april 1974
late hours
on a friday
"Last call, hun."The affectionate barkeep who continued to line her pockets by cashing him out with every drink and, in his spirits and how many orders she'd closed by this point, earned herself a hefty tip tapped the counter to pull his attention from his nearly empty glass.
Lyn returned her words with a nod, another lift of his glass before he slammed it down more aggressively than he'd planned to signal he would take another. The bloke didn't notice the roll of the eyes, nor the sigh that fell off her lips as she moved away to do just that. With a fist holding up his face, his eyes heavy and droopy, his slow perception moved to examine the small space around him, trying to reflect on what he was doing here.
It started innocently enough. His office dispersed and, after slaving away for a week and ending it with another credited project and feather in their caps, some of the trainees had said they wanted to catch happy hour at Diagon and said he should come with. Lyn was usually above such things. Socializing with those beneath him wasn't a very good look and, as always, he favored appearances over anything else.
He didn't know what made him agree. There weren't any plans he'd made, and he would likely spend his evening cruising through the finer establishments to see if there was anyone worth his time and company. That had still been the plan when he arrived. Share a drink or two, make face, act like this was beneath him, and then leave without much of a second thought.
Something changed between the fifth and sixth drinks, when the alcohol had truly hit him, that he actually felt like he was enjoying himself. Talking shit about those not present, discussing politics and the changes being made by the new heads of the Ministry, the opportunities such policies afforded those on the inside; it was the sort of stuff Lyn hadn't thought he could get from those he generally spent the week bossing around and treating like dirt.
Unsurprisingly, he was left with the majority of the bill when he wanted to keep drinking and the rest were packing it up for the evening. Left to himself and the continually refilling whiskey, and after having flamed out trying to talk to the only attractive woman in the place, Lyn's eyes narrowed when a hot, steaming cup of coffee was presented to him instead of his usual.
"
It's got liquor in it," the barkeep answered, as if reading his mind.
"
But I'm not about to be the one to drag you out that seat when we close. So, try and sober up some, a'ight?"
He tried to think it over, but thinking at this state wasn't exactly prevalent. He, instead, figured he'd go off impulse, as he nodded and took a small sip of the coffee.
