Bob addressed the table.

It was a subtle skill which few people possessed these days, be they Muggle or otherwise. He had learned it from his mother under his father's somewhat bemused gaze, yet even at the tender age of five-years-old it had felt right.

By sitting slightly askew in one's chair whilst at the same time ensuring it was at a right angle to the table, it was possible to present a more dynamic profile as one shoulder was forced slightly forwards. Many photographers used the technique in their craft, but rarely was it to be seen when sitting down to eat...which was exactly what he was counting on.

"Goodbye to Bob Singleton and hello to Bob Lockupyourdaughters," he muttered to himself as he raised his left eyebrow for that raffish, intellectual air.

"I hope."

Marie sat her back to the wall surveying the area relaxed in the busy pub. She had decided to take the night off from handing out pamphlets. She had some money in a sock drawer she was saving for a nice bottle of Firewiskey and tonight she bought it. She took a sip out of the tumbler she had poured it in. Marie savored the warmth on the back of her throat. She tapped her fingernails on the glass and sighed.

People were avoiding looking at her.

Sometimes she regretted coming out to the world. Lycanthropy was more like being a leper. Marie took another swig and panned her eyes across the room a young man catching her eye. He was about her age maybe younger and very good looking. He had an air about him that made her think that he was concentrating way to hard on something. It made marie smile. She raised her glass mock toast. May your life be much better then mine my friend. she thought to herself.

Artemius arrived, as was his custom, and headed straight for the bar. "Rum and coke, please," he ordered, his odd drink not without reason.

He looked about, curious. The bar wasn't as packed as usual, but it was during the week. There were no interesting people on the bar, as of yet, so he swivelled around to face the rest of the pub. There were a few bundles of friends -- folks with too interesting a life for him. He just wanted casual chitchat. Or not so casual, he didn't much care. As it was, this town had him starving for interaction. He found a couple people sitting by themselves -- one, a wizard a bit younger than himself, posing himself in an overly pensive way -- obviously not a Ravenclaw -- and the other, a lonely witch with a bottle of firewhiskey to her name. Artemius raised his eyebrows at that. That could be promising to be interesting. As it was, the fellow looked amusing as well. Pleased by the options, he sipped pensively at his drink, seeing who would make the first interesting move, so as better to affect his choice...

Things were hotting up...if a couple of people who might easily be categorised under 'waifs and strays' could be counted as hot. Actually, they may well have been there all along for all Bob knew as he had been miles away, thinking about the ghosts of girlfriends past...or ghost singular if he were to be honest and just counted the unique serious relationship he had been in.

As he drew in a deep breath and actually focussed on the two other Singletons, he wondered why it was so difficult to make that initial contact. The knots of friends for whom idle chatter and bright laughter came so easily made for a strong argument to reach out and make a connection, but there seemed to be an ingrained reticence on the part of Brits...an irresistable instinct to simply sit with their eyes rivetted to the wall and wait for other people to come to them. Of course, if he were really lucky there would be some sort of horrible catastrophe after which the survivors could actually speak with one another...a feral dragon landing on the pub, for example.

"Morbid sod!" Bob mumbled to himself with a slight smile. Shaking his head he resolved to break the impasse and actually say something. Seizing on the golden opportunity afforded by the arrival of a new punter, he half-rotated on his stool and raised his glass to the wizard.

"Cheers!" he said, raising his own glass to the man and nodding pleasantly to the whisky-drinking witch. If his luck was in they might prove to be foreigners who were capable of casual conversation.

As if he had heard Artemius' casual challenge, the wizard turned to face Artemius and, raising his glass, declared, "Cheers!" before nodding to the witch as well.

Artemius gave a broad grin and raised his own. "Kanpai," he answered. Well, that certainly won the prize for interesting. He chuckled. Who said the Britons were stuck up? His parents couldn't be the only unorthodox ones in Great Britain.

Marie head popped up at the voiced toast of the man she had just raised her glass to in a silent one. She broke off the staring contest she was having with her bottle in order to look at the man again. She smiled and heard a man reply from the bar. Grinning at his strange reply she lifted her own glass. "Right back at you," she said again with a slight smile on her lips she got down off her stool and walked over to the man at the table. If he was willing to talk to her he probably wouldn't mind her company. She wouldn't have done that in a normal setting and she was a bit tipsy. She sat down across from the guy and said "Hello, I'm Marie."

"Ha!" Bob crowed silently to himself in the silence of his head. After having worked himself up into a lather over the cardinal sin of speaking in a public bar, it had actually turned out perfectly well. The young lady hadn't yet thrown her drink into his face and his wish for foreigners who might find themselves free of the self-imposed silence of Brits seemed to have been granted judging by the man's reply.

"I can toast in a few languages, but that's not one I know. Japanese, perhaps?" he asked with a genuine smile as he eyed the wizard. He certainly didn't look anything other than European, but appearances could be deceptive. This time when he spoke, he actually did turn all the way around so that he was facing his fellow 'Singletons'.

Artemius finished his drink with a grimace and ordered a butterbeer, joining the crazy Brit and witch with a grin.

"I can toast in a few languages, but that's not one I know. Japanese, perhaps?"

Baxby grinned, sitting with them both. "Actually, yes. That is Japanese. I, er, had a very eccentric father." He nodded to the witch as well. Well, this should prove to be interesting.

"Hello, Marie. When I've finished this less-than-sterling beer, I might just join you on the whisky express...for purely medicinal pusposes, you understand?" Bob said with a nod of his head, his haughty expression giving the lie to his mock seriousness. In the privacy of his own head he promised himself he would do no more than sip at a glass as alcohol was never a friend to 'first impressions' when it came to himself - he needed his reserve inorder not to make a fool of himself.

"My name's Bob, by the way," he added as he turned to include the wizard in the conversation. He cringed at that awkward way in which he felt obliged to introduce himself, but then most people were like that in his experience. Perhaps these two would be able to carry off their own introductions with more aplomb than he was able to. Burying his nose in his pint glass, he waited to find out.

"Artemius Baxby," Artemius replied, shaking the wizard's hand. He turned to the witch. "Marie, you said?" His grin was tremendous -- he loved meeting interesting people, and it looked like he had struck gold tonight. "Either of you two come here often?" he asked. It was a joke, and he laughed to suggest such, but he was curious. He was only just starting to frequent the bar himself.

"Well, I come here too often if you consider the drinking side of things," Bob admitted ruefully as he patted the beer belly which he did not yet actually display, but feared he might very well do one day. "However, if you're approaching this from the all-work-and-no-play-makes-Jack-a-dull-boy perspective, then I don't come here nearly enough. It's normally apparate out of the Ministry and straight home for me, but I seem to have a handle on work now and can get through it all in less time."

"I suppose like every new Ministry of Magic worker I went through the honeymoon period, but that faded a while ago. So, here I am determined to wrestle my life back from the hands of the greedy paws of my boss. Or not - he's a good egg, actually - I have no one to blame but myself," he went on.

"But what about you - are you a Ministry drone too?" he asked with a grin.

"Actually, depressingly, yes," Artemius answered. "I'm a security guard. It's insanely boring work, but it pays rather well, considering I'm doing pretty much nothing all day. Puzzles and caffeine have become my saviours," he added, chuckling.

"I dunno, there are times when I might appreciate a few days of that routine. Why don't we swap our identity broaches and try to get a way with it one time? I'd get all the peace and quiet I crave on occasion and you'd get...well, suffice it to say you'd no longer need the caffeine," replied Bob with raised eyebrows. He hopefully glanced over at the barman, but failed to catch his eye on this pass. All things being equal, he generally preferred not to eat a slightly suspicious sandwich for his evening meal. However, unless anyone else was up for a swift curry or some such delicacy he'd have to suffer stale bread as he didn't want to drop out of a decent conversation.

"Anyone up for a spot of pub grub?" he asked.

Artemius laughed. "I might take you up on that offer, actually. A little prince and pauper mischeif is a good way to destroy one's monotony, yeah? Mind, you'd have to be mighty careful of Hinder, my supervisor -- he's a real pain, and a stickler for playing things by the books. We all kind of avoid him," he added with another laugh.

At the offer for grub, Artemius grinned. "I'll toss in a couple galleons. Trick is, you have to know what he's got off menu. There's this actually rather descent sourdough sandwhich they have, but you have to ask special for it, or he'll hide it until its stale."

"Off menu?" gasped Bob, with no real effort needed on his part to sound indignant. He blinked a few times in surprise and peered at Artemius, apparently trying to decide if he was the butt of a joke or not. When looking at his fellow Ministry worker, however, he detected nothing other than honesty in the man's eyes.

"I've been chewing my way through the normal...fare...here for all this time and there's a been a more humane option? Well, if being made privy to such important information doesn't earn you a drink on me, then nothing does!" he said as he motioned for the barman to attend them when he had a free moment. Before continuing, he leant in towards Artemius and lowered his voice.

"So, what exactly do you have to do to earn the right to order the good stuff? Do I have to perform a piece of nifty magic to keep the building from toppling over? Perhaps find a rare Moon Pearl which which to curry favour with the Landlord's daughter? I'd prefer the simplest option, I must admit: bribery!"

Artemius couldn't help but laugh, and every additional comment only resurrected the laughter, and he as silent for long moment after the last, fighting to stop and catch his breath.

"Oh God...hehehe..." he managed finally, giving a last chuckle. "Nah, the trick is to know people who work here," he said. "As I said, Tom'll hide the good stuff for himself. Once, back long ago when he was still young and before he was widowed, when his wife was with child, he used to hire hands to help out. I used to have the inside peek on such things, and I do live here, so I'm friendly with the guy, too. He's okay with me knowing his secret, but for the love of God, let me order and do not tell anyone," he added, grinning. That Tom wouldn't do it for anyone else probably wasn't fair, but it might also be true. Even if they managed to ask for the right thing, without the right pathos, they would still get stale bread. "I've done intimate business with the guy before, so he's kind of like an uncle of sorts." Which was also very true. Many a werewolf had been directed to Tom for direction. He'd been a Secret Keeper for Baxby Cottage and the Wolf's Den, back when the spells were in place...

Marie zoned out for a bit. She realized she did that a lot when drinking. It was like letting go of the senses she had acquired after being bitten. Shaking off the grogginess she tried to catch up with the conversation. "My main thing with the food here is the fact that it's affordable on my income," Marie replied taking a swig of whiskey, "Which is not much trust me." She said, "But I prefer stale bread over going hungry any day of the week" She tucked some of her hair behind her ear and looked at the hole in her shirt sighing she took another drink.

The lady finally spoke up. "My main thing with the food here is the fact that it's affordable on my income," Marie replied taking a swig of whiskey, "Which is not much trust me. But I prefer stale bread over going hungry any day of the week." She tucked some of her hair behind her ear and looked at the hole in her shirt sighing she took another drink.

In that moment, she looked very familiar -- as did the telltale hole in her shirt and woe-to-the-world atttitude. Artemius glanced to Bob discreetly and then looked to Marie. "Say, Marie. You ever heard of this cafe called 'the Wolf's Den'? It wasn't much, just a little home-run little thing, but it considerably less gloomy than this place. Used to be around these parts?"

And by home-run, he means Baxby Cottage ran it as a second means of income, and a continuation of their work. And it was considerably less gloomy. And the food was far better than here. Molly was an excellent cook, and the whole place had a delightful air of relief, purely for one reason, and one reason only: it was made for lycans, run by lycans, and catered purely to their tastes.

It was one of the few ways one could not feel judged for what they were, and even find solace in finding others wtih the same condition, to share the hardships and idiosyncracies of the condition. Artemius himself had worked at the Wolf's Den occasionally when traffic was heavy, and his parents as owners naturally took care of the finances and the like, but for the most part the staff were lycans who were either living with the Baxbys at Baxby Cottage, or were at least a lycan in need of a consistent, fairly well paying job. Not that the Baxbys could afford much, but it was a real job, and anyone was grateful for that.

Unless Bob knew a lycanthrope as a friend, he would never have known it existed, but it was one of the few hideaways in which lycans were welcome. Surely she'd heard of it? She might even have stayed a while at the Baxby Cottage -- there were always so many about, he could never keep track of all of them.

My ears slightly pricked up at the question. Of course Marie had heard of the Wolf's Den. She had often frequented there in the early days of her condition. She felt comfortable there and it had helped her come to grips with being a lycan. How did this guy know about it? He looked to well dressed to be a lycan let alone he had a job at the Ministry. Did he have friends who were lycans?

Against her better judgment she answered him, "Yes, I used to go there quite often, what about you? I think i would remember you."

"Yes, I used to go there quite often, what about you? I think I would remember you."

In a way, he was impressed that he'd guessed right, but there was also heartbreak as to what he was about to divulge. "My parents owned the place -- as much as anyone did. Remember Healer Baxby? I'm her son. I lived with Aronel and Molly and countless others. Mind, the Cottage didn't survive the magickless week, or the Den, for that matter, but I'm working on setting up new ones -- I didn't work there much, meself, although I helped with some of the Charms in place. Did you ever work there?"

Aronel and Lucas and Molly had all worked there at some point. Molly did a lot of the cooking, although Aronel had been a rather popular waitress in her time. Lucas had a bit more trouble transitioning to his new lifestyle -- he'd been bitten in his twenties, after his life had already been in full swing. In a way, that was a lot harder.

"My parents owned the place -- as much as anyone did. Remember Healer Baxby? I'm her son. I lived with Aronel and Molly and countless others. Mind, the Cottage didn't survive the magickless week, or the Den, for that matter, but I'm working on setting up new ones -- I didn't work there much, meself, although I helped with some of the Charms in place. Did you ever work there?"

Marie almost dropped her bottle in surprise. She had seen Healer Baxby once or twice but hadn't really connected the fact that Artemius was related. Marie shook her head. "I was lucky my parents were pretty supportive of me. my mom is a muggleborn and my dad is a half-blood, so they well didn't have the uh prejudices others have. So they give me money if it seems as if I uh can't purchase groceries," Marie replied. She looked at her hands, "I don't let them do it often, I consider myself... whats the term my dad used... 'fiercely independent'."

Marie was really grateful for her parents and their continued support of her. When the Wolf's Den had closed down she had felt a loss. It was one of the factor that caused her to start the Alliance. "You have plans of opening new ones. Can I help? If we don't have a place to live or earn our own money... well then... It's just wrong. I can't go shopping without having people stare at me because I'm comfortable enough with myself not to hide it."

"We were in the same house in school don't you remember?"

Marie shook her head. "I was lucky -- my parents were pretty supportive of me. My mom is a muggleborn and my dad is a half-blood, so they well didn't have the...ah... prejudices others have. So, they give me money if it seems as if I...ah... can't purchase groceries," Marie replied. She looked at her hands. "I don't let them do it often; I consider myself... what's the term my dad used...? 'fiercely independent'."

Artemius chuckled. "Ah, yes. I know that type. Still, every little bit helps. And earning your own wages is a very good thing..." Even minimum wage is the difference between being a jobless lycan, sponging off of family and friends, and making ends meet on your own. "Independence is a very powerful thing." Although I haven't learned it yet. My, what a crash course I'm taking, though...

"You have plans of opening new ones? Can I help? If we don't have a place to live or earn our own money... Well, then... it's just wrong. I can't go shopping without having people stare at me, because I'm comfortable enough with myself not to hide it."

Artemius nodded. "That's tough -- I've had to do that, before -- even though I don't actually... y'know..." They had managed to go so far without mentioning it, so he supposed there was a reason for it. "And I've experienced all the horrid side effects, living with folks with the same situation. It's really tough." He gave her a reassuring smile. "As it is, I'm just gathering funds at the moment -- so I can get a down payment on a new Cottage, get someplace to house some folks, and then open up shop for good." He gave her a grin. "Would you be interested in joining the new House?"

"We were in the same house in school don't you remember?"

Artemius blinked. "Crap, that's right." But he distinctly remembered not having a lycan in his year at school. "But... I don't remember you... visiting the Den back when we were in school. Was this recent?" It might explain why he didn't recognise her as well... The Cottage only took residents that couldn't support themselves, or that didn't have families -- mostly lycans that had been bitten as children, or were getting to their old age.

"As it is, I'm just gathering funds at the moment -- so I can get a down payment on a new Cottage, get someplace to house some folks, and then open up shop for good." He gave her a grin. "Would you be interested in joining the new House?"

Marie smiled wistfully, "Yeah I couldn't help you much in the funds department but I would love to join the new house. Marie always new she was lucky and it made her want to learn how to help others. Money was the one thing she wished she could give most but it was the one thing she didn't have.

"But... I don't remember you... visiting the Den back when we were in school. Was this recent?"

"It happened when I was eighteen. I was walking home from a night on the town decided to take a short cut through some woods. Last thing I remember is being knocked to the ground from behind. I woke up in the hospital with the worst headache I had ever had. The Healers wouldn't look me in the eyes. They let my mother break the news to me. I can't still see the smudge mascara on her face that let me know she had been crying." Marie said then picking up her bottle she downed what she had left, "Enough about my troubles. What was it like for you growing up? It had to be different."

"Yeah I couldn't help you much in the funds department but I would love to join the new house."l

Artemius smiled fondly. "Well, thank you. That's... that's something.

"It happened when I was eighteen." Artemius listened closely. This could have been his story. "I was walking home from a night on the town decided to take a short cut through some woods. Last thing I remember is being knocked to the ground from behind. I woke up in the hospital with the worst headache I had ever had. The Healers wouldn't look me in the eyes. They let my mother break the news to me. I can't still see the smudge mascara on her face that let me know she had been crying." Marie said then picking up her bottle she downed what she had left, "Enough about my troubles. What was it like for you growing up? It had to be different."

Artemius took his drink as well. Woo... How many had he had already? He was starting to feel rather fuzzy...

"Ehh... Different's a good word for it, to be absolutely honest," he replied, nodding. "My father played broker all the time, trying to gather income for the Cottage. And to spread the word and support for my mother's research, etc."

"We always had about... a dozen folks in the house at any given time -- the three of us and patients. Always coming in and out... We even had Remus Lupin in, once upon a time, and the bloke that wrote Hairy Snout, if you've ever met him. Other than the monthly adventure, in which we tried our best to not to get added to the Registry List -- and I was this close," he added, holding his fingers very close together, "about three or four times -- and getting folks work and care."

"So, on the one hand, you've got constant company, which is like a big, rotating family, and then you've got to be insanely hush hush about the whole thing, which makes social life awkward, particularly around wizards, and then -- would you believe it? -- from time to time we actually had people send us hate mail from time to time. Can you believe that? Hate mail? I mean, bubotuber puss, silver-laced ink, wolfsbane -- whole works. It was horrid. But, for the most part..." he sighed. "We tried to keep to ourselves and help folks -- just like you. And, if nothing else, I'm glad to have been part of it. BUT. I'd love to keep it going, y'know? Because you're right -- you're exactly right. It's wrong how you guys are treated. It's horrible. And do you know? I even sometimes let people think I'm a lycan, just to see how they react. I do it when I go on dates, I do." Ooh... He was confessing quite a bit, now. Bit too much alcohol, perhaps. "Depending on how the react is whether I ever see them again. I lose lots of pretty girls that way, but it's a standard I hold them, and myself, to." He gave a nod, and gathered the attention of the barmaid.

"Sweetheart? Don't give me any more rum, please." He gave her a thumbs-up and she carried on, as if he'd said nothing. He turned back to his friends. "I'm sorry for that." He giggled. "I lost track of my drinks."

"We always had about... a dozen folks in the house at any given time -- the three of us and patients. Always coming in and out... We even had Remus Lupin in, once upon a time, and the bloke that wrote Hairy Snout, if you've ever met him. Other than the monthly adventure, in which we tried our best to not to get added to the Registry List -- and I was this close," he added, holding his fingers very close together, "about three or four times -- and getting folks work and care."

The Registry List. Reduced in Ministry files to nothing but a number. "Good for you. The Registry is one of the worst parts about being a lycan. WR-134-24601. Wisteria, Marie Ellen, Unstable. I got into a fight with this guy at a pub one time, he asked me... let's just say it was demeaning. I told him to back off. He used an impolite term for female dog. I went off and hit him. Took four of his friends to pull me off of him. He went to the Ministry. I was brought in the next day. Treated like some sort of prisoner. Told them what happened. They told me not to loose my temper. That if I wasn't willing to stay out of the public eye I had to deal with what people said to me. Gave me a number and told me I had to check in with a Ministry approved healer every six months or be incarcerated."

Marie sighed. It was one of the worst experiences of her entire life. If it had been a normal woman they would have arrested the man for saying those things. Except just because she was a lycan she was blamed. It was one of the things Marie wanted to change.

"And do you know? I even sometimes let people think I'm a lycan, just to see how they react. I do it when I go on dates, I do." Ooh... He was confessing quite a bit, now. Bit too much alcohol, perhaps. "Depending on how the react is whether I ever see them again. I lose lots of pretty girls that way, but it's a standard I hold them, and myself, to." He gave a nod, and gathered the attention of the barmaid.

Marie let out a chuckle. She never would have thought some one would use being a lycan as a dating strategy. "It is a turn off, Marie said with a smile, "It's the reason I'm alone. You think being a lycan would get my mother off my back. Get her to stop asking me when I'm going to settle down."

"Sweetheart? Don't give me any more rum, please." He gave her a thumbs-up and she carried on, as if he'd said nothing. He turned back to his friends. "I'm sorry for that." He giggled. "I lost track of my drinks."

Marie ordered another whiskey and shook her head, "Another good thing about being a lycan, high alcohol tolerance. She replied with a smirk.