February, 1891 — Jinxed Jackrabbit Pub, Knockturn Alley

The girl at the end of the bar was in for a rough time tonight. She was a working lady, that much was obvious, and her work wasn't just singing those odd American folk tale songs. Grimshawe wasn't the judgemental sort and wouldn't begrudge anyone their fairly earned coin, but tonight wasn't an auspicious night for that kind of labor. It was late and the clientele at the bar had thinned, which in turn restricted her potentials for the night. She was leaning heavy on the arm of a fellow around her age who was enjoying the attention, but Diligent knew that wasn't going to turn out; the fellow didn't have enough coin to get himself into a Muggle doss house for the night, much less to pay for any comfort beforehand. That left the other potential customer, an older gent who had been leering for her attention half the night and only sometimes getting it. He was patient; he'd wait until the bar closed and she didn't have other options and snatch her up then. He had to be patient, because he had a reputation with the other girls and wouldn't get them unless they were desperate — he had to get the new blood before she heard better and started to stay away too.

Diligent went about the tasks of closing up the bar and the younger fellow, the one she'd probably pinned her hopes to, tried to extricate himself quietly so he could avoid paying his tab. Dil caught him and relieved him of what he had to hand — not quite his full bill, but close — then hustled him towards the door. By the time he'd got back and finished up the rest of the closing tasks, the older man had cozied straight up to her.

"Closing," Diligent said in a tone that meant take it outside and don't make me ask again. The man lurched to his feet and towards the door, not even hesitating to see if the woman followed behind. He knew she had nowhere else to go. She hesitated. She wasn't dumb, then; she knew the situation. She just didn't have many alternatives. He knew she didn't have a place of her own to stay for the night, because she'd been at this bar half the week and he'd overheard her with customers in the alley beside them on an occasion or two. Turning him down wasn't just losing a few knuts, it was losing a roof over her head and a bed for the night, and this was the kind of night that could freeze a girl through.

"You clean?" he asked, making a split decision. "I could use a little company."

He wasn't allowed to solicit the girls who drank here, technically, just like he wasn't allowed to play cards here on his nights off. Don't mix business and pleasure, the boss would say... but he wasn't here, and Dil doubted the old lecher was going to tell him, if he was close enough to sober to remember.

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Mable Teal

  

May knew exactly what she was getting into when that last young man left for the night. That left only one man-- old and musty and drunk, who she'd done everything in her power to avoid the rest of the night. In the end, he was the one with the money. He was the one with the bed. Given the choice between a lecher and freezing to death in some corner without even a name to go by, May... well, there wasn't a choice.

Right up until a half-familiar face approached her. She'd been seeing him all week-- the dealer, and most definitely not a mark. She didn't make a habit of going home with employees. It was a good way, usually, to strike an establishment off the list of open doors, maybe pick up a stalker. Taken aback, she lifted herself from where she'd been leaning on the bar, tipped her head to examine him in a way that made her thick curls bounce.

He was pretty, if nothing else. Nice angles to the face and big, dark eyes, and he was somewhere much closer to her own age. Beggars couldn't be choosers, of course, but if May had a choice she'd at least take the pretty one.

"Yeah, I'm clean," a lopsided little smile, bold and toothy, slipped across May's face. She clasped thin hands behind her back, swayed a little, batted those big brown eyes at him. "Call me May. What are you thinking, Mister--?"

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She was beaming and bouncing, still trying to sell him on the idea. That wasn't at all necessary when he'd already made up his mind, but of course she didn't know that and he couldn't fault her for what were almost certainly core parts of her trade.

"Grimshawe," he answered. None of his pseudonyms would do while he was working; customers here knew him by his family name and this whole exchange was at least half for the benefit of the man heading for the door. He seemed to have heard; Dil saw his expression sour as he realized he'd lost out on the girl he'd been planning to corner all night. "I got a place. Let me lock up."

The bar was mostly closed already as it had been slow for the past hour at least, so there wasn't much left to do before grabbing the key and heading to the front. "How much d'you charge for the full spread?" he asked as he headed that direction. He assumed she would want money up front, before they went anywhere together, because in her position that's what he would have wanted. It was also probably necessary for some money to exchange hands to kill the final hopes of the older man, who had now left the building but was still loitering on a doorstep across the street, possibly hoping to snap her back up if Dil backed out on the price negotiation.

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"Grimshawe," May repeated, and pursed her lips around her smile. Of course the name meant very little to her. Perhaps his family was significant-- perhaps he was some sort of celebrity in disguise-- she wouldn't know. The names in wizarding England all just sounded quintessentially absurd, to her.

More important by far was the offer a room. That took care of the difficult part, and more than made the decision for her. On any other day she may have begun those price negotiations at an exorbitantly high price. Tonight, she named something on the higher end of reasonable instead. It wasn't worth the risk of having to deal with the old codger again. May took what Mr. Grimshawe was willing to pay, however hard he haggled, and followed him quite willingly in the direction of his home.

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She named her price and he sucked in his breath as though he didn't like her answer, but it was all for show. This was the way these kinds of interactions went. He haggled her down a bit because that was expected, and she would have baked that expectation into her price. It would have been suspicious, to her and to the man who he was trying to snatch her away from, if he'd taken the first price named. But his mind was made up already, and he was careful not to press too hard on the price lest he scare her off. That business settled, he headed out to the street and locked the door behind them. He draped an arm over her shoulder while they walked. It was half for her benefit — to stop anyone they walked past from getting ideas — and half for show, to preserve the illusion that he had engaged her with any actual intent to fuck her senseless.

It wasn't a long walk. The conversation on the way was sparse. "This's the one," he muttered when they approached the building. He lead her up a narrow flight of stairs to a small flat on the second floor and unlocked the door. Once they had slipped inside and he'd shut it again behind them, his demeanor changed abruptly.

"Alright," he said, shaking his shoulders back as he moved towards the kitchen. "Bed's in the back. You can have it for tonight, if you want. I've got a chair."

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