'I'm a man of simple tastes,' Arcturus countered. Had this been a magical establishment, he might have worried about being seen as unrefined, but the opinions muggles had of him didn't matter a bit.
A name. His mind momentarily went blank, and he answered with the first one that came to mind. 'I'm Blishwick,' he said. 'Hector Blishwick. How do you do?' It was the name of his Quidditch team captain at school, and so ordinarily would have been a ridiculous thing to say, but it wasn't as if anyone here would know any differently. 'And I'm sure that your drinks are splendid. First-class. I'd hardly have bothered making the trip here otherwise. But as I said, it's shaping up to be an unexpectedly busy evening. I'm needed indoors.'
Arcturus took a seat in the booth, glad at least to be away from the press of the crowd. When the waitress approached them, he spoke up quickly, asking for a familiar, unexceptional sort of beer. Let the proprietor be disappointed. Arcturus was feeling discomfited enough without having to contend with anything unusual or exotic, and it would be bad form to contradict him. He could barely look at the waitress, whose outfit showed off more of her limbs than was decent for anyone, muggle or not.