[9:45pm - music starts in 20min]

"Give it up and grow a pair, woncha?"  Cináed guffawed as he clapped the chubby dark-haired wizard on the back.  Manfred was leaning against the bar, sulking over his mug of ale.  "Besides - a little hard work never killed anyone, right?"

Manfred Ashford cast the  Cináed a mutinous scowl and pointedly took a swig of his drink.  "Yeah, but cleanin's witch's work," the older wizard muttered as he gave the bar a half-hearted rub with the dirty rag in his hand.  There was only a certain amount of the bar he could reach without moving. 

"Oh ho ho - better be careful there, Manny.  With luck, this pub's going to be crawling with pretty little witches all more than willing to turn you into a little bald rat for a comment like that.  And, I'm looking forward to it." 

Music was already throbbing from the charmed record player in the corner and already a half-dozen or so scraggly witches and wizards were milling around the place.  Of course, most were the regular Knockturn Alley sorts but tonight was shaping up to be a brilliant one.  After all the years of oppression - after both of Voldemort's downfalls - they needed an opportunity for joviality.  And, of course, the extra income wouldn't hurt. 

"Besides, a free ale for wiping down that two feet of bar can't be a bad deal." 

Manfred muttered something unintelligibly as he brushed a few crumbs off the bar and onto the floor where Seamus lay, ready to lick them up.  "Well, just man to taps - I'll handle the other drinks."  The ones that required some skill.  "You can fill up yours whenever you need to." 

Persephone had heard about this man. A man who had ideals of purity on par with her own. Getting back in touch with old acquaintances from younger years had proven quite useful, when the details of one Cinaed Tawse's whereabouts were divulged in hushed whispers into Seph's ears. This was it. The purebloods were once again going to regain their rightful place in the world, and rid all others like rodents to be kicked to the gutter.

Knockturn Alley was not a place Seph frequented often. She preferred the comfort of her own home and lavish lifestyle to the coarse nature of the magical underworld. But needs must, and this was a desperate need of hers. To be back in the loop was what she was desperate for, and she didn't dare speak of what she would sacrifice to get there.

Stepping over small puddles of dirty rain water, Seph wrapped her black cloak around her thin body as close as she could, ensuring that the heat she was relying on on this cool summer night had no way of escaping her. She had her hood pulled up over her face - fitting in quite well with the other inhabitants of the alley, who's greatest wish was to keep themselves hidden from prying eyes.

Bleak lights illuminated the sign. The Black Chimaera. Seph's lips tugged at the side, willing her to grin, but she urged herself not to get too excited at what could possibly be a false start. Letting a gloved hand snake its way from inside the cloak, Seph reached out to the door and pushed it open. Immediately the tasteless music emanated from a device in the corner, and the smell of stale ale and cigar smoke wafter through the air. Seph felt the need to cough, but didn't want to draw attention to herself. She held the cloak up to her mouth and nose and let the door close behind her as she made her way further into the intoxicating fumes.

She looked around. A small table with two rickety stools sat alone in one corner of the room, near a window that seemed to have not been cleaned for sometime. Was it etiquette to order one's drinks from the bar in a place like this? She wasn't sure, but for safe measures decided she would sit at the table for a while and see if anything came of it. She made her way towards the table, winding around two of the ugliest wizards she had ever seen playing a card game.

She sat herself down at the table and watched the two wizards playing cards. One of the wizards jeered out loud, making her jump slightly - the other wizard's goatee beard had set on fire - apparently one of the features of their game. Men. She thought, her nose twitching slightly as she thought of her spineless husband. good for nothing, meddling idiots.

Weaving between the tables, bearing a handful of shot glasses, Cinaed paused a moment to glance at a hand of cards in the young man's hand.  His gaze shifted from the cards, to the piles of sickles in the middle of the table, to the cards again before he chuckled, shaking his head.  The young man growned and shot an outraged scowl at Cinaed just as the rest of the players at the table folded their hands.  With a laugh, Cinaed moved on to deliver the drinks as the men resumed with a new hand. 

"Archie, good to see ya, mate," Cinaed said over the crowd, as he dropped a couple of the glasses on the table.  "How's the home life treating you?"  It was the plague of bars - the longwinded explanations of the sorrows of home - but, at the same time, it was one of the reasons bars existed.  Without them, Cinaed wouldn't be in business.  Oddly, though, stories of others families didn't really excite him.  Perhaps, he'd relate better if he had his own family.

He offered Archie an encouraging nod at a time that seemed right to do so before, with a friendly clap on the shoulders, he made his way through the tables again.  No - a home life probably wasn't in the cards for Cinaed.  At least, not any time soon.  But, for now, he was content with the occasional visits with the Knockturn Alley witches.  Young, naive, and just looking to boost about their accomplishments.  There was quite a selection of those filling the pub.

As he made his way back to the bar, his gaze slid across a rather peculiar anomaly.  Despite being, obviously, older, she was quite ... well, handsome was a better word for it than pretty.  She was too dignified, too confident to be pretty.  But, obviously, somewhat out of place in the dark bar.  Cinaed crossed the room and slid a chair out from her table. 

"Evening, my lady," he offered, brushing his hair back over his shoulders.  "Is there something I can get for you?  We do have some very nice Elven wines or something a bit more adventurous, depending on your mood."

Persephone kept her eyes warily on the gentlemen playing cards. One never knew, in an establishment such as this, when things could get ugly. Not that things could get uglier than the gentlemen in question, but it was always wise to be on one's guard. She averted her eyes momentarily out of the window. It was hard to see into the street, partially due to the darkness outside, but mostly to do with the build up of grime on the window panes.

Seph was disturbed from her attempted gazing by a male voice greeting her. She turned to the voice and saw a man with long hair. Her lips pursed slightly. That hair needed to be chopped off. Though in Knockturn Alley one could never assume that people would be normal. However she was a polite woman in general and was not willing to make her distaste over his locks visible instantaneously. When he offered a selection of drinks, she allowed her lips to turn up slightly into what could only be described as the smallest of smiles.

"A plum wine will be quite sufficient." She replied cooly, her voice relatively low in pitch and volume. She lifted her hands up to her hood and dropped it back over her shoulders, reveling dark brown hair pulled back into a stern bun at the back of her head and the largest, brightest eyes in the whole room. As someone had now drawn attention to her, there was no point in faffing around and wearing a hood. "Thank you."

The grin twinkled behind Cinaed's eyes as the woman's lips wrinkled slightly while she surveyed him.  Externally, they must have appeared to be complete opposites.  Her with her clean, neat hair, tied back so securely with nary a hair out of place and him with long mane of hair falling in untidy curls in every which way.  Even the way she sat accentuated their differences.  So proper, so refined but yet here she was, sitting in his pub.  However different they might have been externally, they shared some important similarities internally. 

She gave the appearance of one that might have been offended by his amusement but, regardless, Cinaed couldn't help chuckling at her order.  "I'm wounded," he said, coyly, holding a hand over his breast as he rose off his chair just enough to swivel it around backwards.  He sat back down, resting his arms on the seat back.  "I've always taken pride in having the widest selection of Elven wine in Knockturn Alley but, I'm afraid, it is still Knockturn Alley.  I take pride in having the widest color selection of wines - red, white and even with little bubbles.  Even then, the bottles get dusty." 

He cast a pointed glance around the room.  Indeed, the collection of individuals scattered around the room didn't appear to be the type that would demand a wide variety of elegant wines.  It wasn't a complete truth, though.  Cinaed did keep a more sophisticated array of drinks around - they, however, were tucked safely away up in the WBA meeting room along with the more refined furniture. 

"But, I get the impression you aren't a frequent visitor to Knockturn."  Otherwise, she would have known to be less selective about her beverage choices.  "Something tells me it wasn't the special round of large animal bone fights that brought you here tonight.  Is there something particular you are looking for?"

The man feigned being offended and stood up. Just as Persephone thought he may actually walk away from her table, and not sure whether he would return with the drink she requested - or any drink for that matter - he turned his chair around and sat on it the wrong way. How vulgar. Persephone turned her head slightly away from him as though she was actually interested in the game of cards the ugly men were playing.

"Do you have plum wine or not?" Persephone asked with a slight sigh, as though she was tired of playing games. "If not, I can take my business elsewhere." She stated as she examined her fingernails, knowing full well she would not be leaving this pub until it had served its purpose.

His assessment that she wasn't a frequent visitor to Knockturn Alley made her chuckle. "And whatever gave you that idea?" She asked turning her large, bright blue eyes onto him, a smirk playing on her lips. This was no time for flirting.

"Is there something particular you are looking for?"

"Not so much something as someone." She stated nonchalontly, letting her eyes scan the room. "Cinaed Tawse." She said in a normal conversational tone to ensure she didn't bring attention to herself. "Do you know of him?"

Despite not being the most sensitive of individuals, even Cinaed could recognize the distaste with which the woman regarded his current posture.  Amusedly, Cinaed waggled an eyebrow at the woman.  Though she had chosen to venture down Knockturn, clearly, she seemed to have a very specific definition of what was considered proper.  But, in Cinaed's rather self-serving opinion, the more formal a person tried to behave the more they were secretly intrigued by the improper. 

Of course, Cinaed wasn't always right. 

If his meager supply of public wine wasn't up to her standards, she was more than welcome to continue on if she chose.  He was sure one of the places along the much more sterile Diagon Alley could pour out plum wine by the gallons.  "Not a clue," Cinaed admitted, with a shrug.  "I have no clue what flavor the red wine is - but, I'd be willing to offer you a glass on the house.  If it isn't up to snuff," which it probably wasn't.  "- well, my apologies.  Course, if you chose to go elsewhere, you may find plum wine, but you'll also have to share the company of those insufferable questionable, mudblood loving types."

Oh - there it was.  A smirk.  Brilliant.  Not aware of any reason why this wasn't the time for some casual flirting (how many things really took precedence?) Cinaed rested his elbow on the back of the chair and propped his head up with his hand.  Pursing his lips, as if in thought, Cinaed shrugged.  "Well, I don't recall ever seeing you before and, I must admit, the arrival of any amount of stunning brilliance rarely goes unnoticed here.  Your overly optimistic hopes regarding my beverage choices only confirmed my suspicions." 

Cinaed straightened up, his eyebrows lifted with more serious interest.  He looked the woman over, quite clearly measuring and gauging her.  She didn't seem the type to come looking for trouble.  He extended a hand to the woman with a nod.  "Of course, I know of him.  See the soddy bloke every time I look in the mirror.  Who's asking after me - did someone send you?"

His offer to bring her a glass of red wine on the house was one she could not refuse. Her previous threat to take her business elsewhere was an empty one, as she had not simply entered this establishment for fun. She was here on business and she would be damned if she was going to leave before she had the information she set out to receive.

"Very well then, a glass of red wine will simply have to suffice." She spoke as though she could not be bothered to argue any further and she was giving up a losing fight. "Overly optimistic hopes are what get normal people by from day to day. Without optimism, one must give in to a life of mediocrity." She paused. "And I am anything but mediocre."

The man stiffened slightly, and held out a hand. A fleeting moment of confusion passed over Persephone's face as he began to talk of seeing Cinaed Tawse in the mirror everyday. Her eyes widened as he asked if someone sent her. "I-" He had rendered her speechless. So this was he? This was the man who was going to restore the purebloods to their rightful place in the wizarding world? Well, this came as a shock. She swallowed and allowed her eyes to sink back into their sockets, aiming to carry on as though he hadn't completely taken her by surprise. "I come of my own accord. No one sends me anywhere." She cocked an eyebrow as though recommending that he remembered that for future reference. "Tawse - yourself - had been mentioned a few times in conversation by friends, and I'll admit I was curious."

Whatever the reason might be, this woman had accepted his offer.  "I don't doubt that a minute," Cinaed offered the far from mediocre woman.  However vulgar or slothful this woman thought he or his pub might be, she hadn't opted to leave.  That was enough to maintain Cinaed's curiosity.  There was something about this woman that commanded respect.  She was, obviously, well-bred and possessed a confidence and assuredness that seemed to scream a respectable upbringing.  Coming to a quick decision, Cinaed nodded.  "If you'll excuse me a moment." 

He pushed himself to his feet (though he let the chair remain backwards - he was aiming to impress, not kiss up) and slipped through the back door to the rest of the inn.  Whether it was for the potential financial gain or status, Cinaed wasn't sure, but it was clear there would be a distinct benefit to be had from impressing this woman.  From the WBA meeting room, Cinaed retrieved one of the premium bottles of plum wine and returned to the pub, filling a glass behind the counter before returning to the woman's table. 

"Just don't go telling everyone on the streets you got it here," he told the older woman with a smirk and a wink, his voice dropped to keep it from carrying in the room.  "It's not our standard stock and I wouldn't want just anyone thinking they can go asking for it." 

A curled strand of hair fell in front of Cinaed's face and he ran his hands through his hair as the woman struggled for words.  Was he supposed to be offended by her obvious surprise?  The amused smirk faded from his expression and regarded her with a new seriousness.  Despite her words, this didn't seem a simple, casual visit prompted by mere curiosity.  "What sort of conversation?" he asked, trying to gauge what direction this woman was heading.  "And, who am I speaking with?"  He dropped his voice further.  "Would I be correct in guessing that this conversation would be best continued in private?"

The man excused himself and, a moment later, came back with a glass of purply-coloured liquid in a wine glass that screamed disease. However, persephone was grateful for the fact that the gentleman actually had a decent drink hidden in his back cupboards somewhere. She sincerely doubted he had many people asking for this type of drink, and yet he kept it just in case.

She accepted the glass from him and nodded her head slightly. "Thank you." She refrained from adding 'so hospitable', choosing rather to save that until they had finished whatever business she had just started. His request that she refrain from spreading the news of this establishment holding such refined drinks was met with a curteous 'of course'.

The bombardment of questions from mister Tawse brought a small smirk to her face. She sat quietly and sipped from her glass, savouring the powerful taste of one thousand plums against her lips and down her throat. When he stopped asking questions, she stood up. "I will answer all questions you may have in due course, but as you have suggested," She let her eyes flicker to the door that led to the back rooms of the tavern, "Perhaps we should take this somewhere a little quieter." She turned her head straight on to face the men playing cards, who very quickly looked sheepishly back down at their hand. "And away from prying eyes." She said a little louder.

The heads of the other scattered drinkers looked up and over as the woman's chair scraped back.  Cinaed followed suit and, after asking his lackeys to take over watching the pub, led the way towards the back of the Black Chimaera.  Passing the stairs that led to the upstairs bedrooms, he opened the door at the end of the hall and led the way into a decent sized sitting room. 

Unlike the front room of the pub, there were no clunky mugs hanging from the ceiling and the room and its contents were, relatively, clean.  Several large and tasteful couches and seats were arranged around a large fireplace.  The respectable lounge bore no obvious evidence of the WBA which, usually, occupied the room, but it gave much more of the impression of organization.  After gesturing for the woman to take a seat, Cinaed settled himself into a chair close to the fire and lit a cigarette. 

"We'll have no interruptions," Cinaed assured the woman.  "And, this room is well fortified.  You can speak as freely as you wish."  He took a long drag off the fag and kicked his feet up on a footstool.  "So, answers." 

Persephone followed the man through the door at the bar, acutely aware of the eyes following her as she did so. She could imagine that the fabric and cut of her cloak was perhaps not one that would normally be found in a tavern such as this. Her lips curled up slightly as she reveled in the knowledge that she was better than most of them out there.

Tawse opened the door to a room that was decent in size, with comfortable furnishings and was - in the least - clean. She nodded slightly to herself, as though assessing whether the room was good enough, and agreeing that yes it was. He sat down at a chair, kicked his feet up onto a stool and lit a cigarette. She watched as he sucked on the cigarette and asked her for answers, assuring her that they would not be interrupted.

"Very well." She said, perching herself delicately on the edge of a large ornate chair. "First things first. I am Persephone Grosvenor." She nodded slightly in greeting. "You may have heard our name; true pureblooded families, although hard to come by, are easily remembered." She paused momentarily, having placed extra emphasis on the word 'true'. "Especially the more successful ones." It was well known that though many families paraded their name as being pure of blood, only few were truly pure in both blood and spirit. Not many of those families would be willing to sacrifice what she was willing to.

"And you ask what conversations?" She smiled and gave a short chuckle. "There have been many, Mister Tawse, all revolving around the same idea of true purity in our world." She leaned back slightly and crossed one ankle over the other. "I hear you lead an organisation...an alliance or sorts?"

In Cinaed's mind, there were two types of purebloods of worth in the wizarding world.  There were those, like himself, who believed in the preservation of pure bloodlines and understood the proper order of things.  And, who were willing to get their hands dirty in the pursuit of it.  They were, often, the mainstay of the Knocturn business scene.  Then there were those that only graced Knockturn to conduct business they couldn't conduct elsewhere.  They were the purebloods businesses in Knockturn gloated about serving. 

Of course, he knew the name.  Everyone in Knockturn did and she was the type most of the businesses hoped to claim as a client.  The woman sitting across from him was, without a doubt, a part of that second group. 

Cinaed drew a long, slow drag off his smoke, his gaze making a renewed journey over the woman that sat before him at the offer of her name.  He allowed his gaze to linger over her clean, delicate features as he savored the muskiness of the tobacco.  Madame Grosvenor had come seeking him.  It was - she was a distinct ego boost.  It was uniquely satisfying.  Cinaed smiled smugly around the round cigarette, nodding in his own approving assessment.

And, then she elaborated.  The smug grin faded, growing more serious and Cinaed leaned forward towards Persephone.  He wasn't sure where she'd heard the rumors though there were probably those within the WBA who'd talk about such things in circles that would include the Grosvenors.  But, they'd heard that he led it?  Sure, he'd been among the first members and his recent actions had earned him some wizarding street credit.  But, were they regarding him as their leader?  It was touching. 

"There's some amount of ... collaboration amongst some of us.  An alliance is one way to put it.  Or a social club - with a common disdain for the Ministry."  Cinaed shifted back in his seat again, pausing to draw in another of smoke.  "This is the first I've heard that I'm considered ... a leader.  But, I'm honored to hear it coming from someone of your prestige.  But, I consider myself simply having more initiative then my wizarding comrades." 

Cinaed was starting to understand where this conversation was headed.  Ms. Grosvenor was in need of some services - services that the WBA was in a position to provide.  Cinaed pushed himself to his feet and moved over to a small sideboard and fixed himself a drink.  "What can I do for you?" He asked, casually, returning to his seat.

His statement that he had more initiative than his wizarding comrades caused her to tilt her head back and chuckle. "Mister Tawse, that is the first cardinal rule of leadership - you must have more initiative than your wizarding comrades. Otherwise, you leave yourself open to being overthrown." She paused as she uncrossed her ankles and then crossed them again, the opposite foot on top this time. "Therefore, you are the leader."

What could he do for her? What could he do for her? She smiled wryly. "It is less about what you can do for me, and more about what you can do for us." She left him lingering for a few moments, her eyes flickering to his cigarette. As Tawse was smoking himself [and she assumed he did not take offense to others smoking in that room], she decided she would also take solace in the small stick that many would consider a vice. Removing a small, silver ornate cigarette case from her pouch of a bag at her side, she opened it and took a long, slender menthol cigarette from it. She snapped the case shut and placed it back in her bag, nestling the cigarette between her first two fingers comfortably.

"Would you mind?" She asked, holding the cigarette out towards him, indicating that she would like it lighting. It was a gentleman's job, afterall, to light a lady's cigarette.

Oh bloody hell.  Did this woman know how to stroke his ego.  It was sublime. 

But, he had to give her words some thought.  Leadership.  Being overthrown.  Was he a leader?  Their leader?  Certainly, Chris and Mannie followed his lead but there were others in the group that Cinaed had assumed he was simply on par with.  Most of them, though, took a more casual approach the WBA.  They sought it for the social aspect - the community.  There were few of them who were recruiting.  Even fewer putting their necks out there.  They were a lot of talk but hesitant on the action.  Had he unwillingly and unknowingly risen in ranks?

Well, if those in her social circle were discussing it, then ...

Finally, Merlin bless him, his father might have reason to be proud. 

"If you aren't careful, you might make me blush," Cinaed said, coyly, his only reaction to her comment.  He took a moment to prop his fag on the edge of a table as he took a sip of his drink. 

As coy as he was trying to remain, this whole concept of being viewed as a leader - outside his circle of mates - was a new one.  Perhaps, his mind should be faster in catching up with her meaning, but it wasn't.  "Do for us?"  He repeated, his gaze searching her face for any additional clues.  "You mean, wizards.  Purebloods."  He returned the fag to his mouth. 

A slow, broad smile spread across his features as he watched her slip a smoke from an well-styled case.  Oh, bloody hell.  Again.  She was stroking his ego and playing with him.  What a ruthless, elegant, fantastic woman.  "Oh, it's a bloody shame you're married," he murmured under his breath.  The murmuring being a result of his generally impressed state rather than any attempt on his part to censor himself meant it was highly probably she'd heard.  But, this was business, he had to remind himself.  And big business.  If he were to understand her, the basic gist was that the days of the WBA being a simple, social, group-wound-licking club needed to come to an end. 

"It'd be a pleasure," he answered with a smirk, pushing himself to his feet and, taking his drink, strode over to her chair.  He took the slender fag and lit it against the end of the fatter one in his mouth before handing it back.  But, he didn't return to his own seat.  Instead, he lowered himself in the chair next to hers, gathering his hair and pulling it back over his shoulders.

"It's been ten years of playing the defeated dog," he mused.  "Licking our wounds and pretending we're sorry.  Which we are.  For choosing poorly the last time.  Followed some foolish bitter wizard with his own blind vendetta.  Who was as much a halfblood as those he fought.  He let his own mission get in the way of the goal."  There were many former Death Eaters among the ranks of the WBA and, consequentially, Cinaed rarely spoke of his less than glowing perception of the fallen Dark Lord.  But, at times, his bitterness did show.