WHO: Octavius Pepper and Therese Bonaccord
WHAT: Smoky clubs. Fake identities. New friends. JAZZ MUSIC?
WHERE: Muggle London
WHEN: Tonight! Wednesday.

Therese Bonaccord was a very private person, she would be the first to admit that when someone she had known for years would comment on knowing very little about her. She’d smile and give a slight shrug of her shoulders and continue the conversation elsewhere. She was sure it was how she’d survived her seven years in Slytherin, and the war. Therese couldn’t say that about some of her schoolmates, which was very unfortunate, but she’d done what she needed to do to stay out of trouble and stay alive.

It had not been easy, and to relieve the stress of the war Therese had found herself in the most un-Slytherin like of places. Maybe that was what had kept her coming back week after week; this little bar in London was completely different than anything she’d ever find her old housemates mingling around, and it kept a part of her life out of the war and out of the trouble she’d seen.

Jazz Street was a small muggle pub with low lights, candles on the tables, and a small stage for open mic. Therese wasn’t bold or creative enough to sing any original music, but on Wednesdays it was karaoke, and after one too many shots after a particularly bad read in the Daily Prophet, she’d found herself on stage. Her father had always trained to keep her poised and trained in those very important pureblood skills, so she hadn’t been worried about singing well; it was actually being on stage that she’d always been terrified of. The alcohol in her blood had definitely helped, but being on the small stage in the tiny bar gave her the escape that she’d been searching for.

Her song for the night was one that made her feel a bit sexy, something that hadn’t been happening lately. Her busy work schedule kept that aspect of her life in check, and she smiled at the few patrons who applauded. It felt good, even if she sang to an empty room. Therese jotted down the steps to take her usual stool at the bar, and waggled her fingers at the barkeep for a drink.

The Wireless was absolutely Octavius Pepper's life. The idea of being able to communicate to the entirety of Wizarding Britain and beyond was an exciting idea to him! He loved every aspect of it; the news, the dramas, the talking programmes… but the music, well, that was his passion, in and out of work. He thought his voice passable, when his sister and the twins bullied him into a quartet, though he modestly acknowledged he was a deft accompanist with a piano and a number of string instruments (primarily the guitar and banjo, mostly at the behest of his cousin Seymour).

What he had with absolute certainty, however, was a sharp ear and strong admiration for music. All sorts, be it vocals, instruments, any number of genres—even Muggle, thanks to his father. In fact, Octavius made it a point to educate himself about the musical Muggle world in the hopes of spotting trends that had escaped magical notice, always looking for anything to make the WWN better than it already was. It was this same fascination that dropped him in every side, seedy, and hole-in-the-wall establishment that offered live music. Part research, part relaxation, he found himself gaining a tremendous regard for how the non-magical side handled business. Tonight, even though Octavius liked to vary the destination of his outings, he found himself yet again at Jazz Street, with the expectation of hearing one voice and one voice only.

Despite his prior relationship, Octavius had a frank appreciation for the female-kind. Yes, he thought as he studied the singer on stage, he could see this one as the dame in a Muggle black-and-white detective-type film his father enjoyed so much, sleekly-styled curls obscuring a pair of alluring eyes, a daringly slit skirt showcasing provocatively posed legs. What he appreciated even more, though, was the brassy set of pipes concealed by this attractive exterior. He couldn't recall when it had started, but at least one Wednesday a month, he was here, waiting to listen to her. Tonight, though, was a bit of a treat, a way to pat himself on the back for the successful meeting he'd had with the dramatic troupe broadcasting the Halloween special which had put him in a particularly delightful mood.

Octavius wasn't the only one who felt out-of-the-ordinary, he'd noticed. Tonight, there was something different about her delivery, though concrete terms eluded him. A touch of the mournfulness, perhaps? The selection piqued the natural sort of sultriness he believed she had, but he felt it was charged with something more tonight, something different.

Perhaps it was this, perhaps it was that good mood, or perhaps a little of both, which had him seeking her out, determined to make contact this day. Her close proximity helped considerably, of course. From the few barstools down, Octavius turned in her direction and called out, "You're quite a bit better than your average pub-goer," he tipped his well-crafted pint in greeting and kudos, "I've seen you sing here before. You're very memorable."

A smile curved up on her face and Therese gave a slight nod in thanks. She wasn’t modest enough to deny that she has had a few muggle men come up to her, complimenting her voice. It was a nice feeling, being able to come here and be this completely different person. Therese was the personification of not heeding one’s own advice, but she was always able to justify her behavior. Most of her friends from Hogwarts were dead or in Azkaban. Mackenzie had gone through so much during these past few years that Therese’s run-ins couldn’t compare and she would feel guilt in complaining, and Matilda was...Matilda, someone who Therese had never felt comfortable talking to since their first year. Or she had simply not liked the girl, and kept her distance. She needed a place to not be consumed by work and the wizarding world’s constant reminder that her childhood and past was truly far gone behind her.

It was nice to put on the charade, to not have to worry about what people were thinking about her, and for the first time in a long while be able to give honest answers and responses to things. As honest as a witch disguising herself as a muggle karaoke-addict could be. She looked back in front of her and smiled when the barkeep waved off her money. Usually she didn’t bother to entertain the come-ons of the muggle patrons, but he’d called her ‘memorable’ and there was something nice about that. Try as they might, she had never gone home with one of these muggle men, but again, he’d thought her memorable.

“I think I’ve seen you here too,” she said, looking back at him with another short smile. She didn’t push her hair out of her eyes as it fell from over her shoulder, enjoying having it loose as it was always pulled back for work. The man looked familiar and Therese supposed that with typical empty tables it wasn’t hard to pull a face from the crowd. “Do you have any requests?”

She may have one or two more songs in her for the night, if she didn’t have another drink.

Octavius was no slouch when it came to his Muggle repertoire, no sir. Radio hit charts, popular magazines, casual conversation with passers-by, even books when the occasion warranted it. He committed what he could to memory (what he liked), but built a handy foundation to refer to regardless.

He'd been flipping through his list of songs as soon as she'd sung the last bewitching note, eager to profile and categorize such a voice. Peggy Lee was good, he liked the smoky vocals. If she'd been a witch, he'd have suggested some of Warbeck's earlier singles, but that was neither here nor there. He liked the era, though, he'd keep her there; lots of big-voiced ballads ripe with emotion, that was key. Then, for maximum ev—

Well, now, he hadn't spoken but "hello," to her and he was already picturing how he'd organize a set for a presentations programme. Octavius shook his head with a little laugh, assuming this was likely why he hadn't bothered to approach before.

"Oh, I might," Octavius said with a smile that had slid casually into a smirk. "But I don't recall hearing something quite like this from you before. Maybe not in style, but…" he searched for the appropriate word, but instead stumbled upon its next-best-substitute. "in emotion, we'll say. Was there a reason for tonight's selection?"

Therese didn’t like that she’d been so easy to read. Her smile fell and she looked back down at her drink, deciding it had been a bad decision to humor him. The song was easy to listen to as a just a girl wanting the bad boy, and Therese had thought she’d played that angle up, but this muggle seemed to have picked up another vibe that she had no so unconsciously been feeling. It was about wanting the man that was no good for you, even after you knew he’d broken your heart and would continue to. The human being was a strange creature, Therese always mused, it was why she’d gone into her field of healing. She would never truly understand why they did the things they did, why she did the things she did, but it made her feel better thinking that some sort of explanation could be made.

Her broken heart still ached nearly two years after the fact because she had not been given a chance to rectify the relationship. It was literally one day to the next, and everything she’d grown to love and know was gone. It was dangerous to think, and foolhardy, and stupid, but Therese knew that if the cause of her broken heart showed up at her doorstep tonight, tomorrow, or the day after that, she would not hesitate in grabbing hold of him to try and salvage what had been lost.

Again, she rarely took her own advice.

“I was reminiscing,” she said coolly, deciding that it wasn’t this muggle’s fault that she’d been an obvious read. Therese turned back to him and shrugged. She would just have to make a better selection next time, “about the one who got away.”

Ah, he might have guessed. Of course he was familiar with the oft-spouted cliché, but most recently for Octavius Pepper, his heart-felt ballad would have been "please, can't you go away a bit faster than that—and stay that way!"

But even his knowledge of music, magical and otherwise, failed to produce such a stirring number.

If her words weren't a dead giveaway, the frosty change in demeanor more than sufficed in telling him he'd put her back up with what he hoped had been a friendly if leading question, even if she answered in that polite go-fuck-yourself tone. Oh, but she smelled like trouble to him. Octavius could only give a hearty sigh, for he did so have an inclination toward mysterious damsels in distress, didn't he?

Throwing his hands up in mock defense, he replied, "Just an idle question—I don't mean to pry." He took a pull from his glass and set it down, turning to face her more fully. "I have to be adept at sensing personalities and their nuances in my line of work, if you will. I thought tonight's was your finest, though. That voice, well, it's always lovely, but it had body and soul up there. I think even the subject of the song would crawl back and admit that, were he to hear."

She watched him closely as he spoke, managing to hide her intrigue at his keen observations. Though, if she wanted to be honest with herself, this muggle could just be another somewhat creepy fan of hers; he just had a better way with words than the others. Her sudden appearance and disappearances from the bar seemed to make Therese a subject of interest amongst the regulars, and with the way he spoke, he wasn’t new to watching her. Therese didn’t know whether or not she should be impressed or concerned, but she supposed that she had a wand and the ability to disapparate whilst he did not.

A girl was allowed a bit of fun, yes?

“Maybe that’s the point,” Therese said smoothly, shaking her head. A quick smile appeared before her lips dropped again, and her eyebrows rose in honest interest. “What exactly is your line of work?” it sounded a lot like hers, but he seemed more interested in her voice than in her at the moment, so her guess was that he was not in the psychology fields. “What has you keeping a keen eye on unfamiliar women on open mic night?”

Octavius had learned early on (and in quite a hard manner) that "oh, I manage a, erm…radio… station" was not really an acceptable response out in the Muggle world. People were forever wanting to know what station it was, and if they listened to it in their daily travails. When he could not actually supply this information, Octavius was automatically assumed to be some sort of lecherous creep intent on sneaking any poor, gullible woman (or man, in one memorable instance) into a back alley to have his wicked and soulless way with them.

He may, on one drunken occasion, have found great hilarity in this notion and played up such a role, only to be banned for several lifetimes towards the end of the night.

Or, if they cared not what the station was, but simply that he managed it and a certain level of celebrity was involved, they were hell-bent on making sure he knew just what their talent was.

Although one could never be too cautious, Octavius didn't think the latter really applied to the woman across from him, but he had to tuck his tongue firmly in his cheek when he considered what she might make for the former. At any rate, "The Wizarding Wireless Network station manager" was not an acceptable response to her, and would likely earn a drink in his face if he tried it, even as a lark.

"I'm in music," he answered easily enough, deliberately keeping his eyes on his glass. "I like to frequent the live music circuits in London, in particular. That happens to bring me to karaoke nights, on occasion. What about you, Miss Peggy Lee?" He rested his chin on his fist as he gave her something between a smirk and a grin. "How do you find yourself on a stage on open mic night?"

“I listen to crazy athletes ramble about their trials and tribulations all day,” Therese answered quickly, already pulling up the names of some football players she could use in case the muggle questioned her. She did not spend much time in the muggle world, but enough to know that their celebrities were just as admired and entrancing as the wizarding world’s. She had never found herself enthralled by famous people (though a chance encounter with Gilderoy Lockhart had left her speechless, she’d never admit), and found it quite easy to see them as patients who needed help. Sometimes they talked about the most mundane, superficial things, of course, but there were other times where Therese could see the toll being in the public eye took on the quidditch players. She would never give up her near anonymity for a chance to have her face plastered all over the rags.

But, he was in music and he’d found her memorable. That was something, and Therese hadn’t noticed the slight heat in her cheeks until she was done with her drink. Of course, her faint flush could be from the drink, and he could be lying just to continue flirting, but he had sounded rather knowledgeable about music as it was.

“I guess you can say they drive me to drink and sing,” she finished with a roll of her eyes, a gesture that showed that her statement was a lie, but Therese thought it fine to leave it at that. There was no need to tell this stranger, this muggle, about what had brought her to this bar in the first place. No one would believe her even if she did; it sounded like something straight out of those campy wireless shows the WWN was always playing.

Therese pushed her glass forward, fully turning toward him now, “You’ve complimented me four times without prying for or giving a name.” She nodded her head forward in question, unsure why she was even pushing the conversation. It could be that he seemed rather sure of things, “What’s your next move, Music Man?”

"Oh, I don't know," he said with a laugh, "I rather think Peggy Lee suits you. I like mystery and intrigue, I suppose."

Truthfully, he didn't know what his next move was. He was unsure even of what his prior moves had been, as he had not decided yet whether or not he was purposefully flirting. These outings, they were always about making connections in one way or the other, and that was, in part, what excited him about the whole thing. The Wizarding world was much smaller, especially in terms of entertainment, so it wasn't often he had these unexplored venues to puzzle out for himself.

There was also, of course, the eight-month reprieve he'd been suffering through as he escaped the clutches of one Elisabeth Prod, who gave a bad name to "the older woman" everywhere. Anonymous flirtatious were just about all he'd allowed himself in the meantime, as anything else induced rather painful and traumatic flashbacks to the blighted era of The Relationship.

But there was something about her he just liked, something indefinable. That prissy look in her eye, he supposed, or that straight posture that sat so naturally on her, it must have been conditioned from birth. Just enough for his fertile imagination to create a vibrant, captivating story for an equally such character. Not quite knowing why, but certainly biting the inside of his cheek, his eyes slid from the glass to hers, cocking an eyebrow. "Well, I know a few moves I'd like to see you make."

He might have been leering at her.

“Are you serious with that one?” Therese’s eyebrows rose in disgust at his last line; oh, he’d been doing so well! From calling her memorable to have it end with something as seedy as that. “That’s really what you’re going to go with?”

With a slight toss of her hair over her shoulder, Therese turned back to the bar, letting out a short sound of disapproval. He would have to do much better than that if she was going to break her no-random-muggles rule, and he was quite lucky that he was on the more attractive side of things. If he’d only been so-so, she would have just slipped off of her bar stool and left, but since he was one of the handsomest fellows she’d seen and had been in such close proximity to in a long while (excluding her clients, who all seemed to be carved from marble by the Gods), he was earning a few extra minutes to persuade her into some uncharacteristic like events. Her whole Wednesday night outings was about dropping out of her skin and into this different character, so why not finally have some rewarding fun out of it.

“I believe you’re going to have to buy me a few more drinks and try again,” Therese advised, glancing back over to the man for a slow, lingering second before setting her gaze away once more. She couldn’t help her sly smile, however, and straightened her shoulders with a small shake.

An appreciative chuckle escaped him as he pushed away the empty glass. Octavius wasn't sure why this would have been incentive for doing such a thing, but he'd been mostly certain if it wasn't going to be a drink in the face, it'd be a resounding slap. Or at least, ruining his earlier efforts, a disgusted sigh as she slid off the barstool and away into the night.

Well, there was something to be said for surprises, he had to admit with a little smile.

"What I meant," his grin was free and wide as he reached for a cocktail serviette, "was I'd like to issue my song request for you now. That is, of course, if you think you have another round in you, still? I'm happy to supply any necessary liquid courage." His hand reached to his shirt pocket for a quill—no, a pen, as he was in his Muggle attire, as his brain sifted through the list he'd been mulling over in the back of his head even through their conversation. "The era's good, I think we'd keep you there," he crossed out something on the list. "Heart, that's your big draw—not so much technique or range, I'd say—very workable. It's a big voice, that's good," Octavius scribbled quickly, "less sweet, I'd say, more… smoky—alluring," more frantic pen movements. "Also good." Mumbling to himself, he vigorously underlined a section of notes.

Glancing up mid-thought, he suddenly recollected his present surroundings. Too used to it to be embarrassed, he gave her a guileless smile and laid his pen down on the abused serviette. "Suppose it's a good thing, being such a crazed enthusiast, that music is my business." Octavius slid the napkin to her with his request circled boldly among the scrawls, his expression a mixture of entertainment and challenge.

Her eyes dropped down to the napkin, scanning over his notes. He really did belong in the world of music, especially since he’d managed to pick out a song that was on an album she had scratched up so badly because she played it so often. Therese would keep this fact to herself, however, and simply curled the napkin up in her hand and slipped off her stool. She winked at the man (Therese noted to herself that she’d stopped referring to him as ‘the muggle,’ which was startling, but exciting) and didn’t hesitate another second as she went over to the piano player to make her request.

Therese always felt a bit of nerves and butterflies when she took the few steps up on stage, but having someone to impress and sing to in the audience seemed to give her more courage than any drinks from behind the bar could. She listened to the pianist start, her eyes locked on the man at the bar, a sly, wicked grin on her face. For the first time in the many Wednesdays she’d shown up here, her mind wasn’t on the one who’d gotten away, and it felt like a new experience to be up there under the lackluster spotlight. A good, new, experience, and Therese was feeling glad that she’d taken the chance.

He watched her walk up to the stage, enjoying that any nerves she may have been feeling didn't stop her from sauntering up like she owned the place. Looking at her up in the hazy weak spotlight, he was glad he'd one with instinct and chosen that heartfelt number. The sentiment, he supposed, was the same as her earlier song, the one that got away. But this time, he felt there was acceptance in the words of the song. The heart was broken, yes, but it no longer pined. Octavius saluted her with two fingers as her notes rang out strong and true, as he knew they would have.

Grabbing another serviette, he bit the top of his pen thoughtfully as he searched for the right sentiment, enjoying the swell of the song as she cried on about her restless lover of yore.

Yes, it's a good day for singing a song,
and it's a good day for moving along
Yes, it's a good day, how could anything go wrong,
A good day from morning' till night
--it's been a pleasure, Miss Lee, and one I hope we'll repeat soon

"Will you see that she gets this?" he asked the barkeep, nodding his head in the stage's direction. The tremulous outro filled the air as Octavius tucked the collar under his neck and slipped out the door of the club.

Taking chances. Yes, it was a good day.