ride that wave

When Harlan had quite literally slid back into her life, and her former dates seat, tonight, Nessa had not imagined it would come to this. Joking with him, and letting him whisk her out of that situation, had been easy enough, but now that it was quieter and there wasn't the looming (and dramatic) return of her date, it was different. Nessa had enjoyed the familiar banter with him, the way smiled, and absolutely he took over a room, and even the way he teased her, and she worried if they spent too long on the subject of the past, the other Harlan would come out to play. The one she'd lied to so many years ago, the one that had broken her heart, not that she would ever admit it.

So she nodded, "Yeah, a good thing," Nessa replied, letting what he said go instead of assuming he was trying to start a fight as she might have so many years ago. Nessa always thought the worst back then, but she didn't need to anymore, and something was freeing about that. Other than the beer they had agreed on, neither one of them owed a thing to the other. Perhaps they were older and wiser.

Nessa grimaced when the witch who came to take their orders didn't write anything down but committed it to memory. The orders weren't all that complex, but the Regan witch had very little faith that the food would arrive at the table correctly. Turning back toward Harlan just as she felt his hand brush against hers, Nessa smiled. They might have been years older, more mature, and all of that, but the electricity that ran up her arm at the slightest touch was still as strong as it always had been.

"I have been well," She told him honestly; the business was thriving, she was healthy, her family was safe-ish, it wasn't as though she had nothing to complain about, Nessa Regan could always find something to be judgemental about, but all-in-all she was good. "Very busy with work, I run the shop in Cork now," When he had last known her, she was just another saleswitch working at her uncle's shop. And now, she was in charge, and she loved every minute of it.

Shifting a little in her seat as a draft of cold air breezed across her back Nessa wished she had sat on the other side of the booth, drawn to both the warmth of the fireplace and her former flame. "And how about you?"

"Do you really?" Harlan sat forward, running his tongue along with inside of his cheek in thought. His voice, despite the words coming out of his mouth, was far from surprised. Nessa had probably been running the place behind the scenes all those years ago when she was a saleswitch, when he knew her. She had that particular kind of drive. The relentless kind of determination that made it hard for her to do anything apart from taking control.

"That's great," He added honested before taking another drink, a bowl of chips appearing on their table out of thin air— another perk of a magic tavern. "Not that I'm all that shocked..." He popped one into his mouth and immediately regretted when he bit into the flesh, steam burning the tip of his tongue.

Harlan took a mouthful of beer in an attempt to cool down but winced all the same, the aftereffect of the hot chip lingering. "Yeah, good," He nodded as he finally settled back into a sense of normalcy, tapping his fingers over the outside of his pint glass methodically. "Playing quidditch still," It sounded far less exciting than owning his own shop the way that he said it, but he certainly wasn't about to openly boast that he was the captain of the league's newest championship team.

"I'm with the Griffins now, over in Gravesend" He nodded to nowhere in particular, as if it was just outside the door of the pub. The captain of the team they'd beaten was a Regan, if he wasn't mistaken, but there were plenty of those to go around. He wouldn't blame Nessa if she hadn't heard. "— living here," London. His place then was much different to the one he was in back in Ballycastle, where he housed a lot of memories of the woman— painstakingly ostentatious, and not by choice.

Nessa flashed him a grin that proved how proud she was of her current occupation. She was a hard worker, annoyingly so, and she was naturally bossy, so being in charge was just sort of in her nature. And she felt like she had earned it too. Last name or not, she deserved what she had, and that was a good feeling.  Nessa watched him as he took a bite of the spicy chip, and his reaction turned her off from them entirely, but it didn't keep her from giggling a little.

The witch returned the question, but she had a feeling she already knew. Nessa might not have been an avid fan of Quidditch, but she didn't live under a rock either. She knew he was on a famous team, and she knew he was captain; his face had been on damn near every newspaper covering the last match, after all. "Oh, the Griffins," She said, trying to sound interested or like she knew who they were, but he would probably see right through it.

"You are the captain, aren't you?" She asked when he didn't mention it, another smile crossing her full lips. She was less interested in where he lived, only because she detested London, and it seemed like everyone she knew had lived here at some point or another, but she supposed it was still useful information to know his flat wasn't too far off. Useful why? She wasn't entirely sure about yet.

Drinking a bit more of her beer Nessa was pleasantly surprised when preemptive refills arrived at the table the same way that the chips had. Maybe this place wasn't as awful as she had assumed, but most things weren't. That didn't mean she wasn't going to keep believing the worst, though; it was in her nature. "Do you think the food will be much longer?" She questioned, pushing her long black hair off her shoulder as she motioned toward the pool table in the corner, not far from the fireplace.

"That's correct," Harlan said calmly, biting his tongue to stop himself from immediately giving Nessa a hard time for having kept up with his career. Often, he had to remind himself that it wasn't always a personal thing— the general wizarding population knew who the Griffins were, and who he was. That kind of thing was unavoidable. "Taken up an interest in Quidditch, have you?" He couldn't help himself, the smirk on his face was telling enough. Nessa had never been into his job back then, and he assumed that much hadn't changed.

He mirrored her look of impressed surprise as their glasses were refilled. The pub was one of his favorites, more so because it was quiet and no one seemed to bother him as much as they did in the bigger, busier local spots around town. "Be patient, Regan, good things come to those who wait," He teased as he glanced over his shoulder to where she'd nodded. A pool table. He turned back to face her with a grin, more smug than he should have been allowed.

"You really want to play, against me?" He put a hand over his chest in mock surprise. She was just as competitive, if not more than he was. He took a long drink from his pint glass and set it back down carefully. "What's the wager, then?" He didn't wait for her to confirm that she wanted to play, he knew that she did already. "I've already paid for your date, so let's get a little bit more creative..." He quirked an eyebrow and popped one last chip in his mouth before sliding out of the booth toward the table, beer in hand.

"Yeah, I'm a big fan now," Nessa began with a smile, but she could barely get through the sentence before she rolled her eyes. She assumed Harlan would remember just how much she did not care about the game of Quidditch. Sure, it was impressive that he was good enough to play professionally and that people probably paid him quite a bit of sickles to do it, but that was as far as her interest in the sport went. Still, the fact that he was not only playing, but the captain of one of the most popular teams in the league was admirable.

Good things come to those who wait. Nessa clicked her tongue at his words and shook her head. "You know I don't like to wait," She teased; it was all too easy to loop every part of their conversation back to their history. To hint at what they once shared like it didn't feel like a lifetime ago. She wasn't the same witch that Harlan had known so many years ago, but the more he looked at her like that, the more she felt like she could be, even if it was just for a little while.

"Unless you are afraid to lose?" Nessa hated losing, she wasn't good at it, and anyone who knew her knew that. Competitive to a fault and entirely too proud when she won, Nessa was quite an annoying challenger. She slid out of the booth and waited for him to join her as they moved to the game. Thankfully it was close to their table. She could leave her bag on the seat and often return for her drink. The witch couldn't help the bright smile that graced her features when he brought up the wager. Nothing was ever just a fun game between them, they always had to bet on something, and as soon as he said it, she knew exactly what to wager.

"If you win, you can have Carl back," She offered, reminding him of the stuffed Pygmy Puff he had won at a carnival ring-toss when they were dating. It was still in her flat, organized neatly into a box of things from those years of her life, tucked away but not forgotten. "And what will you put up?" Nessa asked as she very carefully applied some blue chalk to the end of her pool stick; Merlin forbid any of it got onto her fingertips.

"Thought perhaps you'd gotten a bit more patient with age..." Harlan grinned from over the lip of his beer before taking a drink. He knew it was a dangerous line of conversation to be treading, even in a teasing way, but he couldn't stop himself. So much of how they communicated when they actually were was just like it— a hard habit to break in more way than one.

Harlan let out a bark of a laugh at the idea. Him, afraid to lose. If that were the case he would have definitely chosen a different career path. "Yeah, that's it," He rolled his eyes as he followed toward the table. It looked worse up close, illuminated under the dim lamp, and abused by what appeared to be decades of hard use. Harlan narrowed his eyes on Nessa as she offered up her bet, absently arranging the triangle in the process.

"You're joking," He gave her a moment to take it back. Carl. The stupid fucking puppet pygmy puff from a carnival they'd stumbled upon. Part of him was honored to know that she'd kept it at all. "Sold," He agreed before she had the chance. "I believe he's rightfully mine anyway..." Harlan added as he inspected the pool sticks to figure out which was best suited for a win.

Pulling out a dark stained one, he tossed it between his palms as he turned back to her. "Hmm," He thought out loud. "I'll let you decide," It was a bold choice but there was no turning back once he said it. Nessa had the power already. "A prize of your choice," He held a hand up to show that he was being serious. "I'm sure I'll regret that..." He said more quietly. "Ladies first," He gestured for her to break.

Her hand to her chest Nessa grinned at Harlan, "More patient? Hardly," Nessa pretended to be surprised by the notion before giggling and giving him a shrug. She was far from accommodating, and if anything, she had become even less so as she aged. She wanted things when she wanted them and didn't have the time to wait around. She joined him at the pool table and admired how he inspected the cues as if they were the key to victory. "He certainly is not," Nessa returned quickly, pouting, Carl was a gift he had won her, and Nessa never gave things like that back. Honestly, she wasn't even sure why she had kept it all this time; she wasn't the sentimental type but supposed it didn't matter right now.

Letting Nessa decide what her prize would be when she won was quite the treat; her eyes crinkled at the idea, and she nodded. "Well then," Nessa said gleefully, wondering if he would come to regret the choice, but she spoke before he could take it back. "If I win, then I get you for the rest of the night, anywhere I want to go, and you pay," The dark witch met his eyes, batting her lashes at him before turning back to the table and making sure to bend at just the right angle in front of him before she broke.

The pool balls scattered about the table, many of them bouncing off the cushioned sides, but Nessa spotted a striped one sinking into a corner pocket, and her smile grew. Moving around the table to stand next to Harlan, she lined up another shot, but this one bounced off the pocket, and she took a step back. Nessa liked the game of pool because it was all mathematics. The intellectual witch could easily calculate the angle and force needed to pot one of the balls, but it didn't always work out. Sometimes there wasn't a good shot available, and sometimes she decided not to run the table just because she could.

Fucking Carl. The token puppet, their prize after draining dozens of sickles into the carnival games at that festival in Diagon Alley all those years ago. He knew he had no right to have felt so sentimental about it, but there he was with the vivid memory of that night painting his thoughts and making it hard for him to focus. They had gotten into an argument, not unusual for them, but swiftly made up somewhere between the magically affixed Ferris wheel floating in the sky and behind the stand that was handing out fluffy clouds of cotton candy.

That had been the standard for them.

Harlan watched her carefully, trying to find that same person he remembered. Eventually, he remembered that she had grown up just as much as he had. When they were together he was in the midst of the start of his career, and his early demise. It was surprising that she still could stand to be around him, he thought. "Oh, come off it," The tension broke as soon as Nessa spoke her terms. He was hers for the night.

As much as that once would have been the ideal scenario, he felt his heart drop up in his chest. It wasn't the paying that bothered him, it was that he knew that Nessa was aware of every single way that she could torture him. And torture him, she was. Harlan watched her lean over the table, his eyes narrowing knowingly. "Good thing you're going to lose," He took his turn and sunk one ball, assessing the table before his gaze flicked up to Nessa again.

"What did you have in mind?" For his plans for the night. "Not that it will happen..." He grinned before taking a shot, the ball bouncing off the corner and landing in the pocket that he hadn't planned for with a soft pop of marble.

"Have you ever known me to lose at anything, Harlan?" She asked coyly, giving him that award-winning smile as he lined up his shot. She watched as the ball shot into a side pocket, giving him a nod of respect, and then returned to her coquettish ways. Nessa had come along way from the inexperienced young witch Harlan used to know, but somethings would never change. She was excessively confident, annoyingly so, and it was probably part of what had brought the two of them together. Kings and Queens of their own little worlds, it was only natural that they had gravitated toward the other's prowess. Nessa had to remind herself not to let it happen again, despite how easy (and satisfying) it surely would have been.

This was just a game, and she intended on winning.

"Well, first of all, enough of this shoddy beer," Nessa said as she returned to their table and leaning against it. Downing what was left of her reasonably priced, decent enough tasting hops, and laughed. "Top shelf or bust," She knew he could afford it, but that wasn't the point. Nessa wanted him to think she had grown up, that she was far more sophisticated and refined than the cheap beer drinking girl in his past. Nessa was persnickety, some might have even called her high-maintenance (but never to her face), and she wasn't ashamed of it.

Nessa scooped his pint up off of the table and brought it to him, licking her lips as she held it out, and continued. "Unless your worried about getting too wrecked to play? I wouldn't want an unfair advantage, after all,"

Yes, Harlan thought, but knew better than to say it out loud. Riling Nessa up would only stoke the flame of her competitiveness and she categorically performed well under pressure which would not bode well for their little game if he was looking to spare his night. He would need to play smarter than that. "Never," He lied sweetly, sinking a second shot and lining up the third with no real prospects in sight.

She leaned against the table and in an instant his concentration was gone. Harlan missed the ball he was going to use as leverage and his shot bounced back against the wall of the table. "Alright, then, top shelf," He tapped the bottom of the stick on the stone floor, chewing the side of his lip distractedly.

"Really?" Harlan asked rhetorically while she offered up his pint glass as if it were poison. With Nessa, one could really never know, but he liked his odds. Besides, half of a watered-down beer from a tap wasn't going to wreck him yet. He took a mouthful then paused. "What's your poison?" He asked before finishing it off and nodding to the table to indicate it was her go. "I'm only getting it because your up," He explained. He hadn't lost the bet yet, anyway.

"Or would you prefer wine?" He teased over his shoulder as he made his way to the bar, a not-so-subtle reminder that he saved her ass no less than thirty minutes earlier.

Harlan's words had Nessa grinning, but it was the way he'd missed his shot that had her especially entertained. The dark witch had always been particularly fond of getting what she wanted, and she had grown quite good at it over the years. She could be convincing, manipulative even, but when there was a chance to bet on something and win, that was her favorite. Nessa could afford her own top-shelf drinks, and aside from the trainwreck that thought he deserved her attention earlier in the evening, she typically had no shortage in dating prospects, but that was hardly the point.

The dark witch shrugged at the man in front of her, a playful look on her face while she handed him his cup. It had been a long time since she had drunk with Harlan last, and a part of her wondered if he could keep up the way that he used to. Maybe it was the Irish blood or the fact that Torrence had been slipping her alcohol at Regan family gatherings for as long as she could remember, but the witch had quite the tolerance for it. Counting on her pointed and perfectly polished, fingernails Nessa answered him, "Whiskey, Bourbon, Cognac; surprise me," And then immediately followed his jest with a roll of her eyes.

"If you come back with wine, I'll have to find another attractive wizard to rescue me," Nessa returned before looking back down at the table and lining up her shot. Another ball found a home in the far corner pocket and the witch frowned at the less than ideal opportunities left on the table. No clear shots and the ones available were less than probable, but she was thankful to miss when he was away from the table.

"Your up, but the odds are not in your favor," She informed him when he returned.

Harlan went with Bourbon. He had to dictate to the bartender which bottle on the top shelf was Forester but, eventually, they got there.

"Wow, no eligible attractive wizards to come and rescue you?" He deliberately used her own choice of words as he approached the pool table with one hand subtly behind his back. It wasn't that he wanted to make a show of it but more that he wanted to prove the point he was trying to make— that she would hardpressed to find that, there. Harlan assessed the table as he handed over her drink, casually taking a sip of his own.

"You think?" He asked. The odds weren't in his favor but they certainly weren't against it, either. Pool had a way of floating between both of the extremes. Sometimes all it took was a different angle. "Did you have a chance to think of my punishment should I lose?" Harlan leaned over the corner, stood back up, and adjusted the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt in thought before his eyes flicked back over to Nessa. "I won't but—"

He grinned, finding the pool stick he'd left propped against the corner of the wall and ran in between his knuckles. "Let's hear it," Harlan said as he leaned forward and sank a shot, searching for his next.

"Well, the night is still young," Nessa countered as Harlan used her own words against her easily. Regardless of how amazing she absolutely thought she was, Nessa knew she would be hard-pressed to find a more attractive wizard than the one that was currently bringing her a glass of expensive -she gave it a quick taste- bourbon. And not just any Bourbon, the first bourbon, "Forester, I knew there was something I liked about you," Nessa took another sip, clearly impressed by his choice, and waited for him to take his shot.

There was a certifiably smug look on the witch's face when Harlan returned to the topic of exactly what he would owe her when she won. (Not if, but when, Nessa was convinced.) And she couldn't help but play coy a little bit longer. "Oh, I've already decided," Nessa told him as he finished his turn, and she eyed the table and moved in for the perfect shot. "But you don't get to know until the game is finished," Maybe the uncertainty would be an incentive for him, Nessa knew he was just as competitive as she was, but maybe after all this time, he had learned how to be a better loser than she would ever be. Nessa had never taken disappointment very well.

The woman took her time lining up the next shot; it was more complicated than the last and required a bit more focus. She sunk another ball with skill and precision, and then another, chatting with him as the time passed. Before her next shot, she paused to take a confident sip from her drink. "Worried yet?" She asked Harlan, setting the drink back down on the table only to return to the game and drop the last of the solid balls into the corner pocket. It was the end of the game now. Nessa used the end of the stick to point at the pocket opposite where she was standing, "Side pocket," She claimed, prepping for the final play.

"If I win, you can take me to Echelon," Nessa finally informed him before taking the deciding shot.

As much as he hated to admit it, Nessa Regan had decidedly refined tastes.

Harlan wasn't sure if he would have been able to determine the distiller of that particular bourbon, especially not after the less-than-palette-cleansing beer they had been drinking leading up to the point, but either way, he couldn't hide how impressed he was that she had. "Surely not the only thing?" That she liked about him, as she said. "I wasn't sure if you liked bourbon," Harlan admitted. He'd taken a chance on ordering it. When they were together it was mostly gin or tequila.

Of course, he wasn't going to be privy to whatever punishment was coming his way. He shouldn't have been surprised by that either, but there he was watching her land shot after shot, easily catching up to him and then eventually surpassing him. "Never," It wasn't a lie. Not really, anyway. He figured he could handle whatever she had planned.

"Fuck—" Harlan let out a groan from somewhere in the back of his throat. He had become too smug in his own head. Echelon truly was his own personal nightmare in physical form. It was a swanky club in the middle of the city, filled with wizards and witches (exclusively on a list) that were trying way too hard. And that wasn't even half as bad as the music. "No way," He said it a moment too late and Nessa sunk her final shot right where she called it. "Fuck..." He breathed again and took more than a mouthful of bourbon.

"Not until we finish this," He gestured to her glass, biding his time. He would need about four more to survive, but anyway. "Congratulations," Harlan said as he made his way over to her with his hand outstretched. There were few things he hated more than a bad loser. "Fair and square..." He resigned, taking her into his, his thumb running over the inside of her wrist. "Echelon, really?" He let out a laugh, dropping her hand with a shake of his head.

"Maybe there are a few other things I don't hate," Nessa teased, enjoying the back and forth banter they had so easily fallen back into. The simplicity of it, the flirting, all felt so familiar and yet new. Nessa had every confidence that she would make the shot, but there was still a lingering feeling of butterflies as the cue made contact with the 8-ball. Some leftover nervous energy from seeing Harlan again finding an outlet, she supposed, and when she pocketed the ball, she let out a silent sigh of relief. Giggling as he expressed his disinterest in the particular club she had picked for them, Nessa met him around the corner of the table.

"Deal's a deal," She reminded, not that she thought he would back down now, despite the multiple curse words escaping his lips in the past twenty minutes. "Good to hear some things haven't changed," It would have been a lie to say Nessa hadn't always appreciated his vulgarity; coming from anyone else, she might have found it crass or unintelligent, but not in Harlan's case. It was just his aesthetic: strong words and a strong mind.

There was no way she was going to leave her bourbon behind, not even for the chance to go to an elite club like Echelon on Harlan's arm. There were somethings that just were worth waiting on. "Absolutely," She agreed to his proposal, setting her cue down to exchange it for her glass and smiling up at Harlan as he reached for her hand. It was a nice gesture, the congratulations, and the sort of handshake, but Nessa couldn't focus on anything but his skin on hers and the electricity it caused. "I've heard great things," She stated about the club as he let go of her hands, "Besides, I'd bet you get your pick of booths at a place like that." Nessa leaned against the pool table, bringing her glass to her lips to savor a slow taste of the bourbon before continuing.

"Anonymity is useful in my line of work, but it does come with limitations," Nessa admitted, in the most complex way possible, that she had been unable to acquire an invitation to the highly exclusive club based on her own name alone.

"Thank you for the bourbon, by the way, it is perfect."