`` faculty meeting . . . [open, adults]

[lancelot conall callaghan]

PROF. L. C. CALLAGHAN____

He was used to people staring at him by this point in his life – one had to adjust to being whispered about and pointed at none too subtly when venturing out in public for even so mundane a task as having a quiet drink (although, he supposed, reflecting upon the scenario that this was probably a source of gossip when one considered his track record with alcohol and the public forum). It came in the job description for all those in the spotlight, dealing with the people scrutinizing your every action and hanging on every detail of your routine was something that one had to get used to; you couldn’t take the celebrity and still expect anonymity (regardless of how much your right you thought it was). And it had all only gotten worse since his dismissal from the Magpies, people growing full of gossip and rumours and seeming to take great pride in making the story even more ludicrous with each telling – although the real circumstances were a thrilling tale, the public seemed to have been taken in by the lies spread by his old manager and the publicists, and revelling in Lance’s apparent vices.

He thanked the barman quietly, politely and handed over his money for the pint of stout he had ordered, leaving the same again as tip to hopefully quiet the tongue of the barman a bit and gain some sway in favour of positive speaking of his personality. He lingered by the bar, staring at his pint for a moment before braving casting a furtive glance around for a table in quiet situation (unable to avoid noting the various gazes that were cast his way – though happy to see that some did indeed seem to be favourable in expression, but keeping this fact to himself). Targeting a corner booth currently being vacated, he made his move swiftly, long strides taking him to the table just as the last of its previous occupants left the vicinity. Slipping into the well-worn velour bench with fluid grace that came naturally to him, he exhaled a satisfied breath and placed his drink down in front of him, hoping that he would be afforded some privacy – not that it was likely. Whether or not you followed a sport, or music, or writing, if there was a new celebrity in town then you paid them attention (even if only because everyone else was or out of subconscious habit). It would die down, he knew it would, it always did; he’d just have to put up with it until then.

It was a shame too. He loved the fans: signing autographs, posing for photographs, hearing about their Quidditch teams and their enthusiasms... He could even live with the haters, though he was usually able to at least convert them a little to himself as a person, getting a good back and forth going and ending up parting without so much hostility. What he couldn’t abide were those who sought to spoil his name through lies and deception, the people who started the vicious rumours and bandied slander around, the people who wouldn’t give him the time of day to set things straight. He scowled at his hand wrapped around the glass, running a thumb up and down slightly on the surface condensation, oblivious to the stares that still surrounded him.

Sighing again, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a drink, before replacing the glass and removing his coat. He laughed sycophantically to himself, wondering if perhaps people were staring at him not because they knew who he was but rather because they didn’t – this stranger coming into their local tavern, looking utterly out of place in his black suit and coat, surrounded by wizards in their proper wears of robes and cloaks. He glanced around again, over the top of his glass this time in attempt to look more casual, and noticed that some of the older patrons did indeed seem to be discussing his attire (complete with actions), almost causing him to choke on his drink as he laughed at this. Hastily he turned his eyes downwards to the table in front of him, to all the world looking like a naughty child who figured that not looking at something meant that you couldn’t be seen either.

---

STATUS:: done.
WORDS:: seven-one-nine.
NOTES:: come one come all, lance here doing some winding down after his first day of teaching classes.
MUSIC:: last call casualty - bowling for soup.
TAGGS:: open, adults.

[nicolehartley]

Nicole looked at the clock on her desk. It was six minutes past seven and she had finally finished all the paper work that had needed seeing to. It had taken her most of the day to finish it but she was glad she had done it. The pieces of parchment had been accumulating on her desk for quite some time now. You couldn't even see her desk this morning and now, at least, it looked like a proper work space. Nic spent the next few minutes tidying up her office. Putting her quills and ink back in their draw. Filing the last few bits of parchment away in the cabinet. She straightened up the photographs she had on her walls and such. There. The small room looked much neater now. It looked much more professional in Nic's opion and that was how she liked to appear. Professional. Having finished all that needed attending to in her office she left the small room and headed towards the club's main area. It was empty. Nic sighed as though disappointed, but she hadn't exactly been expecting much of a crowd. Monday nights were always slow. Always. There were two dancers who worked Monday nights, but since no customers were in they sat at one of the far tables playing cards. The bartender had joined them. This too was not unusual and Nic never minded so long as the minute a client walked through their doors they were back at their posts.

"If no one comes in by nine you guys can pack up and head home for the night." Nic explained to her employees. Most Mondays they closed early. Mondays just weren't a night people liked to come out and drink, spend their money on dancing girls and have a good time away from their families. Tuesdays were also pretty slow. Nicole understood this and so usually Mondays and Tuesdays were her days off. Most weeks she would pop into the club to check on things, but she trusted the club's manager enough to run the place without her. At least, she trusted he knew what would happen to him if he did ever let something happen to the club. Hartley's was Nic's baby. It had been open for a couple of years now and so far in life it had be Nicole's biggest achievement. "I probably won't be in tomorrow, but Max you know the deal. I'll see you all on Wednesday then." And with that Nicole turned on her heels and walked out of her club.

It was warm outside so Nicole wasn't wrapped in too many layers. Although most people preferred not to go out for a drink on Mondays, Nic was not most people. Today, ususally her being her day off, would normally be one where she would go out with her friends for a drink. Tonight, however, Nicole wasn't in the mood to socialise. She walked through Diagon Alley for a while before finally making up her mind. She held her wand tight, focused on where she wanted to go and with a loud CRACK! the witch was gone. She appeared with an equally loud crack outside of The Hog's Head. A tavern in the small magical village of Hogsmeade. It wasn't exactly the most respectable of places, but it was often quiet enough to have a drink without being interrupted. Nicole put her hand on the doorknob and twisted it, pulling the door open and sliding inside the building.

It was just as warm inside the room than it was outside. Probably even warm. No matter. Nicole's feet placed themselves one in front of the other as she walked in a straight line towards the bar. She didn't walk like that on purpose, at least not any more. But it was a habit she'd gotten into when she was a few years younger and wanted to attract the attention of males with her the swaying of her hips. "Just a fire whiskey, thanks." Nicole smiled at the bartender who poured the drink and as she went to take a mouthful from it her eyes landed on a lonely figure sitting by himself. "My, my, my," Nicole said as she began to walk towards him, "If it isn't the famous Lancelot Callaghan in the flesh." She smiled at him and sat down across the table from him, "Mind if I join you? I'm Nicole Hartley, by the way."

- - - - - - - - -
Status: Finished.
Notes: Oh, hey there Vince xD
Outfit: ClickClickClick.
Tagged: Vince/Lance
Word count: 770

[lancelot conall callaghan]

PROF. L. C. CALLAGHAN____

He took a deep swill from his glass mug, internalizing a sigh of contentment as he swirled the dark liquid around his teeth before swallowing it. It was most probably a bad habit to get into, drinking after work, at the beginning of the week, on his own – and he knew all too well the consequences of using alcohol to mask those not so pleasant things in life, it was partly why he was in the predicament that he was in. He stared off into the middle distance, head pointed in the direction of one of the grubby windows but his eyes not actually seeing anything of the view. Quickly he roused himself from those kind of thoughts, what was done was done and he couldn’t change the facts (well “facts” was probably more correct, he thought with one last stab of bitterness).

He diverted his attentions to a well-read letter which he had produced from his pocket, dark eyes again glancing over the familiar words written with the practiced hand of a loving mother in, what was so alien in this which had become his world, black ballpoint pen. He knew those words by rote by this point, the letter it could be deduced from the folds and fading of the paper a good number of years old now, sent to him in his first month away from home with the Magpies – a cheery letter wishing him the best and all those words of encouragement that are given by parents when their children are no longer under their watchful gaze. It wasn’t the first letter that he had been sent, but it was one that meant a lot to him, the one which he could most easily pinpoint his mother’s mannerisms in her stories and where his father had scribbled hastily at the throughout in his not-so-neat, spidery scrawl asides in his typically staunch humour. “Oh for the love o’ the good lord,” he read under his breath, gruffing his voice up to sound more like his father, “she’s only gone an’ broke out the baby books again.” He chuckled quietly, taking another drink as he refolded the pages to his pocket, replacing them beside his watch, and instead removed a small leather journal and pen.

Not that he knew particularly what to write – having decided that saying “I taught kids to fly today” might get a little old quite fast. He tapped the pen upon the paper in unconscious and pointless rhythm, random patterns being applied to the edges of the page as he thought over nothing in particular, his right hand still grasped around his pint and equally unconsciously spinning it round in circles.

He couldn’t help but lift his head as the click of high-heeled shoes echoed across the well trodden wooden floor boards of the dingy tavern however, in spite of himself and everything that he had just begun to properly block out. He willingly allowed his attention to be kept, and really it was to be expected: the women who those shoes belonged to was easily the best looking in the bar and had commanded the attention that she was being paid (by every gentleman in the pub) in every facet from her head to her toes. Lance would have thought himself subtle however, his glances furtive and having being able to avoid the outright leering that several individuals had not quite managed to evade. He still managed to catch her eye by chance though, not that she seemed to mind – clearly a woman of her calibre was used to being looked at and, the ex-Quidditch player liked to think, at least he was a lot better looking than he suspected most who would approach her were.

Recognised. Of course. He offered her slight smile, lips barely pulled back across his teeth – still unsure exactly which way the conversation would turn, she hadn’t given anything away yet. As she invited herself to sit, he motioned to the empty chair regardless with a slight inclination of his head and unconfrontational expression on his face. She introduced herself. Hartley, the name vaguely rang a bell somewhere in the back of his head but the Irishman unable to place it at the moment. Assuming it would come to him upon investigation, he enquired, “So fan of the Magpies are you?” was it from matches or interviews that the name was from? “Or you one of those who support international teams that’re better than your own lot?” He laughed a little sycophantically, attempting to keep his mood light but making no promises if the conversation should turn against him.

---

STATUS:: done.
WORDS:: seven-seven-one.
NOTES:: thanks for waiting, bleh - uni's killer...
MUSIC:: last goodbye - jeff buckley.
TAGGS:: ms. n. e. hartley; open, adults.

[nicolehartley]

For the most part Nic was somewhat socially withdrawn. While she had a close circle of friends and she would meet up with them regularly, she wasn't the type of woman who went out frequently just because she could. Even though she owned a club, Nic didn't fancy going out every other night and getting so drunk she ended up in a stranger's bed. She wasn't too interested in going out every other night anyway. It just wasn't what she liked to do. On occasion, like tonight, Nic would head out for a drink by herself so as not to end up at home alone with a bottle of wine. Rarely did she stay for more than two drinks and even more rarely did she run into people that she knew well enough to want to sit down and have a real conversation with. To be completely honest Nicole wasn't sure what had motivated her to want to sit down with Callaghan. She didn't think she had ever met him. Maybe they were at Hogwarts at the same time, but as far as she could remember she was several years above him and in separate houses. Even if they had known each other back then it would have been brief encounter, one that neither were likely to ever remember.

But here Nicole sat. She took a mouthful from her drink and her eyes stayed on Callaghan's face as he spoke. For someone who liked to think she was polite she had thrown herself in front of the man expecting to be welcomed. He didn't tell her to bugger off, at least. So that was a good sign, wasn't it? "Actually, I'm not a big fan of the sport." And it was the truth. Nicole was far from a sports buff. In fact, she couldn't care less about the Wizarding World's sporting events. Or the muggle events either for that matter. So that made the fact that Nicole had chosen to sit with a former professional quidditch player even stranger. "I do have four brothers though, who are quite obsessed. I'm sure at one point in time at least one of them would have had posters of you plastered on their walls. I'm pretty sure somebody in my family is a Magpies fan." She half smiled at him as she began to feel awkward. Why on Earth had Nicole chosen to sit down with him.

Rarely did Nicole act on impulse. Okay, maybe not as rarely as she liked to think. But Nicole was a woman who liked to have schedule which outlined every aspect of her day. For Nic, everything needed to be planned out. She was the kind of woman who kept lists of all sorts of things so that she could refer back to them. But that is neither here nor there. Nicole had walked into the tavern and had caught the attention of nearly every male in there, if not all of them. In Nicole's younger days she liked to grab the attention of men, but the older she got the less she felt the need to. In fact, the older Nicole got the less she wanted to attract the attention of men. Unfortunately she still had a few habits that now unintentionally attracted the attention of men. Nicole hadn't thought she had really attracted Callaghan's attention when she walked in, although she couldn't be sure. Since she no longer yearned for it she took little notice when it was given to her. Instead, when Nicole had turned around after being served her drink, Callaghan had kind of jumped out at her. Not literally of course. He was a reasonably good looking man and famous too. So although she didn't personally know the man, there was always plenty of time to get to know him.

As Nicole took another mouthful of her drink she noticed the pen and the journal Callaghan had in front of me. She cared little for his journal. He wasn't someone so intriguing that she wanted to read his thoughts but Nicole wouldn't anyway. She understood boundaries and privacy. But still, the journal wasn't what had caught her attention. "Using muggle stationary, I see." It hadn't come out as a question like she had hoped. She tried to keep the judgement out of her tone. For all she knew he could be a pureblood who just preferred the way a muggle pen moved across the page. But she highly doubted it. She tried not to let that minor detail bug her. She tried to push it to the back of her mind. It really shouldn't matter what kind of stationary he used.

- - - - - - - - -

Status: Finished.
Notes: It's all good.
Outfit: ClickClickClick.
Tagged: Vince/Lance
Word count: 776

[lancelot conall callaghan]

PROF. L. C. CALLAGHAN____

He drew a breath in sharply through his teeth as she professed to not being a Quidditch supporter, more out of a lingering habit than any real sense of offence at the statement it had to be said – it had become something that was to be expected of him during his playing days, a reaction which set the foundations for forging new relationships by lightening the tone with mock affront. Shaking his head lightly, yet the obvious shadows of a smile deliberate in his expression, he rocked back in his seat and settled into the worn velour of the plush booth. He nodded along with her as she explained about her family, a more genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth to replace the somewhat sycophantic one that had appeared on his face at her first approach (not that he wasn’t happy for some form of company). “Ah well,” he intoned, “can’t win ‘em all I suppose.” he shrugged lightly, taking another sip of his drink.

He realized of course that the world didn’t revolve around Quidditch and that it was a perfectly acceptable that someone wasn’t a fan. Though she knew his name, which concerned him slightly – beyond being a fan there were only a couple of reasons for that: number one, she had a child at the school and had been informed of his employment (although he doubted this, the general aura that she exuded and a figure like hers); or number two, she remembered the stories from the papers the previous year (but this too seemed a little farfetched – why would someone bother to remember the name of a disgraced player unless a particular interest was held in them? It niggled at the side of his mind, although he did his best to keep his expression free of any reservations or apprehensions – something that he was well practiced at. He’d have to wheedle it out of her somehow.

Alongside this instilled sense of doubt, the woman’s appearance had done nothing to remedy the stares. Now instead of the curious looks and whispers behind hands, he could hear open conversations and see the disgruntled gestures thrown their way – from both the males and the females inside the pub. “Guess I do kinda stick out like a sore thumb already,” he intoned in reply, tilting his head to the side a little as he glanced around at the assembled, attempting to give no regard at present for their stares – it’s not like he could change the fact that they were staring by willing them to leave the pair to their privacy. “Don’ reckon I’m doin’ m’sel’ any favours with this...” he regarded the pen as he spun it through dextrous fingers, shrugged a little and replaced it in the inner pocket of his jacket, adding the journal to it in quick succession.

He then paused at something that had filtered through in the tone of her voice, something less than friendly lingering amongst the innocent phrase. His eyebrow quirked a little, a subconscious flicker of this small noteworthy thing. And suddenly he was on a slight edge, paranoia creeping in across his thoughts as his imagination ran riot with the situation. It all came back to him, the blackmail and the threats he had received at the club – memories that he had rightly suppressed, scenarios which had driven him into hiding and an ever tightening downward spiral from which he had not even reached the top rung of the ladder to escape from yet. He wondered then if the third option for his name being known to her was a possibility – it was always a last resort in his considerations, a wicked thing to think of someone, especially a charming stranger. Could she possibly move in the circles that had brought his name down to where it was now, that had put him into that tailspin in the first instances?

But such thoughts were banished from his mind as something came to him. “Hartley’s! Tha’s where I know yer name from.” he nodded, sitting forward in his seat and leaning across the table slightly; not even registering the embarrassment that he should have felt in knowing the name of an establishment, nor that it had taken him so long to realise that it was her name that had triggered something in the recesses of his brain rather than anything else. “Successful business woman type now then?” he asked with rhetoric and an approving nod, cowing his tone in a facade of innocence then, “Not that I’d know anything of your establishment of course...”

---

STATUS:: done.
WORDS:: seven-six-six.
NOTES:: ono.
MUSIC:: 57 - biffy clyro.
TAGGS:: ms. n. e. hartley; open, adults.

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