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[b][h1]Charles Ackerman[/h1][/b]
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Once a year, every year. Peyton had been using the Cliffside as the Leaders’ annual venue since even before Charles had rejoined the League, oweing to their long friendship over the decades. At least Charles was getting paid handsomely to reserve the cocktail bar out for a night. While this batch of Gym Leaders wasn't quite up to completely trashing the place like some generations had, they were still something of a rowdy bunch. 

The old man did one last check of what he had behind the bar, satisfied that his stock was full and he wasn't wanting for anything. Despite the fact that this was a more formal night than usual, he still wore just a classic dress shirt, vest, and tie. It was a damned classic for a man tending bar and any of Peyton's whinging that he ought to be even dressier for this would be ignored.

He'd let all his staff take the night off with pay, handling everything himself for the evening. After all, if it was meant to be a social for League members only, so much the better to not have anyone that could overhear anything too inconvenient. Besides, the day he couldn't run his own bar without help was the day he was hanging it all up. 

Beryl arrived first, almost surprising him. Not completely unexpected, though he would have thought Hestia to have rushed here faster after losing her silly little game last year. Ah, well. One scotch for her, and Charles finished final prep on his cocktail ingredients as he waited for the rush. True to form, Hestia came in not long after, and Charles simply dipped his head at her request, starting to whip up a drink. 

[b]"Oh, you know him. Dramatic entrances and whatnot. I expect the lad to be last. In any case, here. As asked for, a limoncello lemon drop. Enjoy."[/b] He slid the drink expertly across the bar, kneeling down to the freezer for more ice when the door slammed open, bringing a familiar voice with it.

[color=lightblue][b]"Awright, ye wee numpties! Party's here!"[/b][/color] Fiona swept in, clad in a slinky black cocktail dress and heels, arms held wide and grinning. [color=lightblue][b]"Charlie, hit me wit' some buckie, would ye?"[/b][/color]

[b]"Absolutely not. Not after last year."[/b] Charles crossed his arms firmly, shaking his head. [b]"If you'd care to order an actual drink, kindly name it."[/b]

[color=lightblue][b]"Yer no fun, ye scabby fuck."[/b][/color] Fiona groaned as she took the bar stool right next to Hestia, giving her rival a jovial slap on the back. [color=lightblue][b]"One o' what she's havin', then!"[/b][/color] As Charles busied himself with said order, Fiona turned back to Hestia, her ever-present grin still plastered onto her face. 

[color=lightblue][b]"How tae fuck'd I get here before most of th' crew? Figured most of 'em fer early arrivers, an' I was just tryin' tae beat speed records gettin' outta Motostoke late."[/b][/color]