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[attr="class","ctopline"]You got nowhere to run

[attr="class","cscriptspeci"]you wanna take a drink of that promise land

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[attr="class","clyrics"]You gotta wipe the dirt off of your hands[break]
Careful boy you got dreamer's plans

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[attr="class","cbody"]When Apolline was behind the bar, it was never a good day.
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Not for anybody involved.
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However, since the epidemic had made its way through Hogsmeade, since she was the only one of her siblings that had gotten sick, Apolline had found herself behind the bar often more often than she wanted to be.
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Normally, she couldn’t be bothered with it. Both of her brothers seemed to enjoy it more than she did, but she didn’t have the patience or the attention span to stand behind a bar for hours on end. There were far better ways for her to spend her time. Experiments taking place behind closed doors, research to get done… why would she want to spend a moment more behind the bar than she had to?
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Sure, they had to keep the doors of the pub open, but they did fine. Really, she thought that they got more business than The Three Broomsticks did these days. Half of the female student body had a crush on Axton—the other half on Alistair. She’d heard far too many unfortunate conversations in whispers by teenage girls, talking about ditching their dates to come to the Hog’s Head instead. And it wasn’t just teenage girls that were susceptible to that Dumbledore charm.
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So, business was fine. There was simply no reason for her to waste her time mixing up drinks when her bothers were just peachy at that part of the job.
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But now her magic was gone. She could research—and she did still spend a good portion of her time pouring over books, but she couldn’t continue her experiments. That was enough for her to want to punch a hole through the wall whenever she thought about it… and that had happened on numerous occasions, actually. She would get frustrated, a wall in their apartment would get punched… when neither of her brothers were around , of course, and then miraculously, the next time she was back in that room, it was fixed.
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She had no idea which of her brothers were making those repairs, but she didn’t care. They were free to continue their experiments, free to craft and create and get steps closer to finishing their hallows and she was stuck. There was no way for her to move forward, not without help, and she did not ask for help.
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Sometimes, she had to get out of her room before she ended up doing more than just punching a wall, and when sometimes that led her down here. Behind the bar. Whether or not the patrons at the bar knew that was a bad thing was not something that she concerned herself with. Maybe they were too oblivious to notice her stomping around and generally being in a completely inhospitable mood. Lucky she didn’t spike all of their drinks with wormwood oil or Gympie syrup. Someone else suffering might make her feel better.
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Never mind the fact that most of the people present in the bar had already likely lost their own magic and were in the same boat as her. That was just completely unimportant.
A frustrated huff fell from her lips as she picked up a glass that had been put away half clean. Grabbing a rag, she began to clean it. Who had put that way? Ax? Alistair? One of their bloody bartenders that clearly didn’t see that there was a very noticeable smudge on it?
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How. Bloody. Hard—was it to clean a dish all the way? Wave of your wand and it was done. Some of them didn’t have that bloody option anymore, did they? But here she was, still cleaning up after bloody, stupid, incompetent people.
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Crack.
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A glance down at her hands was all it took to realize that her frustration had clearly been taken out on the now very broken glass. And she was bleeding. Great.
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[attr="class","cnotes"]648 ● @ open ● outfit

[attr="class","cred"]MADE BY VEL OF WW + ADOX 2.0

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[attr="class","title-emma"]Soldier

[attr="class","subtitle-emma"]You gotta wipe the dirt off of your hands
Careful son, you got dreamer's plans

[attr="class","wordz"]

It wasn't a Hogsmeade weekend, so there wasn't much chance of Emma seeing students she knew. Customers, that was another matter altogether. She'd only been working at the Hog's Head since her graduation, but she liked to think that she'd fallen into a good rhythm. While there were a few customers who were more on the lascivious side of the spectrum, Emma would dance herself away from hands, turn away come-ons, slip uncertainty or exhaustion into them. She knew her way around customers well, thanks to growing up in the Leaky Cauldron. It ran in her blood, after all, her Abbott-Diggory-Dodderidge blood that she carried from her mother. Her dad had Herbology and heroes, and her mum had the Leaky. Emma might be awful at the first, but she certainly wasn't at the other.

One of the usual servers had a broken ankle, and Emma had agreed to cover her shift for the night. She'd probably need a sick day in the future, and if not, it was still good to help someone out.

"No, I'm cutting you off," she teased the man in front of her. "You said you wanted to go home to your wife half an hour ago, and you've more than enough that I wouldn't feel comfortable with you Apperating. We really don't want any Splinching, and you've mentioned several times you'd cut your nose off before taking the Knight Bus." He was a good sort, tipped well and paid well, rarely did anything unforward. He might be on the more dubious side of the law, but he was rarely drunk enough that he'd do his business so obviously. The business that she certainly didn't know about, anymore than she knew about his Kneazle breeding program he'd bragged about more times than she would count.

The man looked at her, crestfallen. "Tha-- Tha' wuzzn't wha' I wuz talkin' abou'. . ." A flash of shame, a coil of heaviness-- no, that simply wouldn't do. They were on friendly terms, after all. He was a good man, and his shame about staying out too late would only make things worse. Emma took a breath, focused on hope, puushed it out, fighting against the rubber band feeling the illness had left her with. Just a little more strain, and-- his mood lightened, and he picked himself up, a smile on his face. "See ya around nex' week."

"See you then," she chirped, busying herself with his dishes and money. Irritation, buried deep, started roiling, and Emma hurriedly turned about. Joy, she she could spread easily. It was contagious, even without being an Empath, similar to a smile or a yawn. Irritation, however, was utterly natural, and far too easy to infect others with. Best to seek out the. . oh, no, she knew who it was already, recognized the almost flavor of it. Well, she'd see what she could do, charm her boss into a better mood.

Annoyance was increasing, and Emma made it to the counter just as the glass broke. "Madam Dumbledore," her smile was quick and she sat down her tray, fishing out the clean napkins she carried on her. "I can clean up the glass, if you want to focus on your hand, and I could help to check for glass? Two pairs of eyes are better than one, and splinters would be awful." No, she doubted that she'd be much helpful in lightening the co-owner's mood, but perhaps a release was needed? Emma was sure she could keep it from spreading from her to others if she focused well enough.

[attr="class","tags1"]☆ Apolline Margery A. Dumbledore , 594 words, outfit ☆

[attr="class","credz1"]❤fai

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[attr="class","ctopline"]YOU GOT NOWHERE TO RUN

[attr="class","cscriptspeci"]you wanna take a drink of that promise land

[attr="class","cline"]

[attr="class","clyrics"]YOU GOTTA WIPE THE DIRT OFF OF YOUR HANDS[break]
CAREFUL BOY YOU GOT DREAMER'S PLANS

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[attr="class","cbody"]Her brothers had always enjoyed bartending more than she did. Or maybe they just enjoyed the attention. It was impossible to know for sure with them. She just knew that they didn’t mind bartending for the most part. They flirted, they got their tips, and they kept the place running. Apolline had a more hands-off approach with the inn. She didn’t mind doing the behind the scenes work. It was just as tedious but it was something that she could get done relatively quickly. But being behind the bar had never held much of an appeal to her.
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It was something that she did on occasion. Sometimes, depending on her mood, Apolline was a good bartender. She had flirted her way into some good tips in the past, but those days were few and far in between. Quite frankly, those days happened once every couple of months at the most, and the rest of the time, she was happy to have as few bartending shifts as possible.
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Unfortunately for her, that also wasn’t always possible. There weren’t all that many people staffed at the inn because it put far more money in their pockets to not hire unnecessary staff members. It meant that most of the shifts at the bar were split between the three of them, with the Longbottom girl getting the rest. Since she had a second job… somewhere that she was sure the blonde had told her but she hadn’t cared enough to remember, the Dumbledores got far more bartending shifts than she did.
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In fact, sometimes she wondered which of her brothers had hired her, because she certainly hadn’t. If she were in charge of interviews, it was likely that no one would ever get hired. There would be plenty of reasons that she was sure she’d be able to find to avoid hiring anybody. Most people did end up being incredibly annoying, in different ways.
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Then again, she was not a difficult person to annoy these days. She couldn’t claim to have the longest fuse in the world already but losing her magic had not made it any better. It meant that she was even more of a terror when she was bartending, but was also back here more now, because what the hell else was she going to do?
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It was a wonder that she didn’t scare people at the bar away. It wasn’t like she was rude to them. Necessarily. She was just not exactly the friendliest person in the world—and sometimes her drinks ended up being a little… different based on her mood. Not that she would poison anybody or anything, but there were other ways to amuse herself than poisoning people. Alistair and Axton would likely frown upon that.
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Her shift would be over eventually, she knew that. Having the day shift meant that she would be up in the apartment in time for dinner. She didn’t know anymore who was covering the bar tonight. She knew that it wasn’t Alistair, and the Longbottom was apparently serving today, so unless she was working a double shift, she wasn’t behind the bar either.
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Whatever. That wasn’t her problem. They could go without a bartender tonight for all that she cared—she was not going to be back here all day and night.
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Just as the glass broke in her hand, she heard a voice and looked up with her eyes narrowed already. She was very nearly tempted to just snap at her and ask who the hell had hired her, because who had it been? Alistair, probably. He was the nicest… generally speaking, anyway. Instead, she held her tongue and nodded. “Fine. Yes. You can clean up the glass.” She picked up the napkins and pressed them against her palm to try to slow the bleeding.
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[attr="class","cnotes"]635 ● @ who hired you ● outfit

[attr="class","cred"]MADE BY VEL OF WW + ADOX 2.0

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[attr="class","title-emma"]Soldier

[attr="class","subtitle-emma"]YOU GOTTA WIPE THE DIRT OFF OF YOUR HANDS
CAREFUL SON, YOU GOT DREAMER'S PLANS

[attr="class","wordz-emma"]
Emma liked working at the Hog's Head. It didn't quite have the cheery bustleness of home, or of the Three Broomsticks, but it was full of history, full of a grimy realness that the Broomsticks lacked. When she could, she picked up shifts at the Head, though her mother had professed preference to her taking those shifts at Leaky. But Leaky did well without her for some time, and if Emma was ever eventually going to take over, it wouldn't be for decades yet. Uncle Tom still refused to consider himself retired, after all, and he was over one hundred.

Maybe if she ever needed the money, she'd have to drop one of the jobs-- Broomsticks, likely-- but for now, she was content. And that meant that it was best she didn't annoy her bosses enough that they'd fire her. Hopefully. Annoyance, thick and heavy, settled in her belly, and Emma breathed in deeply, doing her best to not spread it. She fought against the tightness growing in her shoulders, the ache in her head. Peace. Calmness. Birdsong, leaves turning colors, the clink of a tip in the jar, the smell of home. Comfort.

Emma focused on trying to keep that inside her. Madam Dumbledore surely wouldn't appreciate her leaking out, she was certain. That would be a quick trip to being thrown out for the night, if she was unlucky. "Yes, of course. I'll get right on that." Her hands twitched, reaching automatically for a wand she no longer carried, and the pain of forgetting knifed through her. She held the smile on her mouth for a steady count as she found a rag and a bag, until the smile felt natural on her face. Breathe, Emma. She didn't see anything on the floor, at least, and she didn't recall hearing anything clatter too far.

She folded the rag over to sweep up the glass, cushioning her hand. Once the counter no longer glittered, she shook the rag out, swept the counter again with it unfolded. Nothing but the usual grime of age, but no glass. She tied the bag quickly, bringing it to the garbage. "No more glass on the counter, ma'am. Before I physically sweep the floor, would you like any assistance with your hand itself?"

[attr="class","tags1"]☆ @please don't be more upset with meoutfit ☆

[attr="class","credz1"]❤fai

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[attr="class","ctopline"]YOU GOT NOWHERE TO RUN

[attr="class","cscriptspeci"]you wanna take a drink of that promise land

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[attr="class","clyrics"]YOU GOTTA WIPE THE DIRT OFF OF YOUR HANDS[break]
CAREFUL BOY YOU GOT DREAMER'S PLANS

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[attr="class","cbody"]Being a Dumbledore without magic… it was incomprehensible. It wasn’t something that she thought could even happen. When news of the epidemic had broken, she had hardly even been worried. Getting sick wasn’t even anything that she had thought about. She wasn’t going to get sick. She was a Dumbledore. They were made of stronger stuff. She had been absolutely certain that they would all be fine. She had gone about her experiments as normal, gone about her day as normal. Granted, she was a little more careful around people that were coughing and sneezing around the pub. Epidemic or not, she wasn’t about to clean up their messes by hand and risk touching something that got her sick. She’d at least put that much caution into it, but nothing more than that. There had just been no reason to.
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Until there had been. Until she had been the one getting sick and trying to hide that fact from her brothers.
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As much as she loved them, a part of her thought it would have been easier if they had both gotten sick too. Or if at least one of them had. If two of them had been sick, and only one had been able to continue their request in recreating a hallow, it wouldn’t have felt so massively unfair. But she had been the only one impacted. Alistair and Axton were both going about their experiments as normal, because they were just fine. They were going to beat her to their recreation, when she had always been certain that she was going to be the first.
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There was still a chance that they wouldn’t manage it before a cure was found. That was what she had to try to focus on. If she just kept up her research, just theoretically, then when a cure was found, she would have enough insight to conduct some successful experiments. That was the hope, anyway, but that was easier said than done. Apolline had found that there was only so much time she could spend on research while knowing she couldn’t act on her ideas when they were fresh in her mind. When she got frustrated, walls got punched or, in tonight’s case, glasses got broken.
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The Longbottom was just asking for her to snap at her, even though she knew the witch hadn’t actually done anything. Her presence just annoyed her. It was Alistair’s fault for hiring her—cheery people had no place at the Hog’s Head. She should work at an ice cream parlor or something. Everyone who worked at sweets shops were ridiculously cheerful. She’d fit right in. Still, with her hand bleeding pretty badly, Apolline figured letting her clean up the glass was the best way of getting her out of her hair. Then she could focus on staunching the bleeding and maybe this would be reason enough for her to cut her shift short. She could go upstairs and guilt Axton into coming down and starting his shift early, assuming he worked tonight.
[break][break]
Though, knowing him, he’d heal her hand for her and then send her right back downstairs. That sounded like him. She found herself taking a calming breath as the blonde spoke again, needing a moment to stop herself from snapping at her. “There aren’t any bandages down here. Grab a towel and rip off a strip.” She could tie that around her palm and that would work just fine until she got upstairs.
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[attr="class","cnotes"]578 ● @ pest ● outfit

[attr="class","cred"]MADE BY VEL OF WW + ADOX 2.0

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