[Hogs Head] So you want to be the best? [Basil]

It had been a good couple of years since his last apprentice had 'graduated' out of his care. Meers didn't tend to stay students for long. It was a cut-throat world. You couldn't hide behind a mentor, you had to fend for yourself... and Dieter had done his bit giving quite a few of his younger cousins the first step up into the big bad world and for a while he'd thought that was him done with teaching. He'd done his bit. Passed on skills to the younger members of the family and done his duty as a Meer.

So when someone had mentioned to him that they knew of a 'promising' young man, about to graduate and looking for some more intense training, why had Dieter's interest piqued? And why, when he found out this boy was a Hogwarts graduate, was he still interested? He'd always looked down on the British school, seen it as inferior. And yet now that he'd settled in the UK and Scotland felt so much like home... he was starting to feel some kind of odd connection. A new sense of duty.

And what he heard about the boy was interesting. From a family with a reputation... not a Meer, but maybe a nice connection to have. Dieter's contact painted an image of a hardworking student of many skills, although how much of that was truth and how much just meant to get him interested remained to be seen. For whatever reason, Dieter found his curiosity got the better of him, and he arranged to meet the young Stringfellow in Hogsmeade on a weekend. He could at last hear what the boy had to say, see what it was that he was looking for. Maybe it was time to give his life a little more structure and purpose again.

The Hogs Head wasn't Dieter's usual kind of bar, but Dieter had a learned ability to look at home absolutely anywhere, so even though his robes were far more expensive-looking and aura rather different from the rest of the pub's clientele, Dieter didn't look out of place at all. In fact, as he sat there sipping a glass of whiskey and idly watching the door, he looked as though he owned the place.

The dark-haired teen inhaled deeply in his cigarette as he walked down the pathway to Hogsmeade, feeling nervous beyond nervous. He wasn't sure how exactly he managed to get an interview, but he wasn't letting this opportunity slip through his fingers. Basil hadn't thought much about life after Hogwarts . He knew he would be expected to get a job, marry well, and raise a family. He wasn't sure what would suit him, though. He had plenty of interests--none of which really would make for a decent career. He certainly couldn't see himself working for the ministry... in any department, really. There was no "family business" to go into. He supposed he could always work with Rosaline and Persephone, but potions wasn't a passion.

Besides, was working with Rose particularly wise? If things went well, the two of them could be engaged by the end of the year. He didn't think he should live and work with her, or else they would begin to irritate one another. No, it was better to have some scheduled time apart. From what Basil heard of Dieter Meer, the other would be a formidable master, able to teach Basil much in information extraction and general enforcement. He was well-respected and from a noble house. Even if Basil learned little, the networking itself would be worthwhile. He could not mess this chance up, for any reason.

Basil had wanted so much more than a cigarette. He would've loved to walk in confidently, invincible, and at his most charismatic. Even so, he'd talked himself or of the chemical crutch today. He wanted to be sober for this meeting, at his sharpest, his most perceptive, and his most tactful.

He took another drag from his cigarette, and he could feel the nicotine moving through his body, calming his nerves and turning the cacophony of chaotic thoughts to a clean, simple silence. He could do this. He was strong, smart, and charming. He could do this... as long as he didn't blow it. Merlin, he was going to blow it, wasn't he?

He crushed the butt of his cigarette under his new black boot, then picked up the paper and stuck it into his pocket as he entered the Hog's Head. Basil preferred the Three Broomsticks, but that place was always full of loud, rambunctious students. It wouldn't do for a quiet meeting like this. Basil still wasn't sure what to expect--a test? A simple conversation? He put up his guard and tried to prepare for anything.

It was easy to find Dieter. He had a way of taking up the whole room and looking completely comfortable doing so. Basil straightened his back.

"Afternoon." Basil greeted, making his presence known and extending a hand to the elder. "I'm Basil Stringfellow. I believe you're expecting me?"

Dieter's eyes pinpointed Basil as soon as he walked in the door. He was interesting-looking, perhaps not traditionally attractive, but something in his appearance was striking. Dieter noted the rings around his eyes, the gauntness in his appearance... and his scar. Scars on purebloods were unusual. Especially on the face. Usually wounds were quickly healed. Dieter filed a few potential reasons for the scar aside, perhaps to delve deeper into at a later date. Basil approached with the distinct aroma of menthol tobacco. Smart attire. New boots. The posture of one that had been trained to hold oneself in a certain way and an outstretched hand and polite greeting. Pureblood-money etiquette. These were all things that Dieter noted and mentally filed. It was all about details. Sometimes he wouldn't know why something was important until later when he had a chance to process it.

He ignored Basil's hand for a moment to purposely put him on edge, leaving the boy waiting to make him uncomfortable, but not enough time to give up and withdraw the gesture before he reached over the table and shook Basil's hand with a purposely average handshake. Dieter was neurotic in how little information he wanted to give away about himself. His grip was not firm, but not gentle. Not too brief, but not lingering. He nodded to the seat opposite. "Please, sit." The words were polite, but definitely an order. Clipped and accentless.

His eyes turned to catch one of the bar staff, flashing them a smile to get their attention and waiting for them to hurry over. People tended to do that around him. "I'd like another Islay, please, and-" he gestured to Basil indicating he should order whatever he wanted.

Basil was, to some degree, expecting a test. As Dieter waited to shake his hand, Basil wondered if that was it. It did what he intended, though, it put the other just a bit more on edge than he had been before, just a little more nervous. There would be no simple greeting between them. Dieter was all business. It was good, though, Basil could respect that. The handshake, too, showed very little of himself. Basil returned it with a firm, confident grip. Despite his nerves, he still knew how to play his role, and he did so carefully. It was important that he seem at ease and comfortable, and that was what he presented. He knew going in that this was a game of chess, and that made it a little easier.

“Water for me, please.” He asked the waiter. He could use it if he mouth got dry, but it wouldn't deaden any of his senses. A real drink would be a reward if this went well. He could drink all night if he wanted to. Now he was playing the game, and that was more important than anything. It was important that Dieter knew that he knew the older man was in control here, and so he was reluctant to ask for too much.

This wasn't a power play, not really. He wasn't out to assert himself as strong er than the other man. He was there to be a servant, and apprentice. That meant showing respect and deferring when appropriate. To Basil, it meant that he needed to be confident but not cocky, talkative but not prodding. As the waiter left to retrieve their drinks, Basil spoke again.

“I appreciate you calling me here for a meeting, Mr. Meer. I've done my homework and I must say your family's business is very impressive.” Compliments that weren't personal flattery were usually a good start. “I certainly hope that you'll find me just as impressive, and a good fit for you.” He added, looking up to catch his eyes.

Basil was comfortable when he was talking. He seemed to think quickly and have a good handle on what was appropriate to say. He expected that Dieter would quiz him on some of it, especially now that he mentioned that he was impressed by them. That was easy to say but difficult to back up. He had asked around in all the right places and was well aware of their reputation for taking “taxes” in their hometown, smuggling, dealing, lending money. He was ready to explain it in case he was asked.