So baby, tell me where your love lies
Waste the day and spend the night
Underneath the sunrise
Show me where your love lies

Outfit 

Donna Parkinson needed a drink and not just any drink. She needed hard, cheap whiskey. She needed it badly. She was going to do something that she promised her father that she would never do. She was going to tell her daughter, and her daughter's father, about the whole thing. She was glad that she had never taken unbreakable, like her mother. Tara had wanted to tell them both for years, even though keeping the baby was Tara's idea. Donna had been prepared to leave society and to raise her baby alone, but she knew that the life that she would have give Kali would have been nothing like the one that she had, like the one that she deserved. She had been young and stupid, and had clung to the one piece of Gregory Goyle that she had left, and had never looked back. It had been twenty years, and she had had plenty of time to tell them both. She couldn't deny it any more. She had kept the secret this long because she was selfish.

So she was going to need some liquid courage, she was going to need some strength to handle this, because she would lose it all today. She would lose her daughter, and the man that she loved. She would lose everything that meant something to her. Though, she didn't really have Greg, but whatever. She would be losing any chance that she had with him. At least Kallisto was a girl and not a son. He would  probably have struck her for that. Not that she could have blamed him. It could have all been avoided if she had just taken the potion. She could have gone to design school still. She could have done so many other things different. Swinging the door open she walked to the door and swung it open, sighing and then walking to the bar as it shut behind her.

Double whiskey please." She said before sitting on the stool. She was The Lady Donna Parkinson. She the Headmistress of Pyxis and here she was day drinking. Her biggest secret was about to come to light and she hated herself for it. For keeping it a secret for this long. She ran a hand into her long loose hair and rested her elbow on the counter.

---

words: 414

It had been a long time since he'd had a drink in this particular 'watering hole'... three years in fact, if he was remembering correctly. Back when he'd still been employed at Borgin & Burkes, bound by magical contract written by his father. He was glad his father had done that, really, as he doubted he'd have had the sense to go for such a job. It had been rewarding in many respects. He'd met many people, had learned a great deal about the Dark Arts as well as a few other things he might not have stumbled across otherwise. Knockturn wasn't his favourite alley as it was cramped and it played on his claustrophobia but that was something he was working on. A grown man like himself had no business allowing something as irrational and childish as fear rule his life, especially not one about tight spaces. Raymond said he was doing his best to help him and he believed the older Wizard with everything he was. Why would he steer him wrong now after saving his life?

It didn't matter. He was questioning again, and hadn't he been learning lately not to question things anymore? All it seemed to bring him was pain. As in literal pain. Whether it came from his ribs or his mind, it came, and he was always left reeling afterwards. So he wouldn't question it. It was what it was. It was just one of those. The sooner he accepted it and moved on the faster he could get back to what mattered. Getting back to his life and getting said life back on track from where it had teetered and gone off the rails. By first going and facing one of his biggest issues. Social drinking. If he could manage to have one and leave, or a few and leave without getting drunk, he could honestly say to Raymond that he had gotten better. That he had improved. That he didn't have and didn't need a crutch. Then perhaps he would go and visit his mother at her grave and admit the truth Raymond had made clear for him. It was time to admit that he had killed his mother. That he was the reason that she had died. Even if she had masqueraded as a squib if nothing else and had really been a muggle and he did have to look down at her for that, she had still been his Mum and he would never forget that. He owed her that much.

Damion slid onto his own stool like a ribbon, not too far from another Witch who hadn't long arrived, and he held up a hand to the bartender when he was noticed. "Double Glen Fiddich, neat," he said softly, though it was the only thing soft about him. His expression was set, stony and cold, and his back was only slightly bent from where he was leaning his forearms on the bar. His eyes slid to the woman who had ordered a double generic, and he had a feeling the bartender would end up going for the cheapest in stock. It would be harsher than paint stripper, but that was her issue and not his. He knew his whisky. He was a Scotsman to his bones. Single malt was the best there was.