Perseverance and Typical Tastings.

[Jacob Corrion]

Chasing after Shaw on a constant basis had proven to be an impossible challenge in that it held impossible expectations. Shaw had made his choice to be the dangerous criminal he was long before he'd made his public debut with that hat atop his head, just as the Deva had chosen to be more than mere children. And just like the Ministry had underestimated the Deva as a whole, they had underestimated Shaw as well and now they had nothing but this farce to show for it all.

He hadn't been working alone, didn't lack an educated mind, and had the ability to go from most constantly seen face in a crowd to ghost in mere seconds. His job was hard enough, and now he had all these other faces and Deva ‘officers’ to look for at the same time even though they operated out of different countries?! Really, just what did they want him to do; did they want Shaw, or one of these others? They really needed to make a choice because right now unless they got really; really bloody lucky, they weren't going to get anything accomplished or anyone caught with constantly spread resources and thinner spread cooperation.

Cooperation. Ha, that was a joke. Sure everyone looked nice and orderly for the pictures and press, but everyone wanted to be the one to bring home the galleons and more times than not that had meant twisting more than a few arms the wrong way. Personally he just wanted Shaw. Why? Because the man had made a fool of him thrice and he was just plain tired of the coward. He didn't need any other reasons, vendettas never did.

Did he follow his orders that revolved around the other faces? Of course he did, for he was a good misistorial puppet, but Shaw was his holy grail of criminals whether anyone else liked it or not. No one made a mockery of him and left without a bloody nose. No one. Not even when he was drunk.

Presently all he could do however was stare at the map full of marked 'sightings' in his office and blindly pick which one to try next. They were all tempting, all oh so tempting...and most probably also oh-so-false.

"That. Cowardly. Shell of a man!" The auror shouted once more before storming from the station. He needed a drink, more preferably several if his tab would allow it. And after knocking a couple people half-hazardly from his path he entered the place that had long been his second home all the way back to his later-Hogwarts days. The dinging of the bell above the door, the smell of liquor and sound of drunken buffoonery…everything for a brief moment was right again.

“Two of the usual; both for me!”

(Open.)

[Michelangelo Bruno]

Michelangelo was frustrated for sure. He had spent a lot of his time searching for the Deva it was beginning to be rather annoying. How could he work with them if he had no way to find them? It frustrated him to no end. He could not go around asking the most obvious questions, for he was unsure who exactly he might be talking to. Yet, he needed the information people might have, and in the end even though he might take a step in the right direction, it always seemed that the Deva had taken a step away at the same time.

Though really he still had to figure out what he would do once he found the Deva. Join them? Michelangelo could not see himself as some kind of follower. But would they really just accept someone as a helper rather than a pawn? He doubted that was a possibility really. What he was sure of though, was once he found them, and he would find them, the matter would come up. So for now he still had to figure it out.

And so he came to this...establishment to relax on more than one occasion. He found their lack of variety in beverage a bit disheartening, but he did enjoy the rough atmosphere.

So he sat there at the bar taking several sips of whatever it was he had been handed. Something called Deuchars IPA, an India Pale Ale. And having traveled to India before, he was interested to see if the flavor reminded him of the country. Though in all seriousness it did not.

His thoughts of travel were interrupted by a man, a younger man that seemed to be having it rather rough. Ordering two drinks for himself, and a 'usual' no less. The guy must have come here rather often, whoever it was. And finding himself becoming more and more of a 'usual'. His own frustrations that he could not find the Deva seemed to be somewhat mirrored in this man. At least, the mark of distress, he clearly was upset about something. What that thing was could be anyone's guess.

So perhaps this would be a good chance to get to know a local. If he were lucky enough he might find out information he still sought. “Rough day?” He asked, not looking over at the man, instead taking a sip of his drink after asking the question. Not knowing if the man even heard him, or wanted to hear him.

[Jacob Corrion]

Corrion had only been half paying attention to the far from polite 'clink' of the bottle of scotch being placed before him. Yes, bottle, as in one, single, solitary, shoddy and lonely bottle. The screw up did not go unnoticed for long as it was of course not only obviously not what he'd ordered but also unlike the Goat to screw up an order for a regular. He wasn't even anywhere remotely near sodden yet and the man was cutting him off already? No that just didn't make sense.

"Forgotten how to count, Goat? That's only - Bloody. One. Aberforth."

"Yes well, you owe me on your tab for starters and that boss of yours, Bach? Anyhow, he put you on a limit."

A limit? A LIMIT?! Just who in the name of Merlin (besides his boss) did that great git think he was? Did he really think that telling a barkeep to limit his alcohol consumption would actually make him accomplish his undetermined primary goal any quicker? More importantly, did Bach think that Corrion would actually abide by this regulatory sentence? If he did then the man had only read his dossier and stopped listening to the cubicle wires...

even if most of what flowed upon them really was complete rubbish.

"Rough day?"

It was another voice than the Goat's, older than himself by far and what was possibly most surprising of it was that it was far more sober than most of the rest of the establishment's more diversified company. Apparently either preying on pissed off people was a personal hobby of his liking, he had an odd way of saying hello, or he was really completely plastered and therefore a bit confused as to his gender presently. Since he really did sound sober, he was going to go with that first choice, and he was also going to humor him...all it meant was that if it came to blows and fun he had a first punching bag within really quick reach.

"You've no idea Governor, no idea." Corrion replied with no intent of making eye contact until his present agenda was finished. "Goat! I don't care if Bach threatened you with summons! A limit is bloody rubbish and I want that ruddy second bottle!"

[Michelangelo Bruno]

Governor? Michelangelo paused as the man spoke up. His mug was just an inch or so from his lips. Had he more of the drink in his system this boy might have had a quick lesson in respect. Taking his frustration out on a man who asked a simple question, an older man, it was rude to say the least. The audacity of the people around here set Michelangelo off. Store owners, barkeeps, and now even those sitting on the same side of the bar were at odds with the old man.

If he ever found the Deva, or even just those who agreed with his beliefs would he come to be at odds with them as well? Would he be alone in this location in the world? Perhaps, but that would allow him to leave unnoticed and let him start another trip. Not that he wanted to consider Plan B just yet. As time had gone on though Michelangelo still wondered why he bothered to stop in this town. Revenge? No not just that. To find the Deva? Not just that either.

His thoughts derailed as the man yelled at the barkeep again and Michelangelo shook his head. “If ever a man could find shelter from a troubling day, it would come in waves of ale.” He sipped his own drink, “at least until a tab must be paid,” he said with a grin.

[Jacob Corrion]

"If ever a man could find shelter from a troubling day, it would come in waves of ale. At least until a tab must be paid.”

It was a troubling conundrum, the three way war that was going off in his brain. Part of him wanted to continue to pressure Abelforth behind the bar, part of him wanted to tell this man to mind his own manure, and part of him wanted to clap himself on the back for finding a spot of truth within the largest pool of liars in the northern lands of Scotland. The battle waged for a fury of seconds, eventually ending in a rather neatly wrapped compromise. "Goat, if that bottle's not here in 5 minutes, you'll be losing my business and I don't kid about good liquor." Corrion shot, glancing at Bruno briefly again. No man in their right state of mind bothered a disgruntled patron unless they were either a) the barkeep or b) knew who they were looking for and you happened to be them or c) wanted something from you. Normally it was a mixture of the latter two but tonight was just Corrion's unlucky night that he'd get all three - even if Abelforth would probably cave with that last threat. Now, to deal with this other bloke before the Goat grew some courage...or stupidity.

"As true as your statement is Gov I gotta ask. Whatcha want with me, eh? Most chaps don't make small talk in here because they feel like it. If you've a motive you're better off getting right to it."

Straightforward and to the point, really if this man wanted to talk water-cooler stories this was probably the last place to do it unless you were some hired hand or ex enforcement. He didn't have a comraderie appeal to him in Corrion's eyes but then again, in here that fact meant little. Right now the man beside him was a nobody, worth as much time as he could squandor from everyone else and likely to have little information to give in return.