11 in the evening. The Willow Wasp, Manchester City.


It had been a day of very little amusement for Ira Almasy, now stood surrounded at the upper balustrade of the Willow Wasp. One would infinitely prefer not to be in the city of Manchester at all much less at the weekend- when the insipid creatures of all society's decrepit levels crawled out from their shells to have what they considered to be 'a good time'.

Consorting at champagne bars, irregardless of opulence, was lacking in most elements required to constitute Ira's vision of a good time. Most notable of all was the absence of conflict. Patrons of the evening's after-party were far too sober for such a disposition... but the night was young, yet.

Ira held a full glass of champagne delicately in one hand, the other folded underneath to caress her boney elbow as the throng of wizards and witches she stood with blathered on about how so-and-so was such a brilliant cause or that it was a wonder nobody had even thought about it before. Original conversation was hardly a highlight of these events.

"You make an excellent point Dorothea," she smiled with blatant insincerity at the last halfwit who'd opened their mouths to the flock. "But I simply can't monopolize your talents all for myself. Do excuse me, dear."

Her tone was soft and fluid but it carried all the condescension of a shrewder speaker- the period might as well have pierced its victim.  Ira turned away to descend the spiral stairwell in time for a row shorter wizards to step out of her way with polite greetings; she paused only to lift the folds of her dress.

A cumbersome attire perhaps but once on the lower floor, it trailed in her wake like a soft billow of poisonous cloud. While the patrons below were not any better company, they were ,however, more intoxicated. The things one can get away with when dealing with an inebriated mind. Ira drifted across the floor towards the bar, almost drawn to its towering gyres of sparkling crystal- although, realistically, tempted by a less alluring sight.

"Rosier," A name that brought Ira equal measures of amusement and displeasure. "I had not expected to see you at the fundraiser."

Rosier stopped counting after his twelfth glass of champagne. These events were usually pretty dull, but the endless streams of decent quality booze made them almost worth it. They always seemed to invite him to these charades, even though he really had less and less time for them. But it was nice to take an occasional evening off work, even if Rosier's mind never left Level Two and their problems. He tried to smile, to appear more approachable, seem less grumpy...but it seemed the aura of his typical moodiness was permanent.

The events in Manchester however were a bit different than the ones in London. The wizards from the capital were generally more uptight and desperate to be taken seriously. Up north however, things were more simple it seemed, more relaxed even. Rosier wasn't sure if he liked that or not up until the point when a young, obviously intoxicated, giggling witch approached him and without a word planted a kiss on his cheek. Perplexed but amused, he watched the girl run away, still giggling hysterically. Shrugging, he picked another glass of champagne from a tacky gilded table nearby and continued with his slightly apathetic existence as if nothing at all happened.

After a fashion he decided it was time for bigger and better things - so he naturally went in the direction of the bar. After a short chat with a Wizengamot elder, while being painfully unaware that his elegant black tie went askew and that he had smeared, deep-red lipstick on the side of his face, Rosier tucked a cigarette in the corner of his mouth and found a spot at the bar where hopefully no one else would bother him.

Just when that very thought crossed his mind, someone called his name, as if on cue. Ah, it was her. Rosier didn't know what to make of this woman, but it definitely seemed she was at least a bit more than an average socialite. "Really? Then I apologize if my presence disappoints you," he said with a smirk, with his usual intentional insincerity. "How have you been, Ira?" he asked, trying to play nicely, but not before quickly eyeing her up and down. "Lovely dress."

Well. The man might not have the most savoury of occupations in her eyes but he certainly had taste. Ira inclined her head in a subtle show of appreciation for his compliment, smiling indistinctly. There was no need to return the remark. Rosier thought well of himself and was intoxicated enough to imagine one later, in retrospect.

"Your presence is hardly disappointing. Niet, I am rather impressed by it..." she set down her champagne glass with a clink, gesturing distractedly for the server to pour- though very little had been drunk at all. Her attention remained unblinkingly on the wizard across. "I understand from the papers, your department is one that is most engaged."

Naturally, it was typically bad taste to talk shop at one of these events- Rosier's shop however was of interest to Ira and she frankly saw very little else this evening to discuss. No doubt he found the company at these events as sedate and boorish as she did. The champagne was topped up, the witch held it again but took no purchase- the crystal rested between long, manicured fingers like decoration rather then refreshment.

"Myself, I am well. It is good of you to ask," Ira met her companion's eyes intelligently, her own glimmering with cold sobriety. "There is little to do now but we are close approaching our winter spell. One is kept occupied by assuring that the season's Opera will be well attended." This was mostly true even if she could not lay claim to being entirely occupied by so trivial a task.

Much of her actual time had revolved around the initialization of the Lycan bloodsports. Pesky situation, regardless of its profitable prospects. Operas were easier to tidy.

"Might I tempt you to attend?" Her tone was laconic and she raised a pale eyebrow at Rosier in delicate humour. Playing on his attitude towards the Ministry was a simple card. "Although I believe you may already have your fill of bellowing melodramatics."

The way this woman spoke, the way she moved - it was all so artificial. Rosier couldn't help but notice that she was like an actress, so haughtily striking a pose every couple of seconds. It was unusual, but amusing; if Ira Almasy felt like someone was about to snap a photo of her any second, who was Rosier to judge? Wasn't he the one who was pronounced the 'Most photogenic Ministry employee' by the Witch Weekly?

"At least the papers got something right," he said with a small frown, thinking of all the tripe the Prophet lately produced. He had been hoping the subject of his work will be avoided, but that was apparently inevitable. But what else could he talk about? First and foremost he was the Head of MLE, only secondly he was Cameron Rosier - a foolish middle-aged man who lived with a house elf.

But at least it seemed Ira's life was slightly better. Even though organizing Opera events and whatnot sounded incredibly dull, at least it seemed like a task which consumed minimal amounts of time. Rosier thought attending the Opera was something muggles enjoyed a lot more than wizards. Some of his colleagues found it relaxing and insightful, but he couldn't understand how and why. He would usually space out, staring blankly at the performers, not really following the show while his thoughts were fixed on his office problems or what was for dinner. Truth be told Rosier preferred to attend a cabaret event.

"Only if you accompany me," was his reply to her request, despite all the ill thoughts about the Opera. He wasn't the type to so rudely refuse an invitation from a lady, that much was obvious. "And melodramatics are fine...as long as my night doesn't end with a trip to St. Mungo's or something similar." Despite himself, he thought of that incident a couple of months ago when he was attacked on his own property. Every time he had a bit to drink, he would remember...it was so unfair.

"What else do you do with your time? Or is your life just one big after-party -  in that case I must say I slightly envy you." It was true that Rosier liked to work, but sometimes he felt just trapped and swamped with paperwork...Sometimes he wished retirement was an option, but then he would sober up and remember where he truly belongs. With a small smile, he watched as the bartender filled up his champagne glass once again.

The wizard surprised her with his benevolent response to the invitation. Ira's lips curled into a meditative smile as she considered the image of attending their seasonal performance next to the implicitly marketable Head of Department. Nigh everything and everyone in this class of society was an accessory.

One hardly knew whether to appreciate or condemn the degradation of human character. At either extremes, she could only play this game until the night drew to its end and substantial undertakings could be examined. Perhaps Rosier himself thought the same. Champagne and scandal before mysteries and murders.

"If I may be candid," she set down her untouched champagne on the marble counter. "I do not think a life of such gatherings would be attractive. The drink, da, is excellent... and no setting could parallel our elegance. But it is not very compelling." Although the heavens knew that there was no lack of cretins who were satisfied with so unavailing a life.

There was better use to their blood, if only to have it drained. Tenderly, unhurriedly.

The thought passed through her head like a pleasant zephyr and Ira supposed that if it were feasible, she would have very much liked to do such a thing to the occupants of the Willow Wasp. Niet. Not all of them- what would the world be without Cameron Rosier? The man was more intelligent in drunken stupor than most socialites were when sober. She indicated the flock with her listless gaze.

"Here, they live vicariously through the pages of the Daily Prophet, I am sure. You must loathe them for it," Ira looked to him once more with an expression that might or might not have been quite serious. "Myself, I have my hobbies. Uninteresting when laid in contrast to your own adventures, one imagines."

He still didn't know what to think of her. She seemed to fit here, in this place and in such a setting, but according to her words she was more than just that. Rosier wasn't sure if he believed her or not, but one was certain - Ira wasn't an average society woman. They were usually more lively, less mysterious and a lot more enthusiastic and charming - a bit like Dolly. And without scratching the surface, Ira was probably the complete polar opposite of Dolly. He wondered what she found compelling then, because she did look bored (well, at least before she came across him, clearly).

Rosier noticed she wasn't too keen on her champagne, while his glass was already empty (again!). Smiling complacently, he agreed with her on this - yes, the drink was pretty good. He put out what was left of his cigarette in a nearby ashtray, his thoughts swimming in his head a bit when another glass full of champagne mysteriously appeared right in front of him.

"Oh, I don't loathe them for it, I simply don't care," he said with a small scoff. People who cared about the press in that way were just fools. Rosier read the Prophet because he had to, it was important in his line of work. Yes, he had to know what was being written about him as well, but not out of vanity but because it was important to see how the others viewed him and his politics.

And people always assumed that because of his job his life had to be the most exciting thing. Well, he wouldn't call it exciting, he would rather call it demanding, soul-crushing and impossible, but he won't argue. There were some moments which could be perceived as exciting...if you could call being in a life-threatening situation exciting. "My adventures?" He raised an eyebrow, giving the woman a quizzical, trademark Rosier look. "I wouldn't call writing reports and arguing with my colleagues very adventurous, Ira. Unless you heard some rumours...In that case I'd be happy to hear them too." With another sip, the glass was almost half-empty.

"But do tell me about those hobbies of yours - they must be more interesting than you make them seem, one imagines." He smirked again, emphasizing on the last phrase, as if imitating his foreign friend.

Ira's ashen eyes followed her companion's motion as he disposed of his cigarette, the indulgent scent of rich tobacco now lost to the sharper odour of flowing champagne. Pity. Rather a slow death than a drunken life.

He was talking again and she allowed herself an amused, sociable smile. Da, it was a waste of his energy to care- although he did care about something. The politics alone would not lure one into such a position.

The din of the party around them had remained at a constant buzz of murmuring aristocrats or clinking glasses- Ira's attention only partly focused on this background of noise with a vague sense of alertness. It was an inherent tendency, to hear for hazard, even if the most significant of hazards was the wizard across from her.

"A woman does not reveal her sources, Cameron..." she drifted subtly into less formal speech. "Your adventures must remain a secret even to yourself, it seems." Letting on that his less graceful moments were known to her would have been tremendously amusing but foolish. The attack at his home, recent captures by the department. Not your typical Prophet fare.

Conversational diversions were unnecessary as the practiced politician shifted their discussion away from his exploits- that he did this so naturally, even under an influence, was telling. Ira watched his face attentively and her delicate eyebrows went up in light hilarity.

"You mock me," she admonished him in apparent jest. Clever little man. "My hobbies are not so secret. Not exciting, the arts, but certainly more interesting than these galas..." Ira blinked slowly and deliberately, turning to touch her lips to her drink for the first time that evening. The champagne was barely disturbed when she looked back to Rosier. An odd smile now pulled at her thin lips as though in response to an inside witticism. "You will see for yourself. Our winter season will be most eventful."

"As patrons of the Opera, we must redefine the art."