londoncallingrpg

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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"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.

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