I stared despondently at the amber liquid that I was slowly swirling around in my glass as I held it up against the dim lights of the pub I was currently sitting in. A muggle pub. A pub that was filled with a light haze of cigarette smoke, the smell of beer and too much perfume, and the sound of about fifty people having a good time. All except me of course. I sighed despondently and took another swig from my glass, enjoying the dry burn as the amber liquid slid smoothly down into my stomach where it produced a dull comfortable glow.
It was a nice place, top-notch even, much better than the Leaky Cauldron for sure. Though I might have been a bit biased since it reminded me of Cheer, the old TV sitcom. I don't remember exactly how that pub had been laid out, but I did remember that the bar was detached and placed in the middle of the room, just like this one was. The bar itself was in the rough shape of an elongated triangle, made out of some dark wood I hadn't bothered trying to identify, polished to a shine of course. In its center was a huge shelving section filled with bottles of booze in all shapes and sizes and jars filled with all manners of stuff to put in the booze if that was your speed, and hidden behind that was what I think was a small walk-in cooler/freezer combo since they got ice and other stuff from back there.
There were black chalkboard boards and plaque littered all over the place with little messages or offers and things like that. I hadn't bothered reading what was on them. A big brass ship's bell was hanging from the ceiling right over a large tip yar. I didn't know that was a thing in Brittain, maybe it was just here?
The rest of the bar was just a huge square room filled with tables and chairs where people could sit and talk, drink, and do whatever. There was a large scene at the far end of the room, which was currently occupied by tonight's band, who was playing what I think was Jazz, though it didn't sound quite right to me. I didn't sound bad, per se, just a bit... sleazy? To the left of the scene was the kitchen window, where they served some okay food. I'd ordered a plate of fish and chips a few hours ago and I had no complaints.
It was the only thing I couldn't complain about tonight because nothing had gone as I'd expected it when I'd set out earlier in the evening. It had seemed like such a straightforward plan too. Now that my beard had grown in fully and stopped being that fluffy patchy embarrassment it was in the beginning I decided it was high time to put an end to this near decade-long dry spell of mine. With the beard, I didn't look like such a babyface any longer, which meant I should be able to get into establishments that served alcohol, and things would resolve from there. So I'd groomed myself to within an inch of my life, put on some nice clothes, for the era, and hit the muggle side to get some tail.
The first part of the plan worked well enough, no one batted an eye at me walking into a bar and ordering a drink, so full steam ahead, no? Yeah, not so much. After getting shot down a few times I started to realize that as far as 70's women were concerned I apparently had ZERO fucking game! In fact, by the looks they gave me, I didn't just have zero games, I was coming off as odd, and or creepy. I might actually have a minus game! So yeah, I struck out hard and repeatedly, all over town. I tried to check out what the other dudes were doing and imitate, but apparently, that came off as insincere, I guess?
The end result of which landed me here, at a bar, well past midnight, drinking scotch, alone, feeling sorry for myself. Not my finest hour. You'd think some 21th-century charm would be superior to its predecessor, more evolved, but apparently, that's not how it works. Maybe this is what they call culture shock? I took another sip of my beverage and closed my eyes to enjoy the brief burn as it went down.
So here I was, in a pub, drunker than I have been in the last two decades and feeling no better for it. Whoever said that you could find comfort and forgetfulness at the bottom of a bottle were lily-livered halfwits who can't hold their fucking drink! I downed the rest of the glass in one gulp to demonstrate my superior constitution, something I'm sure all who beheld me would admire for sure! Then I slammed the empty glass down on the bartop with a bang, because macho, that's why. I'm fucking Thor! I'm a fucking Viking! My ancestors used to raid these pansy-ass Britts and take their women!
Women! That's why I was out on the town tonight! To get women, because I hadn't had any for so long I was practically a virgin again. Actually, I think I might technically be one since I was de-aged past the point where I first had coitus (giggle). I was fine with that, well... not fine exactly, but no woman would sleep with a teen... well, they probably would, but they would be skeezy as all heck and I had standards. I couldn't go for the kiddyboppers either because reasons. And they were annoying! Except Lys, I liked Lys. But I like my donk more and she would do things to it if I made a move. Bad, painful things. I liked Nel too, but she still gave me the heebie-jeebies. She knew everything I did after I did it. A guy couldn't live with a woman who had that amount of insight into his personal business. it was bad enough that she's probably seen me abusing myself to goblin porn.
I'd been handling it (giggle). That is until he arrived. Puck! I had some problem figuring out what to name the little shit. Oberon was right out, that guy was no king, except being a little turd. It's been two weeks since he hatched from his little snotbag and it had been a ride. His speech impediment had cleared up right quick as it turns out that he got the eidetic memory thing that was a staple for paintings and such. Still had to be taught a lot of stuff, but he could figure out a lot of it on his own as well, without me having to tell him to do it that is. Everything had been going fine until the third day of his stay. That's when my hell began. That's the day he found the other fairies.
I'd never made the connection before, but I really should have. Its kinda obvious in hindsight. Pretty blond little girls that just so happens to be about as smart as a bag of really stupid bricks. Harry Potter's own race of bimboes. So, on one hand, we have a very smart little guy, and on the other, we have some vain little girls who have never seen a guy their size before. Really, the result could not have been more obvious. The day I'd caught him and five of the little chits having an orgy in my room, on my microscope! That's when I'd named him Puck, because it rhymed with fuck! Puck the Fuck. Because he's a little fuck!
That orgy had set the tone for the rest of the following weeks, I'd chased the little asshole around my room no less than five more times, and I bet good money that he had arranged more get-togethers when I was in class when I couldn't get to him and his "honeys" as he had taken to calling the other fairies. And every time I saw it underscored the fact that he had gotten more ass in two weeks than I'd ever gotten my two LIVES! How's a guy to live that down. The little guy is two weeks old and owning life! I'm almost eighteen, biologically, and another forty on top of that linearly. That should be me, not him! Minus the fairies of course.
Yeah, I was jealous of a two-week-old. That's a new low for me. That in combination is what landed me at the bottom of a bottle. That is so sad.
"Anogh!" I call out and grimaced at the garbled sound I made. My mind might be clear, mostly, but the same could not be said for the rest of me. The bartender, a guy in his mid-thirties with brown hair and eyes and a truly epic gap in his front teeth wandered over to me and gave me a once over.
"I think you'd had enough for the night, mate. Why don't you get on home and sleep now, eh?" He told me and I was again amused that the gap in his teeth actually caused him to make a whistling sound now and again.
I giggled softly into my glass. "Funny..."
Mr. Bartender rolled his eyes before coming out from behind the bar and helping me up from the barstool, which was a more complicated proposition than it normally is. My legs weren't working quite like they usually did, so Mr. Bartender got his arms full of whisky smelling drunk for a few minutes while I get blood flow working and found the controls. Being a mostly agreeable drunk I didn't put up much of a fuss and staggered agreeably out of the pub and down the street in search of a secluded space. I might be drunk but I'm not drunk enough to do magic in front of muggles.
It took a bit of time but I eventually found a somewhat narrow alleyway that led somewhere I didn't care about. What I cared about was that it wasn't lit up. Once there, and after some fumbling, I fished out an old iron key from my pocket. This was a portkey that I'd made before I'd gone out because I was smart enough to realize that trying to either fly home or even worse, apparating, while drunk, was a recipe for disaster. So portkey, and I'd made it out of an old key because it was appropriate.
"Exdus!" I slur at the key, who does nothing. I frown in confusedly for a moment before trying again. "Xedus!"
I shouted at the key a few more times until my stomach decided that my constant tensing and relaxing of it was an invitation to ejects its content explosively through my mouth. So one foul-smelling episode later and somewhat clear-headed I tried again.
"Exodus!"
I felt the familiar tug at my navel and my world became the insides of a dryer set to spin that ended moments later with me laying face down on the ground just outside of Hogsmeade, dry heaving. After feeling sorry for myself for a few minutes I get up and stagger zombie-like up to the castle, and then make my way around to the outside entrance to the Room of Requirement near the greenhouses and ordered it to configure into a pathway to my bedroom. I stagger through and is just about to drop into bed when a series of squeaky moans grabs my attention as if God himself had reached down and grabbed my head and forced me to look at the scene in front of me.
On the bed, on MY BED, the little shit was spread out, naked, with at least ten equally naked fairies crowding around him, having another fucking damn orgy!
"Puck! Ya little fucker! I told ya, no orgies in ma rooms unless ah can join!" I grated at him.
Puck, being a little fucker, and way too confident for his own good, just smiles up at me, comfortable as all can be with being naked because I hadn't been able to teach what modesty and shame are yet. "Hey jump right in, I don't mind sharing."
I glare at him for a few moments, swaying unsteadily, as my mind grinds away for an appropriate retort.
"I'm too big!" No that wasn't it. That wasn't right.
"You can shrink, can't you." He retorted easily.
I sway about some more as I turn that over in my mind. That wasn't the point, was it? I know that wasn't the point, I needed to say something.
Then I was distracted by a thunderous belch. What was I thinking about? Shrinking, right. I could do that.