Patrick wasn't exactly faring all that well himself - in the midst of bar-crawling his way through every place in London where he knew of or had worked with any of the staff or management, he'd managed to forget that he had (so, so stupidly) scheduled himself to work the early morning shift on New Year's Day. Surely there had been some kind of reasoning behind it, but as he dragged his painfully hungover (a rather unfamiliar sensation, made all that more painful by its rarity) self around the back of the bar, prepping the bottles of champagne and orange juice he knew would start getting requested soon, he genuinely couldn't remember what it had been
( ... )
Marlow heard the voice, deep and Irish, before lifting her head up. When she took in his face, all blue eyes and blond scruff, her lips parted. She brushed her hand through her hair, her curls a bit wild, and leaned back into her stool, trying for the life of her not to look like she'd been carried out (or in, she supposed) with the morning trash, even if she felt like her head was in a vice grip.
He was rather handsome, anyone with two eyes could tell you that, and here she was wild hair, no make-up and a sweater two sizes too big. She could have made a bit more of an effort when she readied herself that morning but she was finding it difficult what with most of her things boxed up.
"Bloody Mary?" she asked, offering him a hapless shrug of her shoulders.
Pat had automatically started reaching for a glass and the vodka stashed under the ledge of the counter before she'd even wrapped up the phrase (there were only so many ways an order starting with 'bloody-' could go, really), allowing his eyes to properly take in the sight of her as his hands went about their business on their own. She looked about as rough as he felt, to be honest, though he had nothing against the ruffled-hair and comfortably-dressed look. Clearly he hadn't been the only one to enjoy the previous night.
He slid the finished drink towards her across the counter, ice cubes clinking around the branch of celery that stuck out from the glass. "Happy New Year," he offered as he leaned back, wiping his hand on the rag he had tucked inside his belt in lieu of an actual apron.
She watched him as he worked, her eyes fixated on his hands. They were meticulous in their movements. Marlow had mixed enough potions in her short lifetime to know what it took to get to the point where you didn't even have to look down anymore (she was much the same with Lupin's wolfsbane). She was rather impressed, her Bloody Marys very important to her.
She cupped the glass in her hand as she smiled, glancing back up at him now.
"Thanks-" she said, gesturing to the glass. "You too- It must suck to have to work today, yeah?"
Though, by the looks of the place, at least he wouldn't be very busy.
"Tell me about it," Patrick shook his head, then quickly stopped when it became clear that the slosh he had apparently made of his brain wasn't handling the motion all that well. If the goal had been to hate himself in the morning last night, he had certainly accomplished it.
"Though if you have to work, there are worst places to have to do it-" He pointedly reached for the tumbler of neat whiskey he had stashed under the bar and had been slowly nursing all morning, tipping it toward her in a small toast before taking a sip. If he'd learned anything in his years as both a proper Irishman and an employee in drinking establishments, it was that the only real cure for overindulgence was more indulgence-
She raised her glass before taking a small sip from the straw. The pepper tickled her nose but it was good and delicious and exactly what Marlow needed after an incredibly early brunch date with her parents. Honestly, nine in the morning following New Year's Eve? It was like they were punishing her for something.
She sighed, scrunching her face just slightly as she looked at the whiskey in his hand.
"This is one thing-" she said, gesturing to her own drink. "How on Earth can you drink that this early in the day?"
Pat met her comically wrinkled nose with a quiet laugh. He held up his glass, nodding toward her own much more intricately garnished drink with something that playfully bordered on disdain.
"You get points for going the more nutritional route, but this stuff-" He swirled the amber liquid around for emphasis. "-is pure medicine."
"I didn't eat all that much for breakfast-" she defended, before pulling the celery from the glass and pointing it at him. "I've got to try and counteract all the drinking I did last night in some way-"
She nearly winced when she thought about the near three bottles of champagne she finished all on her own.
"What exactly are you trying to cure, then?" she asked, hitching an eyebrow.
"The hangover from hell, apparently," Patrick admitted before he could really stop himself. It was hardly professional to be discussing his own state of overindulgant misery with a client, but, well, it was early morning on New Year's Day, the place was empty, and she seemed relatively harmless, if not just downright adorable.
"Happy New Year, and all that?" he tipped his glass again, downing the rest of drink and reaching for the Jameson for a refill.
"I managed to celebrate at the most dysfunctional New Year's Eve party I might have ever attended," she said, giving her shoulders a little shrug before she took a crunchy bite of her celery.
She wasn't even sure she liked the vegetable all that much but it was there and she was hungry and it was completely inappropriate to order fried bar food before the kitchen even opened. And she was yet to be at that level of cranky- especially considering another glance at her bartender put her in a better mood.
"It was your typical evening of drama and hook-ups and lamps exploding?" she trailed off, her brow furrowing.
"Drama and hookups, I get. But exploding lamps might take the cake as far as dysfunctionality goes," Pat commented with a raised eyebrow.
He could hardly imagine what types of circles this one ran in that her friends went about smashing (blowing up?) small appliances, but perhaps there was more fire to her than the cuteness of her bleary morning look gave away-
He caught his train of thought then, a small frown tugging at his eyebrows. Mind yourself, Callaghan, he thought, looking down at his drink. Clearly he was getting too old to be dealing with the mind-muddling brought on by hangovers-
She stuck the half-eaten celery back into the glass, taking another sip from the tomato-infused concoction as she looked up at him. There was hardly a better place for her to be right now, a Bloody Mary in her hands and a rather handsome bartender standing across from her. If there was anything to distract her from everything else going on in her life, it was this.
"Yeah, you know, sometimes tempers get the better of people," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "You know what's worse?"
He rubbed a hand over his eyes and leaned against his side of the bar (bloody hell when had standing become such a pain, he really was getting too old to deal with all of this) playing with the glass between his hands.
"I can't imagine, but do tell," he urged, an amused grin pulling at his lips despite the pounding that flared behind his eyes.
She didn't quite realize how massive he was until he leaned down against the bar, his height still seemingly incredible against her own tiny one (even if she was propped up on a tall stool). Still, she propped her elbow on the counter and leaned a bit closer toward him.
"I kissed someone last night-" she said, a playful gleam behind her eyes. "And you know why? Because he'd never kissed anyone before-"
Pat's eyebrow properly shot up, an actual feeling of curious interest sparking up in him, strangely invested as he had suddenly gotten in this conversation. He shot another look down the empty bar - what the hell, he clearly had nothing better to do.
"You're kidding. As in- no one, ever?" He paused, another thought, weirdly drilled into him by years of checking IDs, crossing his mind. "This was someone of age, I'm assuming?"
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He was rather handsome, anyone with two eyes could tell you that, and here she was wild hair, no make-up and a sweater two sizes too big. She could have made a bit more of an effort when she readied herself that morning but she was finding it difficult what with most of her things boxed up.
"Bloody Mary?" she asked, offering him a hapless shrug of her shoulders.
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He slid the finished drink towards her across the counter, ice cubes clinking around the branch of celery that stuck out from the glass. "Happy New Year," he offered as he leaned back, wiping his hand on the rag he had tucked inside his belt in lieu of an actual apron.
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She cupped the glass in her hand as she smiled, glancing back up at him now.
"Thanks-" she said, gesturing to the glass. "You too- It must suck to have to work today, yeah?"
Though, by the looks of the place, at least he wouldn't be very busy.
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"Though if you have to work, there are worst places to have to do it-" He pointedly reached for the tumbler of neat whiskey he had stashed under the bar and had been slowly nursing all morning, tipping it toward her in a small toast before taking a sip. If he'd learned anything in his years as both a proper Irishman and an employee in drinking establishments, it was that the only real cure for overindulgence was more indulgence-
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She sighed, scrunching her face just slightly as she looked at the whiskey in his hand.
"This is one thing-" she said, gesturing to her own drink. "How on Earth can you drink that this early in the day?"
( ... )
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"You get points for going the more nutritional route, but this stuff-" He swirled the amber liquid around for emphasis. "-is pure medicine."
( ... )
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She nearly winced when she thought about the near three bottles of champagne she finished all on her own.
"What exactly are you trying to cure, then?" she asked, hitching an eyebrow.
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"Happy New Year, and all that?" he tipped his glass again, downing the rest of drink and reaching for the Jameson for a refill.
"I'll assume you celebrated in style as well?"
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She wasn't even sure she liked the vegetable all that much but it was there and she was hungry and it was completely inappropriate to order fried bar food before the kitchen even opened. And she was yet to be at that level of cranky- especially considering another glance at her bartender put her in a better mood.
"It was your typical evening of drama and hook-ups and lamps exploding?" she trailed off, her brow furrowing.
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He could hardly imagine what types of circles this one ran in that her friends went about smashing (blowing up?) small appliances, but perhaps there was more fire to her than the cuteness of her bleary morning look gave away-
He caught his train of thought then, a small frown tugging at his eyebrows. Mind yourself, Callaghan, he thought, looking down at his drink. Clearly he was getting too old to be dealing with the mind-muddling brought on by hangovers-
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"Yeah, you know, sometimes tempers get the better of people," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "You know what's worse?"
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"I can't imagine, but do tell," he urged, an amused grin pulling at his lips despite the pounding that flared behind his eyes.
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"I kissed someone last night-" she said, a playful gleam behind her eyes. "And you know why? Because he'd never kissed anyone before-"
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"You're kidding. As in- no one, ever?" He paused, another thought, weirdly drilled into him by years of checking IDs, crossing his mind. "This was someone of age, I'm assuming?"
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"Of course he was," she said, shaking her head. "What kind of woman do you take me for?"
She took a sip from her drink before grinning.
"Can you imagine being a twenty-five year old bloke without ever having kissed someone?"
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