//: but at least i have the memory { augustine }

Carson didn't really know why she'd ended up in this bar again. Well, she supposed she REALLY knew why -- it was just the trivial why that was stumping her. It seemed like she never got over anything. Not experiences, not places, not emotions, not people. Nothing. Once she sank her teeth in, that was it. That being said, it did take quite a lot for her to want to sink her teeth into anything, but so often, it seemed, she found herself past the point of no return.

She almost wished she'd been a Slytherin. Been able to just cut ties at the snap of her fingers, been able to think about advancement above all else. It just wasn't the way she operated. Carson, wishy-washy and cold as she tried to seem (especially as of late), desired human connection. And she didn't just mean sex. That would be a bonus, maybe, but sex wasn't something she'd bet on.

People were fickle. They always left. But not Carson. Carson refused to be the one who gave up, the one who left, the one who ran away with her tail between her legs. And maybe that was why she was here. Of course. It did seem a little silly to her to entertain the thought that a bar could be a decent segway for weighty human connection, but she wasn't going to sell it short -- this very bar had been the place she'd met one person who'd managed to get under her skin the way nobody else had. Even though they hadn't spoken for a few years, Carson had to admit, begrudgingly, that he still was that person, despite his numerous and glaring flaws. And some small part of her -- small -- had sauntered right in here after a long day at work to grasp at some very, very unlikely straws.

The blonde ordered a vodka from the bartender and took it from her with a plasticky smile, sitting there for a moment and just... staring at it. Swishing it around by the rim in her rigid, dainty hand. It wasn't as though she was afraid to drink -- she did all the time, probably too much, at that. She felt so many kinds of nothing in every capacity that everything outside of trying to save the world one scumbag at a time felt like a chore.

Carson huffed a sigh and leaned onto the heel of her other hand, letting the focus in her vision go in and out, in and out. It was mildly entertaining to watch the neon lights in front of her turn from fuzzy to sharp over and over and over. Eventually, she sat up straight, putting the glass to her lips and throwing her head back to drink it all at once. Drinking was the only way she was able to get any man to look her way twice -- most men found her insufferably guarded. And they were right. Alcohol was certainly a necessary supplement.

When she surfaced again, her peripheral vision caught sight of someone sliding right into the barstool next to her. Bold. And probably misplaced boldness, too. She turned to the man with her mouth open, quite ready to say something slightly rude, and then she felt her jaw snap shut fast enough to clack her teeth together. Painfully. "Well. You're not who I was expecting. Barely recognized you with all the hair obstructing your facial features, Gus."

Augustine Mohr, despite every effort to fight it, was a painfully persistent creature of habit. Even long after he and his ministry colleagues had wasted their evenings at the bar that he currently found himself in, the wizard was once again drawn to it like a moth to flame. In this particular instance, a photoshoot showcasing his designs (an insufferable event of the upmost magnitude as far as he was concerned) only a few blocks away was his excuse. Just a drink, he promised himself, although it never was.

Stepping through the threshold of the ground level entrance, the designer made his way down the stairs, each step bringing a new sense of familiarity despite the distance he had put between his current being and his former self. Perhaps it was all of the champagne that had shoved down his throat at the shoot, but the dichotomy of the two extremes made him feel dizzy. Although he never complained, he was acutely aware that most of his industry peers supplied him with enough booze to make it so that he was less of an ass, if possible.

Not at a thing had changed after all of the years that he had been away. Augustine was sure he saw a few of the same faces belonging to the bodies painted to the bar that had been there when he was younger, even after all that time. Sad. The wizard couldn't help but feel sad for them despite the longing pangs of nostalgia that hit him hard in the chest and almost stopped him dead in his tracks. Gus trudged forward, though, ignoring the annoying voice somewhere far, far away in the back of his head that was constantly trying to keep him from having any fun. Numb was the only feeling he wanted to have and another drink was the only thing that could help him now.

For an hour, Augustine sank into a corner booth, devouring drinks and watching the vague familiarity of a scene unfold before him. Although chances were that none of the bar goers were ones that he had truly ever seen before, their behaviour was the exact same as he remembered. It was like having a never ending sensation of dejavu. He zeroed in on a man at the that could have easily passed as him five years previous; perfectly tailored suit and hair to match, stalking his prey with practiced precision before leaving the bar with arguably the most stunning woman in the room as if it were just another weekday for him.

Only for a moment did Augustine worry that he may be recognised. That was until he remembered that there was zero chance ever a former friend would recognise him now. The man with long hair and scruffy beard, wearing an ink stained and oversized denim shirt, black jeans and boots was a far cry from the doppleganger who had just left the building. As he dwelled on this fact with a palpable degree of sadness, Gus' attention was taken by a blonde at the bar that he had somehow missed in his observations.

Carson Finley. It seemed that no matter how hard he wanted to avoid his past, it crept up on him. Without thinking, he made a straight line to the bar, leaving his drink behind in the frenzy of his own thoughts. As he slid effortlessly into the barstool next to her still unsure of his next move, Augustine turned to face Carson with his chin now rested on the palm of his hand and his face contorted into a smirk.

"Well that's the idea, kid," He retorted. "Keep your voice down before some notices..." Gus turned to the bartender and ordered two more drinks, noticing hers was running out at a rapid pace. "Gin and tonic," He handed the first to Carson. "Unless your taste had changed?" He asked, his tone bordering rhetoric as taking a sip of his own drink. His question, of course, was not just about her preference of drink. "Who were you expecting?" The wizard quipped as his dark eyes scanned the room for some sad bloke waiting on his date. This wasn't fair to her, he knew, showing up without a word after dropping off of the face of the Earth, but the booze in his system was speaking a different language. And quite frankly, he never knew what it was like to be fair to her.

"Kid, huh?" She repeated back to him, rather loudly, at that, and raised her eyebrows curiously. "I don't think I could be your kid, anyway, unless you had a secret child at about thirteen years old that you didn't tell anyone about." Deep blue eyes scanned him up and down and calculated and assessed as they went, noticing every little detail that had changed -- and every one that was still the same. "You tend to do that. Not tell people things." Carson took the shot glass as it was handed to her, though, and she proceeded to drink it similarly as the last. She'd not come to the bar with the ultimate intent of getting drunk, but with Augustine here, living, breathing, and next to her, it was a possibility becoming more and more distinct as the moments passed.

"I don't know who on earth would be looking for you specifically, anyway. Unless that person was me. But don't get the wrong idea. I wasn't waiting on you," The witch stumbled over those words, exasperating herself while her breath tumbled out of her lungs in uneasy stutters. "I wasn't waiting for anyone. Just came in to unwind and all that." Carson pulled a face, shrugging her petite shoulders and finishing off the last of her second drink. The burning in her chest was a warning sign to slow way, way down, but of course, she opted not to heed it. Unwise, perhaps, but her decision-making skills had been thrown slightly off by his unexpected presence. Wanted? Desired? Sure. Unexpected? Totally and completely.

"Another one, please, bartender." She smiled at the woman behind the counter. She looked young. Several years younger than her, anyway. Carson wondered for a minute if this was her only job or if she had some other aspiration that this just kept afloat. She could relate to that, certainly, and maybe it was inappropriate to wonder how people could be happy with such small, unfulfilling lives, but they could. Eden was kind of like that. Perfumery? Being a nanny? On second thought, she supposed raising children could be a noble task. Her mother certainly hadn't been up to it, and her sister was gifted with them. Carson wasn't, really, but she knew part of that was probably having been averse to the birth of her half brother nearly seven years prior. Living life without contributing to something, a greater purpose, a movement -- it seemed bland. Acquiescent.

"So, Augustine. What have you been doing in these nearly-three years we haven't spoken? I gather you're alright. You're alive. Happy to see that." She commented genuinely, but she remained unbothered to remove the serrated edge from her tone. Carson considered herself a dignified young woman, but seeing him was just... throwing everything off. When she could, she avoided eye contact and stared down at her hands, which were fiddling with her glass in true Finley fashion. Eden did that too, always tapping on things or twiddling her thumbs. Could one even inherit nervous tics? Something to research later.

"I am also alive. Job is going famously. I'm all grown up now." Carson joked finally, cracking one of those signature twinkling smiles she had. It was the only thing she was good at doing with her face that didn't come across as ... aloof. Or rude. Or whatever weak-willed people wanted to call it. "I'm grown up and I'm still getting drunk when I see a boy I used to like. Does that say more about me or you?"