[March MP] Over Beer and toons [Tock]

Les laughed so hard she felt like she was going to pee.

“Oh, My goodness, you did not!” Loudly proclaimed her friend after half a mouthful of beer shot out her nose.

“Of course I did!” Les made a jester with her finger that set the group laughing again. Les lifted her cup to drain the last of her beer but found the cup empty. She tried to flag down a waitress for more but with no luck. Muggle bars sometimes have the worst service. Lesleigh thought, before she noticed two her friends had stood up.

“Are you leaving already?” Lesleigh said with a pout. “Come on, the night was just getting good.”

“Yeah,” replied one.

“Work.” The other said with a shrug before continuing, “You don’t want to work a day at St. Mungo's without a good night sleep.” It ran like a mantra.
Likely repeated by her supervisor if they complain about being tiered. thought Lesleigh. She was so glad she did not become a healer. “Hey, where is …”
“Over there.” Pointed one of her friends as the other got on their coat. Lesliegh followed her friends hand to the wall near the bathroom where a couple was either making out or checking each others neck for vampire bite marks.

“She still making out is trench-coat-man?!?”

“Yeah.” the other giggle. The two responsible Healers each gave Lesleigh a hug before heading out the door.

          Sitting back in the chair Les rechecked her drink she hoped she could refill it with magic. But there was not a drop left in it and this was a muggle bar… Sighing, Les pulled herself onto her feet and made her way to the side of the bar counter. The only available space was near a blonde guy stooped over a napkin.

           “YO! Bartender! Can I get another?” Holding up her glass. The bartender's only replied with a nod. Apparently, there was quiet a few in the queue before her. The beer being as cheap as it is and the food just as good, it was no wonder the place was as busy with Muggles and even some Wizards. Still the fact they can’t use their wands, makes it a little annoying. Les hid a burp behind her hand and stared into her empty glass... She was bored, that was until something caught her eye. A muggle pen was creating hatch marks cross on a napkin making shadows on a cartoon that,  if Lesliegh was not mistaken, was of the Minister of Magic. “Hey. Isn’t that…? That is bloody brilliant.” Lesleigh laughed at the top of her lungs.  Les looked at the face of the bark blonde headed man who held the pencil… I know this wizards…. It took a second to recognize his face, despite all of his hair in the way.

“Tick Tock?” Les asked, forgetting it was the joke her friends had called him. “Tick-Tock. Tock Nilson? Wow, I have not seen you in like, forever.”

Tick-tock goes the clock....

Tock was used to hearing that rhyme almost every day when he was in nursery school, and well into his days at Hogwarts. He had a weird name and he knew it, though “Tock” was always a nickname. He far preferred it to “Walter.” Even his parents had called him Tock since he was very little. He was the ticking dog from the Phantom Tollbooth, and he was proud to be. Even so, when he heard the phrase “Tick, tock,” His shouldered tensed. That was all he had been able to hear when he was in Azkaban. Screams, sighing, and the eternal ticking of the clock, calling out to him. Tick, tock, tick....

He looked down on the napkin, where he had drawn a caricture of the Minister of Magic, nothing too different from his usual work. All his comics were political: some heavy-handed, some satire. They all had a distinct style to them, practiced but frantic. He drew in black ink, sketch-style, with a dangerous edge to them. Tock was nothing if not a little on edge alt all times now. He didn't trust crowds. He didn't trust people, in general. What he did trust, however, was alcohol, and he gulped his beer down before turning to take in the girl who spoke. She knew him, he knew. Knew him enough to know his name, at least, but that didn't mean she was a friend. His eyes flashed with wild intent as he looked up and drew themselves over her slender frame. She was tiny, frail, but looked full of life. The opposite of him, then. Even malnourished as he tended to be, he failed to get particularly slender. He always looked fairly average, with sunken-in cheeks and a dead look in his tired eyes. Tock didn't sleep. He couldn't sleep without help.

He recognized her faintly. She was a few years younger than her, but she was a friendly face. He often hung out with younger students when he was in school, as they were less terrifying than his fears—less interested in sex, in fighting, in the future. The younger students were still content to dream and play and be innocent. He wanted to live in that innocence for as long as he could back in those days, but now the veil had been pulled from his eyes. The innocence in him had died and his red-rimmed eyes saw the dirty, raw sewage beneath. The shit that people let themselves wade in day after soul-sucking day. He motioned to the bartender for another round before he spoke.

“Thank you.” His voice was a quiet, low mumble. “It's a little heavier handed than I usually go for. It says exactly what it means.” The minister in his drawing was sitting on piles of dead muggleborn wizards as crying families were obliviated in the background. There was no sublty or satire to be seen there, just a visualization of the world as it was. He covered it with his hand, then tucked it away in his pocket. He didn't like others looking at his work in front of him, if often made him uncomfortable, even though he was proud of what he could do. Most of his drawings were fueled by anger, if nothing else. He didn't think they were all appropriate for the light of day.

“I'm sorry, I don't recall your name, though I remember the face. Gryffindor, right? A few years below me?” He didn't extend his hand, not wanting to really touch her. What if she was contagious-sick? What if she wanted to hurt him? He was suddenly hyper-aware of the crowd gathering around, and was thankful when the bartender set his drink down in front of him. Nervously, he gulped another few swigs down. His head was spinning pleasantly, now, and he thought that maybe he could handle a conversation with an almost-stranger.

She watched his pencil stop in mid stroke.  He looked at her and then to the his napkin's cartoon. It reminded her of someone daydreaming in Hogwarts and suddenly waking up with the teacher calling their name while asking for the answer to a question. The daydreamer would look down at their notebook and realizing that they been doodling in class the whole time and so they stall before giving their answer.

Lesiegh watched him flag the bartender. This time the bartender immediately responded fetching two glasses right away. Which a laughing but frustrated tone, Les proclaimed “Bloody, Ah! What is up with that? They practically ignore me!”  A stray thought interjected into Lesleigh’s rant and she reexamined Tock, Maybe he is a regular here. She concluded.

When Tock finally address her, he thanked her. He mentioned something about being heavy handed and It meant what it meant or something. It was quick and in Lesleigh's slightly iniberated state she did not catch it. Lesleigh had only moments to reexamine the cartoon. It was then she realized what she thought was a pile on dirty laundry or unfinished paperwork was … bodies and complaining wizards inback were instead crying people. Lesliegh was only able to get out a, “Wow. I…” before Tock swept up the napkin and stuffed it into his pocket.

She looked into his eyes, trying to remember if he was one of the muggle born that did not return to Hogwarts after the war and what about him she heard since then. Her brain was too fuzzy to recall. He was cute, in a silent and powerly brooding way. She made a mental note to ask one of her older friends about him later.  Les glanced at his pocket where a corner of the napkin still stuck out of. Maybe, he thinks I took it the wrong way. she thought. “That was... is” she corrected “a very powerful message.” She said with a nod.

She was about to ask if he was an artist, but instead he interrupted her and asked her name. HER NAME!?! for a split second she pouted in a sad surprise. The fact that someone form Hogwarts didn’t know her, was inconceivable. Was I that unrememberable?  She closed her eyes and giggled at her own self-centeredness. “It is Lesleigh. Lesleigh Ollivander.” She let the last name hang in the air. She usually don’t need to point out the connection for most people.  “But you might have known me as Les… at least that is what my friends called me.”

She did not notice his that he did extend out his hand. Les never practiced the niceties that her mother taught her, so she never really looked for them herself. Still she sensed that he was unconformable, in a charming tentative way. Like when I guy was not sure if he was taking you on a date or just out as friends.

Thankfully her beer came along with his and she thanked the bartender before sipping her own. She noticed he drank generously and smiled. Taking another sip to keep up with him she took time to enjoy the beer.  After smacking her own lips she proclaimed, “I never tasted bear so good and for so cheap.” 

“If my friends didn’t drag me here…” she nodded to the entwined couple near the wall that lead to the restroom behind the bar. “I wouldn’t have found the place. Do you come here often?”

She felt a tingling sensation as the large sips hit her stomach. Often, she became extra chatty when she was intoxicated, and this time wasn’t an exception. “We were celebrating me getting my new job, but most of them had to go home early.”  She glanced back at the couple for a second, before picked up the glass with both her hands and taking another large sip.

Les looking at him with a soft smile. “Hey, you don’t mind keeping me company, do you?” she nudged him affectionately with her shoulder.

Tock was very uncomfortable as the stranger nudged him with her shoulder, recognizing this as a flirtation and shivering a little as he intentionally moved the bar stool away from her. He felt trapped, like he couldn't breathe. What could he say? If he said no, he would look like a jerk. Maybe he should leave. He didn't want to leave her when she seemed so interested in talking to him, but he didn't know what to do. His heart raced and he wished he was with one of his stronger friends. Maybe he should tell her he was gay. It wasn't totally true but it was mostly true. “Ahh—I'm... “ He hesitated. “Seeing someone.” He lied, shifting a little. “But I'm sure the bartender could help you call a cab if you need help getting home.” How stupid of a response was that, Tock? What was wrong with you? He felt the room closing in on him.

He lifted his hands to his face and buried his face between them, pulling over his tired, bagged, eyes. “I only come here when they have specials like this. Gets the beer cheap. Usually it's less crowded than this....” His voice trailed off a little, and he was nervous. Hew swallowed the lump in his chest. He was still trying to remember who she was and determined that they simply must not have run in the same crowd, as he couldn't remember anything about her other than the obvious—she was related to the wand maker, Ollivander. A granddaughter, maybe? She looked a bit young to be a daughter, but he wasn't up to speed on how wizarding parenting worked. Muggles had children much younger than many wizards.

She seemed like she expected him to know her, though, so he nodded like he did. “Ah yes, Les... Um, Congratulations on your new job? Where will you be working?” He wondered, eyes flicking to the clock. Tick, tock....

             Lesiegh’s subconsciously mirrored Tock’s reaction, leaning her own body a few inches away from his. Her emotions swung wildly from wide eye surprise, muddled confusion, then to crumpled self-doubting hurt within the seconds. Her eyes only left for his for a second, to check her clothing and skin for something that could have stationed such his unfavorable response. Not finding a gross muggle substance on her clothes or anything that could be mistaken for spatergroit, she lifted her eyes which now were tinted with anger and hurt.

              “What? What is wrong...?” She was going to add with you, but her anger faltered when she investigated Tock’s conflicted face.

                His reply shocked her.  “Oh! No, I was just…” before she could get out the words being friendly, Tock shifted and said he could get her a cab. A CAB! What does he think I am? A prostitute, or a floozy looking to slip into his bed for the night? “Excuse me? No, I can apparate just FINE! THANK YOU,” the last words venomous.

               So confused by his response that she failed to act a pawn the first thought in her head; too splash the rest of her beer in his face and storming out.  Instead the blonde remained on her stool and ran the previous moments over in her head. It was apparent that he did not want to be close to her and that he wanted her to leave. Maybe he had a really, really jealous girlfriend. She glanced at empty front door expecting to see a fuming witch eyeing her at the door way.

                Les’s attention was drawn back as Tock buried his face into his hands. An action of exhaustion, frustration or desperation? Les couldn’t tell. Instead she silently studied him as she drank another sip for her beer, while he rambled on about coming to the bar regularly. She had forgotten she questioned him about this before and so gave little more than nods in reply.

               Her emotions finally derailed by his line of questions, Les joyfully started to talk about her new job. “Oh, yes finally. I pretty sure I am in with LaBEL Magazine. They said something about a preliminary period, but I know the job will be perfect for me. I been looking around forever.” Realizing she sounded desperate as she stated to feel, she amended. “I had some offers. Even one in the Ministry, but I would never work there. There are like drones. Well I guess except for the Aurors... Still, I know. I would never be happy working there.  Most who are working there now, are so unhappy they are protesting.”
     
                 Remembering the cartoon of the Minister of Magic, the thought occurred to her that he might work for the ministry and killing time after the protest. Lesleigh turned on the stool to face him and asked only leaning in slightly. “Oh! You don’t work for the Ministry do you? I heard things are getting violent.” Being a whole two seats away was kind of making the conversation awkward.