The Wicked Witch wasn't somewhere he would have chosen, but he'd gotten the name of the owner from someone at the Apollo Center, and had been told the man would be receptive to live entertainment. So after the funeral, he'd gone home and changed, and then ventured to the pub. He made sure to have his wand at the ready, mindful of where exactly he was and Ronan's warnings when they first met.
It probably wasn't the best day to go, but Ophelia had said the man was only actually at the pub on Monday nights, so he didn't have any other choice if he wanted to actually get his band a gig. He was surprised at the number of witches and wizards, not to mention the hags and vampires among others, but if this was an indication of how busy the pub was, it would be a good place to get their name out there.
He asked at the bar if the owner was in, and after the large, scarred man studied him for long, almost scary minutes, he nodded. "Wait here," he grunted.
Ben nodded, and turned around to study the room again, taking in the people and making a note of what sort of music he thought they would like. His eyes scanned over a couple in the corner booth, his mouth quirking up as he noted their position, the mans large hands possessive on her hips. And then the woman moved, and his stomach dropped to his feet.
Ronan. Ronan, with his hands all over another woman, nearly fucking her in a public booth. He couldn't think past the pure, blinding hurt that rushed over him, and he couldn't help the gasp that escaped him, loud to his ears and drawing attention from the people around him.