The quick glance around Borgin's and Bourke's confirmed her suspicions concerning 'Knockturn Alley.'  The buxom redhead knew a dark arts hot spot when she saw one, mainly by following the local scourge.  Most turncoats were ex-felons, and were as predictable as vultures for circling areas of dark intent.  Although a branch of the Pascals and even Quinns, the thought of contacting the latter triggered her gag reflex.  

Her sharp-heeled boots clacked upon the cobblestone path.  Shops were closing, not that she was in need of any supplies as of yet, but desperately wanted for a place to set her things.  The large, magically enhanced hobo bag was becoming tiresome.  She need an inn, particularly one whose owner wasn't naturally curious.  The Black Chimeara had been advertised as holding drinks and berths.  If nothing else, it would suffice for the evening.  

After a few minutes' walk, she finally spotted a sign haning to the left.  It didn't look like much, but she had slept in worse places for longer.  She entered the building, sunlight fading in her wake.  'Charming,' she muttered to herself after a glance up at the ceiling.  The place just oozed class.  Three steps in, she felt something under her foot, the squish of a small insect.  'One down,' she thought to herself.  Eudora didn't even want to finish the thread.  She made her way to the bar, settling herself on one of the stools.  "What does a lady have to do to get a shot of whiskey around here," she mewed, eying some of the other patrons with unmistakable distaste.

Outfit

Already, Iza hated her guts.  "What does a lady have to do to get a shot of whiskey around here?"  The redhead looked as if she'd smelled something distasteful.  Well, if she doesn't want to be here, why'd she come through the door?  Iza was a bit overly-protective of the Chimaera, just as she was of  Cináed.  She disliked when folks glanced around the joint as if they intended to criticize it.  It was the Garden of Eden, and she'd do just about anything to be crowned Eve.

"Maybe order, one?" she answered coldly, pausing as she dried a beer mug with a clean bar-towel.  "That's generally the way it's done, isn't it?  Even in respectable pubs?"  Her scorn showed that not only did she think lowly of patrons of such pubs showing up here, but that she suspected the woman's "respectability" itself to be an act, if she were drinking in the Chimaera.

Or perhaps be a lady, she added to herself smugly, eying the woman's obviously contrived attire, the stiletto heels, the too-bright hair.  Comes from a bottle as sure as the Ogden's, she smirked.  If she's a lady, I'll... I'll... I'll buy my own peanuts from now on!  She was pretty certain she'd be safe from that fate, even if she made the bet aloud: Mannie was good for market runs.

She might have-- at this point-- set a shot-glass onto the bar top and filled it with Ogden's, since the silly slitch had mentioned "whiskey."  But instead, she went back to wiping the mug with her towel, waiting.  If nothing else, maybe she'd learn some manners...  Just because they were in Knockturn Alley didn't mean folks in the Chimaera were without feelings or enjoyed the implied criticism... especially Iza.

Female bartenders were number six on her list of things society shouldn't allow.  While she was all for the mobility of her gender, Eudora had learned there were some professions that should be divided by sex.  If it were a man, Eudora would have a drink in hand already--on the house, naturally, and would be contemplating how long she could tease free beverages out of him.  Women bartenders were the most spiteful, commonplace of beings because there generally was no other work and they were already half man-ish to begin with.


"I believe I just did," Eudora replied coolly, her eyes narrowing at the lithe blonde.  She was an attractive woman as well, which only lowered Eudora's opinion further.  It meant she was probably picked up off the street and this job was the best she was ever going to get.  Women like her made Eudora sick. Just because they caught a break working at another low class job making low class pay made them think they owned the world.  Hardly.

She crossed her legs, being sure to display her slender legs.  Just one more thing the patrons of the bar would never be able to have, that was for sure.  She might be attracted to power as much as the next girl, but there was such a thing as standards.  One thing was for sure, if she were going to get a bed it certainly wouldn't be from that little strumpet.  "You do have a bottle of Ogden's handy, don't you?" she asked with a subtle roll of her eyes.  Any self-respecting bar almost floated in Ogden's, as cheap as it was.  "And keep 'em coming, would you, dear?" she adde.  Surely the 'tart with a heart' could manage that much.

One more week.  One more ruddy week and, baring any trouble, then Cinaed would be cut loose from the ruddy Bridge House and would be back at the Black Chimeara full time.  Mannie could go back to pretending to help out rather than actually having to put the effort and thought process into doing so.  Not that Mannie minded, in theory, offering a hand these past few months - actual employment was near impossible for the older wizard to find after 27 years in Azkaban.  Cinaed had never reminded Mannie how much his tab would total now if he'd been keeping track of the free drinks and lodging the younger man had provided him. 

Mannie owed him - there was no doubt.  But, customer service had never been his forte.  For all the people skills the long-haired wizard had, Mannie had only a small percentage of them.  If it were up to him, he'd just let people get their own drinks. 

Luckily, this Izadora had helped take up some (alright, quite a bit) of the slack.  She was a bit too bubbly most of the time for his tastes and he'd only seen her a few times during her short stint in Azkaban but Cinaed had taken to her quickly.  And, by her second day there, she was pitching in in exchange for rent and provisions.  But, in a week, Cinaed would be back and could take over, again.  Manfred might even help with that party. 

Manfred had just left Cinaed in his office on the second floor and had slipped through the French doors into the front pub room when he spotted the red-head across the bar from Izadora.  It had only been a couple weeks but, already, he could recognize the anger simmering in Izadora's face.  Oh brother - this wasn't going to be his night.  He even half considered fetching Cinaed - he'd be much better at diffusing this situation (not to mention Izadora actually listened to him - whereas she didn't even listen to him when he repeated his name.  For the thirtieth time.)

Without looking at either woman, he slipped behind the bar and quickly fetched the bottle of Ogden's and poured a shot glass for the red-head.  Perhaps, that'd be the end of it.  For good measure, he poured himself one.  "Here ye go, ma'am," he offered, hoping it'd diffuse the situation.  Izadora would, likely, be pissed but, surely, one angry woman was better than two. 

Manfred-just so ye know!

Iza glared at Mannie, put out.  She considered stopping his hand before the whiskey made it to its customer... Then had a moment of kind-heartedness.  She honestly didn't want to embarrass the old coot.  Maybe he thought he was helping her out.  She wavered, torn.  Cinaed probably wouldn't like Iza picking fights with female patrons.  Especially when all the witch had done was to be rude.  And obnoxious.  And critical of the pub.  And its patrons...

After that long list of slights, Iza had to mentally remind herself that rude customers' galleons spent the same as ones with manners.  She would watch her, though.  And if she caused trouble-- riled up the boys, caused a fight-- Iza wouldn't need a bouncer to oust her.  She'd happily work that into her own job description.

She eyed the strumpet, watching her pretend to cross her legs demurely when actually she was flashing a bit of skin to whomever was looking.  Ah! Iza thought, her eyes lighting with recognition.  She's like the gorillas... looking for a mate.  Lots of men came through the Chimaera.  Normally, whenever a Witch was present, there was always someone trolling for a good time with her.  This one must have overcome her aversion to the place because she counted the number of single men drinking in the pub.

It figures.  She'd likely go home with whomever sent a free drink her direction.  Iza wouldn't stop her-- wouldn't blame her, for that matter.  Boys were fun!  But... Just so she got the picture that Iza was on to her little "lady" charade...

She did stop Mannie's hand.  "Wait."  She held up a finger, and then fished a maraschino cherry from the stash under the bar, dropping it into the glass of Ogden's.  "There ya'go, miss... bottoms up!" she said cheerily with an urchin's grin.

James had just got off from practice.  He ditched his quidditch robes, and changed into some plain, simple, unmarked, casual grey robes.  As he walked in, James saw Iza fish a cherry out from under the bar.  He thought that was a strange thing to serve with a whiskey, but it really wasn’t his business.  He guessed Iza had some strange sense of mixing elixirs.  Personally, James preferred whiskey either neat or straight, but bartenders had all sorts of various quirks they put in the drinks.  James then saw the pretty red-head at the bar.  She was sitting alone for now, but he saw a few people eyeing her.  Since James did not want a repeat of charlie-foxtrot that happened a couple of weeks ago, he decided to leave her alone.  Still, James took one look at that redhead and thought 'damn'.  He actually had not come here to pick up women, but that redhead was causing him to stare a little.   


Refocusing on his task, he thought of the shepherds pie.  Since he had started eating it, he had gained a little bit more of muscle mass over the course of practices.  He really did not even want to think of what they put into it here, but it passed the drug tests and that was all that mattered.  Well, that and him trying to get a starting position.  That thought brought a slight grimace to his face.  Even though his mass and speed had improved slightly, he still wasn’t starting.  Still, he needed to work on the things he could fix.  That, and ask why Iza put a cherry into that hot little things drink. 


He sat down on a bar stool in front of Iza, and ordered, “Some shepherd’s pie please.    And if you don’t mind me asking, why did you put a cherry in a glass of whiskey?”  James was also reconsidered talking to that red-head, but he did have practice early tomorrow morning.  He decided to play it by ear, and try not to avoid any altercations over someone else’s girlfriend.  ‘That wasn’t one of my finer moments,’ James thought to himself. 

The arrival of another employee brightened Eudora's prospects.  Now there was someone who understood customer service.  Without a doubt, he'd surely be able to procure a room for her as well.  She opened her mouth to speak when that little blonde opened her trap again.  The show of niceties was cute, but hardly what Eudora had in mind when she wanted to be served without question.  Her eyes narrowed at the bright red intrusion.

Instead, a young gentleman asked the question for her.  Her lips curled into a coy smile at his sudden appearance and choice of seating.  She might have dinner after all.  "That's a good question," she added, her smile changing as she directed herself back towards the sweetly sour wench, "Particularly as I didn't ask for one."  She paused, sliding the drink back towards the woman.  "Remake it, and this time without your little--whatever you call it--flair," she added, with a superfluous gesture.

Eudora had flair enough for thirty women, she didn't need some little upstart trying to play with, especially with a more interesting neighbor at hand.  "And who might I thank for attempting to save me from bad taste," she spoke more graciously, turning her bright blue eyes upon her new companion.  She didn't quite trust his ordering food, but the blonde was less likely to spit in his food than in hers.  For all Eudora knew, he was probably a past client.  She wouldn't quite sully herself with the wench's leftovers, but it would be fun to tease regardless.

When he noticed Izadora glaring at him, Manfred fully expected the blond to stop his hand.  It really wasn't until after it was clear she wasn't going to stop him that he countered her glare with one of his own.  Did Izadora not understand?  The money this woman would pay was what allowed Cinaed to offer them a comfortable living for free?  Or, did she really just not like this woman that much?  "Whatever."

Then, the redhead was joined by a bloke Mannie clearly remembered from that evening a few weeks back.  This man and another had been gesturing over Izadora and Cinaed had intervened. 

"Good to see you back here," Mannie offered, extending a hand to the younger man.  Despite Cinaed's invitation at the end of the man's last visit, Mannie was surprised to see him back.  "Name's Manfred" he said, emphasizing it for Izadora's benefit.  At least, he could always hope. 

She couldn't leave well enough alone, could she?  Yes - the business was good but Mannie couldn't help wishing the pub could go back to the early, female-free days.  When it had just opened and no one other than the surliest of Knockturn's inhabitants wandered down to it.  It sure made things easier.  But, that obviously wasn't going to happen tonight.  With a resigning sigh, Mannie watched as Izadora set the cherry in the  redhead's glass.  Why did they even have cherries in the pub?

The redhead slid the glass back across the bar and, with a sigh, Mannie glowered at Izadora.  "I quit," he muttered, under his breath, reaching for the discarded glass of firewhiskey.  Quitting was something Mannie did regularly - it was an easy thing to do when wasn't actually, formally, employed.  He picked up the glass and downed the shot, sucking on the cherry as he moved around to the other side of the bar.

Vlad was sitting quietly in a corner, nursing his Ogden’s. He observed the exchange between the two females with amusement. That redhead clearly thought she was something, and obviously so did the man who had just come in. As for Vlad, he never did understand what was so special about an appearance created by charming one’s hair and using cosmetic spells. The whole attitude of the woman struck him as superficial. He had seen countless such among Pureblood females at home…including his own kin…and he was not impressed.

And as for the young woman behind the counter...if what Vlad’s informants told him was true, Red had better watch herself, or she might end up buried under a hedge someplace.

Vlad was only mildly interested in their interactions, however. He had come here looking for Kabir Ahmed, who supposedly was last seen in Knockturn Alley. And who, shortly before his disappearance, had been observed talking to Cinead Tawse...

There were cherries in the pub because there were women coming through the pub.  Iza had seen to it they were stocked after the second time she had to serve a Ginger Ale.  And yes… there was now Ginger Ale in the pub… Because Iza drank it herself, often as not.

But everyone seemed curious why she thought the red-head needed one in her drink.  “Because I assumed you didn’t bring one in with you.”  She smirked.  Though the cherry had been intended as an insult, she was actually trying to be nice, since it seemed she was growing an audience.  She grinned, showing white, even teeth.  “But suit yourself,” she added and set another glass on the bartop with a clunk, filling it haphazardly from a fresh bottle—since Mannie had appropriated the open one.

She frowned, trying to remember the man’s face.  He ordered shepherd’s pie and Mannie had made no move to fill the order.  Ah yes, he’s quit, she remembered.  At once, she was irritated because she missed having House Elves, and in the next moment was smug, drawing Nadine’s wand.  ”Accio pie!”  A steaming plate of shepherd’s pie flung itself from the kitchen, narrowly missing a patron’s head and gathering curses in its wake.

The Ministry had recently admitted that since the conviction brought against her nine years ago was proclaimed unlawful and overturned after three months, they could not forbid her access to a wand.  When she remembered, she used it, and it always delighted her, though she didn’t dare unearth her personal wand.  Perhaps she should buy a new one, but the use of her aunt’s wand felt like subtle revenge… therefore, Iza continued it.

The pie landed directly in front of James.  Iza followed Mannie’s lead, once she dredged his name from her memory.  “James!  It is good to see you,” she announced, handing him a fork from her apron pocket.  It was spotlessly clean.  She’d polished it only moments before.  “How was practice?” she asked, at her most charming, remembering that he played Quidditch.

She hadn’t anything against the man: had he caught her on a different day—or in a different place, or with a different mindset—things might have been interesting.  But Iza had been hungry and in a foul mood from having been tormented half the day by insane people…

And then she’d seen Cinaed.

From the moment she’d laid eyes on Cinaed, any possible interest in other males was merely clinical and amused.  Of course, she still noticed them—how could she not?—but every man in the bar that night had paled in comparison to him and the history they shared.

She smiled winningly at James, hoping he wouldn’t hold it against her.  She hadn’t been herself, when they’d met…

In her usual mercurial shifts of mood, she forgot her anger at the red-head's snitty attitude, leaning away from her and toward James, who was by far more soothing to look at-- having no garish hair or pumped-up feminine attributes.

(((OOC: Color coded responses to keep track of word spoken.  Yellow = Cin/Manfred. Lightskyblue = Iza. Lightgreen = James.  Orange=Eurdora.  Vlad=violet)))

“Name's Manfred”   the man declared, and offered his hand.  James did not know why he emphasized his name, but figured that it was best to leave it alone.  

James shook it, and gave him a polite nod.  He thought he’d met him before, but did not want to insult him.  He was about to reply, but the pretty red-head beside him interjected a couple of snide comments, which unfortunately reminded James a little bit of his sister-in-law.  He decided to give her the benefit of the doubt for now.  He was going to reply to Manfred, but he seemed somewhat lost in thought and was already drinking the firewhiskey the redhead rejected.  ‘No wonder that guy works here.  Free drinks on the job’ the thought brought a sly grin to James face.  James' semi-contemplative was interrupted when the redhead adresssed him “Who might I thank for attempting to save me from bad taste," .
 
He turned to the pretty red-head.  “My name is James, might I enquire as to yours, fair lady?” he asked with a smile.  As James had a brief flash back to the last time he tried to hit on a witch here, he decided to take this one a little bit…softer for lack of a better term.  At the very least, he would try not to get any wands drawn over this one.
  
Just then his shepherd pie was summoned and placed in front of him.  He was about to ask for some silverware when Iza seemed to be borderline telepathic. “James! It is good to see you,” Iza said.  After she handed him a spotless piece of silverware she asked how practice went.  

“Practice went well, but I still need to shave some length off my feints.  Are you holding down the fort in Cina’s absensce?” James queried Iza between bites.  He was consciously thinking of eating anything but the shepherd’s pie.  If he was distracted enough, he might not be able to taste the…shepherds or whatever they put into it here.  'The things I do for the sport I love' James thought.

There were cherries in the pub because there were women coming through the pub...

But everyone seemed curious why she thought the red-head needed one in her drink.  “Because I assumed you didn’t bring one in with you.”

Vlad snorted, blowing fire whiskey through his nose. Which was very painful; but he managed to swallow his yelp, though he did mutter a few choice oaths in Romanian.

He wondered if the full-of-herself redhead caught the drift of the insult. If she did, she would probably never admit it. Her world view would never allow that a common barmaid could have so much wit.

He smelled the shepherd’s pie as it drifted past, and his stomach grumbled. “Miss,” he said, smiling at the barmaid so that his blue eyes crinkled at the corners... “That pie smells...delectable. When you get a moment, might I have one?" Noticing that she seemed to be enjoying the young man's company, he added,  "No rush...”

He spoke excellent English, though after all these years he still had not lost his accent. But as they had with his not-so-illustrious forebear, some women found it charming...

In another time, with another body, Eudora might have blushed at the wench's comment.  But with her judgment still in mind, sexual remarks of any nature from her were deliciously ironic.  "I'm sure that's the only thing we have in common," she snapped back, already nauseated by her sickeningly sweet smiles.  At least the gentleman was paying proper attention.  And as the doddering old man tottled off, Eudrora turned her eyes back towards the handsome specimen.  "Eudora," she responded, with the slightest upturn of a smile made coy especially for him. 

Of course not two seconds passed before the barmaid piped up again.  Wasn't her job to serve drinks, not busy herself in others' conversations? If she hadn't been so pointed to seek lodging at the inn, Eudora would have considered casting her own spell to amend things.  Practice, and feints were mentioned, which only meant one thing:  A Quidditch player.  Mentally, Eudora subtracted ten points from his IQ but added ten to her physical critique.  She'd wait to see how he paid for the final analysis.  Quidditch players tended to fall into two extremes: those with money and those without.  One either spent it on extravagances and went onto everlasting bar tabs the next year, or one spent it wisely and turned out the better for having a somewhat sounder mind. 

But the mention of Cin was more intriguing.  "When will Cin return?" She interrupted, adopting their colloquial moniker, "I need to speak with him."  His name had often been brought up when she made her discreet inquiries.  His inn was the best, and he was the one to speak to was all she could gather.  Although his taste in employees was questionable, she decided to wait to appraise the situation before her final decision.

Mannie hadn't needed to stick around to hear two out of the group ask after Cinaed.  About the time Iza had commented on the cherry in the redhead's drink, Mannie had inwardly acknowledged he lacked the social finesse for the situation developing at the bar.  The older former Death Eater lacked both the patience and desire to work through conflicts - especially when said conflicts had a distinctly cat-like feel to them. 

Shortly after 'quitting' Mannie had slipped through the french doors towards the back of the pub and had climbed the stairs to alert the pub owner of the situation growing below.  Of course, Mannie would return to work once Cinaed had to leave. 

With only a week left until Cinaed's expectant release from the Bridge House, the con had a lot to do.  Cinaed was working on a particularly large supply order for the bash the Chimaera would be throwing the night of his release (and, not entirely coincidentally, the night after the untimely death of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement) when Mannie had slipped into the study going on about the horrors of cherries.  Leaving the rest of the order to Mannie, Cinaed slipped back downstairs. 

He'd stepped into the main room just about the time the older fellow with the gray hair asked for a serving of shepherd's pie.  "Evening," he offered to the crew, nodding to Iza as he set to fixing the man's food.  Having not entered the room with the intention of serving, he stole a fork from Iza's apron before bringing the food to the older fellow's table.  "How are you doing this evening?" he asked with a pleasant nod before returning to the bar.  "So, Manfred got overwhelmed again?" he asked, looking towards Iza.  His gaze shifted, curiously, from her to the redhead to James, nodding to both in greeting in turn. 

If Red had called him a doddering old man to his face, Vlad wouldn’t have cared in the least. She would not be the first to so underestimate him. There were quite a few in Azkaban...

When the barmaid spoke up again, the redhead’s displeasure was obvious. She had clearly been brought up in the same sort of universe as Vlad; one in which servants, like children, were to be seen and not heard. Vlad smirked knowingly. “Zhenichka,” he thought to himself, using a Slavic term meaning Dear Girl, “you are in the wrong place...”

He heard the young man speaking of practice and feints. Like the redhead, he automatically subtracted ten points from the fellow’s IQ; but this was not for being a Quidditch player. It was for being so naïve as to think such talk would impress the redhead. If he had known her thoughts about bar tabs and bank accounts, he would have smirked again. If money was her main interest she was playing up to the wrong man. Though one would never guess it from the way Vlad dressed...like a refugee from the 1940’s...he had inherited a sizable fortune, more than he could ever hope to spend. Then again, why should a doddering old man bother to look stylish?

He watched the action at the bar, wondering how long it would take the barmaid to leave off baiting the redhead and send a pie his way. No matter; he was sure eventually she would get around to it, and watching the slow escalation of the catfight was entertaining...

"When will Cin return?"

“Ah...so now we come to the good part”, thought Vlad. Why would this snobbish young woman, so obviously used to high-end everything, ever darken the door of a place like the Black Chimaera? And what use did she have for the proprietor?

Then the man of the hour appeared, serving Vlad his dinner in person.

"How are you doing this evening?"

“Quite well, thank you,” said Vlad, smiling. He took a bite of his shepherd’s pie. “Ahh,” he said appreciatively. “Delicious...”

Of course it was hard to hurt simple fare like shepherd’s pie; but then again...there was nothing wrong with simple.