All Friends Invited To A Black Chimeara Party & Open House
Starting at about 9:00 PM
Lasting until who knows when

Following his release from the Bridge House and successful assassination of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Cinaed is opening up the Black Chimaera to anyone who even remotely considers themselves a friend.  It is not public knowledge that Cinaed had anything to do with the murder.  Feel free to join this thread or start a separate thread.

Provided at the party:

• Free Food & Drinks
• Live Music
• Card Games and Other Gambling Endeavors
• Bone Fights (Animated animal skeletons fighting each other)
• Other various questionable business ventures

A dribble of foam trickled over the edge of the mug and down the back of Cinaed's hand as he set the mug of ale on the counter in front of the fellow.  "Thanks, it's good to be back," he offered to the man as he wiped his hands dry on a bar towel. 

And, it was the truth.  It was good to be back.  Even though Cinaed had spent his days back at the pub at the far end of Knockturn Alley, his confinement to the Bridge House meant that his evenings and nights were restricted to that depressing place.  Most evenings saw him back in his damp cell before the pub had even opened for the night.  The pub had kept up its business, almost exclusively because of the contribution both Mannie and Izadora had made.  They'd held down the proverbial fort during his absence. 

Mannie, Cinaed knew, was just as thrilled to see Cinaed back and hadn't hesitated to return the reins of responsibility.  Though he was well aware that playing barmaid had hardly been Izadora's first choice of career, he didn't know, yet, whether she'd follow Mannie's lead and return to the role of customer.  Goodness knew there was plenty of work, even with Cinaed back at the helm.  With a full house upstairs and business booming in the pub, Cinaed had been considering hiring some extra help, anyway. 

Cinaed had, finally, made it back to the Black Chimaera a few hours ago - just after he'd managed to weave his way through the chaos of the Ministry.  The evening's Daily Prophet had been pinned up on the wall next to the bar.  After a few last minute details, the front doors had been thrown open to admit any and all who cared to come.

"Two pair, dragons and 'griffs."

The set of cards was laid triumphantly on the table.  Eudora was a old hand at Wizard Poker and at an even greater advantage from her own talents.  No one had a better poker face, not even Darcy Gisella.  She reached forward to take the pot, fifty sickles the richer for it. 

Another thunk sounded on the wall beside her, and Eudora looked to see another dart standing square in the late auror's face.  "Serves 'em right," she muttered, joining in the general air of rejoicing at the man's mysterious passing.  Anyone for enforcing an artificial equality deserved to end up face down in the river.  Seeing Cináed back at the Chimeara was good, particularly since it meant Franti would stop acting like she owned the place.  It was a rookie mistake, thinking that sleeping with the boss entitled one to certain privileges.  Now that order was restored she could finally shove the wench's face back where it belonged, under her heel.

Back in England, again.

Melanthe seemed to be making the familial rounds of late. Previously she had met up with her Uncle Caspero--who with the death of her father had in many ways become the primary father figure in her life--in Moscow. But in England, that meant stops to see other family, including her mother who now lived in London.

On this particular night, she had been forced to sit through dinner with her Aunt Eloise and Uncle Jos at the Whitman estate in Cardiff. It wasn't that she disliked them, but she despised their looks of pity for having essentially grown up fatherless. And she also felt that now with all three of her younger cousins off at Hogwarts, they were looking for something to occupy their time.

Dinner with them had not been a complete bust, though, as Melanthe was able to gain some insight on what had been happening in the local politics and news. Many mistakenly believed that she had no interest in such matters because of her pretty face.  Melanthe really didn't mind everyone thinking that all she was about was traveling and wearing nice clothes and pretending to champion some philanthropic cause. It provided a nice cover up for when she became truly ambitious.

With thoughts of those ambitions swirling lazily in her mind, the dark flower stood to excuse herself from the after dinner drink she had agreed to have and her fingers curled around a tear drop shaped vial pendant that she wore attached to her necklace. There was a clear, unknown liquid inside of it that when asked, she simply responded that it contained medicine she might need. A partial truth, depending on the day. But rarely was it ever for herself.

After thwarting her aunt and uncle's inquiries about what she was planning to do for the rest of the evening (and essentially ignoring Jos' reproving look when it became clear she was going to be spending time "socializing"), Melanthe slipped her jacket on and apparated to Knockturn Alley, just outside of the Black Chimeara.

Smoothing back her dark hair and making sure she was in order, she slipped inside. Though she was tempted to stop at the bar to grab a drink, she saw how busy it was and decided to make a lap first to see who else was there. But she did spot the establishment's illustrious owner and she flashed him a smile and a wave as she sailed on by.

Already she had spied the vibrant red hair of good friend, Eudora Pascal, and she hastened over to the card table to see how she was faring. Although knowing her friend's skill in deception, she was sure it was quite the lucrative day.

"Say red. You saving anything for the rest of us to win?" she drawled, the faint huskiness of a Russian accent evident to anyone who cared to hear it. She leaned down, wrapping her arms around Eudora's shoulders and planted an affectionate kiss on the woman's immaculate cheek. Pulling back, she added quietly, "Please tell me this is where the fun is tonight...."

OOC: She's wearing a black dress similar to the look in the sig below....

The stockboy from down at Sellaphix Apothecary's was not an unfamiliar sight at the Black Chimaera.  The ambitionless broom-pusher and incessant, be-bearded know-it-all tended to spend most of his spare coin losing at cards or drinking rum.  Today, he'd spent most of the day asleep as Wednesdays were his day off.  He'd risen bright and early at 6pm, eaten dinner at the pub and fell asleep in the booth.

When things began to liven up at the party, he'd joined a game of Wizards' Poker with some folks and one of the boarders, Eudora Pascal.   She was a stuffy witch, but they generally tolerated one another.

"Bloody hell!" When she won the pot with a simple hand of Magellen's Menagerie (two dragons and two hippogriffs) and he had already  folded a nearly complete War of the Roses (A Yorkshire terrier, the Ghost of John Gaunt, and the King of Hearts - all he needed to finish it was the Two Brothers Card), he threw down his cards and swore.  Fifty sickles was a pretty big loss considering he wouldn't be paid by old Sellaphix until tomorrow.  What was he going to drink on, if he kept losing at this rate.

"What're you looking so smug about? You just got lucky," he accused.

Contrary to how Eudora Pascal might think, Iza didn't feel as if she owned the place, nor did she think that sleeping with her "boss" gave her other privileges...  To Iza, sleeping with this particular boss would seem like the privilege, itself.  However, she had done her level best to make certain the Black Chimaera stayed in the black, while Cinaed was unable to attend to it, and she did feel a certain fondness for the pub that included vehement revenge on anyone who insulted it.  Cinaed loved it therefore she did too.

And now... perhaps she could hang up her apron for good and explore the world she'd missed out on at last.

Though her late aunt's Last Will and Testament held conditions that Iza had no intentions of meeting, she'd been named sole beneficiary.  A certain lawyer had agreed to help Iza contest those conditions and the case looked promising.  What she intended to do with her aunt's modest fortune was still a mystery-- even to Iza.  Whether she would remain at the Chimaera was-- as always-- entirely up to Cinaed.  No matter whatever else he might be to her, he was her friend.  Perhaps her only friend.  No matter whatever else Iza might do, she would be true to that friendship in her own way.

Tonight, it meant she would still wear the apron.  Maybe Cinaed intended to hire more help, but he hadn't yet, and Iza felt certain he wouldn't want to spend his Homecoming party stuck behind the bar... even if he loved it.  It was too busy for only two hands, she'd offer her own.

She blew a playful kiss at the Prophet photo, slipped her neck into her apron, wrapped the strings around her middle twice and tied it in the front, then tucked an errant blond lock behind her ear that had been dislodged when she ducked her head into the apron.  Smoothing her hips with both hands, she smiled and looked around.

Cinaed had so many friends...

Which was exactly as Iza had expected because Cinaed was the sort who was a good friend to have.  People loved him.

When her gaze lingered on the clown-haired slitch dragging a pile of galleons toward her unbelievable bosom, she frowned.  Ugh.  Tacky and tasteless as always.  If she was going to keep her hair like that, the least she could do was choose fabrics that wouldn't war with it garishly and styles that didn't make her look like a sl--

A dart whizzed past her head and her chain of thought was broken.  It buried itself in the late auror's face and Iza's smile was resurrected.  She didn't know who'd pulled it off, but she was glad.  She'd have done it herself, if she'd have known how happy it would make Cinaed on his Homecoming.  It would have been the perfect gift...

"She's smug because it looks like you'll be leaving here empty handed," Cinaed remarked with an amused chuckle as he approached the table with a fresh round of drinks.  Of course, everyone's luck had its on and off days but, when playing against Eudora, it seemed the off days were far more prevalent.  Nate's current loosing streak was far from atypical as of late.  At least, this time, he wouldn't be contributing to his current tab (thanks to the fact that the drinks were free to begin with.)  "I wouldn't take it personally, mate,"

Under the pretense of setting the glasses on the table, Cinaed snuck a quick peak at whatever cards he'd managed to secure a vantage point of and chuckled again, shaking his head.  Of course, he knew the seriousness of card games - especially when the stakes (financially and pride-oriented) were so high.  He wasn't foolish enough to give any clue as to what (or who) had given him the reason for the dubious head shake.  Other than offering poor Mannie a slightly patronizing pat on the shoulder. 

"Fecking hell," Mannie groaned, immediately, flinging his hand of cards on the table.  "You know what?"  Manfred leaned back towards Cinaed as he spoke, though he made no attempt to lower he voice.  "I liked this place better when it was some unpopular hold in the wall."  Of course, Cinaed couldn't help be marvel at the current state of his once humble pub.  And, the beautiful women that had started to grace it's dark pub room. 

"Speak for yourself," Cinaed laughed and applauded as he, unashamedly, watched Melanthe plant a kiss on Eudora's cheek.  "It's touching, really."

"Woo!  Nice shot!" Cinaed called to room at large, looking up at the dart still quivering just above the auror's eye.  For a moment, the amusement slipped from his features and an almost believable look of grief shadowed his face.  "Shame," he added, complete with a sniff.  "He seemed such a stately, proper fellow - a right upstanding citizen that one.  Such a bloody, tragic shame."  With another sniff, he stole a glass of black chimaera from the table before someone else could claim it and hoisted it in the air. 

"Aye, where are your manners?" he asked, winking to the two ladies with the cards.  "We should drink a toast to dear, poor, departed, meddling Robards!  The bastard!"  He slammed the drink back and dragged a chair over to the table before plopping himself down in it.  "Deal me in." 

Nate flinched when  Cináed came over.  The two were not exactly close, and Nate had only started coming to the Chimaera when he could no longer afford going to Signature because his wife and meal ticket disappeared again on whatever she disappeared to do.  Dazmond Wiedman's potion-making had kept them rather comfortable in the filthy embrace of the Shodding Arms Hotel, found just up the Alley. Now he was counting his copper.

But Nate had flinched because as casually as he knew Cináed Tawse, the more they got acquainted the more intimidating he was.  There were moments when Nate really believe the bloke had murdered people.  And was interested in doing it again.

Not yet intimidated enough to keep up on the tab, but when  Cináed raised his voice, Nate tended to find a different place to be.  

Nate obediently raised his glass when  Cináed commanded the room to do so.  "Oh, this is a party?" He hadn't known. He showed up most every night.  He did notice it was more crowded than usual.  And was  Cináed's beard freshly plaited?

When talk of someone named Robards, Nate looked about.  Everyone looked equally as savagely happy as Cinaed. What? Who was Robards and what had been the tragedy.  He didn't get the joke.  Nate asked as much when he scooped up the cards and started shuffling them up.

"What is it now? Some rich uncle kick the bucket and leave us a Gringott's vault all filled to the top? You all look proud enough to've done it yourselves.  You fecking shady lot."

He shook his head and laughed.  These ex-Azzie criminal sorts were always dark fun.  

"Luck is a lady for a reason," she smirked.  There was a certain joy in taking money from Nate.  He could pout better than any child she knew, including herself.  The only thing better was pissing off Mannie.  She enjoyed reaffirming his dislike of women.  Making him uncomfortable was one of her favorite games, particularly when it effected Franti, too.  

Raising an arm to half-wrap around Melanthe's shoulder, Eudora leaned into the small affection.  "I'm here, aren't I?" she replied.  Taking Melanthe's hand, Eudora slipped her a small slip of paper with an image of Romulus and Remus.  "Play with us, dear, you've got some luck of your own, I'm sure."  

She winked at Cin, taking the stare at her relation as a compliment to herself.  Good breeding and all that, it was something Eudora was quite proud of.  She took a sip of the full glass, raising it with a small tilt towards the picture.  While she wasn't quite as familiar with the man, she had heard quite enough of him to regard him with animosity.  

As Nate shuffled, she drew her wand.  "You'll cheat," she teased with a flick of her wrist, sending the cards to rest in front of Tawse.  Eudora straightened the stack before tucking her wand back into the hidden skirt pocket.  "Deal yourself, she's in too."  With smile that would do any male patron of the inn proud, Eudora patted her knee.  "You can sit in my lap if you like, pet."

A voice complained loudly into the clutter of "Hear-hears," after Cinaed's toast: "You all look proud enough to've done it yourselves."  Iza froze with her own glass in the air, head swiveling back toward Eudora's table.  She frowned again, her brow knitting with vexation.  What sort of idiot talks that way?  She made careful note to watch him through the evening and-- if he drank so much that his lips flapped in the breeze-- to not only cut him off from the liquor store but to silence those lips before he left the pub.  Nadine's wand shouldn't balk at a simple tongue-twisting curse...

She shook her head, trying to catch Cinaed's eye, but failing when he turned his attention to the resident w-- witch.  Which drew her attention back to Eudora.  Iza was perfectly aware that the women who came through the Chimaera were there because they wanted Cinaed and not because they preferred the ambiance to other pubs.  She raised an eyebrow, stared hard at the woman, then shrugged and slipped behind the bar.  Cinaed would have her or not as he pleased.  Iza was not the possessive type, really... although she would ask for a bedtime story, if she saw him later.

Since Cinaed had inserted himself into the bevvy of guests, Iza automatically took over filling glasses.  Slipping behind the bar, she loaded a round tray with jiggers and lined up shots on the bar.  Since drinks were free, tonight, it mattered very little who took them or what she served to whom.  She left Ogden's on the bar and hefted the tray of Black Chimaeras onto her shoulder, passing in and out of tables in the pub proper, setting them before anyone who might have an empty glass after the toast, pausing here and there to smile and murmur greetings to those she knew as regulars until she arrived at Eudora's table.

She collected empties from the table and slipped them onto her tray, replacing them with fresh jiggers, while leaving half-finished drinks unmolested.  She gave Nate a hard stare before smiling pleasantly at the table in general, and down at Eudora.  "Hello, Dora," she said politely, without the trace of a smirk even though she knew Eudora disliked being reminded that their names were similar.  It made her less special.  "Lucky tonight?"  Which might mean more than one thing to the woman... Lucky in cards, lucky in love...  But an unsubtle reminder that Iza didn't own Cinaed and if the woman thought it would annoy Iza to slobber over him, she was mistaken, as usual.  Their not-so-subtle dance for supremacy-- at least for Iza-- had very little to do with men.

Dilly had read the Daily Prophet, and she watched impassively as people threw darts at the dead man's' photograph. The impassiveness was all an act. While Dilly had no memory of her father...in fact she had no idea who he even was...she couldn't help wondering if this murder had left more children with no father. And what if Archer was next? She liked Archer...

Of course she was the only one here who would feel such things; and it would not do at all for anyone else to know how she felt.

So...she put on her best cocky manner, and walked up to the counter.

“Eh, Reverend,” she said to Cin.  She’d recently read a true story about an 18th century smuggler, a sort of Robin Hood to the people of Cornwall. In daily life he was an Anglican vicar. Named...of all things for a man of the cloth...Mr. Syn.

As she had read the story she kept picturing Cinead Tawse, and now she would probably always think of  him as Mr. Syn...

Apparently Eudora was doing well, as quickly evidenced by the unfavorable reaction from her tablemates. That was something to be happy about and surely would provide some bit of entertainment for the night. When Eudora suggested that she join in the game, Melanthe smirked. "Hmm....perhaps." She reached up and smoothed back some of Eudora's shining red mane, before tucking it behind the woman's ear. "Watching you for a bit will make me happy. Besides, I still need to get myself a drink."

Melanthe looked up just then with the intent to see if the bar was still busy with patrons, but her gaze was met with with the arrival of  Cináed to the table, bearing drinks for them all. She stepped forward to accept one of the glasses and held it up as if to salute his fine work, and flashed the man an approving smile. Then cocking her head to one side and resting her free hand on her hip, she murmured, "So my Uncle Jos was a little on edge this evening at dinner as he spoke about certain.....events...that have happened of late. It seems as though I have arrived to town at just the right time, da?"

She laughed lightly under her breath and didn't wait for a response. Instead, Melanthe walked back and took up a perch on Eudora's offered knee. She joined in the cheers with everyone else and then her parched mouth took up refuge in the drink. As Eudora continued to play, Melanthe's dark eyes swept around the room, contemplating her own plans for fun. Afterall, there was a lot of time left in the evening. Cards could only occupy so much of it.

She hid a smile behind her glass and observed with interest the fire that simmered between the "Doras". She was clearly friendly with Eudora, but didn't see herself as unfriendly to Izadora either, mainly because she had no reason to be. Frankly, Melanthe didn't know the blonde well enough, despite repeated visists to the area. Thus, Eudora's issues with the woman were her own and Melanthe preferred to let them duke it out.

But, she imagined it had something to do with Cin. Even if it was just a small component of the entire feud. Melanthe's eyes lazily found their way to his face, interested to know what power he held over them both.

Well, as they say....The cure for boredom is curiosity, she thought. And there is no cure for curiosity...

Outfit

Malynda strolled leisurely through the darkened streets of Diagon Alley, her glinting eyes and cigarette glowing in the darkness between lights. In her hand was clenched a newspaper emblazoned with the face of one Gawain Robards... One Late Gawain Robards to be specific. Every now and then she would pause under a street lamp and read a few more lines, smirking as she did so. When her leisurely trek finally brought her outside the dimly lit Black Chimeara, she paused one last time to reread the headline. "About time.... Fare thee well old man" She whispered to the paper, pressing her ruby lips to the pictures forhead before stubbing out her cigarette in the same place. Tossing the singed paper into a nearby trashcan she made her way into the smokey, dim interior of the Chimeara.

A few patrons greeted her as she entered, a few she knew and a few she didn't, and Malynda responded with a toss of her head and a crooked smirk. She was used to 'fame', if you could call it that, because of her mothers career. Her new job garnered her some fame of her own, despite the fact that she was a rookie, and she reveled in it. It was good to be loved.

Her first inclination was to go to the bar and speak with Cin, offer some congrats or something, but when she saw some titchy little tyke standing on her tip toes just to see over the bar, she decided against it. She wasn't good with kids and for all she knew it was Cin's bastard daughter or something. She didn't want to ruin such a wonderful... loving... family reunion. Merlin that was hard to say even in her head. Deterring away from the bar, she made her way to the wizards poker game nearby.

"Room for another? Been wantin to rob someone blind all week..." Malynda smirked as she took a seat at the table before they could refuse. Glancing at the dealer, the lone man in the group, Malynda smirked and dropped a handful of galleons on the table "That a problem?"

Nate was always such a twitchy little bloke and that little flinch was no exception.  Oh well - the man was going to have to get used to it.  For the last four months,  Cináed had been all be absent during the evening business hours - with evening curfew at the Bridge House at 8:00pm and the punishment for violations being time back at Azkaban,  Cináed was usually long gone before the evening action really took hold.  But, now he was back in his element - Nate and all the others would be seeing much more of him around the Black Chimaera. 

Despite the fair few galleons Nate owed the pub and his twitchy demeanor,  Cináed found the fellow amusing and regarded him with the same, casual joviality with which he approached most of Knockturn's residents.  Whatever concrete concerns the man might have towards  Cináed, they were lost on him.  But, he could be dense.

"Damn right this is a party,"  Cináed said with a nod as he took the offered deck of cards.  "In case you missed my absence these last few months, it's my coming home bash - every successful stint in the crummy cells of Bridge Houses deserves a celebration."  A derisive snort escaped Mannie who sat between  Cináed and Nate and  Cináed gave the older fellow an understanding nod.  After twenty-five years of knowing nothing but his cell in Azkaban, Mannie's initial year and a half in the Bridge House during his transition out had been rough.  "And, luck's a lady, my dear,"  Cináed added, seemlessly shifting his attention to the two magnificent sights opposite Nate.  "- because real men get by on skill." 

His gaze lingered, openly, on the two women for several moments before Manfred's gruff and ever impatient voice drew Cin's attention to the older man who's own gaze was on Nate, an impatient look of disbelief wrinkling his own features.  "You live in a bloody box?"  His twenty five years in Azkaban had left Mannie's social skills lacking much in finesse.  Clearly the fifty-something ex-Azzie assumed everyone in the room and at the party at least knew who Gawain Robards was.   Cináed had been tight-lipped about his plans to assassinate the Head of the Department.  Only Christian had been aware of his plans to imperious the Auror -  Cináed had needed his help to get the woman cursed.  There wasn't a soul in the room who  Cináed had enlightened about his plans - though there were a fair few who had their own hunches and suspicions.  With Mannie among the ones with their heads in the dark,  Cináed figured it was safest to let him answer.  As gruff of an answer as it might be.  "The ass was the bleedin' Head of the Department of Law Enforcement.  And, he was cut down by one of his own Aurors. You'd know that, if you bothered to read the bloody article.  But, there's not many that are sad to see him go."

 Cináed felt for all those who were still stuck in that Bridge House (poor Ari) as he began dealing out the cards.  It was bound to be a long, rough night for them.  With the Ministry in chaos and Aurors and officials scrambling everywhere for clues, explanations or just something to placate the press and the wizarding world as a whole, there was no doubt that hell hole was getting stripped down and searched from top to bottom.  Security was bound to be tight for the next few weeks but  Cináed was sure there were few in that place that didn't feel at least sightly smug and victorious this evening. 

"You can sit on my lap, as well," he offered, smugly, as he dealt both the woman their cards.  He glanced up as Izadora deposited a fresh round of drinks on the table and offered a smug grin and an appreciative nod. "You should get the girl to cart around a few trays and join us," he nodded towards Dilly.  Reverend.  Kids had such strange notions.  He'd expected his comment to Eudora and Melanthe to go unheeded but when  Cináed looked away from Iza and Dilly, he found Melanthe had moved towards him and the drinks.  He arched an eyebrow curiously at her whispered remarks, nodded slightly in response and followed her with his eyes as she took her perch on Eudora's knees.  They were still lingering on her, his thoughts were still mulling over her words, when her gaze left Eudora and Iza and shifted across to him. 

A new feminine voice broke through his thoughts and  Cináed looked towards the table's newcomer.  "I have no problem with it, but, it seems, Ms. Pascal's the one with the goods to be stealing."  He dealt the younger woman a hand of cards and took a sip of his drink.

As another rousing game of wizard's poker reared its head at the delightfully foul Chimaera, a loud spark down the alleyway announced the materialization of a woman long adrift. 

Tussled and tangled, Dazmond stood teetering in the dark.   She backed up hard into a damp wall and patted down her clothes again, hoping in vain that her wand would be there somewhere beneath her black robes.  She winced at its absence and then stood there, catching up with her stomach after a rather discomfiting apparition that mimicked the rocking waves in a whirl of sea foam.  She'd traveled just now from a rocky moor in the Outer Hebrides on the Isle of Lewis.  Her gelid hands, dressed in fingerless and black-laced gloves, fidgeted through pockets till finding a small pouch that clanked.  A grin spread slowly across her features in sync with eyes closing in absolute, essential joy.  She melted a little against the cold stone wall. 

This night was the first time in three-and-a-half months that Dazmond had stepped foot in London!  Her tendency to disappear on some escapade or another was well-known to have stemmed from her desire for an unconventional life, one worthy of the gypsy's tales that she grew up on.  Being anything-but-a-housewife, she was as yet still needing to know she could vanish for ages and come back on a whim, as it suited her, and still have a home to come to.  While all of this was true -- and that not even her husband would consider it very strange to not know where she was all the Summer long (and with the weather now dipping into Autumn, too) -- this time Dazmond hadn't had much of a choice, and so she felt greatly fulfilled to be done with it and supremely excited to be back in London. 

The circumstances behind this particularly drawn-out disappearance of hers were such that she couldn't have left the place had she really wanted to.  It had all started with the potion mistress's visit to a high society flat in Southwark, where she was asked to become a live-in alchemist for an influential wizard who suitably bore the name of Kronos.  He was a man with golden and silver emblazoned rings the size of owl's eyes, pendants and curios, fine suits and robes, who Dazmond had singled out as a goldmine one night at Signature.  Next she knew, Dazmond was underground, cutting and pounding herbs, macerating and distilling extracts of strange creatures' bones, and fermenting a trinity moon's glory in a great cave by the sea.

At present, however, Dazmond bounced to, coming out of memory and into motion.  She wanted to kiss the dingy pavement, roll in the muck-covered cobblestone, and dance like an idiot all the way home.  She was headed there, in fact, with a proud feline in her step, when her attention zeroed in on a brouhaha going on across the way.  At the farthest end of the alley, there could be only one place producing such a bustle.  The Black Chimaera.  For an instant, Dazmond's energy was diverted as she considered going up for a much-needed drink.  She had as well an awful thirst for her paused social life, having been isolated to her potionsmaking for all this time.  But first deciding otherwise, she let her feet carry her up the steps to the Shodding Arms and only doubled back after finding it down one ragamuffin.  She fixed herself up somewhat (missing even a notable smearing of dirt on her cheek) and half-tripped over a pile of soiled clothes on her way out.


It was some odd thing inside.  Must have been a celebration.  That or Tawse's pub had turned into a hot spot during her period of absenteeism.  Or the crime rate had just increased. 

Whatever it was, Dazmond was tickled at the presence of the buzzing crowd, and she would soon enough become enlightened to its cause.  For if there was one truth evident in this bar tonight, it was that Nathan Briggs had a mouth to match his drinking habits.  Not that she had expected to find him there, but Daz did spot him straight off starting up a hand of cards at a large table where many were gathering round.  All of the women save a gutsy-looking but delicate blonde were fuller-bodied and taller than Dazmond, varying in age and attributes.  They all rang a bell somewhere in her dreamscape, but none were all too close as of yet.  A sweeping glance was all she could manage before appearing out of nowhere and slipping deftly into Nathan's lap.  She planted a kiss on his furry face and settled in with a prime view of his freshly dealt hand.  Not wanting to appear too spaniel-like, she bit back the rest of her affections and chose to sort of absorb Briggs through osmosis for now, rather than make a scene.  In the absence of onlookers, however, back at their squalid flat, she would have to downright tackle the gorgeous bloke. 

"What's this then?"  Daz lent her bright eyes across the table, settling in glad acknowledgement of Cinaed two stools down, and generally basking in the glory of the room with a permanently affixed smile.  She was, as usual, not sitting entirely still.  She picked her pockets for a fag and asked the room at large for a light.

In the din of the tavern - the caustic laughter, clinking of glasses, hoots, hollars, sniggering and the not occasional spellfire - Nate didn't hear nor see the black-tressed little witch strut in.  He didn't notice his wife until she was sitting on his lap.   He put his hand between her shoulder blades and leaned into the chaste peck on his cheek.  They were play-acting the way they always did.  No matter how long Dazmond was gone, no matter Nate not hearing a single owl from her for months, they always behaved as if no time at all had passed.  As if Daz had just been down in Greenwich or Southwark on an errand.  That's the depth of the devotion.  Complete trust with almost no dependence.  They wanted each other rather than needed each other.

But there was electricity between them.  The Shodding Arms would quake tonight.

With his free hand, he dug out his wand.  Holding it in his fist, he bumped the handle end on the table a couple of times until the end glowed an orangy pink and allowed Daz to light her cigarette, and handed her his cards.  As he dug in his pockets for the ante, letting Dazmond arrange their hand, he explained.

"It's a party," he said echoing Cinaed.  "Tawse's not on a curfew any more, so we're all staying up past bedtime to drink his booze.  Also, some Auror got whacked, and as you can imagine, we're all very pleased."

He said the last part with a flippant candor.  As far as Nate Briggs was concerned, he didn't give a snapped wand about the Aurors.  He went about his business, far to clever to feel threatened by either villains or the Ministry's trained heroes.

"Maybe you know him," he said looking at Dazmond.  "Gawain Robards."