Poise and rationality [Honey]

Alannah generally took the view that any issues between her mates and their girlfriends were not her problem, but things with Harlan were different – they were colleagues as well as friends.  The Griffins had their sights set on the championship and so couldn’t afford for their Captain to be affected by personal shit.  Besides, Al owed him a buttload of favours.  Although Harlan probably wouldn’t be too impressed with her doing this without his knowledge or consent, it just… felt like the right thing to do. 

The dumbass evidently had an aversion to labels, which only made Harlan’s relationship with @Honey Bea Flume  that much more fun for the team to tease him about.  Still, whatever they wanted to call it, clearly the pair were supposed to be exclusive, so Alannah could only imagine what kind of damage the rumours might do.  It wasn’t her fault at all, yet Al wouldn’t be able to help feeling somewhat responsible if things between them got screwed up.  This made it very important to her to set the record straight. 

There was something about sending a letter which had seemed way too awkward.  What would she even write?  'Hi Honey.  The Prophet is a bunch of lying assholes.  I am not fucking your boyfriend.  Sincerely, Alannah.'  The thought had been too cringeworthy for Al to put pen to paper.  Words had never been her strong suit anyway.  No, Alannah was an action-girl – which was how she found herself walking through Hogsmeade one late afternoon. 

The paper bag at her jean-clad hip clinked slightly as Alannah pushed open the door and stepped into the candy store.  Immediately, her eyes lit up at the sight of all the sweets and chocolates on display.  Later, she promised herself.  Maybe…  If things with Honey went badly then Al doubted that she would be a welcome customer – a tragedy she hoped to avoid. 

“Ummm, Honey?”  Alannah called out softly, spotting the telltale red hair across the room.  “Hi, I’m Alannah.  I –”  She hesitated, unsure how much introduction was required or what kind of reception she would receive.  Saying ’I work with Harlan’ seemed too formal, but it probably wasn’t an appropriate time to joke about being ‘the other woman’ either.  “Ah…  Peace offering.” Al said instead, holding up the bag. 

A lack of female friends meant that the brunette had no idea what the ‘girl-code’ would say to do in this sort of situation.  Should she bring chocolates? A tub of ice cream?  Should she offer to braid Honey’s hair?  Fucked if Al knew.  In the end she had gone with her gut and rocked up bearing a bottle of whiskey and a six-pack of beers, which she now placed on the counter between them. 

“Can we talk?”

Honey yawned, not bothering to cover her mouth with her hand. No one was there to see, not in the store, not passing by the large front windows; Honeydukes was quiet. She was leaning forward on the front counter, next to the till just in case someone decided to show and actually buy something, unlike the last two who had wandered in and only sampled. Normally Honey wouldn’t have minded, but it had been such a slow day and she needed some conversation, mostly. Her brother had moved out; Grace had been staying on and off because whatever new thing was going horribly wrong at the school, but they were in an ‘off’ time again; Harlan was busy with work like Honey ought to be.

The door opened and Honey leaned farther forward over the counter to get a look. She was about to welcome her in when she was spoken to instead, which wasn’t unusual, but wasn’t what she had been expecting either. Her eyebrows shot up with a, “Hmm?” She didn’t know her, whoever she was, felt like maybe she should. She didn’t need to worry about it for too long, however much she might have wanted to. Alannah Irish, from the sound of it; fit, from the looks. That Alannah.

Oh. Honey hadn’t met her properly yet; she wasn’t tagging along to formal quidditch things with Harlan quite yet. They weren’t being secretive about their relationship anymore, but they weren’t advertising it, either. There were a couple times she thought that they should, one time being after the article about Harlan and Alannah had run in The Prophet. Her boyfriend, his seeker, and their not-so-secret rendezvous. It wasn’t true, of course; Harlan was trying at this just as much as Honey was (and she told herself over and over that people cheated with her, not on her).

She straightened up and raised her eyebrows at the peace offering, looking from Alannah’s face to the bag to her face again. This was new territory for her; she didn’t usually have to deal with the ‘other woman’, whether it was an unfounded rumor or not. “We can, yeah,” she said after a few seconds, hoping she hadn’t already ruined it with her brief hesitation. “Do you—“ Honey didn’t know her or why she was really there, probably shouldn’t invite her into the kitchen; then again, she had had her fair share of public displays in the shop proper. “There’s more room in the kitchen.” Because talking required a lot of space, clearly.

Honey was willing to talk, which was a promising start.  Yet the invitation to step through into the kitchen filled Alannah with a moment’s unease.  It made sense that this was probably a conversation to have in private, but some part of her couldn’t help thinking – no witnesses.  The cute redhead didn’t look like the type to try and hit Al over the head and bake her into a pie…  but there was no predicting crazy sometimes.  Alannah had been surprised before about how violent some girls could get about their boyfriends.  Perhaps it would have been a good idea to tell someone where she was going to be…  No, don't be silly.  The brunette tried to smile in a friendly way and nodded, following Honey around behind the counter.

As they crossed the threshold into the kitchen, Alannah quickly blurted out, “Harlan doesn’t know I’m here.”  She figured that she should provide that disclaimer early, just in case this turned into a disaster.  There was no need for Harlan to be blamed for her poorly-thought-out actions.

Setting down the paper bag on the closest section of empty bench space, Alannah pulled out the bottle of whiskey and pack of beers.  Holding these out to Honey she enquired, “Beer?  Whiskey?  Both?”  Al was unsure if the other witch would know what a Boilermaker was but hoped that she’d agree that the subject of Harlan would be more palatable with some alcohol.  Belatedly she considered that maybe a candy-maker would prefer sweeter drinks and it would have been smarter to bring some kind of wine or fruity liqueur.  Girly drinks.  “Shit.  Sorry, I didn’t know what you’d like.”  Alannah apologised before Honey had a chance to respond.

“Harlan’s a really good guy, you know,” she offered awkwardly, shuffling her feet.  “I mean, of course you’d know.  Better than me, that is.  Of course.”  Alannah clamped her teeth shut to stem the flow of verbal diarrhoea streaming from her mouth.  It wasn’t going to help her case to appear nervous.  She was though, nervous.  Al didn’t want Honey to hate her.  Harlan was – or at least potentially was – an important part of both their lives.  For his sake it was best if they could find a way to get along. 

Honey led her into the kitchen, vaguely motioning to a set of counter-height stools across the room, in probably the cleanest area they would find. The kitchen was in a constant state of chaotic organization and it was no different now; there were trays and molds everywhere, test batches of new things and pre-prep for Easter things. She didn’t get very far through the door before she had to turn right around, look Alannah in the eye to make sure she had heard her right. Harlan didn’t know? Honey wasn’t sure who Alannah was trying to protect with that statement, her or her captain, but it was enough to move her this-won’t-be-that-bad feeling towards one of what-the-fuck. “Okay..?” She was skeptical, to say the least.

She looked from Alannah to the alcohol, considering for far longer than she needed to make a decision. She tried not to drink beer, if she could help it, and she didn’t usually go for whiskey right out the gate but desperate times, she supposed. (She also probably didn’t need to be drinking during open hours but what her mum didn’t know wouldn’t kill her.) “No whiskey’s fine,” she said, trying to sound reassuring but falling a little short. “Really.” She took the bottle, taking it with her across the room to grab a couple glasses; she could have summoned them but she wanted a few seconds to check the label without prying eyes; it wasn’t Scotch but it wasn’t Irish whiskey either, so it’d suffice. She wasn’t about to offer her own alcohol up for this, anyway.

Honey set the glasses between them and set to opening the bottle, not bothering to ask if Alannah would be having whiskey as well, but Alannah wasn’t bothering to genuinely explain why she was there. She paused, bottle still not open, and glanced up at her. Harlan’s a really good guy, you know. Honey raised her eyebrows — he certainly had his moments but she didn’t know if she’d go so far as calling him good — and waited for Alannah to stop talking before responding. “Yeah, I know.” She did assume she knew better than her, yes, but what did she want, for Honey to prove it?

She popped the top of the bottle and looked away long enough to pour them each a drink; she set the bottle down with a, “Look,” and held out a glass to Alannah. “You’re very pretty—“ hot, but now wasn’t the time— “But I don’t think you’re fucking him, if that’s why you’re here.” She didn’t see the need to tiptoe around it like Alannah was; she’d already been there a few minutes without making any actual points. Honey shrugged, tipped her glass back for a sizeable swallow.

Alannah pulled a face at being called pretty and wondered where the other woman was going with that - but then was pleasantly shocked and impressed by Honey’s bluntness.  It actually made a lot of sense that Harlan wouldn’t go for a timid or prudish type of woman.  “Oh..  Thank fuck!,” she replied with feeling, her mouth stretching into a wide grin.  “And here I was trying to think of a delicate way to bring it up.”  She relaxed a little, reclining back against the counter (and taking care not to put her elbows in anything).

“Just for the record though… no, I’m not fucking Harlan, never have nor ever will fuck him.”  Alannah shrugged and then took a moment to meet Honey's eyes with a serious look.  “Wanted you to hear that from me.”

It was hard for Al not to feel like a bit of an idiot for coming out with plans of making some heartfelt plea for understanding, only to be faced with Honey's brusque indifference about the issue.  That showed a lot of trust in Harlan -  or else Honey was really good at bluffing.  Alannah hoped it was the former.  "I came here so that if you had any questions or anything needed clearing up, I could..."  She laughed abruptly at the absurdity of the whole idea.  Clearing her throat, Al continued a tad awkwardly, "Dunno.  It all seems a bit unnecessary now that I'm here."

"For what it's worth, it's nice to meet you properly."  Alannah offered with a genuinely friendly smile.  "Harlan...  Well actually, he doesn't talk about you much - he's Harlan.  But I get the impression he really likes you."  She cringed internally at her choice of the word 'like'.  It felt a bit weird to be standing there with another human female and talking about boys and their feelings.  A drink was what she needed, or two (or three) but she hesitated, unsure whether Honey would want her to leave.  She crossed and uncrossed her arms, idly eyeing up the sweets around the kitchen and unsure what to do.  Under different circumstances it would have been pretty interesting to see behind the scenes.

Honey laughed, though in the past two minutes she had been determined not to like her. “Is there a delicate way to say that?” More delicate than she had done, probably, but it still would have been on the topic of one woman sleeping with another woman’s boyfriend. She was almost impressed that had been the reason for Alannah showing up -- to reassure her or whatever -- had it not been such a foreign experience. Honey made a point to put space between her and significant others (excluding her own, she supposed).

She took a sip of her drink, raising her eyebrows as Alannah clarified, somewhat unnecessarily, that she wasn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t want to sleep with Harlan. Honey was accusatory but she wasn’t insecure enough to think this was some sort of overcompensation from her to really drive the point home. She’d been mistaken for the other woman before -- and been the other woman more often -- but this wasn’t something she had ever tried.

She lowered her drink, nodded a little. “Thanks? I think.” She grinned, shrugged. “I can have more questions if you want.” She nodded again. “Make your trip worth it?”  She had more suggestions than questions, anyway, like if she was going to be making late night visits to her boyfriend she might try to be more careful about being noticed -- Honey had managed to do that for two years or so -- and failing that, stop making late night visits. But Alannah had good intentions, here, now (she thought) so she tried to hold off.

Honey smiled. “You, too.” Meeting Alannah hadn’t been at the top of her list, but she supposed it hadn’t hurt. She circled back around to Harlan -- was that really all they had in common? -- then, and Honey laughed. “He really likes me.” She covered her mouth as she shook her head. “Sorry, I--” It had just sounded absurd, really. “Merlin.” She shook her head again and scooched herself up to sit on the counter before taking another drink. She eye’d the drink she’d pour for Alannah, sitting untouched, then glanced at her, mostly recovered from the giggles. “I like him, too,” she said with a little smile. “So that’s a relief.” She smirked; she couldn’t stay serious for too long.

She nudged the other glass toward Alannah and had another sip from her own. “I get it--” she nodded again. “The paper being shit. The only time they said anything about me being at Harlan’s was the only time nothing had happened.” Not because she hadn’t tried, of course; it was another stop on one of many trips to London while drinking and making poor decisions. There were lots of other reasons to not love the paper, but they weren’t as lighthearted or Harlan-related.

Alannah dipped her shoulders in a shrug, attempting a smidge more nonchalance than she was actually feeling.  “You can quiz me on anything.”  She truly was prepared to candidly discuss anything that Honey wanted; however was grateful that the other witch didn’t seem inclined to draw out the awkwardness.  “My best subjects are Quidditch and false claims of infidelity,” she offered playfully, even raising her hands in a slight ‘bring it on’ gesture.  Humour seemed the best way to diffuse any tension and, from their interaction so far, Al was willing to risk that Honey was able to take a joke. 

It was rather adorable the way the red-head laughed at the comment about Harlan ‘liking’ her – and also very much in keeping with the schoolgirl vibe of the whole thing (although Alannah could tell that Honey thought it sounded a bit silly too).  Smiling apologetically, Al decided to roll with it.  “I won’t tell him,” she leant forward and whispered conspiratorially, “unless you want me to?”  Raising an eyebrow for effect, she added with a grin, “Maybe I can pass on a note?”

It was a relief to have made it this far into the conversation without incident.  Honey actually seemed quite likable and claimed to understand that the papers could be shit.  There was acceptance and invitation implied by that statement, as well as the way the second glass of whiskey was nudged in Alannah’s direction.  This had to be some kind of record for resolution of such a sensitive issue between two women.  Not that Al had ever made a genuine effort to try before. 

She picked up the glass gratefully and then knocked back half the contents in one gulp to catch up.  “Tends to be more fiction than fact…  ‘pparently there isn’t enough real news to fill out the pages, so they need to go around making up scandals.”  Alannah rolled her eyes derisively, making her opinion about the Daily Prophet clear.  Obviously, as she saw it, Honey must have had enough personal experience with the Prophet to justify feeling the same way.  In fact, Al had often felt a sense of solidarity with the other woman about it, even though they’d never had a chance to be acquainted until now.  If any two people could understand what it felt like to be falsely accused of promiscuity, it was Alannah and Honey.  “I never believed any of the crap they wrote about you,” she offered gently, referring to all of the men she’d apparently been hooking up with over the years. 

“Anything?” Alannah clarified and Honey laughed, matching her shrug. “Mine, too.” She wasn’t going to push her luck — she didn’t want to dig into this whole situation any deeper than she had done with Harlan already a few weeks ago — and ask anything else, though her interests were piqued at the implication there had been more than one false claims of infidelity. Maybe after a few drinks, if Alannah ever had any.

Honey laughed again when Alannah promised not to tell Harlan she liked him; could she pass a note along, though? “Yes, please,” she replied with another smaller giggle and an eye roll. “Let me go rip a page from my diary,” she said with a nod, not moving to actually do anything. “Are you any good at drawing little hearts?” Honey was — she considered herself incredibly artistic, after all — but that was beside the point.

Alannah finally picked up the glass — full of alcohol that she had provided, mind — and drained half, some sort of silent competition in consumption. Honey raised an eyebrow, more at the drinking than what she was saying next but she supposed it could have gone either way. It wasn’t the worst thing not having enough real news to fill out a paper, but she took another sip of her drink instead of pointing that out. It was still the most widely read anything and Honey still needed to put advertisements out, anyway.

“Ah—“ Honey managed something between a grimace and a gracious smile. The scandals laid out in the article about her were more fiction than fact, according to Alannah. They were the other way around, or course, but Honey didn’t think that would very well endear herself to the woman, who seemed personally affronted at the idea of infidelity. “It’s alright,” she said instead, shrugging a little. “My mum will never be the same after it but—“ she shrugged, able to laugh about it now that things with her parents were almost completely back to (what passed as) normal. “Thanks,” she finished, belatedly realizing that was the proper thing to do.

She wasn’t sure what else to say so she fell back on one of Alannah’s best subjects: quidditch. “You played for the Kestrals before, yeah?” It had been a good move, obviously, considering how poorly they were doing this season. She took another sip of her drink as her thoughts got a bit derailed. “You don’t have to live in England now, do you?”

“Little hearts?  Shit…”  Alannah chortled, deeply amused by how the joke had escalated.  She tried to reign back her laughter but every time she almost had it under control, the image of her Captain’s name surrounded by miniature love hearts (or how his face would look to receive such a message) would pop into her head and set things off again.  After a minute or so, she managed a breathy, “Sorry,” between chuckles.  Al finally cleared her throat and grimaced, “I’m not really any good at any of that cutesy love crap.”  The 25-year-old didn’t think she had ever sent a love note before in her life.  She tended to take a more direct approach with her crushes.

“Ooof,” Alannah winced sympathetically when Honey mentioned her mum.  She could only imagine how awkward that would be; no parent would be pleased to hear their little girl called a harlot.  “My parents don’t read the Prophet, thank god.”  It was one of the advantages of being a Muggleborn, that she could shelter her mum and dad from some of the unpleasantness that came with her fame.  Al typically didn’t keep much from them, but since they were the type of people who would totally write scolding letters to the newspaper she had decided not to open that can of worms. 

“Yeah,” she confirmed with a nod, pleasantly surprised that Honey knew a little about her background.  “But I was only a reserve,” Alannah clarified after a pause and another deep swig of her drink.  Talking about the Kestrels was still a bit uncomfortable for the athlete.  It hadn’t just been a job - it had been her childhood dream.  Even though things had turned out for the better, that sort of experience left ghosts.  “What?” Al laughed brightly at Honey’s unexpected question.  “Oh no, I don’t – I mean, I do live in England now, but not ‘cause I have to or anything.”  She scrunched up her face at the idea, then continued with a shrug, “I just thought it was better to get some distance, you know.”

“S’alright,” Honey said between a laugh and another sip of her drink. “Neither am I,” she conceded with a shrug, if one discounted all the cutesy love crap she had spent weeks and weeks making -- candy hearts, truffles in every shade of pink, heart shaped decorations for the chocolates that weren’t blatantly about love already -- for Valentine’s Day; she hadn’t celebrated it, anyway, so it didn’t really count against her.

She raised her eyebrows at Alannah’s parents not reading the paper; she knew there were people who said they didn’t support The Prophet and never subscribed, but the news still got around to them eventually; that left her parents in one of two categories: muggles or illiterate. Deciding it was the former, Honey smiled (and hoped they still got to go to quidditch matches -- how that worked was probably a question for another time). Her (muggle) grandparents didn’t read The Prophet either, which was all the better. It wouldn’t do to have Granny mad at her, too. One mad mum was enough.

Honey had another sip of her drink, pleased she’d been right about a seemingly useless quidditch fact. (She’d liked quidditch since before she had expanded her dating pool to include players). “Right well, loads of people don’t even make reserves.” She stopped herself short of saying anything bad about the Kestrals -- they weren’t Portree, of course -- for no real reason, though maybe she didn’t want to give Alannah any reason to dislike her, not if she was spending so much time with Harlan; Honey didn’t trust her yet, anyway.

“Too bad.” Honey mimicked her expression, scrunching up her face at living in England by choice. She could understand distance -- she’d had a stint in Switzerland and her parents lived in Spain -- but she couldn’t see herself leaving Scotland anytime soon, especially not for England. “Not really.” She shrugged, glancing around the kitchen. “Sort of always lived here.” Her parents owned the shop before she existed, which sort of made sense considering she was named after it; otherwise, they’d seem a little odd.

She had another sip of her drink before she set her glass down, pushing herself off the counter. “Do you want some sweets, or something?” Her need to provide good customer service was kicking in, despite herself. She couldn’t remember Alannah ever stopping by, couldn’t pinpoint what she’d want like she could with the majority of people who came in here. “I feel a little bad you had to come up here, especially because Harlan and I are fine.” There was a moment (or two) they hadn’t been (because of Alannah, initially, but then mostly because of Honey and Harlan). “Treacle fudge?”