August 27, 1895 — Hogs Head

It was her birthday so her and Marvolo had decided they ought to go for a drink. The drinks at the Hogs Head were nothing to write home about but it certainly got the job done. Marvolo had wandered off to pick a fight and a brawl had started outside. Morgana had always been relatively more mild-mannered than her husband (which wasn't saying much) so she was a little slower to provoke. If anything, she was usually the one doing the provoking. Tonight though, she was only interested in another drink which she signalled for.

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When Morgana had entered the Hog's Head, Jackson had barely noticed. He knew her well enough, and her thin, pale form wrapped in dark clothing had made it easy for her to slip into the inn as though she were made of smoke herself. She had a look about her, an unsettling type of beauty that could make a man turn his head, and with an air about her sharp enough to make him regret it. Tonight, however, the men who would be looking were outside watching the brawl. Which was fine by Jackson, he didn't tolerate that sort of action in his place and wasn't afraid to make it his problem with it, everyone's problem.

The Hog's Head was never bright, not even at noon, and certainly not now that it was evening. Smoke from the hearth mixed with the shadows of patrons, painting the room with ghosts and spectres as they shuffled outside. Jackson liked it that way. He filled the doorway behind the bar like a wall of suppressed menace, his broad shoulders brushing the shelves as he reached for a bottle. His long hair, tied back in a rough knot, glimmered in the candlelight, and his beard caught the orange glow when he tilted his head this way or that. He caught her gesture from the bar in the corner of his vision and turned to face her. He waited for her to at least make a gesture as to what she wanted, but no gesture was forthcoming.

Jackson's eyes were dark and unreadable and flickered over her without a word between them. He couldn't remember what he'd poured her a moment ago and didn't care enough to ask. He simply reached below the bar and produced a dusty bottle, and with a slow and deliberate motion he placed it on the top of the bar. A mug followed and clanked softly against the bar before he started to pour. The amber liquid catching the firelight before settling in the chipped mug. “Looks like Ogden's to me, but I can't swear on it—label's torn to bits,” he said, in his deep gravely voice before he shoved the mug closer to her. Jackson leaned back against the wall behind him, his eyes focused on his only patron still indoors. Something about her seemed a little off, but he preferred not to ponder on it too long.

“’Bout to fry up some cod, darlin’. You fancy a couple fillets? On the house, yeah.” It was an exceedingly rare offer from Jackson, but he was feeling generous that evening.

  

The Hog's Head was often dim and Morgana honestly liked it that way. She had not been expecting the owner himself to come sweeping out to serve her drink. The barkeep had been there just a moment ago and he had been who she actually had been signaling for a refill. Not that Morgana much cared either way so long as she had a drink in her hand. Besides, Graves was tolerable enough most days.

"As long as it burns on the way down, it will do me fine," Morgana said, not one for knowing fancy drinks and all that. Not that she didn't deserve them as a Gaunt but tonight, a drink was a drink. She did not come to the Hog's Head and expect finery like that. "On the house? Feeling deep pocketed, are ya? Won't say no though." She was at least partially certain he wouldn't try to poison her but even if he did, she had bezoars in her pocket.

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Jackson's staff wasn't as full as he'd like it to be. Even if it were, he was a hands-on sort of man who preferred to get involved in his own business as much as possible. He shrugged at her words. “Could set yer guts alight or drop ye stone dead, far as I know. Told ye plain, din’t I? Ain’t certain what devil’s brew it is.” Jackson said before pouring himself a shot and downing it quickly. “That’s Firewhiskey, sure enough. Bite like a curse, that one. You’ll live, I reckon.” He moved his hand in a way that either meant shoo or drink up, but seeing as he'd just offered her food it likely wasn't the first.

He disappeared into the small kitchen behind the bar. The smell hit first, and it was sharp and savory, cutting through the Hog's Head like a blade. A heavy kettle filled with melted fat hissed over the fire. The iron was blackened with age and seasoned by years of use. Inside, the heavily breaded fillets of cod curled and sizzled, the edges crisping and turning gold as bubbles of grease spat and popped like angry sparks. The scent of the food mingled with the ever-present tang of ale and dust that clung to the rafters of the inn.

When he finally plated the fish, he did so without flourish. When he emerged, it was with a pair of ceramic platters, each consisting of two rough fillets, a heel of bread, and bottle of malt vinegar tucked between his elbow and ribs. To be magical, he didn't often use it. He liked Morgana, and didn't mind throwing a free meal her way, especially considering she kept her husband inline, which saved him the hassle of doing it himself.

The first plate was laid before her with a clank against the wood. The second was across the bar but a few paces down to give them both some space, and seeing as Jackson stretched himself out like a grizzly bear, he needed it. He turned to pour a couple tankards of ale, and they were paired with the food "It'll taste better with the fish, aye?" He'd heard her and her husband speaking when they first entered and caught a little of what they had said. “Happy birthday, Morgana.” Jackson said, lifting his own tankard just a little. “Cheers, love.” Something of a smile pulled at his beard, as much as a smile could on his grim features.

  

Ooh Firewhiskey! Morgana did like a quality Firewhiskey. He had even been so nice and tested it out on himself first. Not that she was in the business of being poisoned. The tall man disappeared and Morgana nursed her Firewhiskey as she idly people watched. The man soon returned with delicious smelling fish. Which was great as getting an actually decent meal from the Hogs Head fifty-fifty depending on who had done the cooking. She'd had bad experiences and she'd had good experiences, none extreme enough to keep her away forever.

"Cheers to you. Heard us talking, eh?" Morgana surmised since she didn't think he had cause to know her birthday otherwise. She already knew Marvolo would probably complain later about her free meal if he were to know of it. But Morgana rather enjoyed stirring the pot on his jealousy.

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