17 December 2011
9pm, directly following Demon Inside, Bloodlet it Out
Ramshackle second hand shop, Diagon Alley

The floo did not treat Vesta Baddrick kindly. When the green fire spat her out in a bare room, witch with pale skin and ragged eyes stumbled onto the floor. She was dressed like an administrator in dated office robes and her black hair was pulled back into a hasty bun, but no amount of tidying up could conceal her true identity: a career criminal, dark artist, who'd spent the last year in Azkaban, recently nearly poisoned to death, and revived in a morgue. She felt like she was going to be sick.

No matter how terrible she felt it was better than a decade in Azkaban. She'd give anything to be free. Even her freedom.

She lifted her head to see she wasn't alone. A tall woman with ashy skin who looked as dead as she felt.

"Where's Tawse?" she demanded from the floor. "Where's Tawse! He's supposed to be here."

Lorelei stood in the shadows of a secondhand shop that had seen better days and better security measures. Her cloak was warm and dark, and her red hair tucked loosely into the hood. In the silence, her thoughts jittered and skittered alongside the thoughts of her old friend, the pentral, who made her hand twitch closer to her wand and her eyes dart to the window.

Lore let the pentral hold onto hope, for now. The greater the hope, the worse the dread when Lorelei kept surviving.

She didn't normally play well with others, but she'd agreed to help Tawse tonight. It was a test, of sorts, that would lead to greater things. For him. For her.

When Vesta tumbled out of the green fire, Lorelei stepped from the shadows, assessing her in the sickly green firelight.

Living, breathing. Speaking too.

"He sent me. The one who gave you a second life."

Lore let the corners of her mouth twitch up. Her voice sounded sweet, but disappointment flickered alongside the satisfaction in her gaze.

"You're welcome."

She was the one who had suggested three drops of unicorn blood to revive her, after all. She had succeeded in saving this random criminal when she hadn't yet been able to save her brother. Vesta had a whole soul. Corrupted but whole. A whole soul that Lorelei wouldn't have minded stealing if the criminal had arrived in a more piteous state. Lorelei would have taken her home and made a new pentral out of her in the ritual room of her cellar. A loss of life, she would have told Tawse, but still a gain.

For him, maybe. For her, definitely.

Oh well.

Vesta looked up from where she was panting on the ground and narrowed her eyes at the haughty witch who claimed she was sent by Tawse; well, she claimed a couple things didn't she? Was this a test? Or had she been intercepted? Had the coroner sent her into a trap, delivered her to the wrong waiting hands when she was in ... this state.

She had nothing here on the outside, only the protection of a principled wizard who was well-trusted. Well-trusted to follow through on his promises. But this woman? Who the hell was she.

Vesta pushed herself to sitting on her knees and raked her fingers through her hair, pulling it out of the absurd bun.

"I'm not thanking you." She spat on the ground. "My deal's with Tawse. He saved me, not - whoever you think you are."

She sneered, looking Hunt up and down. Something in her was eroding the confidence that this witch was lying.

"Who are you," she demanded.

Ungrateful. Sneering, spitting on the ground. Where had she come from, this Vesta? Who would miss her? Tawse anticipated her safe arrival, yes, but she had no one to mourn her. Just Lorelei, staring down at her from above.

She tsked.

"Lorelei Hunt."

Her name would mean little to a lowlife who'd been locked up in Azkaban for years. She was tossing a gem to a beggar who had nothing to offer in return. But Vesta would prove useful in time, because that was the price of saving her life. Tawse had made the arrangements. Vesta owed her a life.

"You are Vesta Baddrick. From the ashes."

Her tone shifted from factual to scornful and lilted up to admiring on the last note. She understood what it was like to scramble up from the ashes, though she hid it with new faces scrubbed clean. This woman let her hair hang around her face, dirty and unkempt. Lorelei understood that too. She'd been there, and was above that, and would continue to rise above.

A few voices sounded distantly outside the shop window. Happy voices. Voices of Diagon. She would have liked to steal one of them, but no time.

Lorelei reached into a pocket of her cloak and tossed the beggar a revitalizing potion.

"Drink up and dust the death off of you," she took a step to the side, gesturing at her to stand. "We have a long way to go to reach the Black Chimaera."

Hunt. Vesta shook her head to herself. Never heard of her, not in Knockturn or the black market or the Wizarding Blood Alliance. Never heard the name floating around the Black Chimaera. But it had been awhile. Things had changed. Vesta caught the bottle and used the stone fireplace to pull herself to standing. She uncorked the potion and drank without argument. As it took course down her throat, Vesta's eyes rolled back in her head as more life found its way through her viscera. She relaxed against the hearth, but would never admit she was feeling more herself not to Lorelei Hunt, so pretty and arrogant.

"What are you talking about, a 'long way'? What, has it moved?" she snorted. They all in Azkaban what happened to Tawse, that he had disappeared, a fugitive. She didn't imagine he'd be at the Black Chimaera, such an obvious haunt, so to hear Hunt wanted to take her there? Yeah, right. She drained the bottle.

"I want a wand."

"Ding ding ding," Lorelei sang flatly, growing bored with Vesta's ignorance. She looked a little better after chugging the potion, but her breath still stank of grime and basic need. I want, I want. The hearth held her up. She was in no state to make demands.

"No wand for you until we meet Tawse," she wagged her finger in the air, her smile sharpening. "You know how he is."

He preferred to graciously bestow his gifts in person and to make long speeches and stand around and be admired by his fellow malcontents. Didn't Vesta know? She hadn't kept her ear to the ground while she'd been locked up, had she. She didn't know the plan for tonight.

Lorelei's gaze narrowed as she went to the window and peered out into the street. Empty again.

"Answer me something, Vesta, and answer carefully."

What to ask? Before agreeing to do this, Lore had learned everything she could about Vesta Baddrick. She needed to make sure this was really Vesta before she took her through the nine circles of hell that led to Tawse's rebuilt pub.

Tawse was their link.

"That night a few years ago, when you first met Tawse, who had caused your injuries? The burns on your arm and back?"[1]

She listened carefully, quirking an eyebrow at her, her hand close to her own wand.

1.	Robbing Hood thread, August 2009

No wand! What was she supposed to do, just walk around like some shiteating squib? Trailing after this arrogant creature like a puppy after scraps? She'd strangle her with bare hands first. She would if she had any other chance at finding Tawse. Scowling, she flung the bottle away into a corner. She watched Hunt's movements carefully, her odd way of walking, the strange way she had of moving her head. Something was wrong with her. Vesta hoped so.

Her eyes grew wide at the question that came after preamble. The memory of her battle with Ventus Shang.[1] It had been an ambush! He'd lured her into a trap and set upon her a small army of skeleton slaves. They'd nearly killed her, that necromancer had nearly ...

Vesta's surprise suddenly flashed into rage and she lunged at Hunt. Arrogant! Dead-raiser! So like Shang to steal some woman's skin. He'd found out somehow and come looking for her. He'd had designs for her! He'd been following her, for years! This was why she'd never heard of any Lorelei Hunt. Wandless, ragged, and enraged, Vesta grabbed at Hunt aiming for her scrawny long neck.

"Shang! I'll kill you! I'll !*&$ing kill you!"

1.	25 Aug 2009 - The Skeleton Dance

A sneer had just started to curl Lorelei's lip as she processed the foul witch's paranoia. They weren't so different. The scrambling to survive all came out in the end. But Lorelei still had her wand and Vesta only had Azkaban beneath her fingernails.

Vesta lunged. Lorelei whipped out her wand.

Making a sound between a laugh and a snarl, Lore leaned into her grasp. She aimed a punch for her throat and shot a hex at her a second later. If it hit, it would pin her to the side of the brick fireplace with dozens of phantom, skeletal hands.

To Vesta's horror, both of "Hunt's" attacks found home. At point blank range they couldn't miss and Vesta, unarmed, took the intended brunt of it. She was thrown backwards and her grip on Hunt failed. It took her a terrible moment to realize what had her pinned to the stony surface. Hands. Skeletal hands. The shock and pain in her windpipe left her coughing and gagging but it didn't stop her spitting and hissing like an angry cat. She clawed at the bony hands holding her back and she hacked her protest.

"You're dead! I'll bury you alive! You'll rot and feel every bit of it! Dead! Dead! Take whatever deal you have and shove it up your arse! I'll die first!" Came her choking, halting curses.

Even if she'd been at her best, Vesta might not have been a match for the skeletal restraint. Then she started making a noise close to laughter. "Tawse's going to kill you! Tawse's going to kill you!"

She seemed almost gleeful as she coughed the sing-song sneer out of a bruised trachea, as the skeletons gripped her hair and arms and clothes.

Her knuckles smarting, Lorelei gritted her teeth in a fierce grin, torn between joy at returning to her roots and resentment that Vesta had pulled her back into the dirt with her.

Lorelei paced the room as Vesta ranted from her prison, gleefully condemning her to death by Tawse. She didn't think so.

"Shhhhh," Lore paused a few feet away from her, flicking her wand to tighten the skeletal grasp.

Her expression turned strangely serious, her stance still and intent.

"A necromancer nearly killed you then," she spoke quietly and slowly. "Shang or whoever you pissed off," she waved her hand in the air. Hadn't heard of him beyond that one incident with Vesta.

"Another could easily kill you now."

Necromancer. She'd never really thought of herself as one until Aviad had appeared at her door, asking to learn from her. He'd learned manners first though, and Vesta had better.

"The way I see it, you have two choices. One, I knock you out and drag your body through the streets and to the pub. Should someone spot us, you die. Should I tire of hauling you around, you die. Should I, if I, la la la you die."

She eyed her greedily. A whole soul. Her wand-hand twitched and the skeletal grasp tightened further.

"Option two," she sighed. "You cooperate and follow me. You reach the Black Chimaera, you get a wand, you live to whinge and spit and curse another day."

She held her palms out like scales. Death gripped in one, her other hand empty. Lorelei cocked her head.

"Death or life, Vesta?"

Vesta hardly registered the pain from the jabbing vice grips of Hunt's minions. And fear, she couldn't remember its taste. Weakness and worry had been replaced long ago by wrath. She practically hung there, her anger doing little to bolster her still-recovering body. So she hung there seething and unafraid.

She narrowed her eyes considering all the ways she'd kill Hunt as soon as she got a wand. Or lacking that, the moment her back was turned. Hunt or Shang or whoever she - he - was. She'd figure it out and then she'd do it. She smiled again even as the skeletons compressed her rib cage. That would be a nice Christmas present to herself. Revenge.

But her eyes flashed and she looked up. She'd have to be alive to do that. Hunt's threats were credible; they required respect. Vesta knew she must cede ground to move forward. To perish when she'd come this far? A waste.

Vesta coughed as one of the hands found her throat - this offer was on a timer.

"Life," she said. "And I won't forget it."

Her face showed the effort of a jerking resistance against the bony shackles; she was impatient to get on with it. The fire in her gut that threw her at Hunt's throat moments ago was still there just waiting to be re-stoked.

Vesta hung against the bricks without fear. Hate and rage flickered in the beggar's eyes, a reflection of Lore's own. Hate, rage, and a tiny ember of respect. How quickly logic ceded to emotion. Hate felt good. In that moment Lorelei forgot her role, she forgot that she had gone to all this trouble, this group work, to save her, she forgot that she would go to still more trouble to transport her, and she forgot that Tawse was waiting and would be vexed if she did not succeed in this. Her plans fell away and in the moment there was just hate and answering hate.

But life. Vesta chose life.

Lorelei stood there a few moments longer, her wand warm in her cold palm. A muscle twitched on the right side of her face. The pentral, wishing they'd fight and kill each other. Her own destructive nature, wishing to do further harm, no matter the consequences. Wishing to snuff out all life, any wix that reminded her of herself, any witch who dared to look her in the eye without fear, any person who showed weakness, humanity, emotion or lack of it. There were no winners. Nothing they could do but die.

But Vesta had chosen life.

Lorelei smiled, taking a step back. The dying firelight lent a greenish, ghoulish tint to her wide smile.

"Life. How trite."

She gave her head a shake and remembered the plan. They needed to get to Knockturn, and from there, find the portkey to the pub.

"I'll grant you another choice, one of simple preference. Walk or apparate?"

She offered a hand, enjoying the lazy movement of grandeur as the skeletal fingers relinquished their hold on Vesta one by one. Lore readied her wand at her side, prepared to fire again if need be.

Vesta stared as an entire life passed through Hunt's eyes. She'd seen that look before but she couldn't remember when. In the eyes of a mark, or perhaps a fence. Some MLE stooge chasing her down, maybe. Hard to tell. But there was more to Hunt than she seemed, something dead like her, but stewing and chaotic. Not to be trifled with. Just ... carefully stalked.

Hunt was still lording over her, not unlike the Azkaban guards. The choices were all traps meant to imitate control over one's existence; not nearing true freedom because there were never more than two options. Vesta shrugged off the skeletal hands as they loosened and stepped quickly away from the hearth.

And so the next choice. Walk open and exposed for anyone to see her, or let this crack of a witch yank her through the nether to devil-knows-where. Vesta considered going for her throat again, stealing her wand, then striking out on her own to find Tawse herself. She looked at Hunt's offered hand with her mouth curled in disgust.

"Prove you're Tawse's. Then you can take me wherever you want," she dared.

Ungrateful beggar! Picking the wrong choices or not picking at all. Lore was being nice, giving her choices. Letting her loose from the wall where she'd hung so well.

Lorelei stared hard at Vesta, lip curling, head tilted, brow furrowed. It was the most human look anyone had seen on Lorelei Hunt for a while. Prove that she was Tawse's? Only Tawse would be egotistical enough to send a murderer to rescue someone.

"Bored," she accused with widened eyes, stepping close and flicking her wand once more at the woman.

A simple stunning hex, one that would leave her unconscious for a few minutes. Long enough for Lorelei to hoist her up and apparate with her to the dingy streets of Knockturn.

Everything went red then black. And then, as if no time had passed, Vesta blinked back to consciousness to the sensation of falling. But falling she wasn't becuase she never hit the ground. A few twists of her neck confirmed it - she was being levitated above the dirty cold cobblestones of Knockturn Ally at the flank of Lorelei Hunt.

Vesta recognized the new location, they were in one of the deeper tributaries of the love-forgotten neighborhood. She groaned. She knew a stunner when she felt one. It was as restrained a hex as any (even her parents had used it from time to time) so Vesta guessed it was a matter of convenience for Hunt. If she'd wanted to knock her out longer, she would have. If she wanted her dead, she would have. Chained up, buried, handed over to Aurors, she would have. But she hadn't. So here she hung, once again, no better than a trussed goose for Christmas dinner.

This entire caper had become an utter disaster. Tawse had very poor people working for him if this was the welcome she'd earned.

"Put me down," she demanded. And then she saw the sign. The Black Widow, a infamous Dark Arts shop. "I know this place."

It was connected to Tawse and that was as much proof as she was going to get that Hunt or Shang or whoever this was intended to make the delivery as planned.