- ᴀ ᴅʀᴀᴄᴏ ᴍᴀʟғᴏʏ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ
Draco lifts his head up, shooting a glance towards his left to the witch staring shamelessly at him, his pale eyes settling on her, grunting irritably,
"Do you ever mind your own business?"
Oonagh pondered silently, tuc...
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𝕺onagh murmurs a thanks when Brain instinctively plants an iced Bailey's down in front of her.
She'd opted for one of the single barstools, not exactly in the mood for friendly mingling or the plenitude of questions regarding the lack of Grumpy Englishman at her side. On his better judgment, Draco hadn't followed her, sensing that she needs some time to herself before they talk this out, much more level-headed. Like the adults they're growing to be.
She'd nearly turned back as soon as the door clicked closed, his reasonings swimming around in her mind like a goldfish in a bowl. Remorse. Remorse flooded her insides, thinking that maybe she took it too far, raised her voice too loud at him. Him who had only been keeping her best interests at heart, all that he was doing, he was doing it for her. She'd nearly turned back, until she realised she had taken his wallet and that would be too mortifying to hand back right away.
One drink wouldn't hurt anyone.
Or his nicely loaded wallet.
Rosaleen had been over, gaining an extra line or two on her weathering face in worry at the loneliness of the girl. It had been a brief check up, full of Oonagh's reassurance that she's grand and no, she definitely did not have to go and sock Draco one. Relief had blossomed across the elder lady's face, glad that Draco didn't have to be demoted from the soft spot he'd managed to worm himself into in her generous heart.
Oonagh was grand, just in need of a moment to herself. Everyone had respected her wishes, or well, nearly everyone,
"Hello, beautiful"
It comes from her close right, in what Oonagh knows to be a Southern England accent. She wasn't a fountain of knowledge when it came down to British accents, more of an expert on those of Ireland, but if she had to take a guess, she'd have gone for Cockney. Not as sophisticated and eloquent as Draco's, something more informal and slangy. Perhaps a traveller or explorer wanting to get away from tall cities, crowded streets and a busy life. The Irish Countryside offers the opposite.
Not thinking too much of it, without even raising her head, Oonagh rejects kind, but firm, "Thanks, but i'm not interested"
The Cockney doesn't seems slightly disheartened by the straight up rejection, as any normal human being would, but he doesn't go away either. He does quite the opposite, taking it upon himself to claim to barstool right besides Oonagh's and scoot up until they're practically pressing against one another. It's not that, that makes Oonagh's head snap up, though, it's what he says next, and the way he says it,
"That's tough. Because i'm really interested"
Draco had said a similar thing earlier, said tough to her verbal reluctance. Draco's had been of a caring nature, this wasn't of the caring nature at all. It was something else entirely. Something that made Oonagh falter slightly and make the hasty decision to assess him.
