The Start of a Beautiful Co-Dependence

Jack settled at a booth at the Leaky Cauldron, ordering herself a rum. She had found through the outspoken gossip grapevine of the Ministry that her own Mortimer Omara actually worked within the walls Jack had seemingly rescued him from. She had learned he was an Auror, because suicidal alcoholics always seemed to make the best Auror. She had also learned that a few people referred to the man as ‘Nemo’, a fact she had sworn to flaunt in his face the moment she could manage it into a conversation. Having a means of contacting him had been, therefore, easy. She just sent a little memo to Mortimer on Friday at lunch, when she realized she would be getting home at a decent time, that read:

Your job begins after work at the Leaky Cauldron. Your audition went well so I hope not to be disappointed. Prepare to lose.

Ronald McDonald

She had kept it business like and professional for two reasons- people were prone to stealing memos to try and up their game, and she always found it humorous to act differently from her nature. She had finished her work and locked up, shoving the last of the studious interns out the doors before she apparated to the Leaky Cauldron. And here she sat, waiting for her… Seer. For she was not exactly sure what type of acquaintance was defined by enabling addictions and nicknames.

She did not order her companion’s drink, for she was not yet sure what his poison of choice was and wanted to uphold her promise to allow him to get drunk to his heart’s content. She usually would not order something so strong herself as she liked to keep a handle on things, but they would be playing Ten Fingers, if he had not been joking anyway, and she wanted to make sure she was prepared for it. And rum was the best preparation for that.

Such a conveniences was The Savior's location of choice for their first official business meeting that Nemo could not have restrained his excitement. Ah, to be sharing several bottles of entirely free-of-charge alcohol with a particularly humorous time bomb in the very pub where he resided. He could not have been more properly satisfied with the situation. In fact, should they have been asked, the energy with which Nemo presently operated may very well have been deemed 'frightening' with fervor by anyone who just so happened to pass Nemo by on his trek down the stairs to the bar.

For the sake of dramatic-in-the-sense-that-it-was-not-dramatic-in-the-slightest entrances, Nemo intentionally made a beeline to an unoccupied bar stool several chairs down from the spot that Jack had chosen, and drummed the heels of his palms against the bar's splintering wood surface, as though unaware of her presence. "Two bottles of Vodka, and one bottle of Firewhiskey. On her tab, please," Nemo informed the bartender and simultaneously tossed his index finger in Jack's direction.

The bartender cast Jack an inquisitive glance, as though to ask whether or not such a transaction was permitted. He was not unaware of Nemo's antics, after all. He had spent many a strange evening tending to the drunkard as he danced upon tables. Before Nemo interrupted him, "Oh, come on! I wouldn't just toss the bill at some stranger. I - " he halted mid-sentence, having realized his mistake - "OK. I would. Never mind."

Nemo grinned with a roll of his eyes. He tossed Jack an amused sidelong glance, before producing from a pocket in his worn denims the invitation that she'd addressed to him, if only for the sake of allowing her to see for herself that he'd received it.

((hope you don’t mind the godmode))

Jack was being mindful not to drink too much before her companion arrived. She was sure that he would eventually pass her up once they started drinking, sure, but she wanted to be well behind him in the race for drunkenness so that she could be careful. Too many times had she slipped ahead in the race and she had made terrible decisions. Now Jack had responsibilities and she had a reason to try and survive. She could not risk that again for the sake of having something to do while she waited.

She had asked for a side of fries, her stomach still not quite full from the skimpy dinner she had eaten before she had escaped the office. She salted the little strips of deep fried potato and popped one after another after another into her mouth to devour. Gluttony was safer than drunkenness. At this point, she would need to order another side.

She heard a familiar voice and she glanced down the bar and saw the corresponding familiar face of her newfound drinking buddy. He was really committed to taking advantage of her offer, it seemed, for her ordered three bottles. The barman glanced at her, alerting Mortimer that she was there and knew he was making his order. He continued to speak with the barman a bit.

Finally, the barman pointed to Jack and she said, “It’s alright. It’s on my tab.” She pointed her wand at Mortimer’s chair. “He’s my ward tonight.” She placed a hover charm on the stool he was sitting on and directed it to the empty spot next to her. She said, “Hang on tight” and waited until the stool landed next to her.

OOC: Not at all, lover.

Despite the strange sensation that had swept throughout Nemo's stomach as he'd risen from the floor and had been repositioned beside Jack without so much as a finger lifted on his part, Nemo paid the oddity no mind. Rather, he turned to greet his companion, swiveling upon his stool to do so, bottles of alcohol in hand, "I figured it's only a fair game of Ten Fingers if we've got enough to get me drunk," he elaborated. "Besides, you've already started on yours, cheater," Nemo added as an afterthought, having smelt the rum that Jack had ordered before he'd laid eyes upon it.

With a gentle touch of a father caring for his child, Nemo slid forward each of the three bottles that he'd obtained; an action that had gone entirely unnoticed by the man himself. "Your ward am I?" Nemo inquired with a laugh - one which had slipped bye unintentionally and proceeded to flutter about the air even after he'd punctuated the sentence.

"You should have seen the look on my partner's face when he read this note by mistake," He gave the letter a thorough wave, before pocketing it once more. "But then again, I did tell him that the real Ronald McDonald had actually sent it," he noted with a nod of his cocked head.

Mortimer did not question her method of getting him to sit next to her so they could take up the challenge of his propose drinking game. In fact, he had sort of a goofy look as he was hovered next to her, swinging his bar stool like a child kicking their legs out on a chair to big for them. He claimed the reason for his excessive requests was all for the sake of their game, though Jack had a feeling that if there had been no mention of Ten Fingers but the promise of free alcohol, Mortimer would have ordered just as much. Jack did not mind. She was thrifty and had a little money to spend.

A little.

"Ah, I'm have know doubt that you will catch up," Jack responded, tipping more drink into her mouth. He laughed at her claim that he was her ward, and yet Jack knew she would end up being the designated driver- or, well, designated apparater. She was sure she would get a buzz of her own working up, but she knew she had to stay somewhat coherent and functioning because she knew, even with the relatively small knowledge she had of Mortimer, told her that the man next to her would be getting Drunk with a capital D tonight.

She laughed as he described the reaction of his partner. "Well, he's not too far in that belief, I guess. I have the red hair, pale face, lack of a social life- let him think I am the clown." She smiled to herself, already pleased with the following statement she had planned. "Though, I'd prefer being a clown to a clownfish, don't you think? Tell me, did your father ever find you?" She gave him a triumphant, knowing look. She had heard of his nicname and she was so proud of her discovery.

It went without question that Jack would have obtained more information regarding her newest drinking partner during their time apart. No matter how bothersome such an occurrence was to Nemo, of course. And yet, Nemo could do nothing to extinguish the surprise that had engulfed his mind at the mention of his birth name.

"Watch it, we clownfish are sexy beasts," was Nemo's seemingly nonchalant response. He needn't give The Savior any further reason to proceed, and begin to refer to him by the name with which he'd become so dreadfully uncomfortable. Perhaps, if he closed his eyes and wished with all the might of a particularly imaginative child, Jack would decide it best that the subject be changed.

Instead, he opted for a distraction, and stole from Jack her glass of rum, swallowing what remained in one swift movement. His actions were followed shortly by a wide grin, and a halfhearted explanation, "Whoops. I thought that was my glass."

There was a change in Mortimer's demeanor that might had flagged Jack's mind and made her pry, but she was distracted when he reached out, very intentionally, seized her drink, and finished it off. "Hey!" She faked a frown and said, "Party foul, good sir, party foul." She rapped her knuckles against the wooden bar top, muttering "Bloody Seers, drink you out of house and home" a mischevious glint in her eye indicative that her good mood really had not been ruined.

The barman returned, glancing at Mortimer as though wondering if he should be worried or relieved that he would be blessed with a bottomless amount of alcohol. It came down to a battle of peace of mind versus profit and which was more appealing. "Can I get another rum? Some people have terrible dementia and can't tell apart glasses." She gave Mortimer a joking, pointed look. "You know, Edgar Allen Poe was known for taking advantage of drinks. You be careful, or you'll end up marrying your pubescent cousin."

The barman brought her the drink she had ordered and she carefully folded her hands around it to guard it from her drinking friend. "So, Poe, shall we get this show on the road. It's been awhile, I need a reminder of the rules. Even rusty, I will be sure to vanquish you."

Having been pleasantly surprised by his successful distraction tactic, for luck did not frequently accompany him on such occurrences, the smile that had stretched lazily across Nemo’s stubble-peppered face could not have been prevented. Though he would not have attempted to extinguish the expression anyhow, as he had grown to prefer that familiar symptom of amusement over that which often darkened his eyes in the absence of alcohol and good company. “I’ll have you know: heavy blame could be placed on you for that dementia,” He informed The Savior, all solemnity absent from his words – if his words had ever truly possessed solemnity. He gestured towards the bottles which he intended to finish that evening, and flicked an eyebrow upward as a method of elaborating.

He paused, eyes squinted in feigned confusion – before he leaned nearer to Jack and spoke in hushed tones, “How do you know about that? Cousin James told me that, once we’d eloped, no one would ever know.” But Nemo’s mask, which had once suited his words, fell before he’d punctuated his sentence, and was replaced eagerly by one of twinkling amusement.

“Poe?” His laughter had overwhelmed him with his introduction to his new nickname, and Nemo found himself doubling over until his forehead had been planted firmly against the bar, “Oh, I like that one,” he huffed, breathing labored.

He turned his head upon a stretched neck in order to meet Jack’s eyes from where he lay, “If you win, it’ll be because I let you in order to have more to drink. The rules are simple: begin with the statement ‘Never have I ever…’ and finish it off with something that you’ve never done. If one of us has done whatever the hell it is that you chose for your turn, that person takes a proper drink and puts one of their fingers up. But, to make things more interesting, I would like to propose a twist,” Nemo lifted his head from the bar and faced The Savior once more, “If you say something that hasn’t been done by either of us, then you take a drink; that way neither of us will be tempted to use pointless activities like, say, ‘Never have I ever painted an elephant blue’.”

He produced his wand from his pocket with the fluency of a Wand Juggler, and drummed it against the first bottle’s seal, popping it open. "The first person to put up all ten fingers loses, and we play best two out of three. Let the games begin!

He blamed her for the dementia and she shook her head. "I waive all responsibilities. I happen to be buying you bottles full of liquids. What you do with those liquids are all your own business and I can not be held accountable for that." She nodded and her hand reached for her drink, before she reminded herself she was holding off on the drinking to win. She altered her course and grabbed a fry.

She laughed when he built on her joke, bring a 'Cousin James' into the picture. She stuffed the fry into her mouth and ate it. Mortimer suddenly burst into laughter over her comparison to Poe and he seemed incredibly pleased by the link. Jack tried not to feel to pleased with herself as she triumphantly poked two fries into her mouth. The bartender was staring- apparently, he was used to Mortimer drinking more than laughing and he was not sure what Jack could have done to distract him from sweet liquor.

Jack patiently listened to the rules of the game and then pounded a fist on the table as he announced the start of the game. "Okay!" she said, placing her elbows on the table and holding her hands in fists. "I'll start, shall I?" She smirked and paused, saying, "Never have I ever..." she let the words hang there for a moment for dramatic effect, before concluding "played the drinking version of Ten Fingers before tonight."

Ah, she was a smart ass.

It was evident by the way in which his lips had fallen apart to form an expression which closely resembled the previously mentioned fish, that he had been bewildered by The Savior's admission. So confused was he, in fact, that he found himself in need of a pause before he leaned forward with all the curiosity of a child, and narrowed his eyes skeptically at Jack, "There's another version beside the drinking game?" He was at a loss.

Nemo reached for the bottle of vodka greedily, and brought it to his lips with an inelegant clunk. He reclined with the bottle held aloft and he drank in a manner that was not often paired with Nemo's alcohol of choice, due to its potency.

It seemed he had no intent of breaking for air, never mind returning the vodka to the bar.