londoncallingrpg

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Debut

It had felt good to clean the place up, he had to admit. His little excursion to Ireland had been, well, quite lovely. He thought of maybe adding a hint of Ireland to the menu, but he wasn't sure how to, yet. Serving up burgers, chips, steaks, potatoes, and fresh-baked rolls seemed to have him fairly satisfied. Maybe diversifying the taps would be a better touch...

To be fair, though, Gavril liked it simple. The pub itself was a rustic thing with a hint of Scandinavia; scrimshaw-covered wooden columns flanked the bar, carefully dusted off since his return. The wooden surfaces of the bar and the tables had been polished with love, the iconic, wooden wolf's head carving above the bar was dusted and cleaned as well.

It had been a few years since he'd stepped out to Ireland, traveling by foot from north to south, living off the land, the hospitality of others, and with what little money he'd taken with him. It had been, frankly, quite rejuvenating. And now he was ready to get back to business.

The friendly “We're Open” sign of carved oak and ash hung happily in the window, and the chalkboard outside announced Wolf's Head's reopening as well. The place wasn't bustling, and Gavril preferred to keep it low-key, especially since it was just him, for now, running things. But he was okay with that. And he was okay with being back in London.

With any luck, he'd be speaking to a few applicants as well; he'd placed an advertisement in the paper, and any visitors would see the black-and-orange plastic 'Help Wanted' sign that Gavril had picked up from a store and stuck in the corner of the door. He didn't want to run Wolf's Head on his own, but he could manage for now. It wasn't like the place was swarming, or anything.

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That pub was new, Jag thought to himself as he saw the Wolf's Head sign from afar. He couldn't help but think of Val, of course. He had been about to head home, buy some groceries on the way. But he decided to try this place out instead; he'd made good enough cash today that he could afford to eat out.

Reopening, the chalkboard outside stated. Not new, then, but Jag had never noticed it before. The smell wafting in through the door when some patrons walked out made his stomach grumble, and he headed into the warmth of the pub, spotting a free stool at the bar. He dropped his bag of gear by the stool and took a seat, looking at the mountain of a man behind the bar. "Evening."

"Evenin'," Gavril greeted the man, currently not engaged with any other customers. "Welcome to Wolf's Head," he added, with a hint of pride, and a touch of Scandinavian in his accent.

"What can I get for you?"

"Stout," Jag answered, after glancing at the taps to check that they had one, "and, um..." He took a quick look at the menu, teeth worrying his bottom lip. Not exactly pub food. "A cheeseburger? Cheers."

"Comin' right up," Gavril said, amiably, serving up the man's stout first. He turned, then, to the back of the bar, where he started getting things ready on the wood-fire grill.

"So, rare? Medium?" he asked, half-turned back to the bar. Well-done was practically out of the question; as far as Gavril was concerned, well-done was just a polite term for 'just about ruined.'

"Medium," Jag answered, watching the stout as it settled in his glass, then glancing around the pub. Pub with a grill. Whatever that made it. His gaze settled on the wolf's head above the bar, and he watched it with clear appreciation - and no small measure of heartache, wondering what Val would make of it.

"Sounds good," Gavril said, taking note, getting everything together. The burger didn't take particularly long, and Gavril got the cheese melted on top of it, and served it up on a plate next to a pile of chips and the usual burger fixings on the side for the man to add as he desired.

"There ya go." Gavril noticed the man's attention at the wolf's head, and cracked a slight smile. "Carved it myself," he said, simply.

"Cheers," Jag stated even as he dug in, never one to wait before eating food. He looked back up at the wolf's head when the bartender - owner? - spoke again, clearly surprised, and swallowed his mouthful of chips before speaking, "Really? It looks amazing."

"Well, it took me a long time," he replied, shrugging slightly. "Glad you like it. I spent a lot of time working on this place, actually," he said, glancing momentarily at the scrimshaw columns next to the bar.

"I'm Gavril, by the way. I own the place," he said, by way of introduction.

"Jag," he answered with a nod. "Seems like a nice place. And it's definitely good food." Good food he was still going through with gusto.

"Good. Glad you like it. Tell your friends," he chuckled. "I know it ain't typical, but I like to think it's part of what makes the place unique."

"Yeah, you won't find one like it on every corner," Jag confirmed. It felt a bit American to him, from what he'd seen of it on telly, but he didn't know if the impression was true, and if it might not offend the bloke if he said so. "Where are you from? Your accent."

"Well," Gavril began, leaning against the back of the bar. "From all over, really. Born in Norway. Parents moved to Sweden, then to Germany. I went on a tour of Europe myself, when I got older. Love Ireland, in fact, just came from there." Gavril couldn't help but grin. "The vistas, the food, the ladies..." He couldn't help but sigh.

"But for some reason London always felt like a home to me. It's got me comin' back every time." He shrugged. "Helps that the pub's here, I s'pose."

"How long was it closed for?" Jag asked curiously. That was a lot of countries, and he'd never even set foot outside the UK.

"A little over a year," Gavril said, shrugging. "When I travel, I tend to like to go on foot. Take as little as possible. Live off the land and as cheaply as possible." He smiled. "It's... enlightening."

"How do you even do that?" Jag asked curiously.

"It's not easy, by any means. But it helps to know some basic survival skills. How to hunt, trap, forage, that sort of thing. How to start a fire with basic tools." He shrugged.

"Also helps to know places and people. Churches make for decent places to stay, in a pinch." Helped to pretend that you were Catholic or Protestant, depending on the area of Ireland, but he left that part out.

"Yeaaah," Jag said wryly. It wasn't that he had anything against religion - he believed in God, after all, even if he didn't follow any actual religion, but the bits and pieces of different religions his family had made into their own. But he had something against close-minded pricks, and you found a lot of those in churches. "Do you end up missing the city, then?" he asked, instead of leaving the conversation a chance to become about discussing religion. Not one of his favourite topics, especially with a stranger.

"Always," Gavril said, nodding a bit gravely. "It's one of the reasons I built this place. Well, I guess 'built' is a strong word. But you know what I mean."

"Building a place takes more than walls, yeah?" Jag confirmed with a nod.

"Exactly," Gavril agreed. "I like to think of it as an investment. In all senses of the word."

"An investment," Jag echoed with a nod, testing out the word. That was what his life here felt like. It wasn't about any place for him - even if they were kicked out of the squat, they didn't need that place in particular, although he'd miss some of his things if he couldn't get them back. "I like that."

"Whatever helps you get through the day, yeah?" Gavril said, chuckling.

"I guess," Jag replied, not sure what the bloke meant by that but not caring very much. Most of his focus was back on his food, to be fair.

Fin's magic aided his sight enough that he could see almost perfectly. Though his eyes, green as ever, still appeared somewhat cloudy as he stepped inside the pub. His fingers lingered on the door frame, as though feeling something unseen, but soon enough he was making his way to the bar and perching himself on a stool. ...There was something about this place though, something that made his fae blood hum a bit. Or, perhaps that was all just in his head.

Fin had a familiar face, one seen in gossip rags and on telly screens. Not that he ever expected to be recognised, no matter how often if happened these days. He was hardly some superstar after all, just the target of gossip, a few scandals, and a bit of an industry darling despite it all. Not that it had changed him much. Other than a slightly posher voice these days, and significantly better clothes, Fin looked much like the scruffy, scrawny little man who'd been living rough only a few years ago.

"Hello," he said, a faint smile on his lips as he greeted the man behind the bar.

"Evenin'," Gavril said, turning to the newcomer. His look betrayed no recognition when his eyes settled on him, and he just nodded his head.

"What can I get you?" he asked, cordially.

"Lager, please," Fin smiled. "Whatever's on tap."

Cloudy eyes took in the man, friendly and focused despite their damaged appearance. He seemed thoughtful as he spoke again, head tilted slightly to one side.

"I've not had dinner yet," he confessed. "Any recommendations?"

Gavril filled him a glass of lager, and put it on the bar in front of him.

"Well, variety isn't somethin' I'm strong on. Got burgers, steaks, potatoes, chips, that sorta thing," he said. "Nothing seasonal in yet, though. Hoping to get some venison before long, but none in yet." He shrugged.

"Personally? I'm a steak and potatoes guy. But that's probably obvious, considerin' I'm the one that serves it up."

"Steak and potatoes sound lovely," Fin smiled, that cloudy gaze clearing for just a moment, suddenly sharp and clear- Then abruptly obscured again.

Something caught his nose then, a faint whiff of something he couldn't place, and before the fae could think about what he was doing, he leaned forward slightly, visibly sniffing the air. A dreadful habit they all seemed to have. Will, Winter, Pippa, and of course, Phouka. They all seemed to have a dreadful habit of smelling people anytime they caught a hint of something not quite right.

Though the actor didn't say anything about it, unable to place the scent as anything he knew, and he simply leaned back in his seat again. Humming thoughtfully, he pulled out his phone to check his texts.

The strange sniffing behavior wasn't something Gavril was used to, but London was full of eccentric types. Not to mention, he was guilty of that kind of thing, in certain situations.

But this guy didn't smell Wulfkind. He didn't even smell werewolf.

Besides, he had a steak to grill up. "What's your pleasure? Rare? Medium?" he asked, getting things started.

"Medium, I think," Fin smiled, his tone pleasant and warm despite any curious behaviour.

"Medium, I think," Fin smiled, pushing his hair back with a smile. "I always think I like it rare, but I never really do."

"Sounds good," Gavril said, getting out one of the potatoes he was baked in the wood oven to get that ready as well. Gavril was so familiar with the grill and oven that he barely even looked at his work; his arms going through the motions and his bare hand handling the hot foil shrouding the potato with no sign of discomfort or pain.

"Rare's not for everybody," he conceded, despite his belief that it was for mostly everybody. "So, from around here?" he asked.

"Manchester, originally," Fin admitted, not that you could tell anymore. As an actor he'd picked up that bland BBC British accent quite swiftly. "You?" he asked.

"Well, London's my... well, heck, I've lost count. My family moved around a lot," he said, though it was a lie. He'd moved around plenty. But he had no family to speak of.

"Originally, I'm from Norway. Eventually, found ourselves in Germany. Then I ended up roaming Europe for a bit. I love Ireland, but London's always called to me. Every time I've taken a trip, this place keeps calling me back." That was why Wolf's Head was even a thing.

"London's a special place," Fin said softly, a smile on his lips. "I can't imagine living anywhere else now."

"Suppose I feel much the same way," he said, serving up the plate of the steak, the baked potato, and some servings on the side of sour cream, scallions, cheddar cheese and butter.

"There you go," he said, as he slid the plate in front him.

"Looks lovely," Fin smiled warmly. "I have friends who love these big fancy meals, but- I love the simple things. A meal doesn't have to be complex to be perfect."

"That's the exact philosophy behind this place," Gavril said, amiably. "Eat up. Lemme know what you think."

Fin tucked right in. Small and slight though he was, he had a hell of an appetite. Always had.

"Mmm, it's lovely. Really nice," he told the man.

"Glad you like it. Like I said, tell your friends. And if anyone needs a job, I'm hiring," he added.

"Mmm, happily most of my friends aren't in need of a job. Actors, mostly," he admitted. "I'll get the word out though, gladly."

"I appreciate it," Gavril said, nodding. "Hard to run a place like this by myself. I can, but it's not preferable."

"Given the state of the job market, I'm sure you'll have people lining up outside your door in no time," Fin smiled. "I'm shocked you weren't fully staffed overnight. You should put some postings up online."

"I'm kind of old-school, I guess," Gavril confessed. "Though I did put an ad out through the local paper. And I think they said it included an online ad, or something. It'll be running for a month or so. Should help."

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Debut

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