Thursday had left Ryder feeling confused throughout the whole weekend. For some reason, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about his run in with Alex. He had been so happy to see her, sure, but things were quite odd. The man found himself wanting to see her again… all the time. Is this how it feels to see old friends from school? Just wanting to spend a lot of time with them? Perhaps to just catch up and reminisce?

The whole thing didn’t make sense to him, so he decided to turn to the only thing that did in these situations: alcohol. Somehow, a good drink just had a funny way of suddenly bringing clarity to how one really felt. Ryder knew it was probably stupid to get absolutely hammered on the last day of the weekend then try to go to work the next day, but he often didn’t really stop doing something just because it was “stupid.” Besides, there was plenty reason to celebrate. He saw an old friend and the dragon burn was healing. Hell, even more reason for jubilee was the fact that the damn dragon hadn’t bit a limb off or killed him completely.

Of course, there was only one pub worth going to for wizard in London, and that was The Leaky Cauldron. Ryder had often frequented it for a meal or a drink here and there, and he knew the bartender by face only. However, tonight he would learn his name because yelling ‘bartender’ every time he would need a refill would get old and rude. Surely with how much time they would be spending together tonight, it was just good manners to be on a first name basis.

Ryder entered the pub and walked right up to the bar. In no time, he spotted the burly, redbeard and called out to him. “Oi! Bartender,” he paused and waited for him to talk over. As he waited, he drew some coin from his pocket and pushed it onto the bar. “Here,” he said as he separated some of his currency from the rest, “is the money for the room I will inevitably need tonight as I plan on ingesting so much alcohol that I don’t plan on being able to walk straight. And here,” he pointed to the other pile, “is the money that should cover whatever alcohol you deem necessary to get me to that point. Savvy, good sir?”

@berlin

One moment, Berlin was polishing glasses, and the next moment, he had a spitfire sprout storming into his bar, demanding a room and enough alcohol to keep him inside for the next several days. That is, if he knew that's what he was asking for.

At first, he was taken aback - he even put the glass down before he was done polishing - then, Berlin couldn't keep the broad smile from spanning his lips. Not even his thick beard could keep his shining white teeth from showing through. This was the reason he loved bartending. This was the reason he made out at the end of the month.

Berlin marched up to the boy and leaned across the bar, still smiling stupidly. He snatched up the money and, without counting it, shoved it into the pocket of his apron.

"Well, lad, aren't we feeling up for a bit of adventure? I got yer room, and I got yer booze, you just tell me what ya feelin. I'll burn your name in a kegger, but yer wee tummy may keel over before our adventure's over, or, if you'd prefer," He threw a thumb over his shoulder, at a thin, blue bottle at the very center of his liquor wall. "That there's Gypsy Tears. She'll shove a broomstick lad like yourself on your ass in moments. So, tell me, are we taking this slow, or do you feel like crying?"

He couldn't remember the last time his jaw hurt so much.

A hearty laugh sounded from the young ministry worker. This bartender seemed like the kind of company he would like to keep. Surely, he would be a good pseudo therapist once the alcohol induced life telling spilled out. “I appreciate the generosity you would should a naive young man like myself. What’s your name barkeep? I figure that it may come in handy once the slurs start coming on. Bartender simply has too many syllables for any respectable drunk.”

Ryder stretched himself over the bar to see the blue-colored bottle. Oh surely this man is all hype! That pathetic bottle couldn’t do any harm! Especially with a name like ‘Gypsy Tears.’ It sounded too girly of a drink, but the way this bartender talked would make it impossible for the reckless man that Ryder was to turn down the beverage. The dare became more enticing when the redbeard called him a “broomstick lad” and made talk of the drink knocking him on his ass. “My good man, you must not know about me! Do you not know that Ryder Dawson never backs down from a challenge? Bring me the saddest tears from the finest gypsies,” he said as he smiled and pounded his fist on the bar.

Berlin let loose a long, deep laugh. And how could he not? This boy was great! These kids were the ones he loved most whenever they walked into his bar.

"I like you kid.  Name's Berlin."  

Berlin slammed a wooden pint mug in front of Ryder, then snatched the bottle of Vodka from its spot and dumped the entire thing into the mug.

Was that a waste? Probably. Would he regret it? Not after he saw this kid in action.

"But wait!" Berlin said. He plucked a single cherry from underneath the counter and plopped it into the mug. "For flavor." He said with the largest, stupidest smile he could muster.

When the bartender shared his name, Ryder rubbed his chin. He thought it an odd name, but who was he to complain. In Berlin, he had a companion, someone in which to confide all of his secrets that he was too scared to share when sober. He wondered what kind of tales Berlin hid of other inebriated men. Ryder didn’t care to ask. Any trusty barkeep would take those stories to the grave, so asking would be a waste. The red bearded man could spill all, but Ryder would rather not know if Berlin was the type to do this as he had already made up his mind to drink to intoxication and he didn’t need the fear of sharing all to a blabbermouth to suddenly stop him.

“Pleasure to meet you, Berlin.” Ryder was sincere in his compliment to the worker. He seemed like a good soul full of fun, which is what the ministry worker needed. Berlin wasted no time in getting the drink the young man had requested. As the glass appeared before him, Berlin dropped a single, red cherry into the vodka and exclaimed it added flavor with a ridiculously goofy grin. It was all Ryder could do to keep from falling off his barstool from laughing so hard. “By gods, Berlin, where do they find a bloke like you?”

Without hesitation, Ryder decided to take the cherry and make a show of it for the redhead’s entertainment. With the stem placed between his thumb and index finger, he raised the tiny red fruit above his head and clenched his teeth perfectly around it in a rather seductive and humorous manner. He yanked the stem away from himself and chewed the cherry. “A good man like you deserves a little action every once in a while.” Oh Christ, I am not even drunk yet.

Throwing the stem to the cherry aside, he picked up his glass and took a sip. The ministry worker made a face that indicated a bit of disgust. “Shit! That is strong. Well, I suppose there is only one way this is going down,” he paused and raised his glass to Berlin, “to ancient times and distant music.” Ryder lowered the glass to his lips and gulped down all of the drink at once. The overwhelming taste and scent began to overtake Ryder. Dizziness was setting in and good judgment was bidding a farewell. “Well, hot damn, am I a lightweight or what? Berlin… Berlin my good man, my good man and fine friend… my ass… it has indeed started to feel the kicking.”

Berlin's eyes widened a bit at the boy's reaction. He could already see the alcohol coursing through him, and yet the boy wasn't backing down. He saw a lot of opportunities to make money and people and this kid would have been the perfect opportunity. All he would have to do is keep rolling out the booze and the boy would keep gobbling it down and vomit it all on his way out. Berlin, however, felt a bit bad for him. Maybe Gypsy Tears was laying it on a bit thick.

Berlin took the mug and dropped just one more tear into it, then he handed it back to Ryder.

"Started is just the tip of it all," Berlin said. "Just one tinsy tear more, and I couple minutes, I think ya reached ye goal." He flashed a toothy grin.

The world around Ryder began to blur together. He had no idea what was going on. If he would have been more stable, perhaps he would have found himself wise for booking a room. Or maybe he would find himself completely reckless for drinking this hard of a liquor. There was silence, or what the ministry worker believed to be silence. In all actuality, to Ryder any noise sounded mushed together, so he assumed no one was talking. If they were, it would be pointless, he wouldn’t be able to understand them. Although he strained. He figured he would need to hear Berlin, but still nothing. He hoped he hadn’t been left to suffer as intoxicated entertainment for the pub’s patrons.

No, he hadn’t been left to suffer on his own. There was a voice calling out to him. He believed it to be Berlin’s but he couldn’t be positive. Somehow anything that was entering his brain at this point was becoming heavily distorted. He had no idea what the man was saying. Was he urging him to take another drink? Yes, he was. Ryder must not have been as bad off as he thought if Berlin was feeling like he could handle another drink.

Some part of Ryder that had better judgment decided to silence himself and he took the mug back. He raised his hand sloppily in toast to the barkeep, only this time, there were no words to be spoken. In his head, he toasted to waking up without hangovers. As he slung the drink back into his throat, he felt his speech returning to him. Although, there was no filter. No thought he had would be safe. “Who knew… some dame… that you haven’t seen in… in…,” he paused in an useless attempt at math, “in fu---fi----fucking years could drive you to the drinks."