Another visit to Knockturn. Another sack of Galleons dropped off to Larissa--and it was on to the White Wyvern. Tonight was busier than the last few times he had been in the pub. He took a stool at the far end of the bar, offering Amaris a smile as she brought him his usual tall boy of lager. She looked no worse for wear than the last time he had seen her. That gave the seeker a fair bit of relief. He wasn't sure how he would find her today...or if he would find her at all. The attack on Diagon was still fresh in his mind. He had not been present in the alley, but the news spread fast...and he'd witnessed the destruction that lingered the days after.   

Descended from a Black squib or not, Jaxon was a mudblood to the people who had lashed out against the innocent that day. Or perhaps worse, they'd see him as a beast, if they were to ever find out about his condition. There was no logical reason that the masked and marked purists would easier find out the true about his lycanthropy than the Ministry---but for some reason, he felt like it was possible. Bad guys were always willing to bend the rules to get whatever information they might want (...not that the Ministry wasn't skirting around legality with many of its actions, but it was still easier to look at the Death Eaters as the worse evil, even if he didn't really know them to be or not.) 

There would not be time for conversation with his fellow werewolf behind the bar tonight. She was being run ragged by the number of people in the White Wyvern tonight. Jax would leave her an extra-large tip--hopefully bring a smile to the pretty girl's face. It was another pretty face that had caught his attention now though. Unfamiliar---but absolutely gorgeous. Damn. He wanted to get to know her in the biblical sense of knowing someone. The seeker did not make a habit of picking up women in Knockturn Alley, but for this vixen he was more than willing to make an exception.   

He watched as a few of the other patrons tried their hand at flirting with the stranger, Sloane Cressida Rosier. Each one he cursed and wished ill will on--and smirked after they had gone on their way when the woman dismissed them. It appeared to him as if flirting had failed, but in truth, it could have been any type of conversation--flirting was just what was on his mind. He let his dark gaze rest on the beauty, a boyish smirk playing on his lips when she finally looked his way. Jax shot the witch a wink. If she gave him any opening at all---a smile, a hint of a come hither look--he'd be on his way right on over to the table where she sat alone. 

Since the attack in Diagon Alley, she had kept busy. It had gone well—as well as she had expected, as well as she had seen, and yet she knew that the Ministry was looking for more people to blame. More Death Eaters and purebloods to condemn, and she knew for a fact that her timing looked suspicious. Eighteen years ago, she had left England months before the final battle at Hogwarts, and that had been used to keep her from being implicated. The Østbergs had projected her because she was family and they had promised to, but she knew even then that the Ministry could have deemed that convenient timing as very suspicious. Now here she was, all of these years later, back in London for only a matter of months before this attack happened. If they looked closely at her, they might find that concerning, and so she had done her part to make sure that no one looked closer.

After all, they had plenty of other more dangerous individuals to focus their attentions on, and someone like her could easily fall to the wayside. It helped that she had a perfectly legal business, and a perfectly reasonable excuse to be back in London. Focusing on work when in the public eye had done wonders to make her look as though she was as innocent as those taken by surprise on that fateful day in the alley. But since then, her attention and her focus had only ever wanted to be on the rebellion and what was to come—what was next. She didn’t know what to expect. Past telling Ares what she had seen of the attack to come, she had not spoken much to him, and if there were those that he was close to and confided in, she hadn’t yet found them. It meant that she too had nothing to do but wait to see what would happen yet, and to hope that it wouldn’t take too much time for their next little show of power. But she knew that patience was key.

Østberg liquors were already being sold in the White Wyvern. Ares had been amendable to adding them to his list of wares upon their first meeting, and so she was not there for business that evening. While she had toned herself down, per her brother’s request that she keep a lower profile, she still wasn’t one to sit at home with nothing to do and no one to entertain her. Tonight had seemed like as good of a night as any to spend a few hours at the Wyvern. It brought back many memories of her own youth when she had tagged along with her brother—or snuck along after him when she wasn’t meant to be there. A few drinks would be fine before she headed home for the night. She was a bit overdressed for the place, which captured the attention of plenty, though most she dismissed from conversation within moments. Some lasted longer, but eventually bored her, and a couple even came over just to discuss the liquor she sold since they had tried it out.

Sloane was just beginning to think that the pub had done all it could for her for the evening, and that she was prepared to head back home. Those whose attention she had caught were dull, and impressions were important… she couldn’t be at a place like this one too late in the evening; that was when everything got more raucous, not a place for Lady Yaxley to find herself for too long. But then her gaze caught someone at the bar who had been looking her way. Even from the dim of the room, she could tell that he was attractive, and while that was enough to catch her interest, it wasn’t enough for her to approach him—though rarely did she find herself doing the approaching, unless told to do so directly. Instead, she raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips curling up into a slightly amused smirk while she wondered if he was going to make his way over to her or if he was expecting her to do the same, which would certainly not be happening.

Outfit

The encouragement he had been looking for was given and the seeker rose from his bar stool. He took his time as he strolled over to the brunette--his confident strut flaunted his tall height and muscular form. That devil-may-care gleam in his eye paired perfectly with the boyish smirk on his lips. The werewolf looked like trouble--and he was the most fun sort that could be found in this alley.

"You look like you could use entertainin'," the country boy drawled. His bass was deep and rumbled husky in the space between them. He put his drink down on the table, but didn't sit. Jax had manners-- "Mind if I join ya? Purdy witch like you got e'ry man in here clamorin' to get your attention. But they're all borin' and just the same. I ain't like 'em...I thank you already knew that though." Long fingers ran through the mess of curly dark hair. The motion flexed his arms and shoulders--showing off the benefits of the rigorous training routine the seeker kept with.

Sloane had known the kind of future she was meant for from the moment she was born. She knew that she would get married someday and be the proper wife, because that was what was expected of her. Their world, it had its traditions. Ways that only made sense, really. It kept their bloodlines pure, it kept everything in its proper way. But those of lesser blood liked to act as though those ways were outdated. Like they couldn’t last—like they were archaic and didn’t make sense anymore. People mated with Muggles, sullied bloodlines, introduced the magical world to those unworthy of being there, and for what? Love? She wasn’t sure that she believed in such childish notions, but she knew she did believe in pure blood reigning supreme over those that would seek to tear them down. The future that was meant for her was more than likely getting remarried… it was what her father would want, since she was still young and able to be a proper wife.

Instead, she was back in London. She owned a company that she had stolen out from under her husband’s family, that she had killed him for. Sloane had wanted it—it was as simple as that. She had done more for the company over the years than Ralf had; she had kept it going with the liquors she had distilled, the ideas that she’d come up with, and it was all for nothing. She got no credit for it. Instead, she was just subject to her husband’s frequent mood changes and his temper when she didn’t do something exactly the way he wanted her to. She had to deal with him trying to remind her of her place with whatever demeaning idea came to mind. To her, it had only made sense that she take what she had worked so hard for and take it away from him. His family… they would prove to be a bigger challenge and she had known that. She had known that it would not be that easy to get them to leave her alone—that they would keep up pushing trying to get the company back, but they wouldn’t succeed. And that meant that she didn’t worry too much about them.

She focused on the London market, on getting the liquor into bars, and of whatever she could do for this brewing rebellion… even if that wasn’t much as of yet. She didn’t want to be just the seer, even though she knew that Ares was the only one that had known about that—unless he’d told others, but she wanted to be able to contribute more than jut what. She wanted to fight… even if she knew that it might not necessarily be her place to do so. Doing something, anything was better than nothing. For tonight, though, she had a little bit of time to kill before going home, and she thought that her brother wouldn’t necessarily disapprove of her at least getting a couple of drinks before going back to the manor. No one had really caught her interest to stay even that long, until she saw someone heading in her direction. He could prove to be slightly interesting company, though it was too soon to tell. Sloane’s only response to his words was a raise of her eyebrows at first. And then, he spoke again. “Do I?” Sloane countered. He might be different—he might not be. She didn’t think it was apparent just yet. “You can sit, if you’d like.” She said, finally. There was definitely a chance that his company might prove to be entertaining.