A copy of the most recent edition of the daily prophet sat cast away at the end of a rectangular table in a small dimly lit room of the great Durmstrang ship. At the opposite end of the table were two witches; one in her late 60s, a silver patch covering her right eye and wiry hair framing her face, the other a perfectly preened witch in her mid forties, a look of focus and concentration etched into the features that had begun to betray her age. Between the two women sat a half empty bottle of firewhiskey, two glasses almost full of the golden liquid and two small piles of poker cards.

The target of Miranda Elliot’s focus was a handful of cards spread out in her fingers before her eyes.  Wizards poker was a competitive game when played with another professor from this particular school. Everything was competitive here and Miranda rather enjoyed the constant stride to be the best. Her only problems occurred considering the lengths they were supposed to go to for success.

Dark brown eyes shot up to meet Maras’ one before the younger witch reached a hand out to take one more card from the pile. A smirk graced her rouged lips.
“Four leaf clover, luck of the leprechaun. I’ll have four of your cards then, Maras.” The card was placed down on the table for her colleague to see before Miranda let her fingers encircle her own tumbler of firewhiskey which she lifted to her lips. The only English and one of the youngest members on the staff rarely did well at Wizard’s poker.  Alas, she seemed to be putting up a mild challenge for Maras this evening. Perhaps it had something to do with the firewhiskey or the frustration at the article in that particular prophet. Either way, she wasn’t yet out of pocket.

“So, your first thoughts on Scotland?”

The ship gently, gently rocked on the Hogwarts lake.  High above them outside the black spires held up sails that appeared too ragged to catch wind, but they did when they were meant to.  Inside a nicer, upper-deck cabin, the Professors were at play. 

It had been a long summer, and even the high-collared Durmstrangi were growing a little weary.  Weary of travel, weary of English, weary of waiting.  Ylva personally couldn't wait to get all of this waiting out of the way, set up in the castle and do what they came here for! Show the world their betters.  One challenge at a time.

Speaking of English...

That stupid clover! Drat! Ylva wobbled her head as if she didn't care and shedded four cards from her hand onto the table.  One of them was a stinker, and she was glad to be rid of it.  Take that, Professor Bone-Mend...!  she thought.  Nothing more annoying than holding a Rotten Mandrake card. 

Only holding three cards now, her chances of offering a good hand to win the bid was low.  She laid down her cards, and flicked a finger to indicate the modest pile of coins (and a chocolate frog) was won by Elliot.  "Take it."

Ylva was Swedish so her English was fine, but she rarely had occasion to practice.  She spoke it now because they were in England and out of pity for Elliot who, Maras was convinced, struggled with Durmstrang's eastern tongues.  Lucky for her, they were in Scotland now.

"Nice to have access to fresh thistle and woad..." Local plants excellent for making dyes, a necessary medium when it came to some types of Rune scribing.  She reached for her glass but it had gone dry.  One hand on her cards, the other on the bottle, she sloshed in another measure.

"Skål!" she said, and drank it all at once.  No sipping. 

She blinked  her one remaining eye slowly, and hold it closed for a moment.  When she opened it, her grin came to Elliot more quickly than it had before.

"You..." she said.  "You ought to be happy to be home,"

And then, Ylva Maras anted a galleon.

"Skål!" The older professor toasted, raising her firewhiskey to her lips, opening the hatch and letting every last drop of liquid slide down her throat. Miranda watched on with mild amusement as the witch didn’t so much as strain a facial muscle. Apparently for one eyed Swedish witches, firewhiskey was as smooth a drink as pure water. Most things Maras did intrigued Miranda. Yet it was the same with everyone at this particular school. She interestedly regarded gestures, expressions, customs, mannerisms and languages. The Durmstrang students and staff were an extremely interesting collection of witches and wizards.

“Helan går” the English witch responded in her colleagues own tongue before taking a large gulp of her own firewhiskey. This witch couldn’t stop herself from wincing as the liquid burnt the inside of her throat and the fumes seemed to reach her mind.

Dark brown eyes fell on the cards she’d won and lips pursed tightly. What a stinker... The small plant on the front of the card opened its mouth and was about to start squealing before the witch silenced it with a well placed thumb. Her winnings from this particular hand were certainly not to be proud of. Maras had gifted her with the unwelcome Rotten Mandrake card, two Trolls and the Stunning Stunner. Elliot was set to lose yet.

“Giddom!”  Elliot blurted out in response to the pointed statement from the witch as old as her runes. The firewhiskey and present use of her own mother tongue was allowing the Devonish dialect and accent to seep back into her speech, no doubt making her rather difficult to understand. "You...make too many presumptions.” Feeling somewhat bold after having just won a hand, regardless of the cards she had received, Miranda took from her pile a galleon, a chocolate frog and a knut which she placed beside Ylva’s galleon.

“Home is where you want to be, Maras. Not where you come from.” With the cards now on the table face down, Elliot took the firewhiskey bottle and filled both glasses. “And I certainly don’t want to be in Scotland.”

Inside, Ylva felt a twinkling of red-cheeked pride for Professor Bone-mend who was playing Wizards' Poker more or less properly and going drink-for-hand with her.  It hadn't always been so easy for the young, foreign professor, but Ylva credited herself for helping Elliot learn Durmstrang's ways.  Oh, she still had a long way to come - she thrashed about so much still when it came to some things, but she'd get sorted out in time.  That's what Durmstrang did.  It sorted you out.

And the next hand was on.  With the pot fed, Ylva drew until she hand a full hand.  Her eye trained along them each in turn, waiting to see what they'd say... what kind of hand might reveal itself, what permutation of cards could beat what Elliot had hidden...  The rules of Wizard's Poker were grand in depth and breadth and experience played to your advantage...

"You're never happy." Ylva Maras accused.  Both she and Miranda Elliot both instructed in the Tangibles - arguably the most ancient and storied of Durmstrang's three disciplines.  It covered the practical, the earthy, the true magics.  And so both witches had that in common.  But seemingly? Little else.

She moved one card in her hand to sit between two others.  Perhaps the Nine of Cups would work better nearest a North Wind...  Ah there.  That would work.

"It's Lady Xoc.  I presume you know it."  Ylva had laid down a card.  It depicted a rough woodcut illustration of a woman pulling a cord through her tongue, the cord laced with blades.  Would Elliot have a better card than that one to show? Did she dare Go To War?

 

“You are never happy.” The Swedish witch accused her colleague. Miranda’s eyebrows rose as a smirk twisted her red lips. It really was rather true but she wasn’t about to admit that. Miranda was rather convinced she had very little to be happy about. Widows who had witnessed the deaths of their husbands and a sibling rarely ran around with a wide grin plastered across their features.  Miranda got on with her life, avoided it and in turn that made her less unhappy. But being back in Scotland and the United Kingdom was having her problems thrown straight in her face. Especially with a Daily Prophet article putting it in writing for the rest of the country to see.

Instead of once more taking up her hand of cards, Miranda slipped her hand into the pocket of the robe that hung on the back of her chair. She pulled it out, her fingers wrapped around her thin wand and a packet of tobacco.

“You’re confusing your English, Maras.” Miranda commented as she started to roll a new cigarette. “You meant to say that I am never wrong. The English language will come to you.” For once Miranda felt mildly comfortable in discussion. They were speaking in her language instead of a foreign tongue that didn’t come quite so naturally. Yet she could still hold her own in some of the tongues of Durmstrang, having spent ten years living on the dragon ranch with her husband in Norway had certainly helped. Elliot still remained and would during her time at the institute, the foreign professor.

The professor refocused her attention. Another thing that made her stand out was her lack of experience in wizard’s poker, having never played it until her hiring at Durmstrang.
“Another presumption.” Another card Miranda had never seen. She lifted the rolled up cigarette to her lips. “Refresh my memory.” The tip was placed between two thin lips before her wand tip ignited the end.

The lull of the evenings were, to some, soothing - the ship's lamps shone a rich red and orange, the lights of Hogwarts far above them sparkling on the lake, the sky bright with stars and the town of Hogsmeade a merry glow on the shore. Hogwarts and its surroundings seemed filled with sparkling lights; a far cry from Durmstrang, in many ways.

Hogwarts was ornate and ancient; Durmstrang was practical. Inside the Durmstrang castle was just as ornate, if not more so, than its Scottish cousin; but outside it was practical before it was whimsical, a fortress before it was a home.

The evenings now were less formal, less full of things to do. The students were safely below decks, the quiet hum of their conversations reduced to a single sound by the ancient planks. Most if the official business had been concluded, their plan of attack for the next year awaiting its launch...

In short, Auberon was swiftly finding himself bored. Anticipation was a rather fun feeling until you had too much of it - and, as many of the students and staff of his school would confess, a bored Auberon was a recipe for disaster. For the students and teachers, anyway. Auberon tended to come through unscathed and wondering what had everyone so upset. Now he stalked the ship, looking for something to do...

He found the two ladies playing poker in one of the cabins, as he passed through to holler at the elves to get him a few biscuits. He didn't have much else to do; he paused, closing the cabin door behind him, and stalked over - eyeing both of their hands. Maras was losing to Bone-Mend! Would wonders never cease?

"You seem at a disadvantage, Maras!" he said, with blunt, booming cheerfulness. "A hometurf advantage, perhaps?"

The Headmaster had entered! Professor Maras, although getting a little drunk, always held Eisenberg in the highest esteem and the strict hierarchy of Durmstrang was not something that faded even in casual evenings. 

"Headmaster, good evening," she said in her best English, perhaps to counter Elliot's charge that her accent was lacking.  "I wouldn't presume to disagree, but I must disagree..." she said, her pride about poker rearing it's head.  She was certainly not losing, she'd just lost that hand...!  She was in for a long game, or at least that was the plan. 

"Lady Xoc, Mayan queen.  Summons a serpent god unless she's countered by something stronger," she explained.  "Which I doubt you hold.  "And you really don't want a serpent in play... "

A smile curved her lips, and she looked to the Headmaster again.  She wondered if she should ask him to stay, or if that would be inappropriate.

Hearing the booming voice from behind set Miranda’s heart to an unfamiliar, quick pace. Headmaster Eisenberg was quiet about very little yet for some reason the volume and enthusiastic cheerful tone of his voice always happened to surprise the witch. She was usually very wary when communicating with witches or wizards of such fervent volume. With the exception of when being challenged by him, Elliot was very wary when dealing with this particular individual.

Maras had always seemed to hold the headmaster in great esteem and while Miranda did respect him, she was still rather unsure of where she stood with the unorthodox headmaster. And over exaggerated English accent greeted him across the table and Elliot smirked before giving the wizard a small nod. “Headmaster...” But her words were drowned as Maras denied losing to the younger witch that was far less experienced in the card game.

“Firewhiskey, Sir?” The healer offered Eisenburg, tilting her head in the direction of the bottle as she tapped her cigarette over the ashtray.

Taking a puff of her cigarette, Elliot let her eyes sweep the cards in her hand as if considering her next move. In realty she had little idea what was stronger than this unheard of card. Miranda hadn’t even played wizard’s poker before joining the Durmstrang faculty. It was only on the cold evenings spent in the school with Maras that she’d started.

“Well, for educational references, which cards would they be?” With the help of the firewhiskey Miranda had gained rather a bit more confidence in this game and sincerely hoped it wasn’t obvious whether she was bluffing or honestly interested.

Ylva rolled her eyes at Elliot's innocent-enough request for help, and swore in Swedish annoyance. 

"No no no," she said, returning to English.  "I'm not helping you.  There's money on the table, you sink or swim, yes?" 

Her tone was about as quick and harsh as it normally was, but getting warmer with the Firewhiskey.  "Against the rules to suggest a counter to your own trump, anyway.  Bilger's Rule." [1]

She gestured loosely with her hand that Elliot move along.  In the meantime, feeling confident, she looked over again at Eisenberg and raised an eyebrow.  Did he actually intend to sit down and have a drink like chums? That would be the day! But new shores, new tricks, apparently.

1.	Wizards' Poker

Auberon watched the two with unmasked amusement, grunting at the proffered firewiskey and sitting down, pouring himself a glass. Wizard's poker wasn't quite as entertaining as chess from an observer's standpoint - unless you intended to mess up one of the participants, in which case it was quite fun indeed.

"Hm. What're the stakes, Ladies?" he asked, relaxing into the chair. "s'Hardly a game of proper Poker without something you'd hate to lose on the table!" Someone else's money, anyway. Auberon had played enough in his youth to know not to put money down unless you trusted the other person or you actually had money you could afford to lose. And you never ever put down things you wanted to keep...but you relished it when others did.

He watched with interest nonetheless, far more interested in watching the sparks fly than any bets they might have made.

Sink or Swim. Ironically swimming was something Miranda had never learnt. She’d been in a lake before. Fallen in when trying to help her husband with work on the dragon ranch in Norway. She’d almost drowned, thrashing about with limbs everywhere and lungs full of dirty lake water. It wasn’t an experience the witch ever fancied repeating and had lead her to feeling very uncomfortable when they had first come onto this boat.

The witch pursed her lips and looked down at her cards. Of course it was against the rules. Whoever had written these rules obviously didn’t like to help out beginners. Wizarding poker was an old hat’s game, the game of the experienced player with little hopes for the younger population.

Eisenberg questioned the stakes and Miranda’s lips twisted into a grin, her demeanour softened by the fire whiskey she’d consumed glass for glass with Maras. “At the present moment, Sir?” The cigarette was lifted to Elliot’s lips and she took a drag, holding the smoke in before blowing it out in the direction of her opponent. “Maras’ pride.”

Two thin fingers plucked a card from her hand and Miranda placed it down on the table between them, her eyes trained upon her Sweedish colleague. “Snake charmer.” Her voice was calm and confident. In reality Miranda had no idea if it would work but one always had to try. One day she’d learn how to swim.

Ylva positively cackled at Miranda's response to Eisenberg, and then even more at her counter. 

"Ah ha ha ha! Elliot, this is Poker! Do you think the rules are entirely based on puns!?[1] Come now, surrender while you still can!"  Ylva flicked the Snake Charmer back towards Elliot and tapped the Lady Xoc card with her wand.  It hissed and and warped and then began to smoke as if a cigarette had been put out on it.  In the smoke was the shape of a large snake and it writhed in the curling smoke.  It opened it's mouth, and the body of a Mayan warrior appeared. 

Ylva had already poured another finger of whiskey, ready to declare victory over this hand.  "Ancestor's Might.  You're learning the hard way."  Ylva collected the entire pot, sliding coin and trinket towards her own stack which was looking quite fat.

Her cards were laid down on the table and she tapped her glass on the table.  "Eisenberg, join us.  Trounce us mightily - she's learning nothing by losing to me - it's a lesson she's learned too often and it just isn't taking."  She laughed again full of mirth.

"Come come, pour your glass!"

1.	Lol, it so is.  - Sarah

Auberon laughed again at Miranda's claim. "High stakes indeed, Elliot," he said, getting comfortable, his smirk rather like a cat's - or perhaps a crocodile's. These two were certainly entertaining when going head-to-head; maybe if he was lucky they'd develop some sort of crippling dislike. Having his staff at each others' throats was much more in Durmstrang's spirit.

Auberon had never understood the Hogwarts mandate of stability. Stability was so incredibly dull.

He leaned forward on his elbows as they played on, tilting his head at Elliot's choice of move. Maras summed up his reaction well enough. "Bad luck, Elliot," he said, with a tone that hinted at just a bit of vicarious satisfaction.

He sipped his wine before answering Maras; mostly because he was watching the smoke with interest. Nothing on the real things, he felt; though the idea of this game being played with real creatures...now that - that he would play. Eagerly. No doubt some bloody activists would disapprove, though.

"If you insist," he said, putting his goblet aside. He leaned forward eagerly, rubbing his hands together. "Unfortunately, you may have to deal with the horrendous fact that I am terrible at card games."

In a graceless motion by Ylva Maras the pot was gone and Miranda was yet again down more sickles that she could ever hope to win in this Merlin forsaken game. The losing she could put up with, it was rare for the wizarding poker novice to ever win a hand against her colleague. Age and experience trounced anything else in this card game. It was the laughing that made the witch’s lips press together, forming a thin line as she eyed Maras through the smoke rising from the card and he tip of her own cigarette. Whose idea had it been to play this evening?

The cards were tossed onto the table and Miranda took the firewhiskey bottle from her fellow professor, pouring a healthy sum into her own glass. It was only a few seconds before this was making its smooth way down her throat and her features screwed up as her gullet began to burn.

Eisenberg agreed to join in and Miranda took a final drag from her cigarette before pushing it down in the ash tray. Would it be completely wrong to attempt legilimancy during this game? Was that against the rules of the card game Maras and every other witch or wizard she knew took extremely seriously? Elliot glanced down at the cards, pointing her wand at them and setting them to reshuffle themselves, dancing around in the air so delicately. She’d not dare attempt it on either person in this room.

A smirk formed on the healer’s lips as she glanced sidewards at her boss. “Oh I sincerely hope that to be true, Sir.”