Right at home

Mars chose the place because he thought it would be ironic. A Slytherin in the Hissing Snake. Ought to be right at home.

He walked inside and looked around. It was alright. He had been to better though. Moving over to the bar he sat on a stool trying to calculate how much money he had in his pocket. Maybe he could get someone to pay for him?

Ines pushed the door open with an even, measured force proportionate to the assumed weight of it. Breathing in a cool, quick breath through her nose to steady herself, her left foot entered the pub first. First step into the room- placed approximately 7cm away from the tip of her right shoe. Next foot. Left. Right. Left. Right.

Confident now that she was maintaining her proper pace, the girl made towards the most attractive (cleanest) looking stool by the bar that wasn't occupied.

Perched on the seat, hands folded neatly in her lap, the girl blew out an uncharacteristic shaky breath. She'd done it. Left the house, and walked through Azorat. Walked among all the disorder and mess and awful chaos-

Now she just had to make it back home.

Groaning softly, the girl propped her elbows on the surface of the bar and buried her face in her palms. This was so difficult.

Mars looked at the girl who sat next to him. "That looked like way too much work," he said. Digging out an odd assortment of sickles and knuts he finally ordered himself a butterbeer. He decided the club was probably better at night when it wouldn't have such a family friendly atmosphere. Being open part of the day probably brought in extra money though. Mars could appreciate that.

"You ordering something to drink?" Mars asked. "I'd offer to get you something, but I don't have any more money, sweetheart."

Ines blinked, and peeked through a gap through her fingers at the boy next to her. Not many people- no, no one had noticed her hard work before. He had to suffer from OCD too. Or be amazingly aware of the sound of footsteps and breathing.

Suddenly dropping her hands limply away from her face, the girl felt inclined to double check.

"What did?" she replied, as if testing him, eyes bright with curiosity.

Her lips pressed into a thin line at his question, and shook her head, suddenly laughing.

"No, no I'm not. I'm here to sit. It's as good as any other reason, right? Though, I suppose that's not how the manager might see it." Ines mused out loud. She could be as unorganised with her sentences as she liked with this boy- no planned structures or reviewing of vocabulary before speaking- he was a stranger. She would speak to him once, and then he would cease to exist. Brightening considerably at the thought, the girl met his gaze again.

"That's okay." Her shoulders did a little half shrug. She paused.

"Sweetheart." she added.

Mars looked back at the girl. "You just walked across the room like it was a minefield," he said. "You came into a pub to sit? People don't go into pubs to sit. They go to drink or socialize."

He smirked as she repeated the word and turned so he was facing her more. He pushed his mug in front of her.

"Have some. I'll drink the rest, beautiful."

"It might as well be." Ines murmured, looking across the floor she had managed to cross. Dirt. Mess. Chaos. "Then I suppose the only logical answer is that I'm not "people."" The Hrabrost replied simply, as if the answer was quite obvious.

Turning a dark, pretty unattractive, shade of scarlet- something she was completely oblivious of- at being complimented, the girl sipped the drink tentatively before setting it down on the bar again and sliding it back to him.

"Thank you." she muttered, tucking two locks of hair on either side of her face behind her ears sheepishly. "Uh," she frowned. "Thank you, pretty." Ines corrected politely, feeling inclined to return the compliment.

Mars just watched her as she looked at the floor between where they were sitting and the door. He had seen people with pretty odd habits before but her walk to the bar might just take the cake.

"Funny. You look like people," he said and breathed in through his nose. "Smell like people too."

He smirked at the way she blushed. This sort was always fun. He gave her a rakish grin and leaned a bit closer. "So you think I'm pretty," he said.

"Do I sound, feel and taste like people?" Ines raised a questioning eyebrow at the boy, feeling entirely more liberated by the fact that she was assured that the possibility of seeing him again was minute- and completely more confident. It was like a trial conversation.

The Hrabrost frowned as the stranger leaned slightly closer, a little confused by it. Did he want to disclose a secret? Mirroring the movement, the girl's blue eyes flitted across his face for a moment.

"Yes." She replied simply, with a decisive nod.

Mars smirked. "Sound like people," he confirmed. He reached out ran a knuckle along her jaw. "Feel like people. Dunno about taste. Might not be appropriate to test out here."

He gave a rakish grin. Her naivete was amusing. He took a drink of his butterbeer.

"You're not hard on the eyes yourself, gorgeous," he said. "But I'm sure you hear that all the time, pretty girl like yourself."

"What about now? " Ines grinned to herself, lowering her voice comically by several octaves- pretty much sounding exactly like any other person, if that person were a man. She was acting completely and utterly silly. It hadn't been something she had tried before, and Ines had always said that she would have to try something before being able to form an opinion of it.

Shying away from his touch slightly, the girl's playfulness dissipated quickly and she lowered her gaze, before forcing herself to meet his again. "I wouldn't like it if you licked me." Ines warned, flashing an uncertain smile.

"No, I don't." Ines replied very simply, looking around the room, and momentarily distracted by a stain on the bar. "But thank you." She spoke at the stain.

Mars smirked into his butterbeer. Shy and naive. He didn't move to touch her again.

"Who said I would lick you?" he asked. "There's more than one way to taste someone. Licking's one. Then there's kissing. Doubt if you'd like it if I did that, either. I wouldn't worry, sweetheart. Pretty sure you are not my type."