[the george & dragon] hurts like heaven, [tag; harlan]

"To Tommy!"

As a petite young woman thrust her glass into the air, there was a chorus of rather loud whoops and cheers. Farley was lost. Completely. Valentine's Day had been brutal and she was still reeling, even weeks later. It had been the first one that she'd spent alone for quite a while. It hadn't been glamorous; she'd spent the night holed up in her duvet, eating Italian food with chopsticks because she couldn't bother to wash her cutlery. It was a low point.

How she'd got here, she didn't know. Farley was sitting in a hole in the wall pub, tucked away down a side street that looked like the scene of many a Victorian murder. It was called The George & Dragon, according to the decaying sign that hung outside of the doorway, flapping in the freezing cold wind. It was very dark, with dim lighting, dark wood furniture and a sticky floor under foot. There was a lot of mahogany and linoleum. There were stained glass windows, some worse for wear but one prominent that detailed the exploits of a man slaying a dragon.

Farley scoffed darkly. There was no way anyone could kill a dragon with just a sword and she'd know. The air was heavy and smelled of stale beer and tobacco. She'd been here for hours. It was clear the pub was filled with regulars, all older gentlemen who eyed her suspiciously as she'd tripped through the doorway.

"To Braden!" Farley roared, lifting her glass into the air in a salute, the contents slopping carelessly onto the floor as the other men joined in. She assumed they were humouring her as she listed her exes and grew steadily more and more drunk. She'd been the butt of a lot of jokes, everything ranging from her height to her accent. The small brunette drained her glass and slammed it down onto the sticky bar with force, the barman looking bemused as he continued to polish pint glasses.

Farley was maybe too drunk but she didn't feel threatened by these men. She was clearly interrupting darts night as the men who were playing had ceased ages ago and were currently  taking bets as to when she'd fall off her bar stool. "To Liam!" She announced, swaying as she lifted her glass and then drained it. It tasted like whiskey but it burned a path all the way down to her stomach. The shock was wearing off. She'd started off with something black and thick, tasting like iron which had the consistency of a milkshake. Guinness, it was called. She didn't like it. The pub didn't have wine. So she made her way onto spirits.

Farley frowned at her next glass she was given. She picked it up and squinted at the amber liquid, finding herself not at all bothered that the shot glass was grubby. "And to Ethan," she said softly. Her most recent break up still stung around the edges a little. She'd been through her strong and independent woman phase, she thought she was over it. Over him and his new big-boobed girlfriend. She shook herself. She didn't want him. He didn't want her, plain and simple but the winters were long in the city and she didn't want to spend it alone in a foreign city.

"The immature, spineless little man who gave kisses like a St. Bernard. I'd call him a pussy but he lacks both the depth and the warmth. Cheers!" "To Ethan!" the men echoed and Farley downed her shot. This one hit home a little more and her head began to swirl. She suddenly felt sick. She pressed a shaking hand to her clammy forehead, his big dark eyes wide and unfocused as she forced herself to swallow. In a jerking motion, she extended her empty glass to the barman with too much force. It toppled her over. Farley lost her balance, her heel caught in the stool's spindle and landed on the floor on her bum with a squeak of surprise. She was dimly aware of two men laughing, one extracting a note and handing it over to complete the bet. It looked like it had taken her five drinks to call it quits.






[member=23721]Gage[/member]

Solitude was nearly impossible to find while Quidditich was in season. Harlan Bellamy, though, always found a way. The balmy night in question, the captain of the Gravesend Griffins made his way to one of his usual haunts, a spot that flew entirely under the radar mostly due to the fact that no one actually wanted to go there. The George & Dragon. Harlan had used the hole in the wall as his escape for many years throughout his career, fashioning himself somewhat of a regular of sorts much to his chagrin. Although the other patrons knew who he was, they didn't know who he was, and that anonymity was exactly what he craved.

Arriving late after a workout with the team, Harlan was greeted by the familiar musk that was particular to The George and Dragon. The place had it's own personal brand of dinginess, an all consuming aura that was unique the bar. The best part about the place, though, he had to admit, was that no one even looked his direction when he made his way inside. It wasn't just because they didn't care though as usual, it seemed that the attention of almost everyone in the room was on something else. Someone else.

The someone who had captured the whole rooms attention? A familiar face for once. Farley Hoskins. "How did you end up here..." Harlan spoke under his breath, stopping to make sure that his eyes weren't deceiving him. How his brothers assistant ended up in The George of all places, was the least of his worries though, he realized. She was definitely far from sober and spouting off about someone or something that had clearly upset her. Harlan shook his head. His brother somehow, in some way, had something to do with this.

Steely eyes scanned the bar to make sure that Simon wasn't actually there before taking a seat on the opposite side of the bar so that he could tabs on her from a distance. He had half a mind to turn on his heels and walk out the moment he saw a familiar face, but couldn't bring himself to leave the American girl there alone. Not with this crowd.

Farley, he learned after tuning into the show, was making a toast to all of her exes. He had arrived just in time for Ethan, the one who kissed like a St. Bernard. Harlan couldn't help but laugh out loud, an uncharacteristic wide grin spreading across his usually stoic face. He didn't have much time to think more on the matter though, because Farley was on the floor in an instant. "Fucks sake," He hardly had a chance to take one sip of his whiskey before the woman fell from her stool.

Harlan shot a dark glance at the two men next to Farley who didn't even attempt to make it look like they were getting up to help her and they quickly made themselves busy pretending that they hadn't just exchanged a bet. Even anonymous, it turned out that Harlan's physical stature was hard to ignore. The Quidditch captain held a hand to the brunette woman calmly. "Really? A St. Bernard? No wonder you're drinking," He shook his head.

@Sioban

The floor was hard and a bit sticky as she landed on it heavily. The force had rattled up her spine and it felt as though it had shaken up her organs. Gingerly, Farley placed a hand on the floor and instantly wished she hadn't. "Urgh," she whispered, her button nose wrinkled in distaste as bits of the bar were now attached to her hand. She was dimly aware of muffled laughter and she frowned again. With her free hand, she brushed a lock of dark hair from her forehead and she sighed, annoyed with herself and how she'd ended up here.

London was dark. It wasn't at all like it was made out to be on television and post cards. The pavements were cracked and dirty, everything was expensive and everyone seemed Hell bent on running from A to B in the shortest possible time. In the cold light of day, Farley had her rose tinted glasses snatched rudely off her face as she found herself three thousand miles from home with no one to turn to.

An unfamiliar hand loomed in front of her face and she squinted at the attached face in the dim light. Recognition dawned. "Oh it's you," Farley replied, her accent much higher pitched than the pub's regulars. Harry? Henry?…Holbrook? "I saw you in the newspaper," the secretary bubbled on. "With some redheaded woman? Cute," Farley added as an afterthought, sounding a little bit wistful. She struggled to remember where she knew him from, besides the photograph in the newspaper. He looked a little bit like her boss, Simon, but more rugged. Manly. Craggier, like an uninviting rock face. Rock face. Suddenly, she let out a snort of giggles, amused by her own joke; Harlan's name  meant "rocky land" and he seemed like a rocky kinda guy.

"He wasn't always so sloppy," Farley heard herself say, her reply sounding slightly sullen and childish as she rebuffed Harlan's quip. In her drunken state, she couldn't untangle her feelings. Was she actually sticking up for Ethan? Or was she just being obtuse in order to annoy the Quidditch man?

"I'm fine," the brunette told Harlan without being asked. Looking at his hand again, she hesitated as she chewed her lip. Her fingers itched to take his, purely to see what they felt like. She'd never touched a Quidditch player before or even someone famous. Realising he was trying to be kind, she swallowed and took it, letting Harlan take the strain as she ungracefully got to her feet. It must have been an effort for him, especially considering the sticky floor now had a pretty clear print of her ass on it, almost as though her jeans and the wood had started to merge together.

"And he wasn't the reason I was drinking." Farley wasn't really sure why she'd started drinking. Her fall had left pockets of pain all over her, from her bum cheek and elbows to her thighs and wrists. She'd been foolish. She didn't know where she was or how she was going to get home. Harlan's appearance seemed to have broken the spell as the men were now resolutely not looking in their direction. Turning her head, her glassy-eyed gaze swept over him again as she tilted her head.

She supposed he was kind of cute, in that traditional dark and brooding sort of way and Farley found herself staring. He was obviously not her type but she could see the appeal. Without realising it, Farley began to twist a lock of dark hair around her index finger absently as she flicked through her thoughts lazily, almost as if she were reading a magazine. Her eyes strayed to his hands and she was unsurprised that they looked nice, strong and sinewy. Still holding the one he'd offered her, she turned it over and gently ran a finger tip down one of his veins. Whomever that redheaded chick was, she was very lucky to have those roaming all over her every night.

Aware Harlan was watching her in return, she blinked. "Sorry," Farley replied, taking a drink out of a glass on the bar that did not belong to her and letting his hand go. "Hope I'm not interrupting," she asked, eyes wide as she sipped at someone else's drink. "Thanks for picking me up," she replied as she looked around, a smile playing across the curve of her lips. "You're like the Big Bad Wolf," she commented, sounding amused. "You've scared everyone off. Do you do that a lot?"

Farley hadn't been particularly pleased that Harlan was the one who showed up to, quite literally, pick her up off the floor. The lack of enthusiasm didn't hinder his already stubborn behaviour, though, his straight face steady as he held his hand out. "It is me," He confirmed dryly. As a fit giggles overcame the woman, his jaw tensed impatiently. He'd really only known Farley as another one of his brothers' employees, but he had a feeling he was going to get to know her a lot better tonight. "You were probably mistaken," Harlan corrected at the mention of her seeing him in the papers, knowing full well that it was without a doubt him that she'd spotted.

Towering over the brunette witch, his grasp did not shift from her gaze despite her initial protests. There was no way in hell she was getting up on her own, and he was growing tired of waiting for her to come to terms with the fact when she reluctantly accepted his help. As much as he was perturbed that his night had been disrupted in a major way, he was now fully invested in making sure that she was safe.

London could be an unsafe place, particularly for a foreign witch who was new to the town. No doubt his brothers' intense work schedule accounted for the fact that she had no one else to reach out for, and Harlan felt responsible for rectifying the situation. "Fine, hmm," Harlan hummed through the action of pulling Farley to her feet. It was not difficult to lift her but he was surprised by the force of the floor grime against her jeans. As it pertained to the reason behind her drinking, he went along with the fact that it had nothing to do with her St. Bernard ex-boyfriend. He didn't need to, and quite frankly didn't want to, know all the details for how she ended up here, but he hoped she would wouldn't go rogue on him now.

As her petite fingers ran along the top of his hand and forearm, Harlan tilted his head in confusion before breaking into a smile. Not a grimace-smile, either. A real, toothy, genuine smile. An uncharacteristic laugh escaped his lips before Harlan composed himself. He hated to admit it, but she was kind of endearing. "You're welcome," He finally replied, leading the witch to a stool, pausing to make sure she was steadily seated. "Water, thanks," He pushed the mystery drink out of her grasp as he caught the attention of the bartender. At least for now, she needed to sober up, that much was certain.

Steel grey eyes followed Farley's gaze around them, the group of men that had been so invested in her speech just moments before were nowhere to be seen. "The Big Bad Wolf?" Harlan smiled through a roll of his eyes. Although the idea was appealing in theory, he was certain the strangers just didn't want any real trouble. "Na, I think you lost them when you starting comparing the exes to dogs," He lied. "What on Earth are you doing here?" Harlan motioned to the muggle bar. "Please tell me this wasn't a suggestion from Simon...." Harlan reached for his own drink and took a sip before pushing the water toward her.

"I don't think I was," Farley replied evenly at Harlan's flat refusal that he was in the newspaper. Magical or Muggle, she was unable to remember. What she did realise that was this city had a lot of newspapers. She tilted her head and looked at him. Even in the dim lighting, there was no mistaking about it. "Nah," she replied eventually. "I've never seen a jaw line like yours before, it was definitely you," the petite witch added, sounding really rather pleased with her sleuthing. "You looked nice," Farley added as an afterthought, just to be nice.

Behind them, the men were getting back to normal. There were a few whispers about how Harlan had ruined their fun but they'd pretty much all dispersed by now. Fine? She nodded. Vigorously. And she almost slipped sideways off her stool.

"This stool is uneven," she complained to the Quidditch player as she gripped the edge of the bar for safety and tutted darkly. "It needs to be fixed. It's a safety hazard. Bar keep!" She exclaimed to the bored looking barman who blinked at her placidly. "I have friends in…reasonably high places," she began, pointing at him with an index finger. "And you need to sort out your seating arrangements or someone's going to get hurt."

Farley didn't notice anyone switch her drinks and she took a gulp of the water and squinted at Harlan. "There's no gin in this?" She asked him as she cautiously took another sip and decided that she didn't really like this new one. She forgot that she'd just inappropriately touched her boss' brother and all round Quidditch super star but he felt nice. Strong and tall. Like he'd give good cuddles. She sighed heavily suddenly as the loneliness she'd been ignoring began to seep into the cracks in her soul as she sat there, downcast.

"So you're not gonna huff and puff and blow my house down?" Farley asked innocently, her dark eyes wide as she sipped at her water, her other hand slowly and sneakily trying to steal Harlan's pint. She smiled swiftly. "Probably," she added gently as she fiddled with her beer mat. Scaring men off seemed to be her hidden talent, along with burping the alphabet and reciting European capital cities in order of size.

"I honestly have no idea," the secretary chirped happily when asked why she was here. "I was having a pretty bad day. You know, with Valentine's Day and the fact that I'm all alone because I moved halfway across the world to be with him and then he dumped me for a horrendous cow with fake boobs and fake hair?" Farley babbled, looking around for another drink. "And I felt a bit sad. I couldn't concentrate at work and there's no food in my refrigerator so I started walking and I know --" Farley groaned, tapping Harlan's forearm gently to placate him. "Walking around after dark by myself in a foreign city is a dumbass idea, I get it," she continued. "But I dunno. I found this place and it was warm and I did make some new friends," with that, she waved at the man playing darts cheerily.

Farley then hoisted her handbag onto the bar and thumbed through it clumsily. "I live here," she told Harlan, extracting a crumpled piece of paper with an address written on it after she'd emptied the contents of her bag (lipstick, tissues, her wand, house keys and a screwdriver "just in case") onto the sticky bar. She frowned. "At least, I think I do. Can I borrow some money so I can take a cab home?" She asked Harlan brightly. "Because I reeeeally don't think I can apparate home. I'd probably end up in someone else's front garden! Imagine," she gasped, her eyes wide. "They'd think I was a real life garden gnome."

"Simon?" Farley asked, confusion clear on her face as she struggled to make a connection. "Oh, your brother!" Now she was up to speed. She shook her head again rapidly that the ends of her hair whipped her cheeks. "No, he's actually really nice? He said he was buying jewellery when I left. His wife must be a lucky girl. He asked for my advice but I wasn't much use," she added as she clumsily took the straw between her lips and sucked on it. "He asked if I liked rubies or emeralds. I told him I preferred diamonds. He seemed to think that was funny."

Blatantly ignoring the woman's comment about his jawline, despite it tensing in a reaction that was out of his control, Harlan watched carefully as she steadied herself on the barstool. He was fully prepared, and quite frankly expecting, to catch her from the fall off of the furniture. In hindsight he should have relocated to a booth. For safety purposes. "It's not," He countered plainly to the bartender, leaning down to shift the weight of the stool to ensure that his assumption that her balance was off was correct. As he imagined, it was perfectly sturdy.

Farley was out of control, there was no doubt about that, but he was inexplicably drawn in. Because she worked for his brother, Harlan felt responsible for her well being. At least that's how he justified his actions. It would have been just as easy, easier even, to send her on her way to her home, but there was something that was holding him back. He wanted to see it through, to make sure she made it safely, and to spare her a splintering headache in the morning.

"I'll try not to not," Harlan looked over the lids of his eyes, taken by the innocence in her tone. Maybe, just maybe, there were people that were that innocent in real life, he thought to himself despite his reservations. An attempt to move her away from his beer, Harlan pushed her water toward her again. "No gin. Just water. You'll thank me tomorrow," He explained calmly before commandeering his own drink. "You need to eat," He decided per her comment that she'd had nothing to eat at home. He summoned the bartended and ordered a mix of bar food from the menu.

As Farley removed the contents of her bag onto the table, the Qudditch Captain leaned back in his own stool, catching a wrench before it flew over the edge. A wrench? He examined it, only briefly catching that she had no idea where she actually lived save a cursive note with an address he had no chance of deciphering. "Why do you have this?" He tapped the muggle object against his palm, ignoring her ramblings about finding a way home. Putting her up in a hotel would be the best option now, he decided.

"Simon," He repeated, wondering if she had only just caught on to the connection between them. As she excitedly proclaimed about the jewellery he was buying for his wife, Harlan couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Very nice," He practically grimaced, knowing full well that he long knew preference of the mother of his children. Harlan palmed another beer as the food arrived. "Now eat," He pushed a bowl of chips toward her sternly.

Farley offered Harlan a bright smile. "You should," she nodded eagerly. "My place is a shithole, you really should blow it down," she said casually as her mouth clumsily found her straw. As she drank, she forgot it was water and she wrinkled her nose despite finding herself very thirsty. "Why, what's happening tomorrow?" She asked him gently, missing the meaning that he was trying to save her from the hangover from Hell. Blinking at him, she continued to drink her water before wrinkling her nose again at the mention of food.

"I'm not that hungry," Farley said politely as she felt the alcohol slosh in her empty stomach. Her tone was light and not aggressive and she wasn't purposefully acting like a petulant child.

"Hm?" She asked distractedly as her big brown eyes blinked at him. Oh, the spanner. "Dad said I should carry something," Farley shrugged casually as she eyes Harlan's pint longingly. "You know, like keys or something to use as a weapon, just in case. But I couldn't fit a baseball bat in my bag," she told the taller man as she sipped through her straw. "I don't suppose you know what baseball is, do you? It's sort of like cricket but less bum-numbingly boring," she stated pleasantly.

"Anyway," the petite brunette continued as she wiggled on her stool, the seat creaking ominously beneath her weight in protest. "My front door sticks sometimes so I usually just whack the lock with it. It flies right open. I should get that looked at," Farley frowned, blinking three times in rapid succession, knowing that she's forget all about asking the landlord in the morning. "I dunno," she said honestly with a little sigh as she ruffled her hair. "It's not really what I thought it would be like." There were no bright lights, no glitter, no Thames side walks or long chatty mooches around the sights with a handsome writer.

Catching Harlan's gaze, she frowned in confusion. "You don't get along?" Farley asked as she sucked water through her straw, wondering why it was sticking to the bottom as she'd run out of the liquid. "Have you ever bought a girl diamonds, Harlan?" The secretary asked innocently. "No one's ever bought me diamonds," she added in a soft voice as she began to fill up with sadness. Ethan should have bought her an engagement ring; what a dick. "He is nice," she confirmed the Quidditch player's statement. "Though I'm not sure why he'd want my opinion. You'd think he'd know his wife's preferences by now, wouldn't you?" She added with a tut and an eye roll.

"Oooh," Farley cooed as her eyes widened before she pulled the bowl towards her. She picked up a sticky sachet of ketchup off the bare and ripped it open with her teeth before squeezing out the contents onto the chips. She didn't bother blowing on them to cool them down before eating one and she instantly regretted it. "Ow," she complained as she pushed it to the other side of her cheek with her tongue before she winced and added even more ketchup messily.

She barely knew Harlan but he seemed a bit moody. Maybe he'd taken one too many bludgers to the head. He didn't seem forthcoming with the chit-chat and he seemed annoyed that she was here. Had she known this was his local pub, she wouldn't have walked through the damned door. Farley picked at her food, choosing the chips with the most amount of sauce on them distractedly. She did think Simon was nice but the way he'd said his brother's name rang some alarm bells, even in her drunken state.

"You sure I can't have any of that?" Farley asked Harlan as she looked wistfully at his lager. "He's not that bad," she told him gently as she felt the need to stick up for her boss. He'd been distant but not unkind. They looked similar, too. They had the same eyes and, funnily enough, the same lines in their forehead when they frowned at her. "I should pay you for the food," she told Harlan with a hard nod as she fumbled through her possessions before extracting a ten pound note and she snorted. "Who's this chick?" She asked, pointing to the Queen before getting distracted by more food. "Chicken fingers? Aww yiss."