't sober but she wasn't drunk enough to ignore the likeness between Harlan and Murphy. The floating idea of her ex-boyfriend stung her and she shifted on the spot awkwardly. She didn't think she'd been flirting with the Quidditch player. She was, technically, a free agent. There wasn't a single person who could say that she wasn't free to flirt with the man who was watching her but that didn't mean she wanted to.

"More drinks?" Erika offered brightly as he suggested a wager. "Or," she said as she frowned thoughtfully. "I get to write the game plan for your next match," she said smugly as she drank from her grubby glass before swallowing. "Let's face it, you're pretty shit and a toddler could do better."

She snorted, genuinely tickled by his words as he repeated them back to her. "Perfect," she added brightly. "I was never a fan of stripes. They never complimented by skin tone," she added serenely as she twirled her pool cue between her long fingers expertly as she circled the table, looking for which ball to try and pocket. The sheer amount of free champagne she'd downed was impairing her slightly but she was still able to put one foot in front of the other and that was a bonus.

She let Harlan take his next shot as she decided on trying to pot the yellow ball, aiming for the ball to go skidding across the green felt and into the pocket closest to him. At his question, she shrugged carelessly. "Not really," she answered him as she slid her cue through her fingers as she lined up her shot. "I usually wander off. It's not at all unusual if I leave early." That was true, especially when she'd been younger. Erika was fiercely independent. She even had no issue in going to the loo by herself, unlike most females who went in packs.

Pulling her arm back, the cue ball smacked the yellow ball and it went rolling across the table. It didn't land in the intended pocket but it was sank anyway. "Boom!" Erika exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air triumphantly as she turned and high-fived a stranger who was sitting on a nearby bar stool.

"Absolutely not," she chuckled as she looked around for another ball. "Don't get me wrong, I love my friends," she said. She fondly remembered how great Lulu and Alicia were about trying to get her to move on and out, regardless of her protestations. "But I'm comfortable here." It was true. They'd gatecrashed Harlan's party and they'd been wearing dresses whilst Erika had been wearing a smart outfit. Black and tailored with heels but she'd worn a crop top. "Everyone has a favourite hang out, I suppose," she added with a shrug. She had a wide variety of friends, from fashionistas to bankers and everything in between.

Erika took her next shot and groaned as she missed the ball she was after, having it ricochet off the edge and roll back into the centre. "How about you?" The tall blonde asked. She placed her cue on the floor and leaned against it casually, using it like a walking stick as she reclined with a smile. "Fancy champagne bars not your style?" She grinned, her cheeks dimpling. "By the way," she added swiftly. "If my face is in the front page of the Prophet tomorrow," she warned him. "I shan't be happy. I don't want to be labelled as your "mystery woman"." She pulled a face and heaved a shudder, recalling at how anyone famous was seen with anyone, they were automatically labelled as dating. Erika didn't need any of it.