no, love won't give in the city [open]

London was hard.

Stopping to gaze into yet another Diagon Alley shop window, Annelie’s only real thought was just how menacingly… stony her side trip to Great Britain had been so far. After spending months on the ocean on an ultimately fruitless voyage to try and find some rather illusive marine animals, the sea-faring blonde had known she was in for a doozy of a time adjusting to life on land again. She thought she’d prepared herself mentally for the adjustment, but the two days she’d spent in London so far had left her feeling more out of her element than she could have ever anticipated.

Everything was just so hard.  The stones beneath her feet, the brick building jungle she’d landed in, and the elbows of the frowning crowds that seemed to always be jostling her this way and that when she wasn’t quite ready to keep moving… Hard. Navigating the maze of streets (even with the map she’d bought in anticipation of the trip) with her somewhat limited English… particularly hard. She’d picked up a number of translation spells in her travels, but they all seemed to give her a roaring headache and wore off quickly so she was stuck trying to find people patient enough to deal with her sentences being interspersed with random Swedish words… Finding those people? Also hard.

Nelie had made her way to London in anticipation of a friend of hers from back at Durmstrang moving there to set up shop. She’d promised Leo she’d help unpack boxes, or something along those lines. Though her friend still had to finish out the term and wouldn’t be in town for a while, she’d thought it would be advantageous to get a lay of the land. It had seemed like a better alternative than heading home where her family was still fuming over her leaving school early…

She was beginning to regret her decision though, and with every hard British elbow jabbing her, she was longing more and more for home, or at the very least a drink.

It was getting to be fairly late in the evening and she was in search of a place to purchase some liquid relief to the long day she’d had (liquor being the one thing she didn’t mind hard), but was having trouble getting directions as her grasp of the English language faltered even more than usual with exhaustion. She’d settled on wandering up and down the street until she found a good place, but her feet were starting to hurt and hopefully that place, or a kind stranger would make itself known soon.

Gazing at her reflection in the shop window glass, she crinkled her nose. Her hair had started to fall out of its braid and months at sea had left her skin more freckled than she was accustomed to. The faintest of sunburns was still visible on the tip of her nose. Yes, she thought looking herself over, I am a woman in need of a stiff drink and a savior.

It had been a long, stressful, and warm day for Gregoire. He hadn't done any tattoos in his shop that day because he had been shut up in his loft painting for the last 16 hours straight. He hadn't been able to sleep the night before because he was too worried about the paintings so he had gotten up in the middle of the night and started working on them. He was donating paintings to a charity fundraiser that the ministry was going to be having soon. He had to have them done in the next couple of weeks and he wasn't sure they would be. He thought he would be able to donate paintings that were already finished, but that wasn't the case. Some houty touty ministry woman had come and told him his paintings weren't 'current' enough for the event. He didn't have a clue what she meant about that. And by judging the state of the clothing she had been wearing, tweed, he doubted she knew what was current either. And thus Gregoire was forced to completely start over. She wanted watered down landscape portraits, she had told him. From the way she described what she wanted he was pretty sure she just wanted him to make good looking copies of other famous works... and Gregoire didn't paint like that. She frustrated him to the fact that the polite French man had to ask her to leave when she came by earlier that week.

He was still frustrated by her, it had been days now. He hadn't slept right since the day she dropped in for a chat and he knew he wouldn't until one of two things happened. Either he somehow miraculously managed to finish all 8 paintings and he was happy with them tonight, which was very unlikely. Or the more likely thing: he got piss drunk. As usual Gregoire was covered in paint. His clothes were stained with the bright colors that he was using on the piece he was currently working on, and from his choice in colors, it was clear that it wasn't going to be dull and watered down. Gregoire was confident he could make things that would sell, whether the ministry witch agreed or not. After all, he was donating them... he didn't think they would be so picky. He set down his brush, grabbed his hat off the table behind him, smearing paint along the brim, and then went out the door. Normally Gregoire was very responsible when it came to his paint supplies. He never let a brush sit for more than a few minutes, he hated hard paint. Tonight was different though. He was to a point where he honestly didn't care if he just ruined an entire brush. He exhaled loudly as he locked up his shop and headed straight for the pub at the end of his block.

As he was walking Gregoire realized just how badly covered in paint he was and muttered under his breath. Although he could of cleaned his clothing with a flick of his wand Gregoire's focus had already changed from his attire to a young girl across the road. She seemed to be staring into the window of a shop that was closed for the night. She caught Gregoire's attention. He crossed the street and headed toward her because she looked like she could use some help. The shop she was looking at would be open again in the morning, but maybe she really needed to pick something up that night. Of course Gregoire couldn't help her with that, but it didn't stop him from offering. Gregoire had been raised to always help others in need, and she looked like she might need something. "Hello there." He said politely with small smile on his face. He didn't hold his hand out to her to shake because it seemed wrong in this situation and also because his hands were covered with oranges, greens, and blues at the moment. "I'm Gregoire. Is there something I can help you with?" Gregoire spoke pretty good English but it was clear that it wasn't his first language. His thick French accent flooded through his words. He waited for her to reply, hoping she would say yes because she was pretty. Gregoire figured he was a bit older, but maybe only 5 years or so.

The blonde was still musing on her appearance (But really, how long does it take freckles to fade? Does vodka help?) when she realized that someone had said something. To her. She studied his reflection in the mirror before turning to look at him directly. Like the rest of her trip, perfect manners were hard today too. He was tall, quite tall. Annelie rather liked tall. He was covered, literally covered, in tattoos. She liked that too. The paint all over his clothes was an interesting touch but given the fact that she wasn't exactly dressed to impress (she'd stolen the boots from her sister in law, the shirt clung too much and the shorts weren't quite respectable in length) she couldn't pass judgement. It had been a long day and she was quite obviously staring before she remembered he wasn't a mannequin behind the glass shopwindow, but an actual person. An actual person that had spoken to her. Whoops.

Turning away from the window to face him, Nelie subconsciously tugged lightly at the tail end of her braid while she tried to will the gears in her brain into motion so that she could puzzle together what he'd said. Very conscious of the fact that her delay must make her look a bit slow, the young woman who usually prided herself on her outspoken confidence felt the blood rising in her cheeks as she flushed slightly. With any luck all of the blasted freckles she'd acquired and the lingering sunburn would mask her embarrassment.

He'd spoken English, the language that was her least of favorites at the moment, but his accent slowed her comprehension even more. She'd never been terribly good with languages, but there was no mistaking the French accent. She smiled. He obviously had a better grasp of English than she did, but he also wasn't from here which hopefully would make him an ally. Plus, if she could get him to speak French, and if she got something to drink, she likely wouldn't care very much what he was actually saying.

"Annelie," she said, when her brain finally caught up enough to function in English. "I'm.. well.. Jag could really use something att dricka" She spoke slowly, tripping slightly over the words and slipping into Swedish- much to her embarrassment. "Something to drink," she clarified, shaking her head slightly as she felt her cheeks flush again. "I've been here... not very long. Kan du berätta för..." English, Nelie, English, she chastised herself. This tall, french man must really think she was an absolute mess. Or drunk already. If only. "Sorry, can you tell me where a good place might be to go?"

After a few moments Gregoire began to wonder if the girl was okay in the head. He knew she heard him, or at the very least knew he was there, because she was looking at him in the reflection of the mirror but she hadn't turned to reply yet. His head tilted a little and an eyebrow rose as he wondered if he should just back away. Sure things weren't dark and scary anymore but that didn't mean there weren't still occasional witches and wizards who were just plain off their rockers. Before he could decide if he should go into flight mode the young lady in front of him turned and spoke. Annelie, it was a beautiful name. The artist pondered on it for a moment and thought it sounded like a name that should be in a poem. A poem about a man lost at sea praying for one more night with his Annelie. After she told him her name she spoke some more but Gregoire was starting to get the feeling that English was far from her first language. He didn't know Swedish but he knew English well enough to know that she wasn't speaking it. He smiled lightly, knowing how difficult it could be to be in a town where you didn't speak the native tongue all that well. When he first came to Diagon Alley he knew enough to get by, but it was still a little scary.

When she had finally explained what it was she was looking for the French man nodded to her. A bar, now that was something that he really could help her find. Gregoire found himself at the local watering holes most nights. With the smile on his face growing a little he replied to her, "There are a few good places close by." He spoke slowly but not so slow that she might think he was treating her like a child. He knew his accent made his English sound a bit funny so he didn't want to confuse her more. "I can show you where my favorite one is, if you like?" He shrugged his shoulders and nodded in the direction that the bar was. "I was headed there anyway, so it's not a problem." He hoped that she would say yes because it wasn't often that Gregoire met someone that wasn't from England or somewhere very close by. As he thought about that fact Gregoire tried to remember the words that she had used. Tried to place her accent, but he came up with nothing. Curiously he looked her over, hoping her appearance would give him some kind of hint. He saw the sunburn on her face but that didn't really mean much. You could get sun burn just about anywhere, warm or cold weather. Instead of continuing to play a one sided match of guess who the tattoed man decided to ask.

"What's that language that you're speaking? I've never heard it before?" He hoped she wouldn't be offended by his question, although he couldn't really see how she could be. It wasn't like he had asked for the address to her home or anything so he didn't think it would be too personal. "I like it though, it sounds nice." He smiled brightly because he really did think that but slowly the smile faded because he realized how stupid his last statement had sounded. It was too late though, he had already said it, so he stood on the side of the street staring at her and feeling a bit awkward. Now he wanted a drink, maybe he'd be able to remove the foot in his mouth after a couple of beers. He hoped she would join him, he didn't have much coin, but he would definitely offer to buy her a round if she accepted his offer.

When the tall Frenchman started speaking again, more slowly this time, Nelie was pretty sure she'd hit the random stranger jackpot. She was worried she'd royally messed up her best shot at a drink and companion with her slow comprehension and terrible english, but when he smiled she felt her nerves calm down. A grin spread across her face. "Yes, please-" she could barely contain her happiness that he'd offered to take her somewhere rather than just giving her directions. Hopefully it wasn't a massive inconvenience for him... He said he was headed that way already, but she supposed if he seemed put out when they arrived she could always buy them a round or two. Or rather, to save face, let him do all the ordering and foot at least part of the bill. "That would be, uhm.. what's it.. uhm." Words were still hard. "Perfect, that would be perfect."

Looking at her new friend again (Were they friends yet? Does standing on the street staring at someone make you their friend? Nelie was voting "yes" on that one. He'd spoken to her, which was more than anyone else had lately) she tried to commit his features to memory. Gregoire, she thought, making a mental note in case they should get separated. The tattoos were distinctive enough that she wasn't likely to lose him in a crowd if they ended up somewhere busy, but she didn't want to take any chances. If he really was a regular wherever it was they were going, he should know other people there and if she were to get too terribly drunk and turned around knowing his name would hopefully get them reunited...

She was staring again. He'd spoken again. She looked like a fool again. Oops.

"What was I speaking? It was bad, wasn't it..." She spoke slower this time and now that her nerves had started to calm down and she could feel the flush leaving her cheeks she was doing a little bit better at staying firmly in one language. Her voice lilted on odd syllables giving her words a faint sing-songy quality that marked her as foreign but she was relieved she wasn't drifting into her native tongue anymore. "It's Swedish.. English, as you can probably.. errr.. probably hear is not my first language," Or second. Or third. She couldn't help but beam when he said he'd liked it. She was quite proud of her heritage- cocky about it even if given the chance so it was nice that he was being so kind about it. She suspected he might just be humoring her, but after the day she'd had, Nelie would gladly take it. "I'm glad you like it, though I have to warn you... you may be hearing a lot more of it once I've had a few drinks..."

Speaking of. "Which way did you say it was?" She started walking slowly in the direction she thought he'd nodded and hoped he'd follow. No sense wasting another second more than necessary being sober. Having found a friendly stranger, the blonde was more than ready to make a toast. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure he was following (and to check that she was headed the right way) she gave his clothes another going over. The paint was a bit peculiar. "If you don't mind me asking-" She was going to either way. "What happened to your clothes? They're very.. färgglada.." Shoot. "Er, very colorful."

Gregoire was happy when she seemed to accept his offer to take her to the bar he had been heading to anyway. He was glad that he had met her because she was quite interesting and also because he honestly liked being able to help people. He hadn't felt like he'd been able to much in the way of contributing the community that week, the paintings were really frustrating him, so he was happy to help her. After he asked about her language he toyed with the ring that was looped in his bottom lip and waited for the answer. Gregoire wasn't a world traveller, but he'd been to a couple of places. Although he had been born and raised in France he had lived in England for the last few years. Long enough to consider himself a local. So he was pretty confident that there was no way she was from around her, not with that accent. Diagon Alley was a bit of a mixing pot for Witches and Wizards thought. That was part of what drew him to opening his shop here. Magical folk from all over the world came here because of the variety of magical shops in the alley. Sure there were other wizarding shopping villages in other countries but Gregoire liked this one the best. Even the gardens in Neroli couldn't hold a candle to Diagon Alley if you asked the French man.

When she finally replied he nodded slowly and then chuckled at her statement. Yes it was clear she was not a natural English speaking witch. "Swedish." He replied, committing it to memory. He didn't think he had ever heard the language but the man was excited to hear more of it. He wasn't curious from an intellectual level, he just liked the way it sounded. Being an artist Gregoire knew sometimes things were as simple as that. Sure the meaningful songs and art were nice, but most of the time people just liked things because they were aesthetically pleasing. "I'm looking forward to it." He said politely when she mentioned she'd be saying more of it once the alcohol hit her system. He knew how that was, sometimes Gregoire had trouble separating French and English when he had a few too many. Within seconds she asked about the bar and then took off walking, Gregoire chuckled at her eagerness to get there and had to take a few large steps to catch up. Luckily she headed in the right direction. Just before he caught up to her she looked back at him and spoke again, asking about his clothes.

Once more he let out a small laugh and looked down at his attire. He was a mess. It wasn't unusual for Gregoire to go out in public covered in paints, but it was unusual for him to meet someone who asked about it. "Its paint." He said simply, and then realized she probably put that together for herself already. "I mean, I'm a painter. I was working on something before I left my shop to get a drink." By now he had caught up with her and was keeping up easily as they walked down the street. Luckily the pub he had in mind was on the corner and there was no turning down side streets to get there. "Färgglada..." He said, messing up how she had pronounced the word in pretty much every way possible. "Is that the Swedish word for colorful?" He knew some languages translated into others more seamlessly than others, so he wondered if that was the word for it. It would be fun to know a Swedish word. "Did I say that right? Färg-gla-da?" He said it slower this time, not knowing if he was enunciating at the right times or not. He smiled to her and shrugged his shoulders, sincerely hoping he wasn't massacring her native tongue.

Sliding his tattooed hands into his pockets he walked a few more paces before the pub was in sight. It was a little hole in the wall kind of place. Smashed in between a shop that used to sell wizarding supplies but never recovered after the war and a wizards thrift shop that was closed for the night. It wasn't a bad part of the alley, it wasn't like Knockturn Alley or anything, but it was definitely the less economically profitable side of Diagon Alley. Gregoire didn't mind it here. The drinks were cheap, the company was good, and the music was entertaining. The windows of the storefront had been blacked out with boards, but there were neon lights hanging where the windows would of been. It wasn't anything fancy, Gregoire liked it that way. The door was set back a little from the rest of the front wall of the store, inside a little alcove with a sign hanging over it with the name of the bar. The sign was old, just like the rest of the establishment. Pushing the door open he held it open for her before he moved to the second set of doors, the ones that led into the actual bar. The vestibule type area was filled with band stickers, pictures of patrons, advertisements, and random pieces of paper stuck to the wall with some kind of adhesive magic.

Once inside the bar the smell of smoke and alcohol immediately hit the French mans senses. It was a dive bar, that was obvious, but she couldn't of honestly expected anything else from a Tattooed stranger covered in paint, right? If she had been looking forward to going to some upscale winery or a coffee shop he was going to have to let her down. The bar was directly to Gregoire's right, large and all wooden. There was a large glass mirror behind the bar and dark wooden shelves stock piled with Liquor from all over the place. Behind the bar was a foul looking Goblin who was probably standing on some kind of crate to make him high enough to reach the tap. There were a few stools open at the bar but he wasn't sure where she wanted to sit. On his left there was a larger space full of small round wooden tables with matching wooden chairs near them. Some of the chairs had been pulled away, added to the wrong tables, or just plain missing. Each table had an old fashioned lantern on it and a menu if you were lucky. Past the seating area there was a large open entry way leading to a room full of pool tables and next to that a magical jukebox that only took sickles. The last thing on the back wall was a dimly lit hallways that led to the bathrooms.

Turning to the new Swedish girl he had met Gregoire smiled and held out his hand, doing a sweeping display kind of motion of their surroundings. "Welcome to the Goblin Hole." He nibbled on his lip ring for only a moment before moving a little further into the establishment and speaking again. "Do you want to get a table, or just sit at the bar? They have okay food, but I wouldn't recommend it if you've got a weak stomach." Rubbing his belly and chuckling a little he nodded toward the bar stools. If she wanted to really get down to the drinking business, the bar would be the best place for it. Gregoire wasn't going to say it outloud but Goblins weren't exactly known for their great customer service. It would be sometime before they got their drinks refilled if they chose a table.