Last Orders [Open/Scott]

[Dacian]

Seriously, some places would serve any old riff raff. Dacian snorted and leaned back in the corner booth he has secured for himself. The bar tender had given him an odd look, but at least he hadn't asked for a quart of blood with a dash of cinnamon. To keep a semblance of normalcy, he'd ordered a glass of wine. While it gave him no sustenance, his stomach was fooled enough that could keep it down. Usually he liked to mix a little wine with blood if he was in a formal setting but alas, no blood here.

Unless you counted the patrons, most of which the female variety he was eyeing up. Connery had been right about one thing; if you knew where to look, Hogsmeade was rife with eligible prey. The vampire watched the bar lazily from his corner, having draped his jacket over the seat beside him and stretching his legs out under the table in front. He wasn't particularly hungry, but there was no harm in having a snack. There were a few young ladies sipping butterbeers on one corner, probably students by the look of them. Neither of which he had fed from before. Bonus.

Resisting the urge to raise his glass to them across the room and seem like an old lecher, even though he didn't appear much older than mid twenties, he scoped out the entrances and exits, and kept tabs on who was coming and who was leaving. It was comforting to be surrounded by humans once again, and the thrum of heartbeats had a more intoxicating effect than the alcohol. He was almost languid in this warm and well stocked place.

[Scotty Kovac]

After spending the summer in Dubrovnik, Scott’s body was definitely not appreciating the cold. He longed to be back in Croatia, working on his tan in the warm climate of the Mediterranean region but he was back to being stuck in the United Kingdom, depressing weather and all. Still being in the cold at school wasn’t too bad, school meant catching up with friends, which was what he was on his way to do that very moment.

Scott tucked his hands further inside the pockets of his jumper against the cold as he walked, starting to wish he’d worn gloves. He glanced up at the sky; it was dark and even looked a little stormy. He groaned, ominous skies meant there was fair chance he’d be walking back to Hogwarts in the rain. Scott wished it would hurry up and start snowing already, even though it was twice as cold it was more fun than rain. The boy shivered, the layers of clothes he had on were doing nothing, even the beanie he had on his head wasn’t protecting his ears from the cold. It wouldn’t be long until he walked through the doors of the Three Broomsticks and into the comforting warmth of a roaring fire and butterbeers.

Why he hadn’t gone when his friends had left escaped Scott. The walk to the pub would have been a lot more enjoyable that was for sure. He grumbled about it as he neared Hogsmeade. From a distance he could already see the village was bustling with students. Scott fought his way through the crowds, trying to ignore the people who shouted out to him. If there was one thing Scott hated above all things, it was being stuck in a crowd. The sooner he was sitting in a booth, with his mates, in the pub the better. He swore in both English and Croatian as he was jostled from side to side. To him it felt like the entire school’s population was out wandering the one street Scott was trying to navigate.

By the time he neared the tavern Scott was beginning to get frustrated. Sick of being pushed around, he’d begun to dig his elbows into whatever got in his way. He sighed in relief as he pushed a final person out the way of the door to the Three Broomsticks. Man that had been hard work; he found he was even sweating from the effort of wrestling through people. The warmth of the bar was almost stifling, it washed over him like a sticky wave as he stepped further inside, it even forced Scott to take off both his beanie and thicker jumper. Crap, beanie hair judging by his reflection in one of the windows. It looked like he’d beaten his friends there, good that meant he had enough time to scruff up his hair without getting crap for it.

While he absentmindedly messed with his hair a stranger caught Scott’s eye. He looked like he was looking at something rather interestedly. Scott followed the older man’s gaze to a couple of female students and couldn’t help but poke his tongue out in disgust.
“Oi!” he called across the pub before placing himself in the man’s line of sight. “What the hell are you looking at? Magarac jamski*.” By now he was getting more heated than usual; he didn’t usually start swearing in another language until the other person responded. The thought that starting a fight with a complete stranger was a bad idea never crossed his mind.

*‘ass hole’ in Croatian