It ain't like watered down whiskey and coke [Gregoire]

Joanna walked along Diagon Alley with an almost spring in her step. Almost. She was meeting a French man that she had met at a recent Ministry event at The Goblin Hole for drinks and political discussion. Considering Joanna’s job, political discussion that wasn’t exactly in line with Ministry believes had to be undertaken discreetly, and a grimy goblin pub was just the place for that. And yes, Joanna was not excited to be hanging out in an establishment that she believed would easily fail most health inspections. In fact, she was rather dreading it. What if the glasses were dirty? Could she do numerous cleaning spells without being caught? However, she was not dreading her company for the evening. Gregoire Cartier, or Greg as he told her to call him, was interested in becoming more politically active. And so they had arranged these drinks in order to discuss further what could be done to improve magical life in Britain. Joanna had many, many suggestions.

And so, on the warm September evening, she had changed out of the robes she had been wearing at work and donned dark purple robes that were far more casual and hopefully would not be out of place in the goblin joint. She had let her hair, the little she had, down, and touched up her make up before apparating to Diagon Alley. She knew it was all unnecessary, after all she probably wouldn’t look out of place in the Goblin Hole resembling a hag, but she wanted to make a good impression for Greg. After all, she had the potential to gain a political ally tonight that could actually stand up in public and say the things Joanna was feeling. She had been so nervous and excited for the meeting that she had been unable to eat, instead just sucking on sweets all day in an attempt to calm her nerves. It would be absolutely fine, she reassured herself, they would have a good time and it would be freeing to talk about her frustrations.

Her first impression of Greg had been interesting to say the least. Joanna had been struck by the multiple piercings and countless tattoos and nearly dismissed the man there and then. After all, what would she have in common with someone like that? But then, through a stroke of luck, or fate, they ended up in the same circle of people, and seemed to click. He wanted change for the better and was willing to do the work to make it happen. She, for all her suspicions raised by his appearance, was struck by his seeming dedication to achieve this. Not at all used to having her first impression of someone shift so rapidly, Joanna had done her best to make him feel welcome that night and introduced him to as many high ups in the Ministry as she could. It was probably the guilt over the near dismissal that made her do that, but Joanna was not going to admit that. After all, he was hopefully unaware that she had been so close to writing him off as a lazy graffiti artist, like the name of his shop. Another establishment that she was reluctant to enter.

As she drew up to the entrance of the Goblin Hole, Joanna almost stopped dead and backtracked. Could she seriously go into this faeces infected filth ridden hole in the wall? The shop next door was boarded up and Joanna personally thought that the Goblin Hole could do with being boarded up too. Oh Merlin, was she seriously going to go in there? She could smell it from outside. The seriously vile smell of damp, grease and smoke combining together to waft in her direction. Was casting a bubblehead charm rude? Surely there was very few that could actually breathe normally in that place without one? Maybe this had been a mistake? What was she doing here? Greg probably wouldn’t actually agree with what she had to say and would not want anything to do with her. And then she would be left in this dump probably having contracted a disease from anything she had touched. Nope, it was time to go home and clean. She felt dirty simply from having stood outside The Goblin Hole.

While normally Joanna would draw a breath to bolster her nerves, she was unable to do it in this environment so instead curled her hands into balls and dug her nails tightly into her palms. It would be extraordinarily rude of her to bail with no notice. There was no way she could do that to a potential friend and ally (Joanna was a lot more interested in the second option than the first). She had to get over herself and enter. She could always wash down in the garden later with multiple scourifys before she entered the house. Grimacing as she stepped closer to the entrance, another patron pushed the door open ahead of her. Gratefully she hurried forward to squeeze through the door with him. Anything to avoid touching a surface for as long as possible. She followed the wizard through the interior door as well, internally gagging over the smell and decor inside. Merlin, wasn’t she glad that her granddad had been a butcher and she herself was a hit witch. If not for that experience Joanna assumed she would have vomited upon entry. This was not a pleasant establishment. Maybe she should have just suggested a Muggle pub? It would have been just as out of the way, but she could have selected one that had in fact cleaned in the last century.

Walking cautiously over to the bar - were her shoes sticking slightly to the floor? Joanna didn’t want to look down in fear of what she would see - she decided there was only one course of action. She had to be sober enough to reasonably discuss politics, but Merlin she couldn’t not have a drink to take the edge of her senses. “Firewhiskey please, double.” She requested to the bartender, leaning carefully over the bar to see if while avoiding touching it. Joanna gingerly got the coins out of her purse while she waited. What was that liquid spilled all over the bartop? It looked almost sticky and definitely had clumps in it. When the firewhiskey was placed in front of her she grabbed it and downed it before she could second guess herself. There was no way she would touch it if she had the chance to inspect the cleanliness of the glass. It burned down her throat, into her stomach and then rushing out to her extremities. A warmth of feeling settled in her as she smiled again at the bartender and requested another.

Another was served and another was downed. Joanna was now feeling more positive about the meeting. In fact, she was ready for it. Where was Greg? Spotting him in the corner at a human sized table - oh good, she didn’t want to sit at a tiny table - she ordered one last drink and wandered over to him, drink in hand. Plonking the glass noisily down on the dirty table, she collapsed haphazardly into the open seat, and smiled up at him. “Hiya Greg,” she started, very informally and at her usual raised volume, “this place is very dirty you know?” Beckoning him forward with a floppy hand, she lowed her voice to a guilty whisper, “but their drinks are very good.” With a laugh she took a drink from her glass. What had she even been nervous about in the first place? This was great.

@Gregoire Cartier

Getting into community outreach was easy for Gregoire, he'd been basically doing it for as long as he could remember, now he was just doing it more officially. He'd always tried to help people when he thought they might need it, he was charitable and giving, and far from selfish, but he'd also never really been in a position to do more until now. He was finally what his parents would of called "stable" and able to help out even more. He had spent weeks going to small meetings and gatherings until he finally found a way to get a foot in the door with the ministry and other programs around London. He had met some interesting characters, donated some sickles, but he still wanted to more. It was about more than just giving money to some organization. He wanted to help create something that would actually make a difference in the world. He truly wanted to give back. When he met Ms. Hennings at a function he started to think maybe this was a way he could do it. She had ideas, he could tell, but she also had a way about her that made him feel like she was serious. She wasn't just blowing smoke to garner support for some election or another (Gregoire loved politics, hated politicians). She was real, and he could get behind that, even if she did dress entirely too fancy.

He thought she was someone who he could work with to create some good in the world. Especially after she agreed to meet him in a place like the Goblin Hole. Not that he was manipulative or deceiving but in a way it was kind of a test. Anyone who was just trying to impress the populace or craft some kind of do-gooder image wouldn't of set foot in this part of Diagon Alley let alone inside the only Goblin run establishment for miles. It was dirty and smelly and full of crime but also it was authentic. It was a true picture of the current state of things. The elitist witches and wizards in their high towers had gotten them all into this mess but the Goblin Hole was full of real people with real problems and occasionally real solutions. They didn't judge her based on how pure your blood was or if your cloak was expensive. It was a good place for this sort of thing, the French man had concluded.

Getting there a little early (purely by accident, not planning) the artist got himself a beer and found a human sized table in a relatively quiet corner for them to talk. He was a little bit nervous to speak with her. It would be obvious right off the bat he wasn't good at this, he wasn't a politician or a particularly smart person but he was extremely friendly and quite creative. He was a hard worker who was willing to put in the time to do something worthwhile. He hoped she wouldn't dismiss him for lack of proper education or even for the way he was dressed. Black slacks with a bit of paint the latest round of Scourgify couldn't get off, a button up faded gray and blue plaid short sleeve, and a worn baseball cap weren't exactly what one might think to wear during a business meeting. Then again, when your typical business is tattoos and naval piercings he was actually a bit over dressed.

He was half way through his beer when she arrived and he was nearly finished with a sketch on the napkin he hadn't yet realized was stuck to the table. He looked up just in time for her fall into her seat and he took note of her drink before giving her a goofy grin. "Hello Ms. Hennings." He said softly, wondering if he should actually call her by her first name. They weren't very close but they were close enough to meet in a random pub so he figured it couldn't hurt. "Joanna." He followed up, another crooked smile crossing his bony face. "Yes, yes they are." He couldn't help but chuckle at her impression of the Goblin Hole because it was one hundred percent true. "Just remember two things:" He said, leaning in to drop his voice down and joke back he held his tattooed fingers up as he counted them off. "Don't touch anything you don't have to and I'm paying for drinks." Leaning back into his chair he let his arms rest casually on the surface of the table, not much minding the stickiness. He had been to a lot worse places. "Did you have trouble finding the place?" He asked politely, small talk, as he finished the rest of his beer. "Should we get right down to business or maybe could we get to know each other a little more first? If were going to be working together I should probably know a little about you, right?" His words may have given the wrong idea but his tone and the pleasant friendly look on his face told another story.

"I know, how's about a drinking game?" As always the near-drunk adult wizard chose to break the ice with more alcohol. Just in time (and not because she wanted to be) the smallest of Goblin waitresses passed by them and Gregoire caught her attention. She rolled her emerald green eyes but took the order anyway when he asked for a round of firewhiskey shots and waddled on her way to the bar. "You tell me something about yourself and if it surprises me I'll drink and then vice-versa." Time to break some preconceptions. "Whatcha' think?"

Oh, no, no, no, no, no. Miss Hennings would not do! Why did people always try and call her that? Joanna pursed her lips disapprovingly but then he corrected himself and made her facial expression redundant. She made up for it by downing the remnants of her drink so that she could be disapproving over her lack of alcohol. Yes, that made complete sense. A sober, sensible Joanna would have insisted that Greg did not need to pay. She was completely capable of paying for herself. Com-plete-ly. She had a job. A good job. She needed no man. In-de-pen-dent and free as a bird. Joanna could also go flying too. Wait, what had she been about to say? Had she been about to say something? Was her mouth open, that was usually a sign of talking. Oh yes. “That sounds very sen-si-ble,” she said, emphasising and separating each syllable of ‘sensible’. Her attention promptly drawn away from the conversation, Joanna watched, horrified, as Greg placed his bare arms on the table. Would he ever be able to peel them off without leaving a layer of skin behind?

She herself was not too convinced that leaving her seat would be possible. A permanent sticking charm based on sheer grime and emphasised by her own slight - very, very slight - inebriation making it slightly wobbly, and therefore unappealing, to stand. She would be stuck there all night. Maybe later on she could just fall to the side and roll out? While that sounded fun in theory, Joanna could not even look at the floor without wanting to gag, never mind the idea of lying on it. “Oh no, I just followed the smell of cheap booze and mould down diagonally. Diagonally. Di-a-gon. All-ey.” She replied sarcastically, although the sarcasm was a little lost with her inability to say Diagon Alley. It was hard though. What stupid person thought that was a clever name? Same with nocturnally. She was meant to be making a good impression, part of her brain cried. As a serious woman. Not the tipsy mess that she must currently be if she was struggling to pronounce words. Inebriated Joanna batted the thought away. She was fine. She was just fitting in with her surroundings. Like any good member of law enforcement.

Face lighting up at Greg’s suggestion, Joanna enthusiastically nodded. “Yes. I like to know who I’m working with. Too many run ins with those that are pretending to be something they’re not,” she explained, before turning her voice into a hiss, “like Death Eaters pretending they’re all reformed now. Lying hypocrites.” Were they actually hypocrites? Who knew, Joanna was having trouble actually thinking what the word meant beyond a negative at that moment. But it was important that Greg knew her thoughts on them. It was important everyone knew about the lying Death Eaters who were roaming around spreading their evils. Like the evil sadists they were.

“I’ve not played a drinking game in years!” Joanna cried joyfully, “this will be fun.” She waited for Greg to place an order in with the goblin waitress and turned her head to watch her heading back to the bar. Good. The firewhiskey shots were being poured straight away. That was unusually good service for this place as far as she was aware. Goblins were not known for taking orders well. Joanna had been served three drinks promptly by the barman so why she was convinced this next round would not turn up was nonsensical. Clearly she was badly wanting another drink. Enough to visually stalk the waitress until Joanna could clearly see she was following through with delivering drinks back to the table.

She laughed at Greg, “okay, I’m game for that. But let’s make it better. I’ll tell you three things about myself, and one will be a lie. If you can guess what it is you win. If you can’t, you drink. But,” she smiled slyly, “I’ll tell you a secret. You can drink regardless!” She winked exaggeratedly, and not just because Joanna was having a bit of trouble with the control of only closing one eye. Delighted that the next noise she heard was the clinking of lots of tiny, little glasses, Joanna turned round to see the waitress approaching with a tray laden in shot glasses. Oh Merlin. There was no way she was apparating back to Audlem tonight. While sober Joanna would have immediately considered where she was going to stay instead and begin worrying if there were any rooms left at The Leaky Cauldron, present Joanna was confident it would all be fine.

Carefully grabbing two shots off the tray - she could be free with her movements when it didn’t have the potential to waste alcohol - she passed one to Greg and kept one. “For luck!” Joanna announced loudly, raising it up in silent cheers then tipping it down her throat. The more you had the less burny the burn was as it went down. It became rather pleasant actually. A smokey sort of taste, with a pinch of wood and… yeah, who was Joanna kidding. She knew nothing of whiskey tasting. It tasted like whiskey. Yummy, but with indistinguishable flavours. “Okay, I’ll start,” she said loudly, reaching across to collect another shot. “Let me think.”

What could she say? It was weird the way a mind goes blank when asked to come up with lies. To be honest, she forgot to think for a moment and just gazed at her next drink. This was so fun! So nothing depressing or serious. Don’t spoil things Joanna! “Emmmmm, okay,” she started, playing with the empty shot glass in her hands. The grease smeared across it, and with every turn transferred more onto her fingers. “I absolutely love the Appleby Arrows. I don’t go anywhere without a bag of sweets and,” she paused, thinking, “I own a duck named Quackie. He loves to quack.” Caught trying to think through her lie, Joanna added more random information that popped into her head. “You can’t actually feed them bread, you know. It swells up in their tummies and then they get all sick. Don’t feed Quackie bread.” She smiled, this was so fun!

"I like the way you think." He said with a cheers sort of tone in his voice when she told him he could drink either way, which he wholeheartedly intended to. He held his glass up before downing some more of the courageous fluid and then agreeing to play her game. He was already looking forward to learning more about her but this would be an even better way to do that. Maybe he'd guess right, maybe he'd guess wrong, but either way it was sure to be entertaining. The French wizard leaned back in his chair as she began to tell him her two truths and a lie and he really paid attention to them. Even going so far as to try and watch her facial features, expressions, pretending like he was some kind of inspector who could actually pick up on the nuances of things like that.

Which he absolutely wasn't.

He chuckled when she told him the story about Quackie and leaned back against the table. "No you don't..." He began, taking another swig before reconsidering, "Wait...do you?" That was way too much detail to be a lie, right? Gregoire narrowed his pale blue eyes at her for a moment, turning his glass in a circle on the table as he thought about it. The little chunks of terribly made ice sloshed around inside, clinking against the dirty glass like the thoughts rolling around in his mind. "Well the duck has to be real so I'm going to guess that the bag of sweets is a lie." He looked around, at the floor and at the chair behind her, searching for some semblance of a bag that might be chocked full of cauldron cakes before leaning back again.

"Am I right?" He asked, glass at the ready, though he was still planning to drink either way.