losing ground. [charlie]

It'd been... well it'd be a very long time since Nessa Jade Regan had graced the streets of muggle Dublin with her presence. Despite living not ten walking minutes away from it (or two point three apparating seconds, if they'd let her pop down in the middle of main street) the witch rarely ventured into this unknown land. Cork was plenty for her, it was her little slice of hidden pocket magical Dublin and she had everything she needed there. Her job was there, her workshop was there, her apartment was there -- not that she'd been spending much time at the latter lately. She'd been too busy trying her damnedest to get the latest of her little potion experiments to work. Nessa was a lot of things, she always had been, but she was far from an underachiever. The young witch did whatever it took to excel at whatever she was attempting despite whatever sacrifices she may have had to make along the way. And over the years those sacrifices were many. She had very few friends, and even less that weren't blood related, and it'd been near a decade since she'd been in anything even remotely resembling a relationship. She'd always put academic matters first, social life be damned, and she was far too proud to admit she was lonely.

Of course the loneliness reared it's ugly head every now and then, usually after a few too many glasses of wine. Certainly by the next morning she was back to her mad science projects, hang over or not. Today was just another one of the steps in her mission to finally achieve that coveted Nimue title from the elusive Potionmaster's Guild. She'd been a member since she graduated, climbing the first few ranks easily, but these last few were proving to be especially difficult. If there was something to win, something to be best at, Nessa couldn't rest until she had it. She had to be on top, she was an overachiever in every sense of the word. And she'd do whatever it took, even if it meant meeting a shady contact in an even shadier place: a muggle diner. He couldn't even be decent enough to call it a cafe, it was nothing short of a greasy spoon, which meant they were sure to serve the most awful smelling types of food and not nearly enough whiskey. Of course, to a less annoyingly neurotic witch the place might have been the same thing but Nessa had always been entirely too invested in the details. It made her great at her job but terrible at pretty much everything else.

Today's attire was an excellent example of how, despite her higher than average intelligence, Nessa could often be entirely clueless. She was dressed head to toe in a full on witchy outfit; cloak and all. Pointed ankle high laced black boots were met by dark nearly-black sheer stockings. She had on a neatly hemmed dress that landed just above her knees, showcasing her toned legs. The dress was a soft form fitting black fabric with a hem in just the right place to accentuate her curves. The neck line was split with a barely solid lace pattern down the middle, leaving little to the imagination and the same lace fabric wrapped her thin arms and the sides of the skirt where a slit would normally be. Wrapped around her shoulders was a perfectly tailored crimson red cloak with silver fasteners. Nessa was nothing if not properly accessorized. The witch, as always, had entirely too many hand crafted rings hanging from a long silver chain around her neck. Each one of the 'Beckon Rings' as she called them, was magically enchanted to link to one of her patients, so that she would be notified should they be in need of her care. Long silver earrings dangled among her perfectly curled long deep brown hair. Her nails and make up were expertly manicured in dark tones, of course. The least 'formal' part of her outfit was an adornment pinned to her lapel. A button she'd found some time ago that made her smile, a twisted version of the muggle Doctor's code.

Nessa mistook the double takes and prolonged looks she was getting as she crossed the cracked asphalt road to the diner as pure interest (she had confidence for days) and huffed as she read the sign on the window. "Eddie Rocket's, home of the Pound O' Pie contest". Rolling her eyes the witch pushed opened the door and tried to ignore her senses as she was assaulted by the smells of what she had to assume was deep fried everything. In one fell swoop she unclasped her cloak, seated herself (despite the sign), and refused a menu (she would not be eating). Her contact was supposed to be there any moment and honestly sooner would be better. She checked the time on her tiny silver watch, over and over, until she realized she'd been sitting there for a half an hour. A waitress had come along once or twice to offer her a drink, because in a place like this you had to order something to stay, but she'd stated she was waiting for someone. There was only one thing worse than being stood up -- other people, strangers even, knowing that she had been stood up. Irritated and annoyed the dark witch pulled herself out of the sticky vinyl booth seat and began to re-clasp her cloak unaware of her surroundings. In a huff she accidentally knocked into the man standing behind her, he was talking to someone but she had been oblivious, elbow deep in his back she sighed loudly again and spun around. Before she could say something hurtful, taking her aggression out on a stranger in a particularly Nessa Regan type way, she saw something familiar in the man. A face she hadn't seen up close since she was back at Hogwarts, not that she'd missed his mug plastered all over the Daily Prophet lately.

"Charlie?"

@Charlie Baker

He was early, too early to get away with turning up now, so Charlie decided to stop in and get something to eat before continuing on to Sam's place. He was on his way to see the birthday boy to deliver Sam’s present in person: a pair of tickets to the upcoming Wigtown match against Gravesend, supposedly one of the biggest games this season because both teams were within a shot of winning the League. Charlie had even brushed up enough on his Quidditch knowledge to know that Sam's girlfriend's team -- the Falcons, he reminded himself, he’d really made an effort here -- were currently in the top spot. Well done her.

Normally he'd just give Sam something stupid, like that hideous lamp he'd received from the Irishman the year before last, but Charlie knew they weren't quite back in a place where joke gifts would be okay, yet. He hadn't had a clue what to get his oldest friend, seriously, until he'd had a fortuitous encounter with a Gravesend player and been struck with the idea. It might have been suspicious under normal circumstances, Charlie knowing anything about the current state of the League, buying Sam tickets to see the right team (he’d known Sam since they were eleven, something had to stick by this point), and offering to go with him -- but Charlie had offended Sam deeply with his continued inability to be faithful and subsequent divorce, so hopefully Sam would attribute all of this niceness to Charlie trying to sort his shit out.

He hadn't eaten and didn't want to hold out on the expectation that Sam would feed him -- more punishment, justly deserved, probably -- so he nipped into the first alright looking cafe he saw. It looked less alright on the inside, but it would do. Charlie was greeted by a waitress, followed her towards a table while making polite conversation--

He felt a solid nudge in his back, muttered a “Sorry,” without really glancing at the person, too focused on the waitress he’d been talking to--

Charlie?

He froze. Charlie had intentionally avoided wizarding Dublin, knowing his personal life was still very much in the public eye (and frankly, growing sick of it). There was absolutely no reason for any witch or wizard to be in here unless-- it was another fucking reporter, trying to catch him off guard and get a comment for their gossip rags. “For fucks sake, what?” he snapped, turning to face the source of the voice. The waitress behind him shrunk into the background, presumably assuming he and the woman he’d turned on were acquainted somehow and not wanting to get in the middle of anything.

Charlie frowned at the brunette -- she was familiar to him, but his expression softened as he came to the conclusion that she wasn’t a journalist he recognised. But-- Then it came to him. He blinked in disbelief. “Nessa?” he asked hesitantly. “Shitting hell.”

“I--” he turned back to the waitress, waved her off in a dismissive sort of way, turned back to Nessa, gave her a head-to-toe once-over. Christ, was she trying to get arrested by the Ministry for exposing herself to muggles? “Sorry,”  he apologised belatedly for his charming greeting, “I thought you were-- nevermind. What are you doing here?”

“For fucks sake, what?”

Almost as soon as she'd spoke his name she'd begun to regret it. Nessa knew it would have been easier, more logical even, to just keep walking right out of this horrible place. She could of salvaged the rest of the afternoon back at her workshop and forgotten all about being stood up in her own personal hell. Instead she just kept digging and found a whole new ring of it to suffer in. Hearing his harsh words she took a step back instinctively and her face turned to a bit of a scorn. Eyes narrowed on him and her hands crossed in front of her with a typical Nessa sass as he turned about.

For a split second she nearly panicked, what if he didn't remember her at all? What a cherry on top of this shit show sundae that would have been if he didn't even recognize her. Inside she died a little thinking he might have just assumed she was a fan. Oh Merlin what if he offers an autograph, she thought to herself as her stomach turned. Of course she didn't hate his music, she had ears after all, but because of her horrible personality she couldn't admit that out loud. Not right off the bat anyway.

As he came to the realization of who she was the dark witch began to realize she'd put the arm of her cloak in something sticky while she was sitting a moment ago. The frown on her face intensified as she uncrossed her arms to inspect what she was assuming was some kind of syrup on the underside of her arm. Rolling her eyes and sighing as he asked what she was doing there Nessa's eyes turned back to him. "Regretting all of my life decisions, clearly." Her sarcasm was nearly as sticky as the syrup that had formed nasty little beads in the once soft fabric of her expensive cloak. She wasn't trying to be funny, but it could of been taken that way. She showed him the stickiness that made her want to shed her cloak and cast a particularly spiteful Incendio on this entire establishment before speaking again.

"I could ask the same of you?" Peering around him to see if he was alone but she assumed one of the awful buddies he was constantly hanging around back at Hogwarts was in tow. Somewhat surprised that he was alone she found his face once more and continued. "Didn't expect to run into anyone here, honestly." He'd aged, they both had since those days, but in a way she sort of preferred this more rugged less baby faced version of him. It was obvious he'd been through some things, it was written all over his expression, and in a strange way Nessa felt odd for knowing some of it. Life in the public eye must of been so strange. She couldn't imagine strangers, or worse people from her past, knowing all about her present. She half wondered if she should pretend to know nothing or if that would make her seem too oblivious.

Charlie’s gaze followed Nessa’s to her forearm, his nose wrinkling at the mystery substance on her cloak. If he knew her better he might suggest she remove it (partly because it was dirty, and partly because it was fucking weird to be swanning around muggle Dublin in a cloak). Unfortunately they weren’t – and never had been – friends, and given his notoriety he didn’t think she’d take his suggestion to mean what he intended. His mouth fell into an easy grin at her words, however. He was certainly regretting several of his life decisions, if not all of them. “You and me both,” he offered.

“Hm?” he glanced around to where she was looking, realising belatedly that she was checking if he was alone. Charlie raised an eyebrow at her as he turned back to face her, a little uneasy about her curiosity. “Eating,” he answered, with unnecessary bluntness. “Catching up with Sam later,” he added in an attempt to soften his response – he was assuming Nessa remembered who Sam was from their schooldays, but even if she didn’t, she probably now knew who he was from their post-schooldays. “It’s his birthday.”

“Neither,” he admitted, still not sure why she was in a place like this – dressed like that. Charlie gave the witch another once-over, a little more leisurely now that they appeared to be being friendly. He felt like he could do with all the friends he could get at this point. Nessa looked enough like her teenage self that he’d recognised her almost immediately, but there was something different – he just couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. Or maybe she was just reminding him of someone he’d recently met – dark hair, light eyes, olive skin...

“Are you— have you eaten?” he asked, conscious of the fact they were standing in the middle of the aisle when a waitress brushed past him and shot him a filthy look for being in the way.

She half laughed when he joined her in her regrets and felt herself ease just a little. The fact that they had almost been an almost something once upon a time made it more awkward than it probably should have. It would have most likely been less awkward had they shagged and broken up than it was to have nearly dated and then ignored each other for the next few years. Finding a way to over think things that never happened was part of Nessa's charm, that and her biting hospitality of course. "Ah, Sam." She started, trying for the sake of pleasantries to hide her real feelings about any of the wizards she used to see Charlie around all the time. She barely met any of them, not really, but she was judgmental so naturally she thought she had them all figured out. "Tell him I said happy birthday." It felt odd coming out of her mouth but she'd said it anyway. She could act like a civil person for half a minute, it wouldn't kill her.

Trying not to look surprised when he asked if she'd eaten she looked around the place. "Here?" She said, the sharpness surfacing once more before she cleared her throat. "No I haven't, have you?" She backed up against the booths behind her to clear a path for a women balancing entirely too many plates and wondered how she was able to do such a thing without magic. Muggles were strange, as if carrying things physically wasn't bad enough they just had to keep upping how much they could lift. And for what purpose?

"We should sit... not in that one though." She gave the booth that had tainted her cloak the kind of stare that could kill and continued. "How about here?" She said quickly, wanting out of the aisle but not realizing she was being a bit commanding now. Nessa was a smart witch but she was just awful when it came to being normal in social situations. She should of probably waited for him to invite her to sit but instead she just had to take control of the situation. Pulling the cloak of her shoulders she avoided the mystery substance while folding it neatly and setting it on the far end of the seat. "Remind me to burn that later." She said with a smirk.

"Do you eat here often?"

When she laughed Charlie almost second guessed whether it was with him or at him (recent notoriety meant either option was likely), but he decided it was the former, and relaxed a little more for it. The way she said ‘Sam’ didn’t fill him with any great confidence that she knew who he was talking about, but she asked him to pass along her best wishes and he nodded -- he wouldn’t, of course. The last thing Charlie needed was Sam wondering why he was anywhere near Nessa Regan, or indeed any woman other than Fflur right now (not that Fflur was exactly allowing him near either).

He followed her gaze around the room. “Er, yeah.” Wasn’t the flashiest place he’d eaten but it probably also wasn’t the worst. “No, not yet-- I was just about to.” Another waitress impatiently pushed past them. He hadn’t really thought about what he was doing -- asking if she’d eaten, insinuating that they should eat together -- but the Irish witch didn’t seem appalled or offended by the notion, taking the lead and suggesting they sit. “Yeah,” Charlie gestured for her to pick a table to her liking and he followed, sliding into the booth opposite her.

The musician kept his hands under the table, his right leg bouncing awkwardly. Now what? His eyes flicked to the brunette when she told him to remind her to burn her cloak and he couldn’t help grin -- mostly because he was thinking he’d happily tell her to do so without her having put her arm in whatever it was that had been on that other table. ”Sure,” he smirked, resting back against the booth.

“No, I’ve never been in here,” he admitted, dark eyes darting around the restaurant. “Was just avoiding--” he stopped himself, stared at her. He cleared his throat and lowered his gaze, then slid a laminated menu across the table to her. “Do you?” he glanced back up at her.

"Do you think I come here often?" She bit back sarcastically, the grin of a serpent spreading across her face. "Though apparently they have the best Pie this side of Rathgar..." Manicured nails pointed out the little cardboard sign on the table proclaiming that the diner had at least 32 types of pie in stock. Using as little of the tip of her fingers as possible she flipped through her menu quietly and tried to pretend this wasn't at least a little bit weird. How had they gone from accidentally bumping into one another to suddenly having lunch together so quickly. Especially in this filthy diner of all places. Nessa was second guessing the conversation, replaying it in her head and wondering if there was some way to wiggle out of this vinyl seat gracefully.

Turning her gaze back up to look at him she chewed on the inside of her lip. Her gesture might have looked like nervousness, and in a sort of way it was, but really it was an undying need to pry. She had to ask, she couldn't let his half finished comment go. She pursed her lips, about to ask, when the waitress with the world's best timing popped up at their table. She asked for orders, her little pad of paper had scribbles all over it, both front and back. Nessa wondered how she even kept it organized. It looked chaotic and that annoyed her.

"Coffee please, black." She turned back toward the menu honestly having no idea what to order. The pie looked appetizing, she'd be lying if she claimed otherwise, but was she willing to risk it. Oh fuck it, she thought to herself, "And a slice of pie." Maybe she'd catch some muggle disease, but she hoped it'd be worth it. The Irish witch waited for him to finish and for the waitress to weave right back down the aisle to where the kitchen was. Nessa tried to put the look of the chef behind the little window out of her mind as he wiped a bit of sweat from his brown on the fabric of what used to be a white apron.

Looking back to him she finally asked the question she was dying to ask. "So... what were you avoiding?" She prodded, poking her nose into his business because she didn't understand boundaries. Of course he had to know she probably knew more about his social life than he did of hers. He was famous after all, something she tried to pretend didn't impress her.

Charlie grinned, shaking his head. “No, it erm-- doesn’t look like your usual,” he smirked half-heartedly. He followed her finger to the sign and his eyebrows rose in surprise. He let out a low whistle, sarcastically; “Thirty-two, Christ.”

Nessa had drawn her menu closer to flip through it, and after a sneaky glance at her while she wasn’t looking -- she was prettier than he remembered from school, though his memory was likely tainted somewhat by her snubbing him in the first place -- he pulled his own menu to his edge of the table to peruse.

It was weird, though, wasn’t it? Sitting here with someone he hadn’t spoken to in… however many years it was, he wasn’t sure and he couldn’t be bothered working out the maths. He was about to say something about it -- it being having lunch together -- but as he lifted his head to speak one of the bubbly (sarcasm) waitresses appeared at their table asking for their order.

Coffee please, black. Charlie bit back a joke about it matching her very witchy attire, and added his own request: “Tea, please, and a full Eng-- breakfast.” He pressed his lips together, putting the menu back in the holder. God forbid he say full English in Ireland, he might get lynched. Either the waitress hadn’t picked up on his faux pas, or she’d chosen to give him a reprieve, because she jotted it down and wandered off.

“What?” Charlie’s head snapped back to Nessa, gawking lightly at her. “Erm,” he cleared his throat, glancing at the bar across from them rather than looking her in the eye. “People,” he answered vaguely but honestly, flicking his attention back to her. He offered her a small, lopsided smile.

“And you? What’re you doing over this way?” This way obviously meaning the non-wizarding part of Dublin.

While she could of hid her disdain for his breakfast request Nessa found it more amusing to stick her nose up at him instead. She shook her head quietly as the waitress went off on her way to the kitchen to place their orders. The other woman may have been able to forgive him for his indiscretions for the sake of a tip, but Nessa wouldn't be so kind. She tucked her menu away in it's holder as he answered her question and quickly asked one of his own. She wasn't going to let him off that easy. Now that she'd given in to her curiosity she was on a collision course. She brushed off his questions quickly with a wave of her hand and then folded them together on the table. "I was supposed to meet a potential client here." She took another disdainful look about the place and then turned back to him. "Trust me, it won't happen again."

Sitting up straight in her seat the vinyl beneath her squeaked and squished and she frowned. "I've seen your name in the papers quite a lot lately." She began, trying to pretend like his popularity didn't impress here even a little. The witch waffled between respecting how far he'd come and finding his choice of professions childish. It would be a lie to say she didn't find the whole thing fascinating either way. She had never been gifted in music, she could barely sing in the shower without her owl breaking things in the other room, so of course she felt some sort of envy toward his obvious talents. And yet, she was too much of a bitch to tell him she was happy for him, even with them being basically strangers at this point.

"You're band, I mean." She had seen the other things, but she wasn't trying to make this conversation as awkward as possible. "You're releasing a new album or something right?" The waitress dropped off their drink orders and Nessa took to dropping a few ice cubes into hers to make it drinkable as fast as possible. It made it taste more awful than before, but she wasn't exactly drinking it for the flavor. It was an efficient means of getting the caffeine she needed to stay up late and get things done. Normally the witch would of spelled the ice into her glass, using her finger to magically stir it about, but none of those things were possible today and she rolled her eyes at the idea of doing it manually. With her spoon in hand she lifted the cubes out of her water glass, they sloshed, a few fell onto the table, and then finally plunked into the steaming mug. It was probably the least graceful thing she'd do all day. "Muggles." She huffed. It was the little things that irritated her most, she didn't have time to do these things by hand, that was what magic was for.

"What is it like? Being in the spotlight?"

Charlie didn’t miss Nessa’s reaction -- he offered her a lopsided, apologetic sort of smirk in response. 

It occurred to him at this precise moment that he had no idea what Nessa did for a living. “A client?” he parroted, before breaking into a soft grin. He looked around the restaurant. “Yeah, doesn’t seem like your cup of tea.” Not that he really knew what that was anymore -- ever, really. He’d snogged her a few times, she had too many siblings and cousins to count, and she was Irish, that was the limit of his knowledge about her, really.

Charlie had been staring into the middle distance when she brought up the papers. He snapped his attention to her. “Er, yeah.” There was no point in denying it, or trying to. He sat, staring at her patiently -- waiting to see if there was a question coming with her statement or if she was just making an assessment of his infamy—

His band. Oh. “Yeah,” he said, for the third time in as many moments, nodding. “Well, hopefully,” he backtracked, realising now that he was likely going to scrap anything he’d written pre-divorce (not that he’d shared any of it with the boys yet anyway). It was one thing releasing songs about ex-girlfriends, quite another to be crooning about ex-wives. “We’ll have to see, I suppose,” he admitted, sitting back in his side of the booth and rubbing at the side of his neck.

Everything was so fresh he hadn’t had a chance to think about any of it -- in fact, he wasn’t sure how Nessa even knew there had been anything in the works. It took him a minute to figure out she might have just been giving him an out -- backtracking herself after bringing up his column inches.

Their drinks arrived and Charlie pulled his tea close, adding a splash of milk and stirring it in. He watched the witch across from him attempt to cool down her coffee (if that’s what she was doing) and tried to keep a straight face as she muttered muggles. Her next question caught him off guard -- he was still staring amusedly at the sacrificial ice cubes melting on the table between them. “Er—” He gazed out the window. “Honestly?” he asked, glancing back at her. He tried to work out how to word it without sounding ungrateful. “Not— not what I thought it’d be. Like, some of it is, I suppose, but… I could do without living under a microscope.” He smiled wryly. “Pros and cons.”

"Oh, it certainly isn't." She told him with a bit of sass, but soon enough, her dark features broke into a slight smile. Although she had no plans of frequented such an establishment again any time soon, she was a little bit happy she had. It had been so long since she'd seen Charlie, well in real life since his picture was in the papers every other day it seemed, and it was refreshing. They had been out of Hogwarts for long enough that it seemed like nothing could be the same as it was back then. Idly she smoothed out her skirt from sliding into the vinyl and answered his sort of question. "Yes, client. Custom enchanting work, special orders only, you should stop by the shop in Cork some time." Nessa gave him a little smirk, she was always looking for that commission, and if the newspapers were any indication, he probably had the sickles to spare.

Brown eyes locked onto his face when she brought up the papers, searching his expression for any indications she might infer. "Well, that's nice." She said because she wasn't sure how to respond to his statement. Maybe she had misread the paper, or perhaps it was one of those trite gossip articles disguised as news again. She hated it when she took the time to read something only to find out it was far from based in fact. She sipped her coffee now that it had cooled off enough and set it gently back down. The lack of saucer was not lost on the witch, and she scoffed upon seeing the little ring of moisture it had left behind on the table.

"Ah," Nessa nodded, but it wasn't like she knew what he was going through or how it must have felt. She never had, nor would she, ever be famous for anything, well except for being a Regan she supposed, but that only meant something in Ireland these days. Either way, she tried to put herself into his shoes and realized she couldn't. "Well, better than being broke on the street, right?" She asked, resigning to the fact that she had very little in common with the man across the table from her. Well, besides the fact that they had dated once in Hogwarts, and even that she could barely remember. She assumed it was the same for him. It wasn't like they had been soul mates or anything. It had been a short-lived school romance if she could even call it that, and it was silly to be drudging it up like somehow it connected them now.

When their food arrived, she took an extended look at her piece of pie and wiped the fork off on her napkin, just in case. She eyed Charlie's breakfast with an arched eyebrow and pointed her fork at it. "You know that stuff will kill you, right?" The sheer amount of grease and cholesterol on his plate was enough to warrant the half-hearted advice. Then again, she realized as she looked at her plate, she hadn't entirely chosen a healthy meal either. Nessa should have known better than to try and get something to eat at a place like this. She half believed she'd end up getting some weird muggle disease from the whipped cream. Delicately she took the bite from her fork. Nessa chewed slowly as a surprised look came across her face. A slightly impressed "Not bad..." escaped her lips as she dipped the fork back into the pie to queue up another bite.

 

Charlie smirked, mostly to himself, as she pointed out one more time how much she didn’t fit in in this sort of establishment.

“Ah,” he said simply, lifting his tea to his lips and having a sip. “Don’t think I’ll be needing any new jewellery for a while,” he added, one side of his mouth twitching up into a weak smile – she’d all-but-admitted to knowing about his private life, so she had to know he’d just split up with his wife if she’d seen him in the papers quite a lot lately. He probably shouldn’t be joking about it with someone he barely knew anymore – or to begin with – but he’d have to just hope Nessa wasn’t the type to sell him out. “Next time I’m in Cork,” he offered, trying to be polite – tainting it slightly by smirking at her again.

“Mm,” he agreed, mostly because he didn’t have anything to add – it would be nice, though, to get back in the studio properly with the boys, get back on the road and away from all of the shit he’d managed to land himself in.

Charlie laughed – insensitively, he realised in hindsight, and cleared his throat. “Yeah, you’re right,” he nodded, sipped at his tea and wet his lips. “Should be grateful, shouldn’t I?” he asked rhetorically. “Could be working here,” he smirked at her knowingly, sitting up sharply and pressing his lips together as their waitress arrived at that moment to deliver their food. His eyes met Nessa’s across the table and he tried not to laugh again, waiting for the other woman to leave them.

With a smile still playing across his lips, Charlie picked up his cutlery and was about to dig in—  “What?” he asked, glancing from her back to his plate, and back again. He lowered his gaze to her dessert-for-breakfast and raised an eyebrow at her. “Pot, kettle,” he told her, cutting up some sausage and shoving it in his mouth. As he chewed he watched her, evidently amused by the expression on his face. “It’s not actually gonna kill you,” he teased. “I mean, this might,” he gestured at his own breakfast, scooping some beans and mushrooms onto his fork, “but the muggles aren’t gonna kill you with a pie.” He smirked again. “They keep a stake out the back for that.”

Smirking Nessa took his words as a joke, it was dark, but still, a joke, and it amused her. The witch knew she was never going to get married; it was too much drama, too much paperwork. (And that was saying something because the organized witch loved her paperwork!). "Hold you to that," she commented simply, still smiling from across the table. Nessa had read all about his marriage exploits and the fallout in the papers, as much as she didn't care for the social nonsense, she was still informed. It was hard to miss when every other article was about Banshee or Charlie, not that she'd minded seeing his face moving across the front page now and then. So long as the others weren't really in the shot, she had picky tastes.

Leaning forward, she half whispered, half spoke, her disdain for this place was so ridiculously obvious they probably should have spit in her food. She was one of those unwelcome types of customers, nothing was good enough, she was judgemental about everything, and after they made and remade her food, she rarely left a good tip anyway. Nessa was a perfectionist to an annoying and abrasive level, and she expected nothing less. Part of the reason why she'd never set foot in such an... establishment. "Can you imagine..." She spoke dramatically, her eyes drifting toward the pack of waitresses who were getting things ready behind the prep counter.

Returning to the pie, she shrugged at his returning accusation and gave him a fiery smile before daintily taking a bite of cake from her fork. "Ha, I'd like to see them try." Nessa found his words amusing, and her smile reached her eyes. Absently she wondered if she had forgotten he was so clever or if she never really knew him all that well, to begin with. It was probably a mix of both, not that it mattered. "You should see what they do to lads who order English brekky in an Irish diner." She dared him, her eyebrows arching slightly as she teased. She pointed at his food with her fork again, forgetting her manners for a moment and just relaxing.

"I'd be lying if I said it doesn't look good, though," she confessed with another half-laugh. "Add a bubble and squeak, and you've got yourself an Irish breakfast."

“Alright,” Charlie smirked at her again; thinking he wouldn't mind if she wanted to hold him to something -- she looked like she could.

He followed her gaze to the gaggle of waitresses at the pass, lingering on one of the fitter ones’ backsides. “Don’t think I could pull off the uniform,” he commented breezily; the waitstaff were exclusively female, so they were all in those classic retro American diner style dresses that stopped just above the knee. He flashed Nessa another grin as he went back to eating his breakfast.

She joked along with him and Charlie laughed softly in reply. “Bet they’d shit themselves,” he offered around the bit of hash brown he was chewing on; he remembered Nessa being more than capable in their Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons. In fact, he vividly remembered seeing Sam get flattened by an awry curse when they were meant to be practicing shield charms -- he almost choked on his bacon at the memory, having forgotten about it until right now. Christ, how many years ago had that been? He washed it down with a sip of tea.

Charlie laughed again, more openly, at her next comment. "Yeah, wouldn't be the first time someone tried to poison me," he joked. "You wanna taste test?" he teased, nudging the plate half an inch (if that -- he didn't really want to share) towards her. "Mm," he wrinkled his nose, "not sure about that, cabbage for breakfast. Even if it is disguised in potato."

"You don't say," Nessa replied with a smirk as she took another bite from her pie. One thin eyebrow raised a little as she finished swallowing before speaking once more. "No, but thank you," The woman told him and considered offering him a bite of her pie but then decided against it. While she knew it might have been a polite thing to do, sharing food directly off her plate was not something she was interested in doing.

Moving on from that (terrifying) thought Nessa returned to what he had said a moment ago. "Do tell? Who would try to poison the great Charlie Baker?" She wondered if it had anything to do with the sorted stories she had seen about him the prophet. And if the headlines were any indication, she assumed the articles in the Witch Weekly were even worse.

Nessa didn't much care for the nonsense and gossip in the witchy magazine, but she'd have to be blind to avoid seeing the flashing magical headlines as she passed the newsstand in Cork on the way into the shop. The sparkling headlines used to say things like 'Merlin spotted downtown in a bathrobe!' or 'Why muggle electricity is causing hair loss!' but these days they seemed to be about Charlie Baker or some other member of Banshee. It made her slightly curious, but not interested enough to pay the sickles for a magazine.