Whiskey, A Killer's Friend ((open))

[Jacob Corrion]

Everything was amusing. Psh. Everything was a gambit, this whole late afternoon encounter was a bloody gambit and each move was one step closer to someone getting cornered. Checkmate. Game over man, game over. It was somewhere ahead and the biggest problem was he couldn't see it. "Aye, good liquor tends to do that. Wouldn' ave it any other way though." Wouldn't mindd you passed out either... Corrion thought while replying to the man. His sobriety was starting to fail, well, actualy it was probably already gone but it would be time to call it quits soon. Still he'd heard nothing. Perhaps he;d have to make something of nothing.

"Oi, what about that Shaw fellow? You think he's really what they say he is?" That, wasn't nothing and it probabl shouldn'tve been brought to light but it was better to sue something considered common news than something about say the Dark Mark over Renglvol*.

*Made up, probably doesn't actually exist

[Aros Orphe]

The man was started to annoy Aros with his questions that seemed to make reference to Aros' choice of allegiance. Aros turned and looked over at the man as he stood up shakily, swaying a bit as he used his chair as a balance, "What do they say he is?" he said, slurring his words slightly.

He shook his head slightly as he stared at Jacob, his vision was starting to betray him since he was seeing three Jacobs. He inconspicuously touched his wand, which was sheathed in his left sleeve, with his left hand. The man was asking questions that shouldn't have been asked. He had enough of this game they were playing. He wanted action. He wanted to get his hands dirty. He wanted blood.

[Jacob Corrion]

(Haha, that is a challange. Let's make this interesting, no?)

What did they say he was? Oh if only he knew what they had called the botanist in the past week alone. The theories, the accusations, the probable truths, his comrade, who while drunk seemed to have a voice similar to that of a poorly played Russian, would probably dance in his chair and become sober again if he heard some of them. "They say...they say, he's one of those Eleven's blokes, that he's a security risk o' somethin'. I don' buy it myself but, I supose they've got their reasons." Corrion rpelied, shaking his head to emphasise his disagreement.

In the time the two had talked Corrion's left hand had dropped to his side as well. Tensions were rising, and it was fairly certain that the waters of this watched pot would soon boil over lest someone cut back the heat. Chancces of that happening anytime soon, none.

[Aros Orphe]

(Lets.)

Even despite the current drunkenness that Aros himself was feeling, he heard the next comment from Jacob on Shaw. None of them truly were revealed as one of the Eleven so then this guy must've known. Knowing an identity of an Eleven was truly not common knowledge.

He shook the drunkenness away from his head as he eyed Jacob with blank and emotionless eyes. His wand slowly emerged from his left hand and he slowly moved it to his right hand where he grasped it firmly. He pointed is wand down onto the floor. The inhabitants of the Hog's Head barely payed any heed to them. Drunken wizarding duels were commonplace in the establishment.

He waited for Jacob to make his next move.

[Jacob Corrion]

Corrion watched wordlessly as the man's wand went from one hand to the next, unnoticed to the rest of the pub, the man was confident. Corrion admired confidence, but confidence, he had learned could easily land one in Mungo's, or worse. But if this man wanted something he would certainly get it as the alcohol had finally began impeding his judgement. Trainee days were coming back, and the 'I can take him' train of thought was barreling through his head at full throttle with no brake lever to pull. A smirk came over his lips while Corrion slowly rose from his chair and reached into his other pocket to pull out hardly half the cost of his tab, as it always was until after his surveilance was done. If one was a drunk, one most act like a drunk and not half sober.

"If you'll 'scuse me, I need to be going, I don't really wan' my girlfrien' seeing me like this..." The auror offered to his companion. He would be blown if he stayed much longer

"That's nowhere near enough. Come on, anty up, you pay off your tab, I ain't lettin' ya rack it up lack before. You're might lucky I let it go." The barkeep stated, clearly agitated. Corrion knew he was half drunk, if not three wuarters and had to leave. There was no time to daudle over money. The unknown man was onto him, had probably cracked him and he had to leave. Now.

"It's all there...seventeen knuts and a sickle, tha's yeser'days an' tiddys worth..." Corrion claimed, wasting no time to turn for the door and leave. Half staggering, it would take a good normal minute for his drunken act to get him to the door. He probably wouldn't make it halfway...

"Tha'ts NOT all your tab chap! 'Ey! Ante up!" The barkeep called to his back. Another commonality to another day's work.

(Godmod permission granted, if you please though nothing to immediately paralyze or render useless. I figure a upright conflict is in order, if you don't like my post let me know and I'll make amends or something, it's nearly 2:30am so, my brain might be a good deal off)