5th November 2012 - 7pm

London bustled. It was vibrant with early Christmas lights and the glow from shop windows that enticed commuters heading home for the day. But today in particular was special. Kids were bundled into warm clothes, fitted with wool hats, scarves and gloves and taken out onto the street.

There were multiple venues for the evening's festivities. A fireworks display at the Houses of Parliament, every pub on every corner with a beer garden hand something going on, not to mention farmers on the outskirts of the city renting out their land for extravagant displays and story-telling.

"Remember, remember the fifth of November..." Lenore murmured, pressing a gloved hand against the swell of her stomach. She felt a movement beneath the skin. "Gun powder, treason and plot." It was Lenore's favourite time of year. Every year she endeavoured to go somewhere--anywhere--that celebrated this night. She loved that it was grotesque, that it was part of Bloody Britain, that it was a night of fireworks and toffee apples and warming up by fires.

With her free hand pushing deep into her pocket, Lenore took a left, escaping the busiest part of the city centre and entering one of the quieter districts. It sat on the outskirts of London City, near enough to still be covered by frequent (and expensive) public transport but far enough away not to bring with it too many crowds.

At the end of the street sat a pub called the Drum and Monkey. Muggle owned and muggle occupied, its advertising posters boasted and evening of apple bobbing, Guy building competitions, good food and fireworks. People hung around outside, tucked up close to the building to smoke their cigarettes and talk amongst themselves.

"Penny for the Guy!" Three children, no older than 12 were gathered around a wheelbarrow at the corner of the pub looking bored. Atop the wheelbarrow, leaning out of the cart, was a scarecrow. He wore a tracksuit and a Nike hat and his black-marker smile was stretched from ear to ear.

"Oi! Miss!" A ten year old girl with a big mouth stepped in the path of Lenore, looking at her with eyes much too old for the body attached. Lenore blinked at her, pausing in her tracks.

"Penny for the Guy, miss?" She asked, grinning.

Lenore dipped a hand in her pocket, pulling out a few coins--most of them muggle--and sorting. Lenore gave her a penny, which was looked at with disgust.

"It's fig-rative." Said the girl.

"You asked for a penny, you got a penny."

The young girl looked affronted but one look between Lenore's face and her stomach and she settled for just looking.

Satisfied, Lenore carried on under the watchful eye of most of the smokers ten feet away who held their breath as she passed by them for the pub entrance. There were some benefits to being short. It made what was only the beginning of her bump look considerably more pronounced. They got out of her way faster.

"Cranberry Juice, please." She said upon reaching the bar. Loosening her scarf around her neck, she glanced once around the room. She shouldn't have expected to see anyone she knew; not here. She hadn't even done her friends the courtesy of inviting them. Some nights she could do without the looks that accompanied them these days. That pitiful expression that came with the thought of her soon to be a single mother with a squalling child.

Her drink was set down and money was exchanged. With every intent of going out the back to find a good seat for fireworks, Lenore turned hurriedly. drink in hand and shoving her change in her pocket. It was so hurried, in fact, that there was no stopping when she was caught out; her drink, and herself, colliding with someone immediately behind her.

"Oh, bugger!" She cried, half her drink leaping out of her glass and onto the floor. thoroughly coating her sleeve. And then, almost immediately, she started apologising.

Adrie closed the door of her apartment building behind her and practically trotted down the stone stairs and onto the sidewalk, humming to herself. She was glad to have put aside the day's work at last; it had been a much too long day of cold calls, popping by local businesses to seek out potential clients and set up meetings, and the magical element had set Adrie on edge. She was still uncomfortable completely embracing her identity as a witch; even now, her wand was tucked away into a hidden pocket in the liner of her black quilted coat, and it felt strange there--she could sense it at all times, despite the fact that it didn't weigh enough to make any physical difference.

But for the moment, she was all Muggle Adrie and happy about it--it was a night of celebration, for Muggles and wizards alike, and it also meant the coming of the holiday season, sooner and sooner every year it seemed. Adrie loved the holidays, and she loved the crisp beginning-of-November weather, the kind that made your cheeks red and made stylish gloves a necessity, especially at night.

Adrie turned the corner, walking briskly with impatience, to see one of her favorite pubs, the Drum & Monkey. The name had intrigued her when she first moved into her flat and had gone exploring, and since then, she'd made it her favorite Muggle place in the city. When she'd first come back, she had been a regular, using the pub to get to know the neighborhood and the city again, but since she'd launched her own business, she hadn't had much leisure time, and she hadn't been around in a few weeks. But the place was always running weekly specials, and for holidays such as today, Adrie knew there'd be something exciting going on, and she finally had time to have some fun. She was right--from a block away, she could tell the pub was more crowded than usual, with people outside smoking and huddling close to the building from the cold. Pausing only briefly to offer a few coins to the rather eager children--and their quite modern take on Guy Fawkes--Adrie smiled at a the man who stepped aside to let her enter, and she ducked inside.

And all of a sudden, November weather was no more. The warmth and chatter from inside the bar pulled her in, and after taking brief stock of what was going on--mostly drinking, chatting, finishing up dinner and such--Adrie decided to head for the bar and see what was going on out back before she installed herself somewhere for a bit. As she made her way over, her cell phone beeped from her coat pocket. She'd only just pulled out her phone and seen a text from her mother--a feat only accomplished after Adrie had spent quite a long time explaining the technology, but an afternoon well spent, in her opinion--when someone ran into her, and Adrie found herself splattered in what she could only assume had been a full drink seconds before.

A bit stunned, Adrie automatically started apologizing for being in the way, at the same time whoever had run into her began apologizing. Adrie glanced up to see a red-headed woman, shorter than she was--shock!--and, another shock, wearing an eye patch. Like a pirate. But Adrie figured, as the woman clearly hadn't meant to pour a drink all over her, that she was probably nicer than a pirate. Also, she was noticably pregnant--and Adrie felt even worse for having been in the way to bump into her. She didn't know a lot about being pregnant (ok, she knew nothing about being pregnant), but she was pretty sure knocking the baby around in there was a bad idea.

"Oh, don't worry about it!" she exclaimed. In all honesty, it was obnoxious to be spilled on, but this was a pub, after all, and Adrie was wearing dark colors. And, she reminded herself, she was a witch and could clean herself up perfectly...when she got home. "It's fine, honestly, I wasn't even paying attention, I was on my phone. But your sleeve's all wet...here," Adrie waved to a bartender she knew; Pete, balding on top, wife and four kids, generally nice guy who had called her Andie for a while and felt so bad about it once he'd figured it out that he'd paid her tab at the end of one night. He headed towards her end of the bar immediately.

"Hey, Pete, good to see you," Adrie greeted him, smiling. "Could I just have a soda water really quick? We've had a bit of a spill."

As Pete filled a glass of soda water, Adrie turned back to the redhead who'd run into her, and assured her, "This should take care of it, if anything stains--not a perfect fix, but it should be good enough for tonight's events."

It was a quintessential English encounter. One careless spill and both parties were apologising profusely, insistent on taking the blame. Of course, Lenore was also very English in the fact that she could be both nauseatingly polite and at the same time, have a mouth on her. And it was over the last few months that Lenore had demonstrated the exceptional ability to switch violently between the two, depending on her mood, level of sickness and her hormonal whims. If you could call them that at all.

But right now, she was embarrassed, itching to take out her wand and fix the problem but a room full of muggles put a damper on that temptation. So instead, she shook out her sleeve, glancing at this unassuming woman as she waved over the bartender to get hold of some water for the stain. Already there was a pinkish blotch on the sleeve, spreading out across the wool. What a mess.

The bartender set down a squat tumbler of soda water on the bar, accompanied by a blue checked cloth for dipping into it. Just as his colleague had done when she had been served, he regarded her for that curious second when someone sees something they didn't expect. Most people who had to wear patches tried to do something more discrete. Glasses or false eyes or conveniently placed hair. The fact that Lenore didn't bother was enough to draw attention. it had just been too long, and it was too 'normal' for her to bother worrying about it anymore. Ironic, considering she took great care in the rest of her appearance.

Lenore took the glass without hesitation and drenched the cloth in the liquid before applying it vigorously to the stain. It faded the pinkish mess from her sleeve with some elbow grease, but it didn't vanish completely, leaving a slightly grubby looking mark on the otherwise cream coat.

Then, squeezing out the cloth in an empty pint glass, she slid what was left in the glass, and the cloth, towards Adriana.

"Thank you." She said, both to Adriana and the bartender. "Nearly gone already." She said, making a show of admiring the sleeve.

A wadge of paper napkins were handed to her by a man in his mid-fifties, two stools over. She smiled broadly and took them, patting at the faded stain to soak up the liquid.

"It was bound to happen sooner or later tonight, anyway." She said, plucking her gloves from her hands one at a time. "I think it's because I have my own gravitational pull now. Makes me more clumsy. Something like that." She explained, unabashed about making conversation with someone she had just covered in juice.

The bartender sat down another glass for her, this one with a refill in it. When she went hunting for her coat pocket (a little trickier now that there was more of her to search), he waved her off.

"Just don't tell the others." He said.

Adrie might only have been back in London a few years, but she hadn't lost the politeness factor. American manners never rubbed off on her; they weren't a polite people by nature, so it was only too easy to see right through their fake politesse. Even when she'd first started dating Scott, she could tell it took conscious effort for him to be a gentleman for her, and she'd found it rather endearing. But she knew he was relieved once he could drop that whole act. Adrie, however, was never one to drop the act; the act was kind of how she functioned in the world.

While Lenore blotted at the unfortunately colored spot on her coat, Adrie assessed the damage on her end. Her phone was still in hand, the screen a bit splattered but nothing damaging; she wiped it off with a napkin from the bar and glanced at the message from her mother, something about seeing La Boheme when she visited for the holidays. Other than the phone, she really couldn't see any juice anywhere on herself; her coat was black, so even though the sleeve was a bit wet, she knew it wouldn't show. There were some dark splotches on her purple shirt, but again, not horribly noticeable. It was one of those times she was actually appreciative of magic. Despite the fact that she couldn't use it at the moment, she took it as a good sign that she was dying to grab her wand and fix this whole mess. How well she could fix anything with magic was debatable, but she wanted to nonetheless.

Adrie took the checked cloth off the bar and blotted at the wet spots on her coat and shirt as best she could, but she was really just making them wetter...at least it would be dark outside, and no one would care.

"It was bound to happen sooner or later tonight, anyway. I think it's because I have my own gravitational pull now. Makes me more clumsy. Something like that."

Adrie laughed and shook her head. "No, it's just this place," she said. "Or just pubs in general. You're bound to spill or get spilled on. It's just something you accept walking in the door, I guess. You can't avoid the jostling and all."

As if on cue, a couple of younger guys who had been sitting to her left jumped up and noisily started to head out, clearly to another pub or some sort of celebration, knocking into Adrie on their way. She held up her hands in defeat and glanced back at Lenore. "Right? The upside is there's a bar, for making everyone care less, and fireworks...which are just distracting in general."

Lenore felt a swell of guilt at watching the other woman dab herself dry. This time yesterday she might have huffed and fussed and maybe even burst into tears but today she had her head on straight. 'Pregnant Brain' as her mother called it, made way for any number of unexpected reactions. Thankfully though, she was capable of reigning them in.

Throwing a quick glance in the direction of the bar, Lenore eyed her drink again, and silently vowed not to spill this one. She doubted the pub could afford the level of clumsiness she was experiencing these days. She would love to say that it was down to her size, but at six months she wasn't huge. Just larger than she was used to. Significantly. Unfortunately, this fact didn't increase her clumsy behaviour, it just made it more difficult for her to rectify it on her own. Instead others were having to come to her rescue. Like tonight.

Thankfully however, she wasn't met with a fussy victim. And as Lenore was placated, and the pub became that much more full, Lenore did the only thing she could think of.

"At least let me make it up to you." She offered. Shamefully this felt weird, striking up conversation with a stranger. She interacted with them on a work basis every day, and weren't medi-staff meant to have good people skills? She had obviously been spending too much social time in the company of the people she knew and loved. Especially these days.

"Let me buy you a drink and I swear, I'll keep enough of a distance so you don't have to wear it."

Just as the rather careless group of young men made their way out the door, even more people seemed to gather outside, waiting for the crowd to pass so they could enter the pub. The door stayed open far too long for Adrie's tastes, letting the cold air in where it was supposed to be warm and cheerful. Thankfully, this even louder group didn't head straight for the bar, but instead noisily greeted some friends across the room; Adrie turned her attention back to the pregnant woman, just as she spoke over the din.

"Let me buy you a drink and I swear, I'll keep enough of a distance so you don't have to wear it."

Adrie laughed at that bit, considering. She wasn't meeting anyone, she'd just come for the fun and the atmosphere and all that--it was a holiday, you were supposed to celebrate. And why not? This red-haired woman, whoever she was, seemed nice enough, and after all, it was just one of those strangers-being-polite moments.

"Red's my color, actually," Adrie joked, glancing down at her shirt; the stain would be all but invisible once it was dry. "So no worries there. But a drink actually sounds great. Oh! And I'm Adrie, by the way," she added, shaking her head at having completely forgotten to introduce herself. But between the flying juice and the noisy people surrounding them, it hadn't seemed like the number one priority.

“Well isn't that something? Red's my colour, too.” She remarked. Her gaze slipping away from Adrie briefly toward the source of the draft. The feeling in her stomach that had once been a 'flutter' became a lurch as a foot drummed against her ribs. With the deftness of someone who had done it many times before, Lenore poked herself in the ribcage, hoping to deter that foot. There was only so much rib-action she could take.

As Adrie introduced herself, Lenore pulled her hand from her coat and offered it to the other woman. “Pleasure. I'm Lenore. And this is Pud.” She said, looking down at the source of her rib poking. It wasn't the most glamourous nickname but it had come about after her mum had gushed for hours over long lost baby stories of Lenore and how big she had been when she was born. It was only fair to hand down the nickname so her child could suffer under it, also.

“But he doesn't talk much.” She turned back to the bar to flag down someone who wasn't busy pulling a pint. She only had to wait a moment before a girl, no older than 18 and no taller than Lenore made her way over, flashing a large, toothy smile and pushing blonde dreadlocks out of her eyes.

“What'll it be?” The girl asked and Lenore indicated toward Adrie for her to fill her order.