[Daz's costume:  Cannibal Pirate.]

7:30pm

The night was going to be epic.  She would go to whatever lengths to assure that.  Dazmond had been bombarded, spited, wronged -- and so had her boys, which was just not done.  Not to her.

Tonight, they would get some serious pay back.  Which was a little warped, not entirely constituting 'pay back' in the strictest of terms, since the aim of the night was to stay as far away from the Ministry's reach as possible, and their fun did not in any way involve a direct sabotage of the government that had debased them.  No, it was a much more subtle art, an art that went directly against the statute that kept them oppressed.  A manner of play, a night of unbridled fun.  And what better night than that when they would witness the thinnest veil between worlds?  When muggle children were just begging for a good spook?  Well... the little sour bairns would get their fair share, tonight.

Halloween.  The night when the veil between the muggle and magical worlds was thinnest, when little children dressed up as Wizards and Witches and took to the streets in their mocking garbs, when everyone's modus operandi seemed to be to frighten off the spirits with jack o lanterns and bonfires, cobwebs and tombstones.  There was a surly wickedness in the air and muggle London was alive with magic.  To Dazmond, it was the one night of the year when the Wizarding world ruled over the mundane.

Dazmond had decided to become a permanent resident of the Shodding Arms Hotel just in time for her husband, Nate Briggs, to be carried off in shackles by the Ministry of Magic.  She really was not too happy about this.  First they were in her face with the new werewolf capture unit, which affected several of her clients (who, were they of the lunar sort, tended to be unregistered and unrestrained) -- and now they were in her alley, taking her favorite person away to their holding cells and harrassing her friends without the slightest bit of shame. 

But she was the fecking best.  She had the King of Streets up her sleeve, courtesy of the Jack of Spades, and a bag of gold to boot.

It was a force of sheer determination that surrounded the short Witch, as she swept through the Ministry in her morbid dress to fetch her husband from their holding cells.  He'd been detained for questioning for his involvement with the Runespoor smuggling that had been haunting London for well over half a year.  Having been found a culprit in the massive explosion of caustic venom that shook their alley a fortnight past, Nate Briggs had been arrested and held for an extended period in the Ministry's holding cells.  In the end, he was but a middle man -- and the foul treatment he received upon his arrest was fodder enough for Dazmond's 'friends' to work with; though truth be told, she hadn't a full scope as to how far Theodora Kingstreet had gone on her behalf.  Or whether or not the undercover WBA agent, Landis Morgan had had a hand in the proceedings.  All she knew was that she was in a stellar place, with clients like that, and with a heavy piece of gold thunked down on the Ministry's countertop and their help, she was able to walk proudly with chin held in the air, out of the Ministry, with Nathan Wiedman-Briggs in tow.

She was a woman with a mission -- and the stern superior gaze she met each worker with on her way to fetching her husband was accentuated by her attire and the fake blood smeared all over her mouth, so when she bared her teeth in a grin of 'gratitude' to the authorities, her little teeth and prominent canines were all covered in crimson.  On the way out, Dazmond was silent and her gaze lifted beyond the faces of those they passed.  In her eyes, they had outsmarted them all.  She walked with a vindicated strut to her step.

Once they were on the exterior of the Ministry building, a wind swept the dead foliage across Diagon Alley, which was full to the brim with disguised Witches and Wizards going busily about their ways in the highly decorated lane, shrieking and laughing, children chasing each other, musicians playing in the street.  Dazmond approached the gang of variously clad mischief makers, bearing her husband like a prize.

"All went without a hitch!" she announced.  "Let's get to Hammersmith.  You alright to apparate, pet?"  Dazmond was unsure how his burns were doing with the pull of magic now, but Hammersmith was only a short distance away.  "We can get to the old alley outside the Dove Pub; bet you can dodge behind the dumpsters there and change."  She passed off his costume in a bundle, letting their bodies graze casually.  Her 'badass' status of nonchalance couldn't mask the energetic pull that made it clear she was ecstatic to have him out and by her side again.

It appeared Dazmond was wise enough not to ask Cinaed whether he wanted to accompany her into the halls of the Ministry to fetch Briggs.  He likely wouldn't have even blessed the question with a response.  He knew better than to say as much to Dazmond but he was slightly peeved that the Ministry was letting him waltz out so easily.  He was unaware of Kingstreet or Morgan's influence in the issue and was convinced the Ministry was choosing to be so light handed towards Briggs purely because he and his pub had been the only victims.  Had it been the Leaky Cauldron that had been damaged or some pathetic muggleborn's dog that got blinded, he was convinced the fellow would be in Azkaban. 

In the end, two weeks in the Ministry holding cells was hardly a hardship - As far as he was concerned, Briggs was welcome to linger there longer.

Regardless of her intuition and perception, Cinaed suspected Dazmond was also well aware that accompanying her inside to retriever her weasel of a husband wouldn't have been possible.  Remaining a hundred yards from the Ministry unless he had a preapproved appointment was one of the many express terms of his parole.  Between the runespoor, the minor kidnapping and the confiscation of Dilly from his pub, the last few weeks had left him on rather thin ice with the Ministry as it was.  Partaking in these holiday festivities was risky enough; Briggs was, in no way, worth risking sneaking his way into the Ministry for 'welcome to freedom' fanfare. 

"Bet he never even got searched," Cinaed muttered, darkly, to whoever was lingering close enough to hear.  Cinaed was far from one to hold on to grudged but he had a few words to share with Briggs before he put this matter behind him.  No doubt, Cinaed would be on the lookout for an opportunity to catch Briggs off guard, corner him and make a few things clear. 

Unlike his fellow revelers, Cinaed hadn't bothered going for 'scare factor' with his costume.  Quite truthfully, he didn't need it.  He was quite capable of intimidating the socks off little muggle children in a simple leather cloak.  No, he was using the opportunity to take the traditional route.  Which, perhaps, in its own way would have its shock factor.

He waited for the crew outside of Hammersmith.  Apparition wasn't a choice for him so he'd opted to find his own way.  None in the crowd were aware of his recently acquired animagus ability so he'd winged his own, solo way to meet them after their apparition. 

A red light glowed from the end of his cigarette and he offered a passing girl a lewd smirk that sent her scurrying off.  No.  A simple kilt was sufficient for him. 

They'd strutted out of the Ministry with their heads held obnoxiously high, Dazmond grinning her blood-drenched teeth at everyone.  They'd said barely a word between themselves as they went into the fresh, cold air.

Nate was wearing what'd he'd had on during the full moon: trousers and a belt.  He'd been carted off without shoes or a shirt and that's how he preferred to go.  Daz had a bundle of clothes for him and his raggedy leather boots.  He slipped them on and walked with her around the corner among all the Londoners who were revelling in the hallowed night air.

He could have guessed she'd have something appropriate to do this eve, it being his Out Day and Halloween both.  He nodded a greeting to the familiar faces they found nearby, growing more and more pleased about the celebrations incoming.

By way of response to her question about Apparition, he hoisted her up piggy-back and Side-Alonged her to her suggested destination.  His burns had been badly re-opened when the Aurors had come for him. They'd fired on him and they'd Apparated away despite his protests.  Fortunately, it wasn't a full twenty-four hours before there was a St. Mungo's Healer checking on him frequently.  (Likely from the influence of Theodora Kingstreet's letters, which Nate was not aware of.)  He'd kept Nate patched up and well oiled so that by the 31st he was well enough to 'travel'.  There had been benefits to the Healer's proficient ministrations, but he'd have traded it any day for his wife's caustic chemicals and sly winks.

Nate Briggs wasn't a hardened criminal.  Doing a couple weeks with intermitant interrogations wasn't some walk in the park.  He was shaken by the whole bloody mess, but that was the last thing he could let on to anyone but Daz.  Some of these people had served real time.  Nate himself had done 45 days max, and that wasn't Azkaban time.  Even so, his short stay in the Ministry's hands had cost him a very lengthly parole and another black mark on his record.  That, and he didn't exactly have a job to go back to.  After giving up Mr. Sellaphix for leniacy, there was no way he was going to call Mrs. Sellaphix and ask if she needed anyone to check in on things.

Once in the Ally, Nate let Dazmond down and was about to ask about their plans when he laid eyes on Cinaed Tawse.

"Hammersmith'll burn tonigh- What the hell is he doing here?!"

He jumped nearly a mile, his wand out immediately.  He looked back and forth, from Dazmond to Cinaed. Nate hadn't exactly been in touch with anyone these last two weeks, but he doubted the standing threat to skin him alive had been tabled.

His expression was dark, but he cracked a smile.  Cinaed was in a kilt.  "That's what you're wearing? It's Halloween, not a bloody funeral. Shite, Tawse."

"Melanthe, dear. Will you staying for after dinner tea?"

Melanthe cringed at the sound of her aunt's voice carrying from the parlor room of the Whitman Family home.

"Chyort voz'mi!" she cursed under her breath. She had been hoping to make a clean get away from yet another dinner party she had been guilted into attending with her aunt and uncle. Why she subjected herself to these little soires was beyond her.

That's not entirely true, she silently chided herself. I do it because I'm a masochist.

With a bit of a sigh, Melanthe slipped her coat on over the costume she had just changed into while in the powder room and then popped her head in the room where Jos and Eloise Whitman were entertaining some of their guests, most of whom Melanthe couldn barely remember their names. Ministry folk who weren't out in preparation for all the mischief that was to ensue on a day like this. Mischief like what I'm planning to get into, she wryly thought.

Melanthe gave them all a half wave with barely the fingers of her hand and feigned her sweetest tone, "Oh Aunt Eloise. As much as I  would love to stay, I'm afraid I've promised to meet up with a few of my friends this evening." Well, that wasn't a total lie.

"Oh, well in that case, please give Charlotte and Liadan our regards," came Eloise's response. "And try not to get into too much trouble." Her flashed her a knowing look. "And I know how our side of the family loves to drink but just please promise me that I won't pick up the Prophet tomorrow and see a hideous photo of you staring back at me...."

Like that would ever be likely.

Melanthe almost allowed herself to roll her eyes in their presence. Instead, she flashed her kin a breezy smile. "I promise! Bye for now!" She pressed her fingers to her lips and blew them kisses before she left their sight and wasted no time aparating to her next destination.

Moments later, she was strolling the streets of Muggle London with the intent on meeting up with her aforementioned few friends. Only the group of her friends that her relatives thought she was meeting up with was quite different from this one.

Beneath her coat was a costume of full black leather. She was certain that her outfit could have her be many personas, but the one she had chosen was a Ringmaster (or Mistress) and she felt it suited her well. She had entertained the idea of going as a snake charmer, but then that might be too closely linked to her true likeness. This was a much better one for her purposes.

It would help in the Muggle baiting that they were planning to do this evening. The all black get up would help keep her in the shadows if need be.

Approaching the agreed upon meet up spot, Melanthe quirked an amused brow as she caught sight of Cináed. His costume was positively....adorable?

"Evening, Mr. Tawse," she greeted him in a low voice. Her lips twisted into a smile and she nodded to his costume. "My, don't you look festive...."  She regarded the others with a half nod and a grin. "Lovely to see you dahlinks...."

Costume - Hybrid between this and this.

Cigarette in hand despite a warning to quit if she wanted to keep her lungs in tip-top shape for the sky, the Magpies Seeker stepped out of the alley into which she’d just Apparated. Her keen eyes found the group immediately. They were admittedly hard to miss, even in costume. Formidable, good-looking, and not-so-subtly sinister, the Wizards who had tossed themselves into Muggle England for a round of trick-or-tricking were an attractive bunch.

Nodding at each in turn as she approached, Laney stayed quiet for the moment. She wondered where Malynda was, and whether she would show up. They’d both had vigorous practice schedules now that they’d been signed; even more disciplined than Laney had expected. She was excited, to stretch her wings this evening. But she also had to be discreet.

Dressed in simple black, with a muggle ski mask worn as a hat (for the moment), she had decided not to don a costume until after their mayhem was over. She knew the repercussions of being caught with her hands in the cookie jar so early in her career, however confident she was in herself and in the people standing beside her to surreptitiously pull off the evening’s bit of fun without hitch.

“Looking spirited, Tawse,” she could not help but comment, adding to the growing list remarks being shot in his direction. Only she rather meant it sincerely. She’d known him well enough, having loitered around his pub all summer, and had briefly entertained the idea of working for him before she’d been scooped up by Augustus Snark. He would have been a good mentor, if not exactly in the same line of work. He was dangerous, and thus alluring. Laney knew Mal thought highly of him, having a ‘thing’ for older men.

Giving Dazmond a smirk, she inquired after the potioneer’s brother. “Where’s the quidditch stud tonight? Chickening out on us?” Perhaps he could not risk a camera catching his profile. But then nor could any of them, arguably.

Easily liftable, Dazmond gave a sharp yelp of delight as Nate hoisted her up in a piggy back ride that soon saw the festive Alley torn away -- grinning ear to ear, she thoroughly wrapped herself around her parolee and grabbed at his front for dear life and limbs.  But a moment after ripping through space in an instantaneous joy ride, the pair landed and he let her down, where she hopped off into the alley with a few joyous bounces.  Loud music was playing in the historic pub and the streets just around the bend were swarming with muggles. 

Nate's shock of seeing Tawse bent over a slow-smoked cigarette over dark eyes was not unexpected, but she stepped between them as he whipped out his walnut wand.  And yet the tough Wizard's less than daunting attire provided instant levity.  Suppressing a friendly giggle just barely, Daz laid a light hand on Nate's as an indication to lower his wandhand.

"It's alright, love."  She had in fact managed to convince Tawse to play nicely and give Nate a break for the damage he'd caused -- or so she thought -- but whatever threats or 'man-to-man talks' that might come later were beyond her control.  At least there wouldn't be any outright pummeling under her watchful eye tonight.  And Dazmond had also hoped that finding a common 'enemy' would serve as a form of brotherly bonding.  If only on the surface, the instant reunion on this most festive of nights might lessen the tension between her favorite Wizard and her chosen ally.  A Witch could hope.

"Hey look," said Dazmond, giggling at the welcomed distraction.  "It's Salazar's mistress!"  She let her hand fall from Nathan's, confident he'd restrain himself from any drastic measures, and trotted over to Melanthe -- throwing herself on her friend in a dramatic embrace.  "I'm torn," she teased, pulling back with a bloody grin.  "I don't know whether to kiss you or grovel!" 

She looked to Tawse, about to offer a proper greeting, when the unmistakably athletic but feminine frame of the masked Laney Irving arrived -- right in the knick of time, making their gang complete just a few shades past seven thirty.  It being Autumn, the night had already set upon them; the sky was inky dark with the new moon just a few days past, but the streets were quite plainly brightened with intriguing activity.

"Hey!  Laney," said Daz, turning her attention to the younger Witch with bright eyes, dimming only slightly at the mentioning of her brother.  Dominik was a right sour puss since she'd come back.  "No, Dom is a bit too grumpy to be making more than one social appearance tonight -- he'll be at Charlotte's party after," she offered.  She knew the two were bound to be tight, and soon; Dominik had taken immediately to her fresh talent on the pitch, and Dazmond had offered details of Laney's short time with her at the school, causing Dominik to have an even more solidified respect.  Their interactions were only bound to multiply over the coming season. 

Feeling she should really fill Nathan in as her eyes itched eagerly at the edge of the alley, Daz meandered back to his side, folded an arm over his shoulder and fiddled with the pirate's dagger at her hip. 

"We're going to have some fun with the trick-or-treaters," she explained.  "Then maybe gorge on our booty in Ravenscourt Park before heading over to the St. James' for free drinks and entertainments."   

The stunning figure of Melanthe came strolling towards their meeting spot and a playful smirk settled on his features as she quirked an obviously approving eyebrow in his direction.  "Evening, lass," he offered her with a courteous nod of his head.  He reached out to take the young woman's hand in a cordial greeting and leaned in to plant a kiss on the young woman's cheek.  "You look as splendid as usual," he offered, quietly. 

He glanced up as yet another fantastic example of a fine blooded witch approached their group.  Again, he offered the darkly disguised Laney a sly grin and took her hand, leaning in to plant a greeting peck on her mask-covered cheek as well.  "Thank you, my dear."  He offered, returning to a more neutral and detached stance once the initial round of greetings was over as they waited for the supposed man of the hour.  Which, moments later, with a resounding crack, the husband and wife team joined them.

Cinaed stood patiently, curiously, rooted motionlessly to the spot he was in, his eyes fixed on the scrawny bloke, letting Nate's gaze scan the evening's participants and realize Cinaed was there in his own, sweet, time.  When Brigg's gaze finally settled on Cinaed, a thin, shallow grin spread across the ex-con's face as the other bloke spewed his obvious disapproval with Cinaed's inclusion in the evening's festivities. 

As if he hadn't even noticed the drawn wand, Cinaed took a step towards Briggs and held out his hand.  "Fetching, ain't it?" he replied to what he'd obviously taken as a compliment about his outfit.  So far, it seemed to be winning points with the ladies.  And, their impressions were far more important - and enjoyable - than Briggs'.  "Gotta be prepared for anything."   He propped his smoke back in the corner of his mouth, watching in muted amusement as Daz tried to calm her twitchy companion.  His hairy head tipped forward in a wordless acknowledgement of whatever Daz had to say but his gaze remained on Briggs even as Daz moved away to greet the other ladies. 

"Gotta love their kidney pies," Cinaed offered, his voice just a little too monotone to be entirely casual and conversational.  "Is that bald orderly still working the cells?"  Cinaed had every intention of showing Briggs just as much mercy about his time in the holding cells as Briggs had shown Cinaed about his wandless status. 

Daz done with her greetings, Cinaed turned towards her, tugging a small flask from his sporran and taking a draw from it and following it with a celebratory and slightly predatory growling acknowledgement of the night's festivities.  "Ooh yeah!" he called before holding it out for any interested parties.   "Let's have some fun!"  He was looking forward to some stress relief after a rough couple of weeks.

“Ah, shame. Party punch always tastes better if you’ve earned it,” she offered innocently, continuing to smile in Daz’ direction. “I’ll be sure to save some sweets for him.” Perhaps one of those knew candied brooms Hogsmeade had shelled out just in time to cash in on the holiday. Paparazzi pictures had captured Ian Cuddyer with them. And that had been enough to cause a windstorm.

She wondered whether the potions maker and her curious husband, or the ex-con would be taking the lead this evening. Or perhaps even the icy Durmstrang grad, another aristocrat whose face was familiar after many a party in swanky, uppercrust Wizarding London. It was amazing, how often these people could party. Laney had really only realized the full potential of such soirees post-graduation. As a child, she’d been exposed, but not entirely engaged.

“So what’s the limit on wand work?” She asked, and then remembered Cin’s... hurtle. “I mean, is it more of a hands on sort of thing?” She clarified, straightening her shoulders, folding her arms, looking casual as her cigarette drooped from pinched fingers, its smoke snaking lazily into the air. She pulled up her mask for a bit, leaving atop her head like a hat. Fresh air before the attack.

Despite wearing so much black, including the makeup that helped create shadows across her face, Melanthe brightened with Cin's little lavishment of affection. She leaned in as well, enjoying the closeness to him and affectionately patted his chest with her free hand. "Spasiba, hon. It's wonderful to see you again, you sexy beast," She drawled and glanced down at his outfit again. "If we weren't in public, I might be tempted to sneak a hand up your skirt."

She playfully winked at him before stepping away just as the young quidditch player arrived. She greeted Laney with a more tempered smile, as she did not know the woman all too well and allowed her and Cin to have a moment. She turned just in time to see the approach of two other merry misfits.

Melanthe's usually subdued expression broke into something even more animated the arrival of Daz and returned the woman's embrace with equal measure and not ending it without a fierce hug. "Groveling will only wear out your knees, sweet thing. So I  hope your old ball and chain here isnt the jealous type because I will happily steal a kiss from you instead! Everyone should be blessed with the kiss of Salazar's mistress!" And before anyone could prepare or protest, Melanthe cupped both of Daz's cheeks and planted a kiss square on her lips.

When she finally pulled back, Melanthe flashed a devilish grin to others and brightly said, "Well now. I don't know about everyone else, but I'm ready to go." She moved back to stand beside Cin and even looped her one arm through his while she slipped her other hand into the pocket of her jacket, snaking her fingers around her father's wand. Laney's question piqued her interest and she responded with, "I hope there wouldn't be any limits. But I understand if we want to keep things on the tame side. I'd hate to see anyone here get into any trouble...."

Nate scowled wordless at Cinaed, who seemed light and airy.  He scowled even more deeply when Cinaed moved to shake his hand and then reminded him of his miserable, humiliating fifteen days in the Ministry basement gaol.

He shook Cinaed's hand in a hateful way and pulled his hand back quickly.  He crossed his arms over his chest and never losened his grip on his wand.  And, in typical squirrel fashion, he'd already begun visualising an Apparition point.  It was a nearly automatic response for Nate.  He'd heard of so many witches and wizards who'd got caught with their trousers twisted around their ankles because they couldn't Apparate.  Too panicked, no focus.  Not Nate.  As soon as anything got hairy, he began to map out in detail the dilapidated roof of the Shodding Arms.  He wondered if Dazmond had managed to get the door back on.  He liked that door.  It made their hole-in-the-wall a home-in-the-wall.

When Daz and the others got to chatting about their plans for this evening, Nate was reminded that he kind of hated her friends sometimes.  Some of them were outright blood purists.  Others were just so skanky he threw up in his mouth when they postured and fauned over people like Cinaed. 

"Urp," he said, and then fell into a breif coughing fit. 

"Screw boundaries.  This isn't the bloody playground.  C'mon, ladies." He glanced again at Cinaed's kilt before turning his back on the group and walking towards the mouth of the alley.

The group dynamic was certainly going to be interesting, Dazmond realized, as she registered a bubbling/burping sensation from her partner and the close proximity of her comrades.  Such was usually the case.  She would've dragged along Finnley again, but he'd been torn and tethered to his club. 

She gave Melanthe a heightened shift of the eyebrows and a cheeky grin as Nate shoved off to move towards the mouth of the alley.  She took the full-on kiss with a playful glint in her eyes.  How she loved that woman.  Bloody quaint!  A perfectly scandalous action never passed her by, but oh how natural.  And, my -- it seemed to her that Mel and Cinaed were going to make good on that offer of hers... you know the one.  At the beginning of the month -- to be conquered... with wands and, er, stuff.  Although it was questionable at this point as to which one would be, well, conquerer.  Interesting.  "What he said!" she said toward Laney.

Then, moving forward after Nate, Daz spun around to offer Cin a quick peck on the cheek (which wasn't easy, believe me -- she nearly stepped up on an overturned crate before he leaned down for her so she could reach up on tippy-toes).  Taking a swig from the offered flask, she gave a mischievous grin toward Laney before passing it on and pulling out bottles of Mystery Brew; she gave one to each of her comrades who still inhabited the back-alley outside the Dove Pub. 

"Drink deep," she chimed, before ripping down the alley after Nate. 

Girl-kisses, whiskey, wardrobe and recently-released husband were all she needed to get pumped up for the night's endeavors.  She jumped up on Nathan's back again; being rather freakishly light, she really didn't need to hold on once he had her legs, so Daz fitted a spare black eye-patch over Nate's face and put her pirate's hat on his head.  She was still decked out in full garb with her skull-and-crossbones bandanna, a decadent diamond eye-patch, and mangy clothes fit for a sea-rat.  And, apparently they were the type of rambunctious pirates who were rather prone to poking their eyes out.  Bother. 

As soon as they hit the street, a surge of adrenaline thoroughly possessed her.  Daz kissed Nathan's scruffy neck and climbed down once more, digging in the black pouch fastened to her hip. 

"Bottom's up," she said, pressing a bottle to her lips.  The taste of burnt ashes went down harshly, but our dear Dazmond was accustomed to such things.  She hardly made a squint, giving the impression that her brew was sweet as honey.  But of course, it would taste different to each person who drank it.  She passed it on after a sip to Nathan, imploring him cryptically to drink.  Moments after she did so, flames burst around her skin, totally enveloping her, and she did the unimaginable.  She giggled with delight. 

Yes, the brew was strange, as could normally be said of her experimental stock.  But this multi-flavored liquid would not only taste differently for each Witch or Wizard, it would also produce different results, depending on their temperament and various subconscious factors.  In each case it brought forth some horrifying circumstance -- a decoration of the most macabre and magical sort.  Dazmond, being both hot-headed and impulsive, was prone to flames.  But she could only guess what the others would wear. 

One thing was certain:  The Muggles could see it as well as any Witch or Wizard.  And that much was bound to enhance their mischief.

A parade was moving through the streets.  Giant paper lanterns and dancing folk in dress made up the alignment.  There were plenty of different crowds to please tonight.  Personally, Dazmond was fixated on scaring the daylights out of children, some of whom were watching the parade and, others, just passing through to the next neighborhood for more trick or treating. 

She called over her shoulder.  "If we get mixed up, meet you all in Ravenscourt!"

There was a brilliant park around the bend which they were all relatively familiar with.  It provided an excellent opportunity for after-party drinking and binging on candies before venturing over to Charlotte's.  Or... home.  Perhaps.  With Nate.  Dazmond wouldn't be opposed to an early night of course, if he expressed an interest; her favorite person was one among her list of things to be pillaged tonight.

Melanthe's response to his costume was juicier than he could have imagined, a quick and effective distraction from Briggs' moodiness.  A strong arm circled around the woman's waist and a deep throated growl rumbled from somewhere deep in his throat.  "Perhaps later," he offered in return in a deep, throaty voice.  "You know what they say about a Scot and his kilt."  He allowed his arm to linger around the woman's waste until she pulled away to greet Daz, smirking as the two women greeted over a kiss. 

Bless his heart.  It was quite sweet.  And, the froth on the butterbeer was Dazmond's peck on his cheek. 

"We'll just have to make do with our own punch,"  Cináed offered Laney with a broad, enthusiastic grin.  That statement did, in fact, have multiple meanings and  Cináed intended most of them.  No doubt, everyone was planning on having just as much fun at the party afterwards - even if the fun was of a slightly different nature. 

 Cináed glanced towards Laney as she quickly changed tactics, trying to tactfully work past her wand question.  He offered the young woman a friendly grin as he shook his head.  "No worries, my dear," he offered. "If you got em, might as well use em.  I can manage just fine with my hands."   Cináed's arm snaked around Melanthe again as she moved by his side and he grinned down at her.  "Total agreement.  No limits."

The kilt-bearing Scotsman took one of the offered potion flasks and popped out the cork to take a whiff.  Before taking a sip, he followed the potioneer to the end of the alley, watching the potion take its effect on the woman.  It was impressive.  And, this was shaping up to be quite a fun night.

A shiver followed the potion down  Cináed's throat and into his gullet.  At first, nothing happened but after several moments the ground seemed to fade away slightly as his frame stretched.  Just as he grew taller, his muscles thickened and bulked up.  Thick, shiny, menacing scars criss-crossed across whatever bare skin showed and his hair darkened to an inky black.  Staining sprays and droplets of blood appeared splattered across his clothes just as his hands grew darker with what appeared to be a dried mix of mud and blood.  He looked every bit a massive version of the sinister mass murderers of any number of muggle horror movies. 

Having a sip of the bottle handed to her, Laney spared them any reservations. She trusted Daz, who was one of her Slytherin kin. Like Malynda, she was a different kind of woman than the usual brainless breed that Hogwarts produced. She felt something tingle inside her, invigorating her excitement tenfold.

Disappearing into the night, and finding herself again in the company of the close-knit group of muggle-baiters, Laney adjusted her mask into place, ensuring that only her eyes were recognizable. Hawkish as they were, they feasted upon the site of muggles in such a large density and silly costumes.

The potion’s effects began to crescendo. Burning fantastically down her spine and up again, the brew felt like the precursor to a strike of lightning; Laney soon found herself growing what felt like a pair of wings. And, in fact, they were absurdly just that. Dancing past gravity, she felt her feet hover from the ground as the skeletal, black appendages expanded like a bat’s or dark angel’s. Tipsy muggles oohed and ahed, pointing and smiling in her direction. “Cool costume, sister!” One shouted... until he realized it wasn’t a costume.

Pointing her wand in the direction of the young man, who had been on the verge of asking how she’d managed such special effects, Laney hovered near him, positively weightless with the toes of her boots no longer touching the floor. “Thanks, bro,” she said maliciously, laughing as he began to float from the ground against his will. His mouth flew open in protest, a silent yelp of sorts. “Since you seem curious, I’ll give you a taste.”

A passing crowd surfer gave them the thumbs up, clearly unaware. Tosser.

Storming off was just what he needed.  He was delighted to be out of the clink and off Cinaed's hitlist, but the whole lot of them were acting disgusting.  They'd nothing to be smug about, except Dazmond, who was smarter and prettier than them all.  The procession followed him and he easily took on his lovely's supple burden and accepted the costume.

Bare-chested the night was nippy, so he was pleased to take a swig of whatever she was drinking.  But it wasn't what he was expecting.  The first taste from the matte black bottle was like acid, the main draw like rotten pork, and the last of it was that hard-to-detect taste that was Dazmond's brewing signature.  A tiny bit of secret ingredient that marked her brews as her own.  Nate had tasted it many times.

As Dazmond caught fire, Cinaed inflated into a frightening characature of himself, Nate waited for his own.  It arrived with flourish.  The gutless Nathan Briggs began to lose flesh around his chest and stomach, his skin and organs and muscles apparently dissolving into a thin sizzling smoke.  After five full paces, his entire rib cage was gaping open.  Gutless in and out.

Now that they were beginning to blend in amongst the muggle halloween parade, Dazmond was cutting quite a swath.  People stepped back as they walked through, some giggling at the excellent trick.  Some even reached out, only to draw their hands back at the real heat.

Nate grinned back at her proudly.

It was all going well right now.  But he dreaded the moment these ravenous folk decided to get violent.  That was the point, right? 

Melanthe was pleased that her kiss to daz went over well enough. At least by most. With a happy grin, she wrapped her arms around Daz's slight frame (Good Godric, did the woman never eat?) and gave her a hug. Finally, she let Daz go and addressed what her husband said.
 
She immediately nodded with approval. "Good. No boundaries." The glint in her eye suggested that she was satisfied with all the different scenarios that were possible with no boundaries.  She held herself closer to Cin as they walked and the bottle of Daz's concoction made its way to them.

Melanthe stepped back and watched with interest as Cin took his portion and transformed. She doubted anyone would make fun of his kilt from here on out with him looking like that.

Melanthe took a hearty sip herself, not afraid of what it might be or what it might do to her, given some of the reactions from the others. The liquid was strong, but not unpleasant, for it had an overbearing deep, berry-like taste to it at first before giving away to something more biting.

At first, it felt like the drink had very little impact on the dark flower, and that would not have been surprising for her because she had a high tolerance for drinking anything. But soon, she did begin to feel the effects. She felt some movement on her head and she reached up to touch her hair. Instead of feeling the soft, billowy tresses, she felt something smooth and scaly. Strands of hair gave way to something thicker--strands of serpents.

Melanthe did not have to look at them to know that they were not simple, barely-could-hurt-a-fly garden snakes. No, these were snakes filled with potent poisons  that no muggle would ever want to encounter.

A serene smile befell Melanthe's face and her dark eyes danced to Cin's face. She feigned combing her fingers through her 'hair' and innocently demanded, "What? You don't like it?"