The Abbey, at the Bar
Rupert left Claudia's boutique after his daily check-in with her and his beautiful little niece. Things were getting a little busy at the front of the house, with the Sunday shoppers all out on the hunt for her latest designs, so he wanted to get out of the way. The last time he stuck around, Rupert was hit on by at least three 'cougars'. The story was the same too, they reminded them of their late husband, and that itself was enough to give him a chill. As much as he could just people watch, give a little psycho-analysis on the folks out and about near the boutique today (to himself, of course), Rupert decided he needed a break.
The Abbey was in London, he remembered. He'd only been there a few times, with some of his old mates from school, but today he wanted to go alone. He'd sent a message by owl to his flat to let Ezra know where he was, in case he wanted to come out and have a supervised visit, maybe a chat, with his 'guardian' or sorts, at the humble pub. He'd heard about the owners here too, the poor lot. The wife left to pick up the place when the husband was sent to Azkaban? For murder, no less. There had to be a story there, a story behind everything. He'd forgotten their names, and didn't see any recognizable faces when he took a seat at the bar. And asking for their names didn't seem very natural either, so he'd have to let that question come organically.
"Ale please. Newcastle." He offered a smile to the man behind the bar.
He breathed out a sigh, propping his elbows up on the counter and letting his fingers tangle into his curly locks. Claudia had been hounding him for weeks to get a haircut, but he'd refused. If he wanted to cut his hair, he'd do so...on his own accord. Truth be told, he hadn't had time to do much for himself other than the daily work with clients (the usual), then playing mannequin for his sister when she called him, and some sleepless nights he owed to the investigation. His wall at his flat was worse than the information he was piecing together at the office. Articles, photos, research, names, everything he found on the Order of the Phoenix and did his best to correlate that information with anything that tied to Michael Owen and his father.
There was so much missing, there were details he hadn't even found yet. Why was this so difficult? Was he just not looking in the right spot? He had broken Ezra out of prison for this...yet the investigation hadn't gone anywhere.
"Here you go, mate." The Irishman set his pint on a square piece of cardboard in front of him, and gave him a pity smile before walking off to tend to the rest of the patrons at the bar.
"Yeah, cheers." He uttered.