It is another riotous night at the Hog’s Head. Crowded with people from all walks of life, the tavern is hopping. There is music from the act up on the stage and the noisy shouts of orders and conversation fill the entire building, the ruckus spilling out onto the street outside. People mill around the open door and those by the bar can see the privileged few make their way up the guarded door behind the bar. Meanwhile, Arnauld has entered the scene and presses palms with not just a few of his clientèle. Truly, the man is quite at home in these surroundings. Passing a moment, he speaks with a graying man and then moves on, openly eying certain people of both genders that catch his eye.

Eva Wexler, in the mood for fun, saunters slowly into the Hog’s Head. She knows Arnauld will be here, and rather is counting on it, as she finds herself hoping for a repeat performance. She is a bit surprised to find how much more crowded it is in the bar, and is pleased. This will make her somewhat less conspicuous in her bright green dress. Though not by much. She grins widely at a few people whose eye she catches and saunters up to the bar, ordering something relatively harmless and taking hold of it while she scans the crowd for Arnauld’s distinctive appearance.

Bobbing through the crowd, Arnauld still wears his top hat even though he’s indoors. Then again, no one here seems to mind and most everyone could apparently care very little for the polished manners that are so often expected. Waggling his brows at one young woman, he smacks her on the rump as she flaunts by. She turns and says something that is lost in the noise, but the man throws his head back and laughs, only bothering to retrieve the hat when he’s done. Sure, it’s a little beaten now, but that doesn’t mean he has to care. Turning toward the bar, he calls out to the tender but stops mid shout as he spots Eva. A decidedly lecherous smile peels his lips back and he heads over in the young woman’s direction, pulling off the hat as he approaches.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Eva attempts to say suavely, though is forced to speak louder than she considers at all suave. It’s wild tonight, and she’s feeling the excitement of everything. “How are you tonight?” she asks him, taking a swig of her drink, her eyes twinkling. She definitely ought to bring Amalia in here when it’s like this, she decides, grinning at a gentleman who brazenly squeezes her fanny as he walks by. Only in a place like this could something so inappropriate be acceptable. And she can’t find it in her to mind.

“Ehhh you do not be touching her when I am here!” Of course, Arnauld‘s ‘jealous’ comment is far too dramatic to be real and there is no vitriol in his statement, his eyes are glittering with amusement and mischief as he calls after the man. He gets no response, but he really expects none. Before he can order, a drink is served and he grabs the small glass, taking the opportunity to press quite close to Eva. “I’m glad you came by. I’ve been missing your company.” Though he was grazing the crowd before, now his attention is on Eva, as if she were the only pretty thing in the entire world. “How are you doing my dear?”

Eva Wexler grins up at him, and scoots closer to him, not the least bit ashamed. “I have been well. Slept for hours after I finally came home. Amalia was properly shocked and pleased.” She chuckles and sips her drink again. “I’ve decided I’m going to bring her here. She needs to have a bit of fun.” A pause. “And, after she told me a sad story about the last time she came in, I decided to refresh her opinion of the place, and make it better.” She laughs joyously, and then leans up and kisses him gently on the lips. Shy? Yeah, right.

Returning tenfold, for he leans down as Eva leans up, setting his drink on the counter without much problem. Arnauld reaches around and hugs her waist, pulling the woman to him. Continues to kiss, a passionate sweet thing rather than ravenous hunger he had shown the previous night. A few catcalls are directed at the couple’s direction but there is so much going on that no one really notices and less even care. Releasing the woman, he stands back up with a satisfied sigh, “It is good to know you are well. I had to have someone open, I was so late getting out of bed.” “You should bring this friend of yours here sometime. I’m sure she’d have a much better time of it now. What happened the last time she was here?” Grabbing the purple drink, he takes a swallow of the liquor as he listens.

Eva Wexler leans against the bar, holding her drink, and ignoring the bartender. “She was loitering, trying to catch the attention of some man, and there were two chatting. She was sure one of them would come around, but not ten minutes later, they left. Together.” She snickers and sips her drink again, then sets it down on the bar. “I do think she was properly horrified, but I’ve assured her that if I don’t procure someone for her to spend some time with by the end of her night, that she needn’t feel obligated to come with me again.” She grins up at the man, who appears to be having a grand old time. The noise and laughter is a wonderful atmosphere, putting her into an even better mood than she had been when she walked in. Or perhaps it was the alcohol. She just knew she felt as if she was walking on clouds.

Eventually, the band is booed off stage and the musicians go scrambling. There’s a chant for “Chantelle!” Women join in as much as the men do with the chanting. Soon enough a burlesque act ensues with a very pretty and very young thing as the star of the spectacle. Arnauld for his part doesn’t seem to even notice the change in atmosphere, the room becoming more charged if that’s even possible. “Is that so, that would be rather disappointing for a young lady interested in only the opposite sex, yes.” Waving his glass high he grins from ear to ear, “We cater to all sorts here, I hope that this friend can finds something more suited to her tastes now that we’re staggering with business.”

Chuckling, Eva‘s gaze is drawn towards the stage. “No, she definitely prefers men.” She pauses. “Who is that up there? She’s very pretty.” She watches with only half interest, as Arnauld‘s presence is very warm, being so close to her. She grins up at him, tossing a stray curl over her shoulder. Once again, she has managed to get her hair to stay in curls, if only for the time being. She finds herself irresistable in them. She runs a finger over the top of his clothes, tracing around his neck and along his shoulders slowly, as if making a mental picture of him. She looks down for a moment, then back up at him, feeling rather smooth as she awaits his answer.

At the woman’s touch, there comes from the man a staggered breathing and he does not answer her query right away. Tipping back the glass, he drinks another mouthful before putting the glass back upon the counter. “Chantelle,” the barely legal girl on the stage gets a quick glance and he swallows tightly. “She is,” “but my gods I love your hair.” Reaching down, Arnauld grabs Eva with some force but not in a dangerous fashion. It is raw passion and he kisses her again, reluctantly letting her go when the moment passes. A finger reaches out and touches the curls and he brushes them behind her ear with a fond expression that is anything but fatherly. “She is a girl I found in Paris. Quite talented, but unfortunately her talents do not lie in magic. Hers is a sad story, but I’m hoping that she can do better here. At least she never has to sleep for money. Or settle on an unhappy marriage.”

Eva Wexler grins at his open affection and slides her arm up around his neck, clearly not finding anything fatherly about him at the moment. “Is she a squib then?” she asks carefully, knowing that a lack of magic can be a touchy subject. She grins up at him, suddenly feeling that all the work tying her hair up at night is worth it, to have a reaction like that from him, or from anyone. She runs her fingers across the back of his neck carefully and looks back up at the stage. “It certainly is a mercy for her, to be sure. After all, either of those would be horrid. Marriage and …” she pauses, “love, ought to be pleasurable, not done out of necessity.” She grins up at him. She is obviously quite glad that she doesn’t /need/ to sleep with him to get something. Though with him, she may have been more inclined to do so.

A single nod is all he manages, and though he speaks Arnauld‘s gaze does not shift away from Eva. “She is a squib; her family was going to match her up with some ass of a wizard so that they could keep their blood pure.” “So she ran away, went out to the streets and I found her. Such a sad little creature I haven’t seen in years.” Tripping his fingers through her tresses, the Frenchman just can’t keep his fingers away. “Indeed, love itself ought to be one of the most pleasurable experiences, preformed not for living desperately, but to enhance to pleasure of being alive. She is happy here, she is popular and liked and she has choices. We, we are lucky, are we not?” Bending down he plants a small kiss on the right-hand corner of Eva’s mouth.

“Yes, I would say so.” She smirks over his shoulder at a rather jealous-looking female. Ah, well, one person’s loss was another’s gain, was it not? She turns her head and presses her lips to his gently. “Don’t know what we did to deserve it, but I figure I’ll do my damndest to enjoy it.” Eva smirks and reaches back, pulling a few pins out of her hair and letting her hair fall down. Not all of it curls as neatly as the front and sides, but there is a definite wave to most of it, thanks to the rags. “I hope she enjoys her time here. Do tell her to drop by Honeydukes. We’d be more than happy to see her there.” She grins at him, her green eyes shining happily.

“I’ll do that. She could always use to know more people.” In the next breath, whatever lingering sadness he had over the mention of the star is gone, “You have such beautiful hair. I adore the curls. You know, there are spells for that sort of thing.” He doesn’t have a keen eye for nothing but Arnauld continues to caress the curls, allowing them to slide between his fingers and fall away before catching up another light handful of them. “Do? We don’t ‘do’ anything to deserve what we get, it is all luck really. The fortunes, whatever you want to call it. They seem to have blessed me with meeting you, so I will take it for the time we have.” Reaching around he grabs Eva by the waist and perches her on a now free stool. For his efforts, he gets a dark stare from a gentleman but the glare is rebuffed with a smile and a waving of his fingers.

“Who was blessed?” Eva teases, giggling girlishly and perching on the stool, and flashing a sweet smile to the gentleman who seems so perturbed. Ah, what unhappiness belongs in such a place on a night like tonight? She’s sure she doesn’t know. She smiles up at him and takes her drink, holding it up to him. “To the time we have together,” she toasts joyfully, before taking a rather large drink. This sends her into a fit of giggles and she rests her forehead against his shoulder momentarily as she half listens to the racket and riot coming from the stage. The audience appears to be enjoying it, as they are closely huddled ’round the pretty young girl. She smiles at him genuinely as she swings her legs a bit on the stool.

There is a second of emotional distance but then the man shakes himself free of whatever concern tried to drag him down. Picking up his own glass, and returns the toast with renewed vigor as he washes it down with the rest of the purple liquid. “Oh yes, of course you were blessed too, I mean look at me. I am Arnauld Ribouet, the toast of Hogsmeade!” Let it not be said that the man is wallflower, but for all his bravado, he nearly always has to perform in such extravagant ways. Leaning in with low laugh, it is evident that the bearded man is feeling the power of his drink as he lands a kiss on Eva’s lips.

As his lips once again collide with hers, she sets her drink down and hugs him around the neck comfortably. There is something about him that she can’t seem to resist. Perhaps it his free-spirited attitude. Or his nonchalance. It doesn’t matter, really, Eva finds as she feels herself melting inside, returning the kiss with fervor. A giggle escapes her throat as they are bumped into rather rudely by a man in quest of something or someone beyond them, and paying attention to nothing else.

“You m’dear I can trust.” A murmured whisper brushes against her lips, and Arnauld lifts the woman off the chair again and carries her to the guarded doorway. The wizards on guard have watched the approach and the door is opened by the time he reaches them. There is noise from up the stairs, clearly another section of the bar that is unseen by most patrons. “But I must ask you not to speak of my, extra areas of business.” Up the stairs they depart. The top floor is cast in long shadows by flickering magical lights. It is close up here and quiet personal. Once they are on solid ground, he puts her down. There is a different quality of music here, it has a flavor of India and there are small congregations of men and women, some openly having relations while others smoke from hookas and other odd equipment.

Eva Wexler‘s eyebrows raise as she takes in the atmosphere. It is less noisy here, though the energy is certainly no less. It seems to course through her veins and excite her all the more. She slips her hand into his, and looks around obviously, taking everything in. She’s never seen or even imagined anything quite like this. She grins up at him. “What is this place?” she asks him in a quiet voice, so as not to disturb anyone from their doings. Not that she probably could, anyway. Her eyes take in his appearance in the different lighting, and find yet another appreciation for his features.

“It is a secret that I am willing to share with you.” Grasping Eva’s hand, Arnauld leads her to the back, where there is a thick velvet curtain. Ushering her inside, it is calmer in here than the main room. There is also no one else here. A mellow blue light drapes the room with faux moonlight and it is here that the Frenchman seems to grow younger, even though in reality he does not. Thick pillows are scattered on the floor, a low table holds a pitcher of water and several crystal glasses on a tray. There is wealth in this room, the sumptuous luxury of a man with more than he’s showing to the world below. “The right people know where to come. It is here that that the real pleasures are to be tried. I have a wide clientele that needs their privacy, but I trust you are not one to reveal these findings to the public. People need a release, an escape, somewhere to get rid of the world out *there*,” flashing a hand in the direction of the street outside, “and so I give them what they want.”

It takes some time for Eva to take all of the aspects of this newfound world, but she seems to be quite willing to learn. “I am honored that you trust me with this,” She tells him, turning to him after a short glance out the window. The room holds an ambience that plays on her emotions and her skin, seeming to make her toes curl and her skin hum with beauty. She feels beautiful in this room. She twirls around, her hair spinning behind her, then leans in close to him, on her tiptoes, her lips hovering near to his.

“You could be a Rajah’s wife, with your beauty. But you could never be happy living like that, you have far too much spirit. It’s what I like about you.” Lowering himself into one of the cushions, Arnauld pours the water out into two glasses. Leaning back, he reaches over to hand Eva one. “Only water. I thought the calm might be good after all the bodies downstairs.” “Though of course,” he drifts off, the suggestion left standing in silence as his fingers touch hers.

Eva Wexler lowers herself down next to him, and takes her water. Perhaps a bit of refreshment first. She smiles and feels tingles run up her spine as his fingers brush hers ever so gently. “That sounds like a marvellous idea,” she agrees, her eyes twinkling with mischeif and happiness, and perhaps a small twinge of a love-like affection. She sips her water, then sets it down, leaning down to kiss him softly. The atmosphere was perfect, the evening unspoiled. She couldn’t ask for more out of life than at that moment.