Cinaed liked to think of himself as being a rather humble fellow but he was willing to set aside humility to state a simple fact: The Black Chimaera looked downright festive and wonderfully in keeping with the holiday.  Flickering multi-colored holiday lanterns floated along the ceiling and a bright fire crackled in the fireplace.  Scattered snowflakes drifted down from the ceiling but vanished after landing on people or furniture.  A tall fir tree, adorned with flickering candles and colored baubles stood in a far corner with a small, but growing pile of wrapped gifts underneath. 

Both Seamus and the newer canine resident, Skylos, had been outfitted with sleigh-bell-adorned festive collars but only Skylos was actually moving enough to produce any jingling.  Seamus was snoozing in his usual spot: a large, round dog bed in front of the fire. 

The three champion skeletons from their last round of fights sat in the corner, charmed to provide festive musical accompaniment.  Seeing and hearing Christmas Carols emanating from the working mandibles of a skeletal bobcat, springbok and iguana took a little getting used to but they added a BC-only element to the festive atmosphere.  And, for some reason, Fionn found them immensely entertaining; he was currently stretched out on the floor, his back leaning against the mastiff's fire-warmed rump, watching the singing, dancing skeletons like they were a play. 

"The usual Chimaera vittles are on the back table and there's more than enough, so eat your fill!" Cinaed called to the gradually-filling pub room as he used his one free hand to climb on top of the bar - not that his already impressive height needed the help.  But, it made gesturing towards the various corners easier.  And, it let him show off his red holiday robes trimmed with white fur and matching white -tinted beard.  Still clutching the mug of ale in his other hand, he looked out at the oddest, grungiest, most beautiful assortment of faces. 

"Open bar on the house.  Those of you loyal Chimaera inner-circle VIPs - thank you for graciously bringing holiday gifts for the little tyke.  Shopping in Diagon Alley has become a bit of a hassle for me.  And, I can't exactly share my address with an owl-order service."  He gestured towards the Chistmas Tree with his ale mug.  Of course, there was no VIP list at the BC.  But, if there ever was one, bringing Fionn Christmas gifts was an easy way to get on that list.

And, last of the pre-celebratory announcements.  "And - A warm welcome back to the land of the free and living to Vesta!  As many of us know, Azkaban is the crappiest back drop for the holidays and we are so grateful that she could be here with us and not back on that lonely rock.  But, in honor of our beloved brothers and sisters who could not be with us this holiday, I'd like to raise a toast."  He lifted his mug above his head.  "To those still trapped on that god-awful rock or trapped between worlds," he nodded towards Manfred as the ghost hovered just above a chair at one of the pub tables.  Unceremoniously, the ghost raised a translucent hand and extended a specterly middle finger to the mortal world around him. 

Cinaed chuckled and shook his head.  "We celebrate because they can't-" he continued.  "We will keep their isolation in our minds and hope that our ongoing fights will help bring them home to celebrate with us this time next year.  Until then, eat, drink, play cards, bet on skeletons and dream of a new and better world.  Here's to the Holidays!"

Cinaed lifted his ale and drained half the glass, minimizing the amount that sloshed out as he hopped down off the bar to join the crowd. 

Vesta Baddrick was nearly folded double over the bar pouring herself shots from a bottle. When Cinead Tawse welcomed her back to the land of the breathing and free, she didn't look up but raised the tiny glass high in the air. She did, however, straighten marginally when Tawse proposed a toast to everyone left behind.

"Sláinte!"

For someone who'd been gifted a new life, Vesta had little care for her own health. She did, however, value the sudden control over her own fate, and she planned to use it to brash effect, hold onto it with everything she had, and get back to her dirty work. She now owed her life to Cinead Tawse twice over. There wouldn't be a third time.

She uncurled in the chair and barked over the tail end of the assembled's concurrence with the toast.

"To Tawse! Bloody great lout who killed me just to bring me back! Raise hell or sod off! Sláinte!"

Vesta buried the honor in another drink.

"You go over there, you're going to end up singing Christmas carols!" Aviad hissed at his balagan of a familiar, irritation evident in his voice.

The skeletal toucan cocked its head to the side, beak quivering curiously in his direction.  Its attention had been focused on its fellow osseous creatures all night long.  It had especially seemed obsessed with the singing springbok, whose curved antlers didn't seem all that far alien to Tzippori's beak when both were reduced to their simplest bony form.

Aviad rolled his eyes at the undead toucan, making irritated noises deep in his throat as he tore his gaze away from Tzippori and refocused his attention on the rest of the room.  If the skeleton wanted to venture too close and risk falling victim to Tawse's charm, that was its own problem.  He'd continue to ignore it from over by the bar.

Cináed Tawse was clearly the man of the hour.  Tonight, in a bustling bar, he seemed much more in his element, quite happy to be the center of attention.  The only other time Aviad had ever seen him looking so happy was when he was tanking a Ministry underling's curse in the middle of Muggle London.  But now, he was giving speeches and leading toasts, setting the tone for his loyal guests.

Vesta Baddrick, their recent returnee to the land of the free and the living, returned the favor, calling out a toast to Tawse as well.  Aviad dutifully raised his glass, offering an ironic "L'chaim!" in return, as he shot one last annoyed look at Tzippori and inched closer to the witch who'd spent some time in the state of mostly dead.

It was fascinating, peering at her.  She hadn't truly been dead, but there was something...different about her nonetheless, some small note that reminded him more of the dead than the living.  Aviad had been stealing looks at her whenever he thought others wouldn't notice.  If it wouldn't have come across as far too intently personal for these British witches and wizards, he would have tried to commune with her spirit just to see how it answered.

"Tawse has a knack for the killing," he put in, his gaze fixed curiously on the witch.  He offered her a slight smile that was more an excuse for his curiosity than anything else.  "Most of them tend to stay dead though, once he puts his mind to it."

The din of the party came into Vesta's head fuzzy like from underwater. She ran her tongue over her teeth. Nothing seemed to get the taste of the black sludge out of her gums. But nothing was like the laughter and clattering of classes in the dim-light of the Black Chimaera. People spoke of this place with longing. Vesta didn't long for anything but she did feel a moment's security.

Aviad Cohen and his creepy bird chattered at each other nearby. The toast over, she looked over her shoulder at him, catching him staring. From under her hair, she glanced at him over her shoulder, then turned to face him. He looked like he wanted to framer her and hang her on a wall. She was art, wasn't she? The provocative kind, the kind that got banned, or young artists sent to the school counselor. He could stare if he wanted.

Vesta looked Aviad all over then reached out and patted him sloppily on his stubbly cheek. "Don't worry, Cohen, next time I die I'll let you do it. Would you like that? Kill me and bring me back?"

And then a look softened her face. A lift of her eyebrow. Maybe she wasn't kidding.

Aviad smirked back at her, at this witch who had danced so close to death.  Now that she had turned to face him openly, he didn't need to make any secret of his examination.  It was fascinating to study her, to imagine that he might be able to reach out with magic and determine the places where life and death had been carefully sewn back together with neat, even stitches.  What had been stitched, after all, could much more easily be ripped apart.

Skýlos went loping by, tagging along behind someone with a plate of food, and Aviad was momentarily distracted, a look of discomfort crossing his face as he watched the friendly dog run past.  The Ministry had been exceptionally closed-mouthed about the aftermath of the London Zoo incident, and they'd barely seen reference to it in the paper.  But after seeing how the Ministry's dog catcher had dealt so permanently and fatally with the much larger direwolf, he had to believe that Savvina Katopodis was dead.  Tawse's rescue of her beloved mutt had likely paid her the smallest of mercies.

"I think you have my interests wrong, achoti," he said, tearing his attention away from the disconcerting dog to look back at Baddrick.  "Resurrection is for those who can't let go of the living." 

His dark eyes glittered, and he favored the witch with a languid, lazy smirk.  "I am much more interested in what will happen to you when you are finally dead."

"Now now!"

Bearing a pint that had been refilled since his descent from the bar top, Cinaed finally made his way through the motley crowd of holiday goers. 

"Don't look so excited to do her in, Cohen."  The Scotsman barked a laugh, reaching over to clap a heavy hand on Aviad's shoulder.  "She's back less than a day and you're already chomping at the bit to do her in, again?"  Cohen was a useful fellow, that was for sure - he had an interesting assortment of magic and spells at his disposal that were quite different from the talents of the usual Hogwarts graduate.  (Or, non-graduate in some cases, including Tawse himself.) 

But, the mage had a somber, macabre streak that sure could bring down the tempo of a good party.  He could do with a little lightening up every once in a while.

"Why don't we save that killing for some others.  Ministry.  Muggles.  Our ranks aren't so swollen that we can afford to donate wands in the name of education."  Of course, Cinaed had used his fair share of bodies while developing direwolves but, at least, the direwolves they created could be used for sport or political revolution.  The same couldn't be said for a corpse.

"Not when the end product is as useful as a doorstop." 

Vesta stared at Aviad with open eyes. There wasn't a challenge that would back her down and even when she failed she got that much stronger and savage for every time she fell it always had to do with some weakness of will. Never the same mistake twice. It was a topic she'd discuss with Aviad until she drank herself under a table, but their benefactor had come around.

She got to her fit in a jerk and held herself up on the bar. Last night[1] had been quite a trip but she was on her feet again, mostly. That hag Hunt hadn't been as much of a help in the endeavor than she claimed, Vesta was sure. But she was here now. Vesta smile up at Tawse in delirious admiration. He was so happy, so warm, so inevitable.

"To all the doorstops I've loved before," she said with oh so sadly pinched eyebrows. "Drink with me, Tawse."

She poured a drink into the shot glass and slid it over to him, then lifted the bottle a little to indicate that's how she'd partake. Cohen could get his own drink. She didn't  have any gifts yet to give, so this would have to make due. Now she was out, she'd have plenty of time make herself worth the effort.

"And then maybe we can talk about those wands, ah?"

1.	17 Dec 2011 - Mostly Dead All Day

He hadn't met Baddrick before she'd gone to Azkaban and then, heh, nearly gone on, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong about the witch now that she'd fully returned again.  Lorelei Hunt, for all of her sorcery and talents, wasn't one that usually dabbled in dancing so closely to death.  He wasn't sure if it was Hunt's doing or not, but there was something a little too wild about Baddrick now, as if her spirit had gotten a taste of the freedom that awaited it and was now straining to be free of her body.

But before he got a chance to explore the subject further, a boisterous voice cut in and Cinaed Tawse came to join them.

Even as she waltzed with death, Baddrick had clearly decided that Tawse was the apple of her rejuvenated eye.  Aviad eyed the two of them carefully, as the resurrected witch poured a share of her bottle for the big Scottish wizard.  Not that he was one to count, but surely Lorelei Hunt deserved some of the credit for breaking Baddrick out, rather than lavishing all her gratitude purely on the WBA's infamous leader.

Aviad glanced around the pub, nominally to find a drink of his own but also to see if Nicola Randall was anywhere within earshot.  Watching Tawse's erstwhile lover square off against his newly-sworn, newly-smitten follower would be entertainment for the ages.

"I'm sure we'll have plenty of that to go around soon, brother," he told Tawse, as he nudged Tzippori off his shoulder to go and fetch a drink.  There wasn't any arak in this cold, forsaken country, and so he'd settle for whatever the toucan skeleton managed to rustle up. 

Turning back to face the other two, he arched an eyebrow at the Scottish wizard.  "Unless you want to plan another little prelude before our next big show, yeh?"

Lorelei watched and listened from the edge of the crowd, marveling at the trappings of this secret place. What festive, generous joy. The enchanted snow fell like ash from the ceiling, a pretty dusting of words over the death that brought them all here. All she wanted to do was take and take until everything was hers, but she hung back. This was a season for sharing and caring. Time to play nice.

Her gaze tracked the room, flicking over the burdens - the pair of dogs, the blond child sat near them - until she found the boons. Aviad leaned towards Vesta, a struggling soul seeking a bright and harsh one.

She pushed away from the wall and weaved through the crowd, her red hair pinned like a crown atop her head, her cheeks pale, hands free of drink and food. Cin already stood at the bar, his loud voice claiming that they had to save the killing for the Ministry and the muggles. Vesta wanted a wand. Wands. Of course she did.  Aviad wanted to sing Vesta's swan song, but he lacked focus, glancing distractedly around.

As his skeleton pet flew past her, Lorelei slid into the seat on the other side of her mentee.

"Don't you hear the music, Aviad?" She inclined her head to the skeletal musicians. "Ours is a winning anthem. There's always opportunity to crush vermin underneath our heels."

Lore smiled quickly at Cin. Winner at life, lover of pretty speeches. She'd already warned him that she shared her hate equally with everyone, but she was in an obliging mood. Something about the light in here.

"What better way to celebrate our little duckling's rise from the ashes?"

Her eyes sparkled at Vesta as her mouth curled up mockingly, vacillating between savior and tormentor.