Xaviers!

The woman behind the bar adjusts her long skirt and tugs at her vest, her arms tattooed with full sleeves. The phone rings and she takes a few steps towards it. The quiet click noise her steps make might lead someone to believe she was wearing heels, which seems weird for a bartender, but no one ever asks. She picks up the phone, "The Old Bell... Yes... yes... we open in thirty minutes. No, no specials tonight, sorry. We look forward to seeing you." She hangs up the phone and begins wiping down the bar, looking around at the empty tables.

After some more tidying up, an older woman comes out of the back, "Ready to open?"

"Yeah, might as well unlock the door. The back room stocked?"

The woman tuts mildly disapprovingly, "What do you take me for, girl? Some satyr wilder?"

Tereza tosses the cloth in her hand at the woman who catches it deftly, "I'll take that as a yes."

The woman goes over, turning the bolts loose and unlocking the door. The simple act seems to suffuse the place with a feeling of welcome.

The first one through the door is Bazyli, not that that's overly surprising given his slippery nature. He moves deftly around the satyr opening the door, juxtaposed by a sharp snap of the wrist to hold an envelope up, and announces: "Message for Ms.Rozanov!"

"She's at the bar," the woman gestures towards the bar.

For her part, Tereza just looks at him, raising and eyebrow and taking the envelope. As reads it, she runs her hands up through her hair, the small horns on her head becoming briefly visible to Bazyli before the hair falls back to cover them. "Another 'take the burden off your hands' offer," she says to the woman, before turning to Bazyli, "Are you running errands for Lord Chelsea these days?"

"Anyone with the coin... or the glamour. Beggars can't be choosers after all.

Speaking of, if you're inclined to tip... leavings are always appreciated."

"Mara, watch the bar," Tereza says, stepping out from behind the bar. "Follow me," she says to Bazyli, heading towards one of the doors into the back. She jiggles the handle a couple of times and then turns it farther than a door handle should turn opening it into another, larger bar with a decidedly "older" feel to it. "After you," she says, gesturing to Bazyli.

Bazyli was a very courteous boy, but as they got closer to what he suspected was his quarry, he started to get just a touch anxious, swaying snakelike in his excitement behind Tereza.

He went in first as told, eager to see what she'd kept for him.

Tereza steps in behind him, closing the door and moving over to the proper freehold bar, reaching over it and under it to pull out a small wooden container. "We don't have much. Nights have been a bit cold lately, but you're welcome to warm yourself and have *a* drink from the good stock on the house." She opens the wooden container and passes him a small object that looks like crystallized beer.

Bazyli wasn't expecting Tereza to be so generous and was actually asking politely for a more mundane meal, but he wasn't exactly about to turn his nose up at glamour when it was being offered freely. He knew better.

"Down the hatch." He replied, slugging back the offering. Once he was finished, he became a bit more personable.

"So how's The Old Bell? Getting a hang of the ropes?"

"Holding it together," she says with a shrug. "A lot of nobles aren't happy about it still being in the hands of an 'upstart commoner' after the King passed, but he gave it to me and I'll be damned if I screw up that trust."

Licking the container clean with his prehensile tongue as to make sure not to waste any little bit of what he was given, Bazyli listened. When he finished, he handed it back to her.

"They'll get over it. They'll have to. What are they going to do? Defy a previous king?"

"Depends on who wins the jockeying to be the new king, I suppose," she says, moving behind the bar. "So what's your pleasure? Knocker-brewed whiskey? Boggan-brewed ale? Pooka... well, I'm not sure what it is, but people swear it's good."

"You know me. Anything that's aged in the open air for a few days would be lovely."

"I think I have something from across the channel," she says, pouring a glass of something purple, slightly foamy, and smelling of raspberries.

"Sorry ladies. Where I go, you cannot follow," said a voice from the mundane area outside. Then a young and handsome blonde man in a red suit over a black shirt strode in. With him came an air of age, confidence, and majesty that didn't quite fit the idiot playboy image his words suggested.

Bazyli heard the newcomer pop in, and kept his eyes forward as he drank.

But he was watching the visitor's movements on the reflection on the highly polished wood in the bar.

"Drake," Tereza says in greeting, starting to pour some a glass of something amber-colored, "what can I do for you tonight?"

"A glass of Knocker. The '65 if you've still got it," the well-groomed dragon answered as he slid onto a barstool.

She pushed the glass she'd been pouring, "That's the last of it. You'll have to settle for the '66 after that."

"I suppose that wouldn't be too beneath my greatness," he said with complete confidence.

It was difficult to tell of Bazyli rolled his eyes, given the dark empty holes he had in the place of them.

"Evening Drake. How are we?"

"Magnificent as always," he smirked, though the statement seemed forced this time.

"Be nice, Drake," Tereza chided, "I can't predict what the Bell will do if you aren't."

Bazyli's face grew into a sly smirk at Tereza's admonishment, but he bit his prehensile tongue.

"Penny for your thoughts then?" he asked Drake, uncertain if he'd follow along.

"I'll never get these humans. Don't get me wrong, I very much enjoy their company. Most of them anyway. But their fascination with that incomprehensible 'social media' will never make sense to me."

"I think...." He paused, his overall expression thoughtful.

"You know that feeling of always feeling like you're the best? I think it gives them that feeling.

And anyways it gives me loads of information so no complaints with me."

"I suppose I can see why humans would want to feel special. Their short little lives are awfully dreary."

"I suppose that's our job, in a way... to make it less so.

If we want to keep eating anyways."

"I have no such obligation but I do at least enjoy making the ladies' lives a bit more magical," he smirked.

"And sometimes the men."

"I wouldn't be so convinced creatures like yourself can function without glamour. You may not strictly need it, but you benefit from it all the all the same.

After all, once magic is gone, humans won't know the difference between you and a dinosaur. " Bazyli replied, gracing Drake with a tight lipped smirk.

His expression darkened. "Insult me that way again and you're flambe."

But just as quickly it softened and he cleared his throat, "You wish me to take a more direct approach to inspiring the arts than purchasing it?"

"There is an artist commune in Lambeth that could use some charitable funding, if you're of a generous mindset," Tereza interjects, "A friend runs it. She's not one of us, but she's a good person."

"Charity isn't exactly in my nature, but I will... consider it. Perhaps if I tell myself it's ultimately in my best interest as Bazyli points out I can defy my instincts."

Bazyli made that weird face that Tereza had come to recognize as him rolling his eyes at Drake's threat.

He said nothing of it, and kept his response internal.

Rude.... He thought to himself. As he did, a sleek black rat popped it's head out of Bazyli's collar and peeped at Drak curiously.

Drake raised an eyebrow at the rat.

"Your grooming could use some work Bazyli. You're attracting vermin."