French House Fun (Hunter)

This is literally taking place at night, at The French House....in Soho. IT IS ALSO IN EARLY NOVEMBER.

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There were rare times in which Agnes didn't have Morgan around, because for some motherly reason she had become incredibly attached to the kid. If it weren't for Ansel, Agnes would most likely not have a social life. If it could even be called such. Her brother was standibf nearby, chatting up a woman about his own age and sharing a drink. Despite his efforts, going out to a pub seemed like a distant world now, and it wasn't so much that Agnes was distancing herself from it but she couldn't find anything in common with the people around her. Her hands playing with the glass, a glass which had at some point contained some ridiculous beer flavor, she glanced back at Ansel - wishing she had stayed home. At least that way she would have been having fun, even if it meant watching TV show reruns with her mother and eating popcorn with her son.

The bartender came around for the fiftieth time and Agnes finally agreed to have another beer. Her brother was having fun, why shouldn't she? Out of the many things she didn't like about herself now was that Agnes had become boring, and nobody was going to tell her otherwise. She wasn't...Agnes. She was now Morgan's mom and for some selfish reason, that pissed her off more than anything else. It was almost as if she were losing her identity, as if she was growing up much too fast. Her past friends were still partying and dating, and Agnes was a mother. What a life. She thanked the man as he placed another beer in front of her, which Agnes drank without question. Maybe if she got drunk enough she could be Agnes again. Just Agnes.

As she called for the bartender to get her another drink, Agnes thought about who she actually had a relationship with - not counting family, that she could potentially invite over for Christmas. There was obviously Victoria, whom Agnes loved, but the girl was busy beyond reason with her new Healer training. So busy that sometimes Agnes and Victoria's boyfriend just rolled their eyes when Victoria began talking about all the things she had tondo and learn and study for. Healing was a terrible career choice, Agnes had learned. There was also Hunter, though - whom Agnes was still trying to hide shit from. There still weren't technically friends, or so she thought, because they didn't hang out like she did with Victoria or Alek. They just...had small talk around the Ministry when she still worked there. And of course, Alek was busy screwinf that Italian weirdo of hi that Agnes wasn't going to ask him to meet up. Seriously! How much does a human being need?!

Seeing as her choices were ridiculously limited, Agnes stopped thinking and continued drinking. After all, her mother was taking care of Morgan, and the woman had taken very good care of her and Ansel that Agnes shouldn't even have to worry. The line between coherent thoughts and irrational thinking began to blur, and Agnes was somehow feeling the warmth she had felt with the firewhiskey, and she knew it was time to head home. In a blur, she stood up - head spinning - and tried to focus her eyes on where she thought Ansel was. Except she didn't just see her brother. She saw him intertwined with the woman from before, and Agnes almost gagged. She shouldn't have, really, because she had been in his place at some point in her life, but seeing her brother in such a situation was disgusting. Picking up her jacket from the seat, Agnes blinked a few times before walking out, leaving her brother to deal with whatever it was he was doing.

She slipped her hand on the back pocket of her black jeans and took our her cellphone, a picture of a smiling Morgan looking at her as she unlocked it. She could try calling Victoria or Alek to pick her up, even Oliver. Except she remembered Victoria's boyfriend was still underage and at school, so she thought about calling Victoria instead. As she tried to look for the girl's name on her contact list, someone bumped into her. It was an older couple, clearly drunk beyond reason, and Agnes smiled at then - somewhat equally drunk herself. Her brown eyes followed them, half jealous and half thankful, and in the distance she spotted a very familiar figure. She smiled, not from ear to ear, but a bit more than she usually did, because she was glad to see him every once in a while. "Hey!" She called out, hee phone in hand and the picture of Morgan returning to the main screen, fading to black as he came closer. Although a bit more muscular, it seemed, Hunter was still baby-faced.

Since when had Hunter's life become so repetitive? It was almost pathetic really, the way his days passed in the exact same way, over and over and over. Every weekday, he'd wake up, go to work, go home, study, eat, sleep, repeat. Weekends involved more studying, going out at night, and normally ended with a hook up with whatever moderately attractive girl Hunter had deemed worthy. Work. Study. Drink. Hook up. Aeva regularly joined him for all of the above, fitting into his pathetically predictable schedule like clockwork. Hunter wasn't entirely sure the moment it had started, but if he didn't break it soon he was was pretty sure he would go crazy. Which was why, when Blake had suggested they go out and catch up, Hunter had jumped at the chance to spend a night doing something different. Well, okay, he wasn't doing anything that different, since they were still going out. But it would be beyond refreshing to spend time with Blake instead of one of the various overly drunken girls that usually lingered around the bars. At first, Hunter hadn't minded living on his own, but with some of his friends away and too much work to do to spend time with the ones that were still here, he hardly hung out with anyone that really knew him.

It wasn't that Hunter had trouble making new friends. It was just that he didn't want to. It was hard to imagine opening up to any of the new people he'd met like he could with Blake, or Ariel. Aeva had met him halfway, but it wasn't the same. Hunter was just meeting Blake there, and as usual, he drove his beaten down truck rather than apparating. And, just like he'd thought, hanging out with Blake had definitely been just what he needed to drive a wedge in his neverending schedule of repetitive misery. And although he hadn't had any good advice about Ariel, who was still blatantly ignoring Hunter's attempts to contact her, it was good to talk his friend about it. Blake was close with Ariel, too, and had at least promised to write her to see if he could get an answer. It was shit that Hunter didn't have more time, but he knew that it wouldn't last forever. And he knew that after his aptitude test, things would lighten up. Truthfully, one the Holidays hit, things would probably lighten up a bit. It was only for now that it would feel like hell. When he and Blake finally stepped out into the cool air, which was a huge contrast from inside, Hunter had a huge grin on his face. "It was great to see you, mate," he said earnestly. So, after saying they would get together again soon, Blake stepped back to apparate home.

Once his friend was gone, Hunter turned to head in the direction of his car, his head far clearer than it usually was when he left a bar on the weekend. But before he could take off, he heard a voice from behind. She didn't call his name, but Hunter would recognize Agnes Beaumont's voice anywhere - after all, how many months was it his anchor, keeping him from going completely crazy when things had been hard. Instantly, Hunter turned on his heal, backtracking the way he came. "Agnes!" he exclaimed as he reached her, slinging an arm around her shoulders, a grin spreading across his face. "Have you been here this whole time? I didn't see you inside." Since Agnes had quit at the ministry, he'd hardly seen her at all, really. And he was a little surprised to find that he was disappointed about her departure - a familiar face at work was more welcome than he'd realized. And though they didn't hang out often, because of the fact that Agnes had a child, Hunter still considered her a friend. In the sense that, when he saw her, it still felt like they were friends. When she was in a good mood. And when he was. There were a lot of deciding factors, actually, but since he was generally less moody than he used to be, they hadn't had too much trouble getting along. And regardless of all of that, Agnes was one of the few people Hunter actually cared about, though he wasn't sure if she knew it.

A quick memory flashed in his mind, of when he'd told Agnes she should've met him before his brother's death. That she would've liked him then. At least, although years later, Agnes could manage to get at least a glimpse of what it might have been like. "Are you here on your own?" he asked, looking down at her. Her gaze seemed a little distant, which probably meant she was drunk. But she was standing on her own before he'd gotten to her, so it obviously wasn't too bad. "I miss you at work, you know. The new welcome witch isn't very welcoming. So I slipped a fizbang into her bag yesterday."

Still smiling, Agnes stood there. She didn't walk to meet him, nor did she return his grin. Hunter swung his arm around her shoulder and Agnes felt a new wave of emotions. It was as if she had been transported back to the times when everything was fire whiskey and secrets she wouldn't tell anyone else but him. She missed those times simply because she didn't have responsibilities but she hated them because the scars Chasen and her father's death had left were still fresh. For an instant, Agnes considered actually hugging Hunter but the thought disappeared as soon as it came because it was too normal. Agnes had learned that she and Hunter were anything but normal.

"I don't think we were at the same place..." she said, pointing behind her at the French House. If Hunter had been there, Agnes would have noticed. It's a little easier to recognize a face known intimately than the rest. Agnes wanted to crawl out of his friendliness, but the simple fact that she hadn't seen him in so long and had actually missed him made her stop. Looking up at him as he spoke, Agnes saw Morgan's eyes starring back at her, and she was so very thankful Hunter hadn't properly met him yet. Because of that simple thought, it took her a second to understand what Hunter was talking about. "Umm, yes?" When in doubt, say yes. At least with Hunter, because the worst he could had already been done: physically fight her.

Agnes caught the second part, so she had a more real reaction to that. "Oh, you miss me." Agnes mocked. "Think about that for a second, Hunter. You actually miss me." Now that he had admitted it, she wouldn't let him forget it. Still, that didn't mean she would tell him she had missed him too: that was was more information than he needed to know. Agnes was laughing, a little louder than she should have, but she genuinely thought it funny. Immediately, she remembered the first time she met him and how much she had hated his guts. "Can you just...I mean, can you imagine what we would have said before?"  she asked, but when that didn't make sense in her own brain she tried again.

Pushing his arm away, Agnes moved in front of him. "Remember that one day at the train? When you were the biggest shit in history?" Her brown eyes were everywhere, and it was maybe because she was a little tipsy but Agnes really thought it was because of the lights and people around them. "I mean, what do you think would have happened if that same day some time-traveling ghost had told us you were actually going to miss me at some point?" she thought about what she would have done for a second. Pre-Morgan Agnes would have laughed in his face and jinxed Hunter again. Post-Morgan Agnes wouldn't have done anything differently. "I think I would have kicked that ghost in the balls for lying." Agnes replied, a smile growing as she imagined it. Then the obvious hit her. "Wait, that's not even possible!" Agnes' attempt at holding a laugh failed.

The air seemed a little thicker, a little too deep for her. People passed, with their drunk eyes and loud laughs. "Where were you headed to, anyway?" she wondered, her eyes following a group of people that was talking too loud to be ignored. "I mean, if that's not weird to ask." Hunter and Agnes were probably beyond weird questions by now, but Agnes still held herself by a boundary. A boundary that she hadn't told Hunter about.

”The French House?” Hunter replied, raising an eyebrow in amusement. ”Because that isn’t ironic or anything – does it remind you of home?” he teased, laughing. He was very sure that the French House was not] the cure-all for a homesick French person in London. He wished there was a cure all for all the places that he missed in London, but that was just as nonexistent. But it seemed like tonight would be enough to fulfill his nostalgia for a few days at least – he’d met up with Blake, and now run into Agnes. Now, if only an owl would swing by and drop a letter from Ariel into his hands – but even as he thought it, Hunter was sure that wasn’t going to happen. Which was maddening, but rather than letting his mind wander there for the hundredth time, he locked his focus on Agnes, pushing Ariel out. He’d deal with that later.

”Yes, you want to take advantage of me in the back of my truck? Wow, that was easier than I thought. I half-expected you’d put up a fight!” Hunter held a straight face for roughly three seconds before bursting into laughter. ”I asked if you were here by yourself,” he informed her, giving her a pointed look. ”Just a friendly reminder that yes isn’t always the right answer if you didn’t hear the question.” Though it could be the right answer, but Hunter was pretty sure saying that out loud was pushing it. He wasn’t in the mood to get brutally bludgeoned to death by Agnes Beaumont tonight.

Apparently, whatever he’d said was funny, because Agnes was laughing. Obnoxiously. When he realized that it was because he’d told her he missed her, he snorted and rolled his eyes. ”I’m hurt that you see it as such a surprise,” Hunter told her sarcastically. In reality, he could see the irony – in the past he never would have said it out loud. But all of a sudden, it hit him that he’d matured in ways that Agnes probably didn’t realize. Old Hunter would’ve made a point to not say it purely out of principle. The truth was, he and Agnes had put on a pretty good act in school –nobody knew that they were anything near friends, and he’d even convinced himself that Agnes had only been a distraction. But the act was over, and Hunter had unexpectedly been left with one more person that he felt like he could be himself around. It hadn’t mattered then, because he’d lost what being himself meant. He had a better grasp of it now.

Hunter grinned down at Agnes, an amused look on his face, as she started rambling on about time travelling ghosts. He couldn’t help but burst into laughter when she pointed out that kicking a ghost in the balls probably wouldn’t have much effect. ”What would you do without your primary defense mechanism?” Hunter asked, laughing. ”Though, theoretically, I probably would’ve thrown him out of the compartment, along with you, for invading my personal space.” It was strange to think about that first moment meeting Agnes – it felt so far away. ”Guess things change, huh?”

Why would that be weird to ask? ”I’ll give you ten galleons if you can come up with a question that would make me uncomfortable,” he replied evenly, rolling his eyes. ”I’m heading home,” he told her after a moment. ” What about you? You need a ride somewhere? I have my truck,” he added, holding up his keys.

"Yeah, I know." Agnes laughed. "It's actually nothing like French bars." She didn't dare tell Hunter that she actually didn't miss France, that instead she missed London when she was in Paris. The way she saw it, London was Morgan and Paris was Agnes. There was, of course, much that Agnes missed about her home country, but nothing was as important as he old home. That had been the place she had grown up, the place she wanted to see her father - forever laughing and telling jokes that were more bad than funny. But those times were gone, and Morgan wasn't a fan of Paris, so Agnes found herself traveling back to the UK quite regularly. Hopefully, though, for Morgan, Agnes wouldn't have to go back to France in a while. It was all lining though, because she had a stable job now which meant a lot compared to her Welcome Witch one. Agnes could have sworn she saw a glimpse of melancholy pass through Hunter's eyes, but she thought none of it. It was, after all, Hunter.

It took Agnes a while to fully grasp what Hunter was saying. Nodding, she look at him absentmindedly. "Wait, what." It wasn't even a question. Agnes had heard it, but she hadn't processed it. After a beat, she quickly thought of a comeback. "You know, I would love you, but sadly I'm not drunk enough for that." Agnes responded, though obviously he already knew she wasn't paying attention. She was actually more interested in the fact that he had a truck than in rolling around him with in the back of said vehicle. Out of all the cars, he got himself a truck. A truck. Smiling a little at the image of Hunter driving the truck, Agnes pictured a country background, with animals and cows and all that ridiculous stuff. "Yeah, now I am. My brother's in there with some woman." Agnes shrugged, not really wanting to talk about Ansel's lovers. Of course yes wasn't always the right answer. Agnes wasn't naive, but she actually trusted Hunter. "Well, it could be the right answer. It all depends on the question." she pointed out, because the worst had already happened. She was a bit drunk, and a bit more confused that she would like to admit.

Agnes didn't comment on his hurt, because it was obviously sarcasm. Shruggin again, this time smiling, Agnes put her hands on Hunter's shoulder. She liked being only six inches shorter than him, because it meant she could seriously look him in the eyes without it being awkward. "I have other methods." She told him seriously, Agnes leaned closer to him, as if she were to tell him a secret. "For example, I know how to sing badlly and in really high tones." She said the last part in the effect she was bragging about, her voice changing from it's normal range to an obnoxious high-pitched one. Letting him go, she smiled. "Sorry, I'm a bit...I don't know." She smiled. "I'm honestly not sure what I'm doing." She tried to keep a laugh, but it wasn't happening. She burst out laughing again and after a second of it she calmed down. Personal space. Agnes smiled at that phrase, because Hunter was blessed with personal space now. Agnes, on the other hand, couldn't even go to the bathroom without Morgan tagging along and asking her weird things about why he couldn't do magic like his uncle Ansel could.

Wait. Morgan couldn't do magic. Of course, he was still very young, but maybe...maybe he just wouldn't be able to. Agnes was a pureblood, every single person in her family had been, but what was Hunter? Breaking her train of thought, Agnes looked at the boy - guy? - in front of her. "Yeah, they do." What could she say about it? Of course they changed. Agnes herself had changed more than she had ever wanted to. "Um..." Agnes faked a thinking face. "Okay, here's a real question I want to ask you." She paused, thinking her words over. "What is you favorite food?" Agnes didn't know Hunter's favorite food, and right now she was really craving something to snack on. Mostly because it was late and Agnes always had a late snack with Morgan. It wasn't so much as craving as a recent custom. "Because, originally, I was heading home as well but now I want something to eat. And...well, since you offered......." Agnes just hoped he would say yes, because of various reasons. 1 - she hadn't since him in a while and actually, genuinely, wanted to talk to him. 2 - she needed to find out if he was a muggle born or a half blood, for Morgan's sake. 3 - she wanted to forget, for just a few moments, that she was now an adult.

”I’ve never been to France,” Hunter told her. He’d been a few places other than Netherlands and Britain, but not many. And France wasn’t one of them. ”I mean, I’ve heard more than one bloke talk about wanting to visit just for the girls there – apparently, they’re supposed to be something special.” There was actually some truth to that statement. For some reason, people seemed to think French girls were more exciting than regular ones. ”But,” he added, leaning down as though he were about to tell Agnes something important. ”I’ll let you in on a secret. I happen to know a thing or two about french girls – they’re particularly vicious. Go around brutally attacking everyone who looks at them the wrong way. I mean, one at a time, they aren’t much,” he said, straightening up again. ”But a whole country of them? Waiting around every corner, in every building? Well, I know when to admit defeat.” All the while, he couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across his face.

Hunter didn’t bother to hold in his laughter as he watched Agnes try to process what he’d said, but then raised an eyebrow at her next statement. ”Oh, come on Agnes, since when has being drunk ever been a requirement for that?” It wasn’t. ”I mean, sometimes we were drunk, but we never had do be,” he added as an afterthought, the corner of his mouth turning up a bit in amusement. But he willingly followed Agnes to the next topic, because he wasn’t actually trying anything. The nice thing about Agnes was that she already knew that without him needing to make it clear. They’d always gotten each other, in some weird way.  Hunter snorted in amusement when she finally explained why she was alone. ”I mean, sounds like a good enough reason to abandon you,” Hunter replied with a shrug. Though, at the same time, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t do that to Lyn or Lyra. Not that they didn’t know how he was with girls – they’d gone to school together for years. But to do anything so blatantly in front of them would just be awkward.

”You’re better off saying no to the wrong question than yes to the wrong question,” he replied. ”Although, I guess if the question is like, Do you want a million galleons or something, you’re screwed. So, you should probably just admit that you didn’t hear the question,” he decided in the end. ”You know, both to avoid being taken advantage of and losing out on the chance to be a millionaire.” When she started going on about her singing, though, Hunter just stared at her. ”I’d rather not have a demonstration if that’s okay,” he replied, and laughed when she finally admitted that she just didn’t know what she was doing. ”Yeah, well, that’s kind of the point of drinking, isn’t it?”

Food. That definitely wasn’t something that Hunter was about to say no to. ”Depends on my mood,” he told her. ”But right now I could really just go for a burger.” Not that all the bars didn’t sell burgers, but he wasn’t really in the mood to be surrounded by people spilling their drinks everywhere at the moment. ”Come on, I know a good place,” he said, catching her by the arm – half to make sure that she didn’t get run over by traffic, just in case – and pulling her across the street with him to where his truck was parked. ”I’m not opening the door for you, I’m not that chivalrous,” he told her, pushing her around to the passenger side and letting himself into the driver’s seat. ”It’s a bit loud, just a warning.” With a turn of the key – after a few tries – the truck roared to life, sounding more or less like it wouldn’t make it a foot let alone a few miles. But it always sounded like that. Hunter knew it wouldn’t die on him. With a grin in Agnes’ direction, he shifted out of park.

"You should." Agnes shrugged, "France is..." She paused, wondering why she was trying to sell her home country to Hunter. "Think of it as Neverland." There. Hunter wasn't a pureblood, that much she knew, so knowing about Peter Pan's tale was something to be expected. Besides, who didn't know about Peter Pan? "The countryside, at least. The city can be quite annoying." Agnes admitted, rolling her eyes at the memory of the crowded, expensive streets of Paris. Something special? Agnes actually laughed. "Yeah, right." She couldn't imagine what made them different than British girls - or in Hunter's case - Dutch girls. Sensing something interesting, a secret, possibly, Agnes leaned in to listen to Hunter. When the meaning of his words finally hit her, Agnes pulled back with a look of playful disbelief. "Glad to know. I'll call my friends and hook you up with them, then." Agnes grinned, "Maybe they'll 'viciously attack' you when they figure out you're a huge jerk." She wouldn't do it, of course, because she rarely spoke to her childhood friends now. Sadly, she had learned that not every friendship survives the test of time.

"Okay, okay." Agnes said, rolling her eyes. "I don't have to be drunk to sleep with you." She wasn't going to let him have that, though. "What I do need is something tugging at my heart, so maybe if I get heartbroken again I'll come find you." She joked, secretly hoping things wouldn't get to that point. She wasn't willingly putting herself out there to be heartbroken again and again - she didn't even have time. However, she was still young, she may have different responsibilities than anyone her age but she was still the same Agnes. Of course, she wouldn't actually look for Hunter. Not again. Frowning a little, she looked at Hunter disapprovingly. "Really? Gosh, see - family is thrown out the window at the sight of a skirt." She scoffed. For a moment, she wondered if it was weird for Hunter to know that about her brother, after all, Hunter had only met Ansel briefly. "But I suppose when you're a Beaumont it's different." She pointed out, "We're pretty open about this kind of thing. And now that I think about it...I don't know why."

"What are you? My father?" She joked, but the last word made her uncomfortable. Agnes hadn't said the word out loud in a long time. Not since her father's death. Scratching her wrist, more out of discomfort than anything else, she turned to Hunter. "But no, you're right. I didn't think anything of it, though, because it's you." She admitted, giving him a smile. "You won't take advantage of me and you don't have a million galleons." Of course he didn't want a demonstration! Nobody did! Agnes was terribly bad at singing. She would have never made it out alive from medieval France. Laughing along with him, Agnes realized something. "You know, I've never been drunk without you around." Her eyes widened slowly, as if she had just discovered something even worse. "Hunter...you're a bad influence on me!" She couldn't finish the sentence without laughing.

"A burger?" Agnes raised her eyebrow, "You're such a man." Hunter seemed to like the idea of getting something to eat, which was a relief because Agnes had too many questions she needed answers to. For Morgan's sake. Following Hunter, Agnes didn't even complain about his grip. Usually, she would have, but her head was still lightly spinning. "Oh my gosh, you have a truck." She said, putting a hand to her mouth in surprise when she realized what kind of vehicle it was. "Wait..." her expression changed from that of surprise to that of disinterest. "I lied, I'm not even surprised." Opening the door, Agnes hopped in to Hunter's manly vehicle. "This is very American, Hunter. Are you sure you're Dutch?" She asked, tapping the center console. "How old is this thing?" She asked when Hunter seemed to struggle to get it to start. "Not I'm discriminating. I'm just curious." But then the sound it made....Agnes couldn't help but cringe a little. "Hunter, are you sure? We can walk. Or apparate. We're wizards." Suddenly, Agnes didn't feel safe.