Rose/Michael
Did everything have to be about that ? Roses mouth thinned at the off-the-cuff comment, somehow or another everything seemed to come back to that. Perhaps it was a Ravenclaw trait or just something that was shared by all men. And animals. Boys were just..eurgh. Boys.
“You can make these?” Rose took another sip of her drink, enjoying it more since the tinge of alcohol had long since faded. She couldn’t remember the last drink she’d tried that had actually tasted of alcohol. That was a good thing, right? “Can you show me how to make it? Or write it down? These are really, really good. The Leaky doesn’t have anything like this. Why not?” It suddenly seemed unfair that Muggles had access to these brilliant cocktails and she didn’t. “Really brilliantly, amazing good. Is brilliantly a word? Does it matter if its not because it should be. Brilliantly. Brillintly. This cocktail tastes brilliantly. Like fruit juice only with more of a kick. But a nice one, not like one from a donkey.”
Michaels hand on her own had her looking down with confusion; there was a hand on her own. In addition to one clutching the drink and tugging down her skirt. Did that mean she’d grown a third hand; was that why Muggles liked alcohol so much – they grew extra limbs? It was really very clever. Much smarter than a duplication charm and her fingers could move!
It wasn’t the first comment Rose had received about her dress or the legs; she’d chosen to wear it tonight because it was so far removed from her normal outfits but she took Michaels advice and very deliberately removed her hands form her skirt to fold them neatly on the bar. “No brain damage,” she promised. Michael was very nice, lovely and a friend but he was also the Wrong Ravenclaw. “I..,” she looked down and swirled her drink with the lime twist. Explaining the problem in her head was one thing but articulating it presented its own challenges. “I’ve never done anything exciting. Not really. People ask me for stories and I borrow them from clients or my friends – it’s always been other peoples adventures and experiences and well, I’m 21. Shouldn’t I have gotten my stories by now? Drunken mis-adventures, romantic entanglements, regrets? Do you know,” she confided in him suddenly serious “I don’t have a single regret? I mean there are small ones and I wish I’d seen my brother one last time but the people I care about know I care about them and that I love them. I never go to bed on an argument and I can’t even get drunk anonymously without bumping into someone I know? I want to do something exciting. Everyone thinks I’m twelve when I’m a fully grown w..person. I have a job, a flat and a pet. Responsibilities.”