frankie goes to holly-wood | holly

[Galen Francis Ollivander]

nothing.

winter 2028

CLUB INDIGO PULSED LIKE A LIVING, BREATHING beast. Especially in that odd hour between 11pm and 3am. It always around when Frankie finished his shift, pushing sweaty hair out of his eyes and blinking at the strobes. He was never drunk enough when they had him behind the bar, but since Ronnie had fired him from the wand shop, he was sort of at a loss. His parent's refused to pay him a single ounce of silver that wasn't traced down to its metal. So, he stuck around for the chump change and the discounted booze.

"Take the rubbish out, and then just go." The craggy faced bartender said to Frankie as he simultaneously levitated a healthy portion of repulsive looking green liquor into a pale-faced wizards glass. They didn't exactly like Frankie at Club Indigo. It was common knowledge that he was the 'personality hire'. A bit of a joke. And Frankie had been desperate enough for money that he'd let it slide, pride and all. After a while, they let him tend the bar with minimal cruelty, and Frankie stopped spitting into their kitschy little magic coffee pot in the staff room.

Offering a two-fingered salute, Frankie lugged the two sagging bin bags out into the industrial bin in the back alley. Washing the smell of rotting fruit peels and sharp refuse from his hands, he exited the back room with a hankering for a pink of vodka. He'd been handed his cash in hand for the shift, and done an immediate u-turn to park himself at the serving side of the bar, near the door for ease of exit. That simpering smirk on his face as he asked for a double shot of goblin tequila and two fingers of their cheapest firewhiskey. Wizarding beer tasted like shit, in Frankie's opinion.

He had just downed his first shot, the tequila clearing his sinuses and watering his tired eyes, when he noticed for the first time that the stool beside him was occupied. A dainty little glass of rosé wine almost finished, painted fingernails wrapped close around the rim. Frankie pressed the back of his hand against his mouth, set the shot glass down and let his eyes follow the path of milky skin up a bare arm, to the sweep of honey blond hair and a peripheral that looked deliberately indifferent.

Licking his bottom lip shiny, Frankie downed his whiskey in one and hissed through his teeth as he called over that pock-faced bartender. He looked exasperated already, sick of the same routine Frankie insisted upon every time he finished a shift at the shitty little club. "Two double shots, this time, Willy." He grinned toothily, his expression manic, the bruise under his right eye deepened by the strobe lights. "And another glass of the rosé for my seat mate." He jerked his chin at the woman, tilting his chin as his grin softened into a smirk. Willy rolled his eyes, but cared little enough to disappear and fulfil the order. 

holly proserpina mcgonagall

NEVERLAND at ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0!

[holly proserpina mcgonagall]

Winter 2028

For years, Club Indigo had been the place to see and be seen in the magical world, and despite the countless nights she'd spent there already with this person and that person, Holly McGonagall found herself there again. Instead of partying it up with hard liquor, though, she had graduated to being seated at the bar with a glass of rosé—the more sophisticated choice for such an establishment—and was enjoying people-watching. It was sort of entertaining to see how people got around the need to wear coats or cloaks with the winter temperatures outside instead of leaving outerwear in the cloakroom. Of course, Holly had done the same thing in the past, but the thought of freezing unnecessarily was an unpleasant one anymore.

After a while, one of the bartenders finished his shift and became a bar patron himself. Holly didn't pay much attention to him at first as she finished up her glass of wine; she was already thinking about her second one in spite of the liquid remaining in her present glass. It was only when he ordered a second glass on her behalf that Holly took notice of him.

"Thanks." She smiled back at the man as she took in his appearance. He was definitely in his thirties and a little rugged, with what looked like a bruise on his face, but Holly thought that he was handsome nevertheless. While she didn't recognize him as anyone she knew from Hogwarts, she didn't think it over much. "How'd you get that?" she asked flirtatiously, moving her hand to indicate the placement of his injury relative to her own face. "It must hurt."

Galen Francis Ollivander