Post by Charlie Hamilton on Aug 26, 2015 7:23:34 GMT -5
Charlie Hamilton stepped into the Red Star Lounge and looked around, his dark eyes flicking quickly around the room, looking for an empty booth or stool at the bar. He found one of the latter and slid into it, gesturing to the barman. He was dressed in muggle clothing, having just travelled through London; dark denim jeans and a black button-up shirt. He wasn't trying to be fashionable, though the man cut an impressive figure. He acknowledged the barman with a nod and a silver sickle as the man set a glass of firewhisky down in front of him, and settled back to enjoy the liquor.
The swig of alcohol burned his throat but he relished it; it cleared his mind of the fog from the day. He'd talked to Tristan at Azkaban for most of the morning, and had spent the rest of the day in his office at the Ministry, working through the case files of the escapee, who had spent the last near-decade claiming to be Josh Chambers. Charlie swallowed another mouthful of firewhisky and ordered another. He took a deep breath and exhaled silently, trying to shake the feeling that something just wasn't right. His work day may be over, but the details of the case were so ingrained in his mind it was as if the reports were tattooed onto his eyelids.
A pretty woman to his right caught Charlie's eye and she smiled, slow and sexy. He raised a glass to her but otherwise did not respond. He hadn't come to the bar this evening to flirt; he was trying to relax, and was not in the mood to make small talk with strangers. Charlie ordered a plate of wedges from the bar's kitchen and waited patiently for them to arrive; when they did, he picked at them absent-mindedly. There was a discarded Prophet on the bar beside him and he flipped through it. He'd been away from London so long that it was almost strange to read a newspaper written in English again.
The swig of alcohol burned his throat but he relished it; it cleared his mind of the fog from the day. He'd talked to Tristan at Azkaban for most of the morning, and had spent the rest of the day in his office at the Ministry, working through the case files of the escapee, who had spent the last near-decade claiming to be Josh Chambers. Charlie swallowed another mouthful of firewhisky and ordered another. He took a deep breath and exhaled silently, trying to shake the feeling that something just wasn't right. His work day may be over, but the details of the case were so ingrained in his mind it was as if the reports were tattooed onto his eyelids.
A pretty woman to his right caught Charlie's eye and she smiled, slow and sexy. He raised a glass to her but otherwise did not respond. He hadn't come to the bar this evening to flirt; he was trying to relax, and was not in the mood to make small talk with strangers. Charlie ordered a plate of wedges from the bar's kitchen and waited patiently for them to arrive; when they did, he picked at them absent-mindedly. There was a discarded Prophet on the bar beside him and he flipped through it. He'd been away from London so long that it was almost strange to read a newspaper written in English again.
