Sunrise:   4:53 AM
Current Time:  6:00 AM


The interior of the Black Chimera held as little aesthetic appeal as the exterior suggested.  Though, considering the location, it was all together unsurprising. Unlike its parallel Diagon Alley, the more elaborate the design scheme of the establishment the less revenue a business usually had on Knockturn Alley. Many customers preferred discretion about their dealings on this side of London. A face walking into an indistinct pub was less likely to be remembered than one prancing into a more flamboyant locale. Unless, of course, that face was wearing a badge.

A trail of steam rose from above a cup of tea cradled boldly between a pair of delicate hands. A rather commendable sized teapot was as equivalently imposing upon the Pub’s bar. Pressing her lips to the ceramic ledge, Tamis Raynor drank a sip of her tea before placing it down next to the pot and flipping a page of Transfiguration Today. Past visitations to Tawse’s establishment had revealed that tea was not a common beverage sold at the Black Chimera. Consequently, she had decided to bringing her own. The Aurors could validate that a Raynor before her morning tea was a Raynor even the bravest and foolhardy of men evade.

Ever since his parole from Azkaban, the Head Auror had been regularly checking in on Cináed Tawse – a task that had been bestowed upon her back when she was a regular Auror. Upon receiving her promotion, traditionally she should have past the responsibility onto another so that she could concentrate on more “important” matters. Raynor was far from tradition. But the demands of her station were beginning to take their toll.

Once a week, Tamis would claim one of those forsaken “Lunch Breaks” (a ridiculous concept) and meet with her parolee, whether he came up to Level Two or she decided to come here. Today, she was unorthodoxly early. Within a single month the Aurors Office had faced a high profile double homicide, the trial of an infamous traitor, a rash of black market activity, and most recently an announcement of criminal intent from the aforementioned traitor. No one was taking lunch breaks on Level Two anymore. As a result, Raynor was forced to move her almost forgotten, habitual rendezvous with Tawse to before work, instead of in the middle of it.

She, as of yet, did not know how he was going to respond to this new development.

Probably a lot better than if she stopped in during the evening, when business was at its best, she was sure.

….

 Flop. Flop. Flop.

Once more, Tamis Raynor cast an incredulous eye down at the large Mastiff below her feet, his tail battering the floor. Occasionally it caught the foot of the stool she was sitting on, sending up a small shockwave. With her feet resting on one of the stool’s horizontal support beams, the large, content dog had ample head room due to her vertical ineptness.  The eye contacted only proceeded to increase the tail’s velocity. 

Doing her best to ignore the beast, Raynor flipped another page of the magazine, attempting to seem as content as possible.

If it had been a maltese or some other bloody pocket dog  Cináed had decided to bring home, the intruder charm might have been really, truly necessary.  However, with the massive, tan dog that shared his bed was all the warning he really needed; the clanking of the intruder charm was really just there to make sure the dull ache in the back of his head didn't drag him back to sleep.  Not that Seamus was much of a watchdog - the arrival of an intruder rarely prompted the dog to bark or growl, let alone do anything to protect his territory.  It was the sudden lurching of the bed as the 200 pounds of fur and slobber pushed himself to his feet and jumped off the bed to greet the newcomer that usually roused  Cináed. 

The dog had already pushed himself through the door and moved down the hallway towards the bar when  Cináed had disentangled himself from his covers and fished for a shirt from the pile of laundry on the chair next to the dresser.  He pulled the dark shirt over his Azkaban-worn body and over the top of his chimera printed boxers as he followed the dog to the bar. 

"Bloody, fecking ... what the hell are you doing here?"  Unprepared for the unwelcome visitor sitting at the bar, Cináed's less then welcoming greeting had erupted from him before he could think better of it.   Cináed cast a fleeting glance at his reflection as he passed in front of the dusty, dark mirror on his to the back of the bar.  He was a sight - some might say he was even more frightful looking then usual with his hair falling disheveled and limp over his shoulders, chest and back.  As he passed by the end of the bar, he discretely nudged a stray cat femur under the edge of the bar, which had managed to slide its way across the floor during the last fight. 

Still half asleep, he scratched absent-mindedly at his boxers as he set a pot of water on the stove.  How ... bloody ... humiliating.  The wench had to be on something - did she expect him to have any intelligible answers to her stupid questions without something to wake him up?  And, she knew full well he'd have to make that drink like a ruddy, useless muggle.  He could wake that new house elf of his - what had he been calling it? - he couldn't remember.  He couldn't remember much at this time but he felt he'd rather avoid announcing his acquisition of a house elf to this hag.  Actually, he preferred not to announce anything to her. 

"What do you want?"   Cináed asked, making no effort to hide his annoyance.  "And, get over here, you worthless mutt."  Seamus had earned a good portion of his annoyance - had the dog just ignored the woman's presence,  Cináed could have continued sleeping.  And, he would have been content to let this woman linger down here as he dreamed.  He couldn't see the dog where he lay on the floor under the muggle-lover's stool but the heavy thump of a tail against the floor made it clear the dog had made no efforts to move. 

It was to Raynor’s immense misfortune that she happened to take a mouthful of tea the moment Cináed Tawse descended from upstairs. The stairs moaned under the exertion of weight, the large dog’s tail quickened in cadence in newfound vigor, and the Auror shifted to glance over her shoulder. One glance was all it took.  It was either spray tea all over a rather stimulating article on Gamp's Laws of Elemental Transfiguration or swallow. She decided the latter was more dignified, if precarious for her health.

She ended up doing a bit of both; sputtering and choking almost simultaneously. It took a few moments to put herself to rights, in which time Tawse had already moved on to rummaging around the stove, producing a pot and water.

“I would ask if your knickers are always in a twist in the morning, but the idiom seems even more inappropriate than usual.”

It was rather difficult to unsettle Tamis Raynor, but put a rather conservative woman in a room with a disheveled man wearing, in her opinion, barely more than his undergarments (with no romantic or biological attachment to said man) and one was bound to get a reaction. He looked like puffskein with his tousled hair, minus the adorability. True to form, she recovered her composure rather quickly. She took another sip of tea, just to prove it.

Even at the early hour, Raynor was already primed and polish, though her hair was still slightly damp, as if she had taken a shower not too long ago. Practically adorn in colors on the darker end of the spectrum, the woman might not have seemed so out of place if the Auror badge attached to her hip had not been shining like a gold beacon by the contrast. It was an uncommon practice, especially deep in the belly of Knockturn. Some might take it as a blatant show of how little of a threat she considered Tawse to be to her. Some might assume it was a reinforcement of the Ministry’s influence. Who knew, the Head Auror was not a particularly forthcoming woman.

“Good morning to you as well, Tawse,” she replied as if his tone had not implied that she was very lucky that he was wandless. Glancing down at the ‘worthless’ mutt under her feet, Tamis tilted her head towards the dog’s master and made a discrete shooing gesture under the bar. The alter ego considered her with two large, pleading eyes, the tail ticked uncertainly now as to whether she was serious or if there was still a chance of being petted if he stuck around.

A rudely satisfied grin flickered at the corners of  Cináed's mouth at the woman's response.  He had no desire and no reason to see to his personal presentation around this woman.  His only regret about his current choice of attire was that the woman hadn't chocked on her tea.  Or inhaled it and drowned.  He would have dressed even more casually if it could have achieved that goal.  That would have been a marvelous start to his morning.  But, since she wasn't turning purple he had to hope she cleared her throat as quickly as possible.  The soon she asked her idiotic questions the sooner he'd be done with her and could slump back to his bed. 

Anger darkened his face as the hag spoke.  "You bloody wench!"   Cináed brought the coffee mug down on the top of the bar with such force as he spoke the insult that hairline cracks spider-webbed through the ceramic.  What did she expect?  It was ... well, he didn't know how early it was.  Too early for her to come calling when she knew full well what he did.

"I tend a ruddy bar," He growled, glaring at her before lifting the mug and holding it up to the window to see if light shone through any of the hairline cracks.  With a grumble of irritation, he chucked the worthless mug in a rubbage bin and pulled another out from under the bar.  "It's a rather nocturnal job, if you didn't know.  Last calls at three."  And, then, he was lucky if the place cleared out before four. 

He poured some coffee in the mug and added a shot from one of the bottle behind the bar.  "I have half a mind to throw you out on your bleedin' arse for breaking and entering," he said.  He knew full well privacy was not a privilege he held but he believed there ought to be a limit.  "Let's make this quick.  What the hell do you want?" he snapped irritably, refraining from returning her greeting.  If they were meeting later in the day, logic would have lifted its ugly head enough to remind him that he really couldn't and, in truth, wasn't in a position to bully this woman.  Attempts in the past had, usually, backfired.  But, logic was still snoozing soundly in his bed.

“Business is prosperous, then?” She asked, unperturbed.

Her gaze drifted casually to watch the route of the mug into the nearby trashcan before settling back onto her charge, quite the same way a mother might entertain a petulant child that was not getting his way. If the woman had so much as flinched at the impact the reaction went unnoticed by her, though she did pity the cup. However, her wand hand twitch reflexively toward the slender rod always kept on her person. While he might be unarmed, Tawse was still a very, very imposing man – even when his complexion was not boasting an impressive shade of purple. He could easily overpower and dispatch her physically if he was quick enough or caught her on the unawares. That was one reminder the Auror never needed.

Yes, he was considerably grouchy over the hour. Not that Raynor had ever pegged the former convict as a morning individual.

The corner of her lips twitched as Tawse produced coffee from only Merlin knew where, the distinctly invasive aroma tickled her nose. She decided that it was better not to know what he then added to the already vile contents of his mug. Instead she endured his continued ranting in tolerant silence, finished off her tea, and put the empty teacup next to her pot without refilling it. She even had the presence of mind to flip the magazine copy closed.

Finally, one of her eyebrows lifted. “The door was unlocked. There was no ‘breaking’ involved.” Whether the door had been that way before or after she reached it, she left unsaid. But, she was not here to antagonize the man – purposely – that was counterproductive.

“I understand that the time is inconvenient, but much of everything is these days.”  Was there just a bit of heat there? Level Two was not exactly a paradise at the moment and was progressively getting worse. Recent rumors, especially those surrounding her, had done little to improve that mental state. Tamis was lucky to have this time available.

What did she want? “To keep you from being carted back to Azkaban. I would think that would be in your best interest,” she replied. That was the objective of the still juvenile rehabilitation program, anyhow, and the whole point of these visitations. She came, questions were asked, she was made satisfied that he was mainstreaming, and then she left. If that changed, she could petition for his return to Azkaban. And when you were the Head of the Auror Office, there were significantly less hoops to jump to make that happen.

Holding that noose over his head had been the last deciding factor when she kept her position as his supervisor. She disillusioned herself that knowing his return to Azkaban could be arranged that much easier kept a slightly more restraining hold on him.

Niobe didn't sleep much.  All those lost hours of slumber would catch up with her someday and Niobe dared them to try.  She tromped down the foggy morning steps into Knockturn Ally.  Her hood was up and she had her hand on her wand - you couldn't be too careful, even at such a honest hard-working hour of the day. It was a little after 6 in the morning and sky was just beginning to lighten.

It was the only time she could expect to get Cinead Tawse's proper attention.  But I know what you're thinking, and the answer is absolutely not! This call was strictly business.  Any of that dangerous fancy she'd harbored for him was long gone. She'd wised up a great deal since then and no longer dated frightening criminals.  Fast and loose the the likes of Tawse or Dom Wiedman had only served to introduce her to brushes with death and heart-break.  Fool men.

Nearing the Chimera, a light was on inside.  She almost swung the door open, but instead what she saw made her whirl around and out of sight of the window.  She crouched low and peered up over the window sill.

"Tamis Raynor!" she whispered, shocked and surprised.  The Head of the Auror office, and a rumored replacement for Alexander Belisario was there in all her five-foot-nothing glory.  And Cinead was behind the bar looking positively feral.  Niobe's eyes widened with perfect exhileration while her hands fumbled in her sack.

Extendable Ears by Weasley had been considered by all journalistic authoritative bodies to be the utmost in dirty dirty cheating. Filthy eaves dropping baubles for children and thieves.  Niobe didn't believe a word of it.  Of course, nothing could be printed from stolen conversations, but you can't turn down a good solid lead.  The truth above all else, even honor occasionally.

The pink little ear uncoiled and Niobe searched the facade for an opening, a crack, anything.  At the base of the wall, under the window a mouse hole provided entry.  The Extendable Ear extended right in, bumped around and all of a sudden the muffled voices came out the listening end clear as a bell.

I have half a mind to throw you out on your bleedin' arse for breaking and entering. Let's make this quick.  What the hell do you want?

To keep you from being carted back to Azkaban. I would think that would be in your best interest.

Niobe almost squeaked with delight.  This was golden.  It was dangerous, unethical and stupid but Merlin! Golden!

The scalding heat of the coffee seared his throat as Cinaed swallowed down a large mouthful but it was the hearty splash of alcohol that left a burning track down into his stomach.  Caffeine and the dull pain helped yank his mind closer to wakeful awareness just as the booze subdued the hangover.  After another hearty gulp, Cinaed was starting to feel more like himself.  He set the mug down on the counter along the back wall and pushed himself up to sit on the counter next to it.  There was no way out of this little friendly get together - he might as well make himself comfortable. 

"It does well enough," he answered, vaguely.  Prosperous was hardly a term he'd use; a large percentage of his patrons were ex-Azzies like him.  Finding decent paying jobs for his ilk wasn't easy - there were quite a few patrons who rarely paid their bar tab and had promised him their worldly possessions in payment should they kick the bucket before being able to pay it off.  All in all, he made do, though he was hardly prosperous.  Of course, his recently acquired tenant and the payment for his favor to Rocio had brightened his finances considerably. 

Not that he'd tell this wench that.  And, he hadn't been foolish enough to deposit any of that money.  Those transactions were strictly cash and never left the pub - except when he took it somewhere to spend it.  And, as he conducted almost all of his business here in Knockturn Alley, it was unlikely what he did spend in Diagon would raise much suspicion.   

"I'll send the repair bill to the Ministry if I find any traces of breaking," he muttered, reaching under the lip of the counter to tug open a draw.  He pulled out a black cigarette and a match before settling back to light up.  "The door was locked when I went to bed," he said in a puff of rich, dark brown smoke. 

He snorted a derisive laugh and shook his head, his nose wrinkling in a distinctly unamused sneer.  "Frankly.  I don't give a skrewt's arse whether things are 'inconvenient' for the Ministry.  Strangely, I've suffered my share of inconveniences on the Ministry's behalf - it's frankly nice to see you enjoying some of your own potion." 

Cinaed had to play her game - had to answer her questions.  But, he didn't have to be polite.  There was no reason for him to hide how much he hated her - how much he'd love to find her in an alley alone, without her wand - perhaps her wand broken.  Or, better yet, a relative.  She probably had someone she'd feel guilty about.  Perhaps not; that'd require someone caring enough about her for her to feel guilty in return.  A slow, pleasant smile had spread across his face in the course of his musing but a sudden renewed flurry of thumbing drew his attention back to the present. 

Obstructed by the bar between himself and the foot of Raynor's stool, Cinaed hadn't seen the dog suddenly lift his head and take several quick, curious sniffs in the direction of the front door.  He'd only heard the fresh staccato beats as the dog wagged his tail eagerly at the new, though familiar smell.  Had he been privy to the dog's curiosity in the door, he might have realized it hadn't been something about the Auror that had roused the dog's affections. 

But, since he hadn't, Cinaed quickly pushed himself off of the counter with a loud, resounding, "OUT!  To the back!  NOW!" The dog had already scrambled to his feet and was slinking quickly back towards the inn rooms and his own quarters when Cinaed had rounded the end of the bar.  "Ye worthless -" he yelled again at the dog, giving him a smack on the rump as the mastiff scrambled through the door into the back of the building. 

"That's the biggest load of bullocks I've ever heard," he growled, rounding on Raynor as the door swung closed behind the dog.  "You don't care whether or not I go back to that place.  You're here looking for any bleeding excuse to chuck me back there - don't treat me like an idiot."  His short temper still simmered behind his eyes but the cruel grin had spread back on his face.  Of course, she was just fishing for an excuse - that's why she'd come so early.  Hoping to catch him in the act.  Chucking him back on that Merlin-forsaken island would solve one of her dilemmas.  She'd, of course, never discussed her change of positions with him but Cinaed had heard plenty from his fellow ex-Azzies, especially after they'd had a few drinks.  All the others that had been assigned to Raynor had been reallocated.  Except him. 

"It'd free up your workload, wouldn't it?  To chuck me back.  Either that or reassign me.  But, I know what you're thinking.  Would another headless Auror really free up your schedule that much?"

Revolting. It took immense self-discipline to resist swatting at the waves of cigar smoke as they rolled past.

Out of the corner of her eye, Raynor thought, for the briefest of moments, that she had caught a glimpse of movement at the window near the front door. Almost simultaneously, the Mastiff lurched up, his massive head swinging far too close to the underside of her knees for comfort, nose jutting up to test the air. Having done so on several occasions herself, the dog Animagus could only wonder what scent he had caught. A cat perhaps? There were enough strays roaming Knockturn. However, the train of thought became rather inconsequential. Before Tamis could so much as blink Tawse was roaring, the dog was gone, and the former convict’s temper was in full force – all before the backdoor had even had a chance to settle.

Shifting her feet on the stool, Raynor sat up straighter, almost knocking over the teapot as she prevented herself from reflexively drawing her wand.   

“It is my job to make sure you are befitting of society. But by all means, give me the excuse.”

If the Auror was nothing else ninety-nine percent of the time, it was professional. Much like her opponent, she tolerated these sessions for no other reason than that it was required. She loathed him as much as he loathed her, but the pure nature of her position as his supervisor made it harder for her to readily express it. But she did not deny that having him back in Azkaban would make her day. She had never considered him an idiot, but she almost wished he was one. It would make the issues surrounding him less of a hassle.

One had to hand it to the man; he did know where to stick a knife where it would hurt the most. And he had just stabbed it right through the center of her still sore heart, and then twisted it. The Auror hid it well, showing weakness only gave one’s enemies further ammunition – a lesson she had learned even as a child, so when he brought up Timmins’ death, she tried to school the emotion from her visage. But the death of her colleague still too fresh of a wound and haunted her more than she let on. It still kept her up at night, knowing she could have prevented it … knowing the murder, a seventeen year old boy, had thwarted her twice.

“Is that a threat?” She stood and was immediately engulfed in the menacing shadow of the much, much larger man. In another situation, the predicament would have almost been comical. A clean cut, fully clothed petite woman, small enough to be foolishly mistaken for a child versus a monstrous man, over a foot taller, complete in boxers and the remnants of bed hair locked in a tense stare down. If the air between them had not been dangerously electric, the moment would have been picture worthy.

With her chin tilted upward and jaw set so tight that it was a wonder it did not shatter, Tamis watched the flames flicker in the back of his eyes, starved and looking for fresh kindle. Holding gaze for gaze, much of the rest of his facial expression was lost on the woman, but she did not need to see that grin to feel it. It was sadistically violating. “No, Tawse, I would not burden another with you.” And then, something clicked in her head. Another motive for him to have mentioned the Gibson case, however indirectly. A seedling of a thought she had not considered until he started watering it just then. Her gaze hardened.

“Where were you the night of the fifteenth?”

Niobe had almost Apparated away when the massive hound caught her sent.  Her breath had caught in her throat, but just as soon as the dog had raised its head, her Extendable ear was filled with  Cináed shouting for the beast to retreat to the back rooms.

Thank Merlin! Niobe let her tightened breath out of her lungs and got back to listening.  

Tamis Raynor had just asked  Cináed about the fifteenth.  The fifteenth of May? Niobe's mind began siphoning through past issues of the Daily Prophet, trying to remember if that day held any meaning at all.  There'd been a bit on some break-ins in the Midlands.  Skeeter had printed something nutty about some politician.  Niobe Thursby had been about to reach for her notes when she froze.

The altercation at Kings' Cross!  Her contact with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been allowed to disclose that Kyle Gibson had been spotted there and that Aurors had been on the scene.  But of course, the tight-lipped underling had kept his tongue properly.  

But this was perfect - was Cinaed in cahoots with the teen-slayer? Not only did that put  Cináed's freedom in jeopardy, but the implications that Cinaed might be somehow associated with an attempted assassination of Theodora Kingstreet - insane! And how would that have come about, anyway? Cinaed had been in prison the same time as Kingstreet.  Niobe would have to find a contact at the prison, find out if the two would have had any contact.

His hands itched for a wand.  The blood drained from his knuckles as he clenched his fists by his sides.  He wanted nothing more than to reach out and wrap his fingers around her neck and squeeze.  Oh - he could just imagine the intense satisfaction of imperiousing some underlying Auror with their own Head of Department's wand.  The idea was delicious.   It was humiliating - disgraceful that this wench of a woman could draw her wand in her own defense and he had to stand there, unarmed.  If only he'd held on to that old man's wand a few more days but, after snuffing out that worthless muggle bum, he'd had to destroy and get rid of it.  It was too much of a liability.

"Befitting - ha!" He growled, spitting on the floor.  "You mean, befitting of yourexcuse..."  He forced his mouth shut - she was just looking for an excuse.  If he said what was on his mind, he'd just be giving her that.  But, he didn't want to be befitting of her society.  He didn't want to fit in this pathetic, weak excuse of a society where those that were stronger and better hid from the weaker class like scared, whip-broken circus lions.   He wanted liberation - freedom!  When such a society existed that was worthy - he'd be more than happy to befit it. 

"Hag," he spat, again.  "Or, are you locking up wizards for tossing names around these days, too.  You cowards."

"Hardly, I don't waste time with threats," he snorted in a laugh, striding across the room to the bar and forcing a hand to unclench.  He shoved the end of the thick cigar with almost compulsive urgency.  The long deep breath stopped his mouth long enough to keep himself out of more trouble and the rush of nicotine helped calm his nerves. 

Aiming his breath directly at Raynor, Cinaed exhaled.  "The fifteenth?  That was bloody almost two weeks ago," he snorted.  He, of course, remembered that night well enough.  But, the day he would ever be cooperative with this girl was the day he'd shave.   "I hardly can remember two days ago at this hour, let alone two weeks ago.  Thanks for the chat, though.  You can clear out, now." 

Dimly, the Auror wondered if the spit globed inches from her feet made the floor dirtier or actually improved its sanitation. The contemplation lead to unpleasant thoughts and Raynor quickly came to the executive conclusion that, for once, it was just better not to know. That, and the boxer clad mass of hair looming over her was by far a more pressing concern. 

“Insults are not a felony. Rude. But not a crime.” Arms crossed, she made a statement of not reaching for her wand. They both knew that she could do so when he could not and it was exactly for that reason that she resisted the urge. Raynor would not draw against an unarmed opponent. Not unless it was absolutely imperative.

She chose not to read too far into his response on threats. But, as he strode away and the proximity between them widened, she carefully observed the pink pigment returning to his white knuckles as he unclenched his hand. How long could you keep a dog chained before it snapped its restraints? It was only a matter of time before the tugging and pulling at those fetters weakened and snapped them. Raynor knew Tawse was only bidding his time, and none too patiently at that.

A cloud of foul smoke sabotaged her face as Tawse exhaled on his cigar, congesting her nostrils with its vile odor. The cough rose in her throat as it infiltrated her lungs but she forced herself to swallow it. The Auror was not about to give him that satisfaction. Waving almost absently at the dissipating fumes, Raynor arched an eyebrow at the ex-convict.

“We are not done.” Returning to her stool, Raynor poured another cup of tea, actually taking the time to inhale the sweet aroma – and subtly try to clear the lingering cigar stench still burning her nose.  “It is unfortunate that you cannot verify that you were not near Kings Cross station on the night of the fifteenth and therefore not in possible violation of your parole.” Lifting the cup of tea, Raynor pressed the rim to her lips, found it still too hot to drink, and put it back down. “This is strictly protocol, of course,” it was almost an afterthought. Former Azkaban inmates, as a rule, became suspects to an investigation until they were ruled out. She was, naturally, using protocol to her advantage at the moment.

Tawse was on the move, and Niobe ducked down.  The foot traffic on Knockturn had begun to pick up a little bit.  Down the way a hag was setting up her cart of what looked like finger kabobs.  The shop next door now had dimly lit windows.  Shutters on the second floor across the street and the sounds of curses and arguments began to waft into the street.

She was pressing her luck. Really pressing her luck.  But the good stuff was just beginning.  Tamis Raynor was talking about that night at Kings' Cross.  But what interest would Tawse have in Gibson? The information she was getting about Gibson was that he was more future Auror gone frothy - not muggle-hating neo-Death Eater.  Did it have anything to do with Theodora Kingstreet?

She rubbed her face with her free hand.  How could she have possibly dated this man? He was insane. She was insane.  "Merlin, Niobe. Ye're a wicked, wicked idiot," she murmured. 

"Yeah.  We covered the rudeness of insults in our last anger management group session."  There was only the slightest hint of sarcasm in the comment.  It seemed a plausible comment, though Cinaed couldn't bet on it.  The trio of shots of whiskey he downed before heading to the session usually made it a little difficult to pay that close attention.  "But, they also mentioned how tragically overworked aurors were so they don't keep track of things like insult frequencies.  Since they don't keep track, there's not much to gain from not speaking your mind.  And, since you're always telling us to be truthful, it can get rather confusing which way to go." 

He was tired.  He was cranky.  The last thing he wanted to be doing right now was carrying on with this pointless conversation.  As far as he was concerned, Raynor could just bugger off to whatever important tasks she had and leave him be.  Or, as an alternative, follow him into some dark, tight room, perhaps with a ... hmm ... Cinaed cast a long, curious glance at the door the mastiff had slipped through moments ago.  How marvelous would it be ... for marketing purposes of course ... if his pub had a mascot chimera.  Aurors could be like the gladiators of old.  It could be the new Saturday night entertainment. 

Something flapped in his field of vision and his eyes focused on Raynor as she batted at the smoke.  It had been, at first, simple aggravation that flickered behind his eyes when Raynor announced they were not, in fact, done.  But, then she elaborated.  Anger flashed behind his eyes and Cinaed flung the cigarette on the ground before advancing several steps towards her.  "You worthless, cowardly, rabid bitch!  How dare you!"   He roared.  "You come in here at ungodly hours of the morning to throw threats at me?"  He, of course, had worked out an alibi and knew it was steadfast.  Had she simply asked, without the threats, he might have given them to her.  Maybe not easily and maybe not at the first request.  But...

"You rob me of my freedom - take my wand - toss me in that hell hole and, even after I've payed my dues, you still deny me my basic rights!  Those filthy mudbloods walking around have more rights than I do and you call this justice!  You can't do your jobs well enough to catch people fair and square so you stack the deck and deny us our rights just to make it easier to lock us up.  We don't need your laws and I don't need to answer to you.  Clear out now!" 

He turned to walk back towards the swinging door.  He knew what was likely to come but he didn't care.  He wouldn't bow down like some obedience dog (did they actually exist?) and lick the hag's mudblood-loving feet.  He wouldn't make it easy for her.  She could drag him in, lock him up - he had his alibi.  And, he'd still have his alibi after they locked him up - either back at one of those grimy Bridge Houses or back in Azkaban.  He'd be back out.  He was confident. 

Niobe cringed. That wrath! Cinaed's fury blanketed his face, and the tips of his long hair seemed to whip away from his face because of the sheer physical aura of his rage.  She'd seen that anger in him in that very short time she'd been close to him; it was enough to make Niobe realize she'd been playing with Fiend Fire.

And there was that word: mudbloods.  She shook her head and checked over her shoulder.  It just wasn't heard very much anymore.  Folk liked to think that Wizarding society had moved on from that kind of thinking, but in the research she was doing on blood purity and public perception of it, she was finding they could still be sitting squarely in a decade past.

At the order of Tawse for Raynor to clear out, Niobe had to seriously consider that it might be obeyed.  And she would look very suspect indeed, a journalist crouching at a mouse hole with Extendable Ears.  Not a conversation she wanted to have with the Head of the Auror Corps.   She started reeling in the Ears and began to rise from her crouching position.  If Raynor began to leave the inn, she'd have to do some very convincing Minding Her Own Business.

(( Never post in a hurry between classes when you have more than one AO window open. You can end up posting in the wrong thread. xD ))

This was exactly what happened when two individuals with a pronounced detestation for the early morning hours were put in close proximity. Particularly when the before mentioned pair already had a history of negativity towards each other.  Tamis was up before the birds due to obligation, not choice. Her resulting even thinner patience than not only showing, but was causing her to make verbal mistakes.

She resisted the urge to rub her temples.

And then her mistake exploded.

The words themselves did not register, the tremendous roar racked havoc on the Aurors ear drums. Despite herself, the teacup rattled in her hands and she instinctively dropped it to protect her hands as the scolding hot contents splashed over the brim.  It shattered on the counter. Tawse charged her, the way a lion might stalk its next meal, and Tamis was immediately on her feet, wand in hand. But he was not foolish enough to attack an advantageously armed individual. Not that Raynor had ever taken Cináed Tawse for a fool.

This time the words were easier to decipher. The use of the derogatory word ‘mudblood’ did not seem to have an effect on the Auror. As an Auror who had frequently working with and around ex-convicts and current Azkaban residents, she heard it still more often than most. And while she believed muggleborns should be entitled to the same rights as purebloods, she had never felt the need to nitpick over terminology – unless of course, it was directed at an actual muggleborn when said person was present. 

 ‘We’ do not need the current laws or government? The personal pronoun seemed to have a deeper meaning than a casual reference to other former convicts. But she was not exactly given time to contemplate it, or respond much to anything he had said.

Nor was she was not sure how many more times she could safely ignore a dismissal. But now they had an entirely other issue on their hands. She did not put her put her wand away yet or make a motion toward the door.

“Are you refusing to complete your inspection?”