This thread is open to the friends of Dazmond and Nate. 

Nate was shirtless and standing on top of a ricketty chair in his apartment.   He brandished his wand in one hand and a half-empty bottle in another.

"And I officially declare," he slurred, "I declare Dazmond Francis Weidman to be my wife!  And then, she said... Lamby Toes, tell them what you said."

The young wizard grinned down at his wife, her raven and red hair.  He was grinning like a baffoon, merrily enjoying the soothing sensation of one of Dazmond's own wine infusions.  He was pretty sure essence of baby giggle was involved.

"Tell them!" he demanded again laughing.  He swigged again from the bottle.  "Tell them so they may partake in our glorious union.  You are my wife and I am your husband but let no witch, wizard or dirty mudblood define us! We are better than that we are us!" he shouted.  His wand was sparking and emitting swirls of green smoke.

"Daz, c'mon.  Tell them what you said to me.  The Mugwump just about shat himself."

Nathan and Dazmond were now amoung friends, enjoying a spontaneous Thursday night revelry.

All of this in the warm, orange-light of Nate's apartment.  He sometimes shared it with Dazmond, whenever she was around and wanted a cozy roost to rest.  The musty, dusty, slightly tattered embrace of his home in the Shodding Arms Hotel.

It was nice having a night off from the club for once - in fact, it was nice attending an event that was taking place somewhere other than the club. And tonight's events had brought him to Nate [and sometimes  Daz's] apartment, which was bathed in a warm orange glow all around. The select group of friends all laughed as Nate climbed awkwardly onto a chair that looked like it was about to collapse, brandishing a wand and a bottle of liquid that was very quickly diminishing.

He declared Daz his wife.

Finn cocked an eyebrow as he took a mouthful of red wine from a large glass. "Boooo!" He heckled, waving an arm at his friend in a slightly drunken stupor. "Get down! We know you're married!" Finn was having a good time [and a good drink], and was enjoying being with his closest friends without having to deal with the problems that owning a club bring. He went to step forward, but stumbled to the side and flopped down on a comfy chair. "Ha!" He guffawed, his eyes almost popping out of their sockets. "Ha!" He exclaimed again, pointing at Nate. "Your fault..." He trailed off in a slightly squeaky voice.

Dazmond tried but could not, for the extended time that Nathan flowered the room with funniness, to surpass the giggles and get to her own response of the time.  Their marriage -- a scandalous event.  

“I'll make you MY wife -- if you don't get off it,” she'd said to Nathan as he called her Lamby Toes.  Her cheeks were flushed pink.  She said this, granted, in an homogenous solution of laughter and words, so that the purple liquid in her drink wiggled and popped dark violet bubbles.  

What had set her off was the lamproot wine, accentuated with a few key herbal extracts which quite clearly were overpowering a fair few present.  And if it wasn't the tickle they had, it was a number of other sensations and expressions which came about as a direct result of whatever strange concoction of hers they had wound up devouring over the course of the evening.  But the night was early yet, and Dazmond was having a riotous time.  Finn Grosvenor, having made a move to tackle Nathan, was now plopped in a chair beside where she sat; it took Dazmond a full minute to recover from the laughter caused by his miscalculation.

Finally she climbed out of her tangled position on the stained sofa, saying something as she lifted herself onto the table with Briggs that was lost in translation.  It sounded, anyway, as if she'd surrendered and was ready to be just as boisterous as her carefree mate.  She held his arms out as if setting up to waltz and made a right show of it.  She knew he'd get a giggle from the dramatized version, best:

"So I said!:  I, Dazmond Lois Wiedman... a free and independent woman... DO declare -- Nathan Figaro Briggs -- to be the ONE Wizard -- on the face of the earth! -- who I will never lie to, cheat, or steal from... and I do declare that I will only poison him on the occassion that he has done something only of the most heinous manner possible.  So be it, Briggsy, you are my husband!"

She took a bow and landed a wet kiss on Nate's cheek before asking for a hand down from the creaking tabletop.

"Bloody romantic!" Nate feigned a swoon.  Dazmond's vows had been the epitome of perfection to new groom Nathan.  And after more than two years, the vows were holding strong - she rarely slipped him anything unkind.  He hopped down from the table (repaired with magic many times) and assisted Daz in the same.

Once on the floor, he crossed one leg over another, spun around and lowered himself to the floor in a deft display of grace only available to him in such a loose-limbed state.  He laid down on his back and put his booted feet up onto Finnly's very nicely panted legs.  Nate had to kick a little to coax Finn into giving way and stop squirming.

"Finnley, when in blood-soaked hell are you going to settle down with one of those dancing witches of yours and start popping out snobby heirs? You're almost fifteen by now! Time's a-wasting.  Dazmond and I have already got ourselves a kid - I think she stole her," Nate said, referring to Dazmond's little imp Euphemia, "but finders keepers."

He folded his hands behind his head and gave Finn another goading kick. 

A social engagement of the upper crust witches and wizards was to be attended by Euphemia’s parents and the only wrench in the date was the fact Effie put into motion the plot that got her current nanny fired. It had happened earlier that day much to her mother’s annoyance because it meant that they would have to find someone to look after Effie or do the unthinkable and not attended to social event. The latter could not happen so the family did the one thing they could think of and that was ask the family friend and last minute babysitter, Dazmond Wiedman. It was with that decision that Effie found herself in Nate’s apartment sitting among her elders in not the most ideal setting for an eleven-year-old.

Quite truthfully Effie wouldn’t have taken much notice to the liquid being consumed or know that it was anything but water or pumpkin juice. They were not nearly irresponsible enough to let her drink anything but pumpkin juice, which she was happily sipping at from her spot on the floor. Effie came prepared to entertain herself, with a good book open in her lap and her favourite doll Edith discarded beside her as if she was nothing. Effie did love her dolls but her books meant so much more, which could be noticed by the fact Edith was face down, hair a mess and her behind exposed to the world. Euphemia was determined not to need her dolls around anymore because she was a big girl now and heading to school.

With a less than amused face she looked up from her book as Daz’s husband had took to standing on a chair. He was very distracting at this current moment as she was quite happily just reading until he started making such noise. Of course Nate was treated with respect, as he was the significant other of Daz perhaps the one adult she respected other than her parents. Daz was more of a sister to her than her own.

“Excuse me, but nobody steals me.” Effie spoke from her spot on the floor as she snapped her book shut. “Plus stealing would imply I was not willingly deposited in your care.” Euphemia weakly smiled before she put her book aside and pulled out her journal before reaching for her bag to seek out a quill. Adults were funny when they drank that silly liquid they would never let her try. Euphemia didn’t see the appeal as it made them all act so funny.

The small gathering at the Shodding Arms was likely the last place one would have looked for Rocio Adair, but she was quite close of Dazmond and - despite his blood status - very fond of Nate. There was allowed to be an exception to every rule, she supposed, and Nate was hers. Though it may have been his attitude and the fact that he was married to Dazmond that made her like him. Even if she had never understood why the marriage had occurred, oftentimes when they were drunk it seemed to be the best marriage she had ever seen.

Her snakes left at home for the evening she sat on a rickety chair in the corner, nursing her fifth glass of wine and feeling quite the buzz. This was evidenced by the loud and carefree laugh that escaped her mouth at Nate’s antics. He and Dazmond were quite a show, and they knew how to throw a party. She was even able to forget the fact that the full of himself git Tristisa was there, though she had to admit, the booze was making him look like an interesting prospect.

“The best thing you ever did Nate! Marry that one!” She called out to her host enthusiastically, raising her glass in a toast. She was enjoying herself for the first time in quite a while, even if the surroundings were lacking in the grandeur she was accustomed to. The company was far superior to that of house elves and snakes. There was no one to talk to there, and here at least she was surrounded by people and quite buzzed to go along with it.

She stood up herself, teetering and swaying on her heels, a stray giggle escaping her mouth and her hand coming up to stop it. “To the married couple?” The toast came out as a question, though it may have been the swaying that she felt and she soon plopped herself right back down into the rickety chair again, a sigh of contentment escaping her lips. “I do love hearing that story Nate.” Of course she did, when drunk it was fascinating and that was when she heard it.

Despite being new, the young witch seemed capable enough to hold down the proverbial fort - or shabby pub as the case may be.  There wasn't a lot of trouble she could cause if she got in over her head and she hardly seemed smart enough to pull anything over on him.  Unfortunately, the witch's confusion about the variety of glasses had delayed him slightly.  She wasn't exactly the brightest candle in the dark. 

Running slightly behind, he'd left the shabby confines of the Black Chimaera from the similarly shabby confines of the Shodding Arms.  But, just like his small pub, it was all about the company.  The bottles of elf wine and his signature black chimaera were gifts to the host and hostess in exchange for his help's incompetence. 

With a nod of greeting to the hostess that had invited him, Cináed settled himself contently on the floor with a drink just as Rocio mimed his swoon.  He barked a laugh shaking a head at Rocio before looking back at Finn.  "Settle down?  And, kids?" he laughed, casting an amused grin at the girl. 

He had no clue whether he was speaking for Finn or just himself, he had no clue.  Finn was far more generally presentable than he was.  "Yea, yea.  Romantic and sweet.  Some of us just aren't the settling down, family type, you know."  He took a sip of his drink.  "But, young witches these days are so picky; I don't remember them being so demanding before I went in Azkaban.  What happened to you all?"  He cast an inquisitive glance at Rocio and Dazmond. 

Arius and alcohol, two words that went together like fish and water. He loved the stuff and it was difficult for him to get enough of it - must be the Italian blood coursing through his veins. Due to this he had developed a fairly high tolerance, though it helped that he spent the majority of his time clubbing and otherwise would end up pretty hammered at every place he went to, which would be particularly troublesome on nights when he hit two or three different places in one evening.

Such it was that before leaving for Dazmond’s he had decided to open and enjoy his own bottle of vodka, just to get himself prepared. Thus, upon arrival he had already polished off a bottle of hard liquor, though he hoped that whatever Dazmond had brewed up would be better than that and truly get him into a heady drunk state. After all, Arius was at his best while drunk. Not one speck of git was to be seen on him - oh okay maybe just a little, but it would be impossible for him to get any more confident.

He arrived at the Shodding Arms just in time to watch Nate’s display and in his vodka’d up state, he found it amusing rather than obnoxious - which was normally the feeling reserved for actions done by Nate Briggs. The two just did not seem to see eye-to-eye, and it had nothing to do with height either. Not hitting it off was only mildly troublesome, however, as Arius was too afraid of what Dazmond might slip something other than wine into his glass if he were to bother her husband.

Tonight, of course, he was planning on getting smashingly drunk, and was already on his way there. He took a glass of, well, something. He stared at it in his hand before shrugging and taking a large gulp, a soft ‘ahh’ escaping his lips after the viscous liquid made its way down his throat. Whatever it was, it was splendid, he began to feel its effects rapidly - though the vodka probably helped with that too. This party would be fun.

"It'll be stealing when we don't give you back!" Nate rolled his head over to look at Euphemia upside down.  She was a creepy little kid, but that vocabulary of hers was so cute! It was a bloody shame that she'd probably end up in Slytherin come September, and that Hogwarts would probably dull her brain down to a pudding.

It was great to be surrounded by friends.  Even Arius was welcome tonight.  Rocio was howling like a hurricane in the corner - he raised his glass and drank with her in toast ("To Daz! To me!" To wedded bliss!").  Finn was ensconced in the best chair. Little Effie pouring over some book on animal dismemberment (or the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. Whichever.)  And poor Cinaed.

"I've got one word for you, Cinaed," Nate said still laying on the floor with his feet on Finnley.  "And it's long and hard! Witches want wizards with well-functioning wands." 

Azkaban was seriously no joke.  But Nate found that Cinead spending the better part of his growing years in a cold cell in the North Sea and must now live out his wizarding life about as well endowed as a squib comedic.  He laughed.

"That's really what it is, mate. You don't even know how to use it, you've just got to be not dumb enough to get yours snapped.   Just find yourself a nice, grateful she-squib and learn to screw in light bulbs ," he goaded, ignoring any lines he might be crossing.

Finn made a loud "oof" sound as Nate plonked his booted feet on Finn's legs. He was about to protest, but was quickly distracted by a light dancing on the wall - a sure sign of his drunken stupor.

"You know," he slurred holding his glass up. "I wanna get married..." His eyes looked droopy all of a sudden, as though he was feeling sorely sorry for himself. "I mean," He tried to stand up, but was quickly put back down in his seat by Nate's kicking feet. "I'm twenty! Twenty for christ's sake...and what have I got to show?" He gulped and swayed slightly in his seat. "A club!" he spat angrily at everyone. "A club! No woman, no children..." he looked around and his eyes settled on Effie, a girl he had known since she was born, due to their families' close connections. "I'll take her!" he pointed at her. He blinked then sighed, and his bottom lip trembled slightly. "I'm a failure!" he wailed letting his head droop onto his chest, and throwing his arm up in the air forcing his whisky from his glass and onto the floor. "Oh no." he whispered. "I spilled it..." He looked at Nate sheepishly.

Dazmond grinned along with the other denizens of her favorite space, accepting a hand down from Nathan.  The progression from standing on chairs to tabletops was a sure sign of success for their little charade -- not that Daz was most concerned with playing hostess; all were equal and at home tonight, or so she hoped.

Daz wandered the short distance over to where Rocio now stood, half dancing and clinking glasses with her personally in the stance of a proud little kid.  To her strange union she downed the rest of her beverage, though she found  Cináed's comment so humorous that some of the brew wound up in her nasal cavity.  "Blimey if we're the sort!" she said, hankering down in a spot on the floor and leaning back against Rocio's knees.

"What do you think Effie; want to live with us?"  In her intoxicated state it seemed the perfect idea.  The thought that having a kid around, even Effie, would drive Nathan nutters didn't occur to her then.  Her thought process was basically that if she could claim anything else as her own, then why not a child?  She didn't believe Euphemia to be the property of the Grissom-Dolohovs any more than she was the property of Nathan.  And the girl, a spitting image of herself at that age, -- minus maybe her disinterest with the out of doors -- was truly a pleasure to have around if only you had the means to spoil her.

"We will only take you if you have been willingly deposited, mind."  Dazmond grinned as she tilted her head back to rest on Rocio's lap.  "Auntie Ro will fit you with the finest," Daz lifted her head again.  "Uncle  Cináed will be your personal body guard, and sir Finnley will serve as your personal passport to only the finest establishments."  She paused to set aside her empty jar and uncork a cobalt bottle.  "All other escapades and teenage angst shall be deferred to the happy couple I presume, and I will see to it personally that you grow up to be just as enigmatic as these women present."  She finished with a toothy smile and wink toward  Cináed.  "Pickiness and demmands are the one-oh-one of girlies' finishing school, you know."

Dazmond crawled across the floor to capture the quiet Arius in a bear hug.  "Pretty peacock," she said.  "How's the show?"  She dusted invisible particles off the shoulder of his robes, catching the tail-end of Nathan's deft display of a lack of tact in  Cináed's direction.  She half-turned toward them with raised brows, leaning against Arius now (deferring to her alcohol-induced habit of making her friends into furniture).  Her expression was essentially a configuration of humored disbelief; Nathan's boldness wasn't so surprising in and of itself, though Tawse wasn't the type to be toyed with, particularily when it came to the "W" word.

Out of luck perhaps (although Daz for her part was captivated by the thought of witnessing a head-butting betwixt two of her favorites), the proceedings were interjected by Grosvenor's wailing.  "Awww, Finnleycakes!"  Daz's head was tipped back and resting on Arius's shoulder, rolled in Finn's direction.  "First off," she said.  "Ye can't have her.  She's mine.  Unless she willingly deposits herself to you of course.  And second-like, you're still but a baby!; you don't want dirty diapers and curfews yet."

Dazmond stretched her legs out and propped herself up with elbows so she could fiddle Nate's hair with her toes.

"Believe me, I know dirty diapers and curfews from personal experience," she joked.  "Need a change, hun?"

Not being given back? Would that be so bad? Euphemia did love her parents but it would mean no Beatrice for the summer. How glorious that would be! Of course this summer was going to be far worse than any other because this year dear Beatrice would be in a right foul mood due to the fact she will not escape Effie like so many years before. Teenagers were just so annoying in their moody state, had Daz ever been like that? Perhaps had been a tolerable type of teenage mood.

“Live with you?” Effie took a moment to ponder this. “Sounds like a good idea for the summer without Beatrice about.” The way Daz made it sound spending time with her and Nate would not be a terrible thing. Course she would miss her ma and dad. The nice designer clothing she already had claim over. Perhaps returning home was a good idea and having her time with Daz as more of a novelty rather than permanent living situation.

Effie’s eyes immediately darted to Finn’s with a look of stunned expression on her face. “And what makes me think I will have you?” I’ll take her, what sort of statement is that. What makes him even think she would want him to have her? What was this having of her did he speak of? What did he want do with her? The whole thing was very confusing but it all came down to one simple thing of would she have him? Effie hoped her confusion did not show on her face for fear of being ridiculed for not knowing something. Keeping up appearances was dreadfully important in Effie’s eyes.

Effie chuckled a little as she heard Daz speak to Finn. “Well your offer is so great Daz, what does Finn have to offer?” Never was she one to settle for the first offer, she had to see her options didn’t she? She laughed a little before picking up her doll to flatten out her clothing as she just noticed from the corner of her eye how not presentable her doll had come by flashing the world. Perhaps the doll too had much of that funny liquid her supposed guardians for the night had consumed.

"Finnley!" Nate swore and tried to put his booted foot onto Finn's head.  "This. Is why. We Can't. Have. Nice. Things!" For a twenty-year old, he sure didn't hold alchemically-altered and herb-laced licquer well.  He was the owner of the UK's best night club and look at him! Slobbering all over himself like a Hogwarts seventh year their first night at the Three Broomsticks! 

He rolled away from Finn then, up and over in a backwards somersault.  He knelt down, resting on his haunches and made a delicate hand-motion to Dazmond that roughly translated to 'up yours!'

With Euphemia looking up from her book, in negotiations for new mommies and daddies, in that eerie dry tone of voice she had, Nate reached over with a long arm and snipped up her book.  Nate liked books and Effie's folks could afford some nice ones.  Not only that, Effie had good taste.  He held her place in the pages with his finger and closed it over so he could see the title.

It was Albus Dumbledore's essays on the Tales of Beedle the Bard.  Nate grinned - Effie wasn't reading fairy-tales like normal witches her age - she was reading the critical theory on them.  "Effie, if you think Dumbledore's a pro on this kind of thing, you should read some of his critics, like Carlotta Pinkstone.  She's a master of the semi-colon as well.  A master!"


(Eff, if you'd rather this not be what Effie was reading, let me know! I can edit.  )

Cinaed caught a glimpse of Dazmond's attempt to inhale her drink and smirked his amusement at her.  He lifted his glass in a mock toast before shrugging his shoulders.  They may claim not to be the sort but, considering the evidence at hand, it was somewhere in there. 

Finn's outburst of complaint drew Cinaed's attention to him.  He stared at the young man for several long sentences before taking a slow sip of his drink.  "You're twenty," Cinaed repeated in mock sympathy.  "Only a club at twenty.  Better hop to it; your life's almost passed you by."  Cinaed set his glass down on the floor next to him and retrieved a cigarette from his pocket.  "You've got time.  Plenty of it.  Why are you so quick to shackle yourself to someone?" 

Cinaed was lighting his fag when Nate spoke to him.  He gaze fixed on Nate and he inhaled long and deep, exhaling as the fellow laughed.  It was, no doubt, a gutsy comment.  Had it come from a mere acquaintance, not from one who was connected with far too many of his inner circle, it was a comment that would like cause trouble.  It touched on two distinctly sore points.  But, given present company, Cinaed chose to focus more on the young man's naivity rather than the tactlessness of the comment. 

A slow smirk spread across his features and he held the cigarette firmly between his lips, freeing his hand to flash an obscene gesture in Nate's direction.  "Life on the inside's not as clean as you seem to think, mate," he said, taking another drink, turning his attention to the subject at hand.

Which was, apparently, the custody of the pint-sized girl on the floor.  To whom he'd just been declared uncle and bodyguard.  He offered the girl an amused smile.  "Your uncle would make an offer, but I'm afraid the Ministry would object to me buying random children.  I'll stick with bodyguard."

Arius observed matters from his own perch, wondering how much he would be willing to interfere or interact at all. Unless of course some manner of topic that interested him were to come up. Aside from Finnley and on the odd occasion Dazmond, this was far from his usual crowd. The people in this room were known to him, yes, but it was only two of them whom he actively went out of his way to see. The others were much more casual acquaintances. He ran into them in this room or with Dazmond at all and rarely more than that. Though of course there were exceptions to every rule.

He watched as Dazmond crawled towards him, a small smirk lighting his face as she neared and climbed up into a big bear hug. “Interesting to say the least,” he replied to her, hugging her back and letting her brush his shoulders if she wanted to. She turned away when talk of wands came out and leaned back against him, using Arius the way one might a couch - which was a way he had never been used before. Arius, the arm chair. It would be an interesting idea perhaps, if he were really in the mood to have anyone sitting in his lap, though Dazmond was allowed to do certain things of her own volition that other woman would have been severely scolded for.

Several events occurred in a bit of a blur to Arius as Nate joked about the need for a wand, though Arius knew that he was right on that matter. Every witch liked a good wand, then again Arius would have argued that technique counted on occasion as well. Quickly afterwards, Finn began to moan and groan about his lack of a family or a baby which elicited a scoff from Arius and a shake of the head as though chastising Finn for even thinking about the B word, the M word, or the W word.

“If you had a... Wife,” the word came out slowly and hesitantly, “then you would be unable to spend so much time with me! Where would I be without my partner? We are quite dastardly when we get together and no woman on the planet fails to fall to her knees in our presence!” The present company was clearly excluded. “Why Finnley, to think that a man with a face like that would even think of depriving the masses it worries me. Do not tie yourself down to one woman when you can easily have them all!” He shook his head as though Finn was making absolutely no sense and everything he had said was true. “Look at me! Twenty-six years old, no wife, no children, and absolutely no regrets.” Was he the only man in the room that made any sense?