milliways_bar | (no subject)

Fred sees Malfoy. He says nothing, but he taps George on the shoulder and points. Is his grin slightly maniacal? Yes. Is that a firework he's slipping out of his pocket? Probably.

Ron turned and stared. "Is that--mmmph!" George's hand clamped over Ron's mouth.

"Now now, baby brother. Let us do this our way. We'll make him pay," George says slyly. HE nods to Fred and pulls out his wand, pointing it at the firecracker in his outstretched hand. Fred lights it with his own, and with a whispered, "Wingardium Leviosa," George sends it sailing gently into Lucius's glass, the fuse hanging over the edge, still burning.

Lucius isn't really noticing his glass yet. He has pulled a book out of his robes, and is reading it, ignoring his food for the moment. However, at just the opportune, (inopportune?) moment, he picks up the glass to drink from it and the firework goes off, drenching him in firewhiskey and bits of broken glass. He stands, furious, and glares about the room. "What the bloody hell just happened here." He reaches for his wand, but realizes it's still gone. Damn.

"A firework, I believe." Gabriel discreetly makes the firewhiskey and broken glass disappear.

There is a great deal of muffled snickering from the other side of the bar.

The twins snicker evilly, hiding in a booth across the bar. Ron is hiding with them, however he'd like to smack Lucius Malfoy right in the face--forget the twins' pranks.

Lucius stomps out of his booth, glaring around the bar. "I -demand- to know who did this, and I demand they come out and pay for my ruined robes." He puts his hands on his hips. "I am a powerful wizard, and I demand to see my attackers." Right. Git.

There is only more snickering. Then several dungbombs explode at Lucius' feet, the stench wafting up his robes.

He's more than pissed now. Glaring at the dunbombs, he roars to the bar at large. "Is there any bloody security in this place? Someone seems to have no sense of propriety and manners in this place."

There is a call of, "You had a wonderul sense of propriety and manners when you tried to kill a little girl."

"I did no such thing." Malfoy glares around him. "You have inaccurate information. I would suggest that you check your facts before throwing out accusations."

"So you didn't slip a known dark arts artifact into a little girl's schoolbook, then?" The voice asked incredulously.

"Lying git," came a similar voice.

"I know nothing of that." Right. It would be obvious to some people that the man is losing his cool. "You have no rights to go around and accuse people of things which you have no knowlege of."

"Look, Malfoy, we know you did it. There's no point lying to us. You had better go and tell somebody else the truth and turn yourself in, or we'll make your life a living hell."

"Oh, right. What power do you have? Little other than a few dungbombs and a firework. Paltry power." He fails to mention that he's wandless at the moment. "I'm not scared of you, whomever you are."

There is only silence for a moment, which is broken by whispering.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

"Get 'im!"

Two identical flying bundles of freckles and red hair come out of a booth and tackle Malfoy to the ground. They did't bother using wands, figuring that they had the advantage fighting muggle-style.

Well, that was certainly something that the man wasn't expecting. He struggles as the two pounce on him, attempting to get a few hits in, but failing miserably, only accomplishing being thrown to the floor, and looking rather like a turned-over turtle, flailing against his attackers.

Gabriel raises an eyebrow at Lucius' glare, amused. The lasagna can't be that bad, surely?

Lucius is not going to stoop to actually talking to people in this bar. He pokes at the lasagna, and keeps moping. One would think that he would get tired of just sitting by himself.

Gabriel has a small argument with herself. Should she or shouldn't she?

Ah, why not. She takes her rosé over and asks, with a bright smile, "How's the lasagna tonight?"

He looks up, and assesses her. Well, she's not horrible looking. "It is not horrendous. I think my house elf can make it better, however." He has a superior air about him. "This entire bar leaves much to be desired."

"Oh? I find it a nice change from home," Gabriel says noncomittally. "But what is a 'house-elf'?"

[OOC: By the way, she's got wings. Just so you know. ;)]

"A house-elf is a creature who serves the aristocracy." He peers at her oddly. A woman with wings? What sort of creature is this?

"Ah?" There might be a hint of coolness in her voice now. "You must be from a different world than I, then; we have no such creatures where I come from."

*Broom doesn't notice the lack of coat rack-ishness about him, and carefully hangs a few items on him before sweeping off*

He glares at the broom, shaking his head. One would think enchanted objects would have slightly more tact.

Glinda doesn't care if he's glaring. He's very attractive and clearly very popular in his own circle. The way he looks down his nose at people is positively dreamy. She wanders towards his table, debating speaking to him.

Lucius is absorbed in his book, not really paying attention to anyone around him. Yes, he's that arrogant that he doesn't think he needs people.

She rolls her eyes discreetly before offering the book he's buried in a regal curtsey. She debates briefly, eyeing her wand, then sits at his table. She's worth his time whether he thinks so or no.

Lucius looks up, opens his mouth to sneer at the woman's gall to randomly approach him, but notices her wand and raises his eyebrows. Perhaps he should be a bit more careful. "Good evening, ma'am. I see that you have decided that my table is better than one of your own?"

She smirks a bit noting the change in his tone once he spied her wand. A warlock? How nice.

She smiles in a more innocent matter before replying. "Ma'am? Glinda will do. As for my own table, I've always found the company of others preferable to solitude."

"There is a time and place for solitude, Miss Glinda." Lucius turns on the charm for a moment. "However, a few moments in the presance of such an attractive young woman will certainly not go amiss. I am Lucius Malfoy."

Ah, a small victory. She savors it.

"Of course. Particularly when one is not among equals."

She maintains her own sort of confidence though. Charm is a lovely thing and she will certainly be flattered by it (as she is a vain creature), but she's not going to let it go to her head.

"Only I wouldn't go looking for solitude in a bar, Mr. Malfoy. Or would you prefer I call you Lucius?"

"I actually wasn't even looking for this bar when I arrived, Miss Glinda." He looks a bit frustrated, but charmingly frustrated. "I was attempting to go to my boidoir." He smiles, a rather slick smile. "Please do call me Lucius. Someone as beautiful as you should not have to rest on formality."

Glinda looks at him curiously. "Oh?"

She chuckles. "Very well. Lucius then."

"Are you stuck here, Lucius?"

"I believe I might be. I have heard patrons speak of those Bound to the bar. As I feel an odd cumpulsion not to go anywhere, I have not attempted to leave." He understands odd magical cumpulstions. He's just peeved that one is directed towards him, and he cannot fight it.

"Are you happy here?" she asks kindly. She's not sure there's much she could do for someone Bound to this place.

She's not sure she shares the same desire as Malfoy but she certainly does feel like she'd enjoy frequenting the place.

Peter is bustling through the bar, as it's been a busy day (not to mention night) for Healers so far. He pauses for a moment, scanning to see if anyone is wounded, ill or in shock--and spies the sulky Death Eater over in one of the booths.

He goes over to the booth and glares at its occupant.

"Why the fuck are you still here, Malfoy?" The tone suggests that Malfoy find another place to be--and that Antarctica is very nice this time of the year.

"Ah, Wormtail." Malfoy glares at him. His tone suggests that he would much rather be in Antarctica than with Peter. "I am surprised that you would even talk to me. You seem to have suddenly found yourself too good for old aquaintances."

Peter's tone drops to the sub-glacial as he continues to speak in a clear and carrying voice.

"As I informed you, Malfoy, my name is Pettigrew. Most people would have grasped that by now. You, unfortunately, are of tragically limited mentality. By my estimate, at the current rate at which you learn, it should take you exactly--hmm. 75,308,023.59 years.

"As for being too good to talk to you--well, yes. I was always too good for that. However, you haven't answered my question. Why are you still here, O Pretentious and Picayune Polyp with a Pixie's Pompadour?"

"Alliteration suits you, Wormtail. It's shocking that you even understand what it is." He glares at Peter, gazy icy as well. His tone is the same emotionless one as always, frustratingly smooth. "I am here because I have no reasons to leave." Odd, how he's strangely compelled to stay in the bar. "I think I shall stay a while. Since when have you been the one to tell me when to come and go? I think you have less than no power over me, Wormtail."

"In truth, I'm more surprised that you understand what alliteration is, Malfoy. From what I heard, you only got through Hogwarts by bribing and blackmailing other students to do your work for you. Not too surprising, considering that you only learned to read the year before you got there.

"As for leaving..." Peter scrutinises the man before him. "Can you leave, Malfoy? I suggest you try the front door. Find out whether or not the decision to leave has been taken out of your hands." He smiles coldly. "Binding spells have nothing on this bar when she decides that someone should stick around."

Malfoy glares at Peter, an icy glare that he mainly uses his house elves when they're not listening to him. "I do not see a door, Wormtail. I do not know what you mean by that. This is a magical bar, obviously. I do not know what sort of strange things you see, but there is obviously no door in this bar, otherwise I would have tried it days ago."

Peter stares incredulously at Malfoy, then bursts out laughing. He'll be less than thrilled about this later, but right now all he can do is laugh.

"Oh, God, this is incredible. Malfoy, welcome to the world of the bar-Bound.

He turns away, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes--then turns back. "There is a door, Malfoy. But you can't see it, and I doubt if you could go through it even if it opened for you. And this is rather too bad for you.

"You see, Malfoy, you have no money. No credit. No political power. No influence. In fact, those in charge don't like you. You have no Death Eater allies. You have no wand. You have no ability to curse or kill anyone. And you have absolutely no marketable skills that fit into the environment of the bar.

"You are, in fact, a Muggle in Diagon Alley.

"Do have a nice day."

And with that, Peter disappears into the crowd.