Hidden venom || Alice

[Persephone Grimsbane]

Mid January
Around 10 pm

As accustomed as she was becoming to the rowdy crowds that sometimes gathered at the bar, Poppy was still grateful for the slower nights. They were no good for business and were, mercifully, further and fewer between but there was something about the cozy atmosphere and the sluggish passage of patrons in and out of the bar, set against the backdrop of the low music that streamed out from the radio behind the bar.

It was a little like being transported to another, less tumultuous  time and place. The pleasant lull enticed the return of her earlier fatigue.

Nights like these helped her clear her mind and offered a reprieve from the chaos her mind inevitably fell into during...most days at the ministry. Things were getting easier standing behind the bar, pulling for drinks to soothe the troubles of those who'd stumbled in. The ministry was another beast entirely. Months later, she still staggered over most of her sentences and seldom felt she was doing anything right.

Through what she could only imagine to be the worse luck, she continued to draw the shortest straw and her resulting runs across the varying levels proved to be their own source of anxiety.

Poppy took her time cleaning the countertop of the bar, focusing on firm, circular motions. She'd chosen a more manual approach in order to pass the time and to give herself a centre of focus. There were only a few bar goers that night, scattered about the comfortable but mismatched furniture. The soft hum of their muttered conversations swirled into the music, nearly indistinguishable. None needed a drink at the moment so after serving the last a few minutes earlier, she set to removing the spills of the earlier night.

Next, she would clean the glasses.

[Alice Swan]

The owl took flight just as she crushed the letter in her hand.

This was the problem dealing with shady businessmen; they loved to live by their own rules. Unfortunately for them, they didn’t know Alice Swan. In their gangland infested by patriarchy, they looked down upon her, reducing her to a good looking woman their eyes could feast on, insinuating nothing cunning or sharp inhabited her skull.

These sons of bitches were in for a nice surprise next time they stepped in her shop.

Taking out her wand, she burned the parchment to a crisp, letting the breeze carry the ashes away. Spinning on her heel, she walked into the bar they were meant to meet at, desperately needing a drink—

What fresh hell was this.

Barely any patrons littered the disgustingly friendly atmosphere of this establishment meant to be a bar. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of mismatched furniture and…games? She suddenly felt an increasing urge to turn back and brave the cold, taking the small walk to Knockturn Alley and losing herself to the familiarity of the Snake Pit’s colorful neons and questionable customers. Everyone here just looked sad and deplorable, far too dreadful to even be a shred of entertainment for her nefarious ways.

Those assholes would pay even more for making her step foot into this shitty bar.

Shrugging out of her coat, looking even more out of place with the dress that hugged her figure, Alice walked towards the bar. Her gaze landed on the girl behind the counter, and she wrestled her face to remain neutral even if a new wave of disgust crashed over her.

“You work here?”

She looked just as miserable as the others. For all she knew, she decided to play mixologist for the night to give a meaning to her depressing life.

[Persephone Grimsbane]

“You work here?”

Poppy startled at the sudden intrusion. The rhythmic movement of her cleaning had transported her deep inside her mind, filling her with worries that were meant for another time. The young blonde had been trying to organise her thoughts into something more cohesive, and in doing so had lost sight of the bar around her.

Recovering quickly, Poppy dropped the old washcloth she'd been using in favour of turning to face the newest patron. She offered a practiced smile, falling back into a routine she knew all too well. It had been difficult at first--and awkward--but the repetitive nature of the job dulled her to some of the greater anxieties that crept in, particularly with faces she was yet accustomed to. "Sure am. What can I get for you?"

A practiced line. If there was nothing else she could claim proficiency in, it was taking the orders of all who came and ensuring they got their drink. It was a modest brag at most and that suited her well.

The smile shrank as she finally, really, took in the woman before her. Poppy was learning that there were entirely too many gorgeous women in London that just knew who they were and were prepared to take over whatever space they entered. Try as she might to remain calm and unintimidated, she could already tell it would be a losing battle but she would try.

This was a patron like any other, no matter how nicely she dressed. The same lines would work. Her galleons would be the same. She would leave when she'd had her fill, never remembering the baby-faced blonde who'd served her her drink.

"The menu's back there," she said, nodding to the board that hung behind her by the shelves of liquor. "B--But if you can't decide what to get, I could probably recommend something. I'm...I'm not much of a drinker myself but I--I've heard a lot of the patrons give their take. Just...uh...let me know your taste and I could...I could probably get you something you'll like."

[Alice Swan]

The more the blonde spoke—stuttered, really, the thing barely capable of stringing letters together—the more the sharp angles of her face slacked, sinking into desperation.

“You’re a bartender but you’re not a drinker? What the hell are you doing here?”

Alice gave the bar another look, the disgust evident in her gaze. “Idiots truly are cheap labor,” she mused. Sharp green eyes landed on the child playing adult on the other side of her bar. Slowly, they followed her upper half not concealed behind the counter, noticing every rumple and fold in her clothing, the flat shade of her hair, the cracks in her mask. They dug into her hues as if breaking through her skull, fetching conserved secrets.

“Bet you don’t get any tips,” her voice was husky, the borders between insult and inappropriate blurring. “No wonder, have you even looked at yourself?”

She glanced upward at the menu and another wave of regret for even stepping foot into the establishment hit her. Sunday roast. Might as well advertise that every patron was family—gag.

She badly needed a drink.

Alice walked to the other side of the bar. “Move,” she ordered, swatting the air by the girl’s face. “Your misery is polluting my air.”

[Persephone Grimsbane]

"I--"

Each sentence was worse than the last, burying Poppy deeper and deeper inside a chasm of verbal assault that stripped the young woman of her words. Before she could explain her low tolerance for liquor--a blessing in disguise considering the reaction that might have gained her--the gorgeous woman with the sharp eyes continued.

Poppy flushed a deep crimson, her entire face burning as she began the inevitable, inward shrinking. It was instinct by now, to always appear less where others appeared more, to do what she could to remove herself from the searing scrutiny and fade into the background like decorative wallpaper.

An idiot. One that didn't get tips. "Well--I--that's not true...I...I get...there are plenty of kind patr--"

“Move.”

What was happening?

Against every signal her brain was trying to give, Poppy moved to place herself before the woman whose presence commanded the room. "I'm sorry--wait, no, I'm not sorry. You--you can't be behind the counter, it's--it's against bar policy." She was anything but an intimidating force, the unfortunate image of an unfinished adult whose confidence scorned her and remained at a distance.

"If...If you'll tell me what you want, I could--I mean it wouldn't be difficult--I'm very good at my job, There's no need for you to--to get back here--please."

She had to be firm. Quinn was counting on her to maintain the bar and the order at the bar. If she let this woman in, others would think it was okay. Her nights would become hell and the bar would suffer. Quinn would lose the place and she'd be back to having nowhere to stay. There were simply too many reasons for her to not...attempt to act, even as her eyes shifted to be free of the withering gaze shot her way.

[Alice Swan]

Malevolence and amusement intertwined, crashing into a dangerous tango that splayed across red painted lips. The corner of her mouth upturned the slightest, but it was her eyes with their cutting edge that held the violence that played across scarlet.

Laughable, honestly. Downright entertaining to witness this puny little thing scramble for courage and make a show for nothing. Her body followed its motor impulses as her soul withered away. Though it didn’t take Alice’s presence to do that; one look at stutters here and Alice could safely assert that the blonde held not one sliver of confidence.

But how sweet, truly, that she caught a whisper of it and held so firmly to it. Quite a sight to behold. She might have even applauded the girl for her effort.

Instead, Alice stepped closer.

“Very good at your job, are you?”

Another step.

“How foolish of me to doubt you. Quite the backbone you’ve got there.”

She loomed closer, invading her space, siphoning the one drop of bravery she’d managed to muster.

“Funny thing about it though. Spines—”

Limited space pushed the girl until her back hit the bar.

“—can—”

Alice hovered over, closer and closer, forcing the self-entitled barmaid to recoil awkwardly back onto the counter if she sought for space.

“—break.”

Piercing hues stayed firmly on the girl as she reached for the nearest bottle and pushed it off the counter, sending glass and liquid spread across the floor.

“Oops.”

[Persephone Grimsbane]

The woman stepped forward. Poppy stepped back. The dance repeated itself over and over without the blonde ever noticing she'd lost the ground she'd tried to stand on.

Since moving to London, there had only been one other time that Poppy felt...hunted--prey in the line of sight of a predator--mentally torn apart without there ever being a physical blow. The young woman withered further, shrinking into herself even as the invisible force that went before the woman continued to push her back.

The solid wood of the counter informed her that she was cornered, the escape her subconscious had sought cut off.

Blue-green eyes widened and her mouth gaped but the gag that formed in her throat prevented words from coming up. Back flat against the solid mahogany structure, her mind emptied itself. All Poppy could see were striking red lips, and eyes that weren't done ripping her to shreds. The colour in her face worsened, the heat creeping up nearly an inferno.

Her own lips moved, trying to protest...trying to insist...trying to do...anything but her throat had closed itself off to sound, refusing to be a party in the folly she attempted with further, futile thoughts of protest.

The crash of glass against the bar floor yanked her back to a reality her mind had tried so hard to evade.

On instinct, Poppy shoved against the woman, wiggling her way free. She leaned over the counter and her stomach sank at the sight of the broken glass and the liquid that seeped through the cracks. It was one of their more expensive bottles.

"Oh god. Oh no. No no no."

She would have to face her. As much as common sense insisted she pretend it didn't happen and go on to serving someone else, it was...she had to...if someone..."You'll..." in the end, Poppy couldn't bring herself to turn and look at her, afraid of being lost in the trance once more. "You'll have to--to...pay for t--that. I--even if it was--was an accident," as the blonde forced herself to believe. "I--you--just...just go back behind the ...the counter and I'll get the bill--it won't take long."

Please.