Volya was back in Neroli, this time not on a holiday to seek out meaning in his life, but to find another person. He'd been pleasant the last time they talked, he'd been gracious enough to offer his home (and a room at his parent's inn) and he'd cared about the plight of the young man that lay beyond the single door of the Primavera Fiore. The bar was this slightly upscale affair in the wizarding village of Neroli, serving mainly drinks and cocktails, but did have a decent dinner crowd. There were rectangular tables and tufted chairs spread methodically around the centerpiece of the restaurant; a beautiful looking mahogany bar with "Primavera Fiore" etched on the side that faced the front door.
There had been no contact between him and
@Timofei Sidorov since the last time he'd been there. They'd talked about all manner of things within the flowery frescoed walls of the quintessentially Italian establishment, but he realized bitterly, to no end or decision on Timofei's part. He'd thought in his mind that they'd connected and that he'd affected the boy, but it was clear to him that the former Durmstrang student just talked around him without commitment to anything he said.
He walked across the wooden floors of the establishment, past the host's stand whom he gave a nod to, and strode up to the bar where a young brunette man was working, busying himself with filling drinks and talking with guests. "Hello, Timofei. Long-time, no see," he said knowingly as he straddled one of many tufted bar stools that lined the bar area, pulling himself up with his arms, and laying them folded across the bar.
"Enjoying your job still?" He inquired as his eyes bored into the back of Timofei's head. He was genuinely interested in hearing about Timofei's life in Neroli and remembered something he'd told him last time. "Those neighbors of yours still have a Chimaera?" He laughed as he said it.
"Two double fire whiskeys, please Timofei," he said in a customarily polite voice that told Tima that this was a guest asking and not an acquaintance. His fingers traced the dark wood grain of the bar as he waited for the young man in front of him to respond. He desperately wanted this conversation to mean more than their last chat.
