[Evening, around 8 PM.]

What a horrible mistake this was. The cloaked woman could feel her gut twisting itself tight into many painful knots with each step she took towards the Hog's Head. She had received an owl to meet an "anonymous" person here, but there was a symbol stamped on to it that hinted at who this anonymous person was. The anonymous party was someone from the dark ring of Kronos Malvivicus to whom she, somehow, owed money.

'It can't be Vladimir,' she insisted to herself, 'he hasn't contacted me in over two years now! Who could it be?'

Shannon shuffled her way through the lightly falling snow which had already covered the ground in about two inches towards the lesser-known Hogsmeade Pub. Her emerald green cloak had to be pulled tight around her not only to keep her from shivering, but also to hide her face. If anyone recognized her, or the people she was to meet, the truth would out and she'd be locked up in Azkaban. A shudder consumed her petite body momentarily before she opened the door and stepped inside.

'Oh,' her heart sank in to her stomach, 'I'm sure it's Terry...'

It was a dreadful mistake coming to meet with them. If she wasn't terrified by what they'd do to her family, Shannon would have nothing to do with any of them. She never should have dealt with that miscreant Vladimir Cross! The thought of these dark witches and wizards taking advantage of her burned her up and there was still quite a bit of defiance left in her hazel eyes, but she minded her p's and q's for the sake of her loved ones.

The pub was mostly empty at the moment, something she liked very much, and she decided to order a fire-whiskey. Years ago, Shannon Thornton never touched alcohol, but since her problems with Kronos and his ring of filthy cretins began to take over her life, she tried to drink fire-whiskey regularly in order to build up her courage just to get a word in. The only side effect it had on her was a few moments of brash words and a little too much courage at times, but so far Kronos and his "lackeys" (as  the witch referred to them so affectionately) had been forgiving of her sharp tongue. After all, it was in her nature and although they didn't appreciate her rebelliousness, she had a hunch that some of them enjoyed playing the game of "break the spirit".

Her order of fire-whiskey came up which Shannon took a large swig of, coughed harshly, and continued drinking it like it was a soda pop. The Hog's Head was where they had their usual meetings and upon this mental note, the middle-aged witch removed the hood of her cloak to let her black ringlets fall around her shoulders. Her dress, as always, had enough flare to attract the most resistant of eyes and combined with her youthful atmosphere and sweet smile (despite the rings under her eyes from her recent insomnia or the worry lines appearing on her face), she was all in all a pleasant sight to behold for such a dingy scene. All she had to do now was drink her fire-whiskey and wait to see who would arrive to threaten her this time. Hiccup!

Outfit

The Hogshead was not a place that Lothario frequented. His life revolved around London, Paris, and various spots in Italy. Hogsmeade was, in comparison such a bore. Still, some places were better for meetings of a more nefarious nature, and this was one of those places. He was not so well known in this area, and counted on that when he met with anyone in this place. Lothario knew it was important to keep a low profile.

Which was why he had often questions his involvement with this situation involving the Thornton woman. She worked for the ministry, a ministry which had no inkling that he was doing anything the least bit illegal. He was a philantrhopist by most standards, and was associated with art and music. It was the perfect cover. Lothario loved the safety it provided him. Someone who did so many good things for the wizarding world couldn't be too bad, and the fact he did not discriminate based on blood (at least in public) helped. Everyone knew that the worst criminals were purists.

Entering the pub, he looked around, wondering who else- other than the woman- had been summoned to the meeting. He'd receieved an owl as well, and off he had gone. He paused at the bar to order himself a drink before settling in near Thornton. He nodded his head cordially, not speaking until his drink was served and he was able to take a sip.

"Good evening," he greed quietly. Lothario had noticed the woman's hiccup, and wondered how long she had been drinking. He did find it very attractive when women drank too much. It had been a problem he encountered often in society. It seemed rich, pureblooded women had high tendencies to be a lush. "Would you like another drink?" Even if this woman was one that was under his thumb, so to speak, at his disposal really due to his contacts in the criminal underworld, there was no reason to be rude. She was still a lady.

The wintry sky was not the dark void Kronos liked to see.  It was white and reddish, even though the night had fallen.  And it was snowing.  A horrible, sleetish type of snow.  So it was with a deep grimace that he hobbled against his cane through the streets of Hogsmeade, his left leg almost buckling under every step.  He was glad for his sealskin coat with the baby seal lapels that kept him so warm and dry, and the weather-proofing charms that kept his wardrobe and complexion fresh.  Still, there was reason to gripe.  Kronos did not like this horrid Scottish weather. 

"I should've slaughtered that mangy, rotten Boreas when I had the chance," he told Terry, his face contorting into a sour shape.  He hoped his clever reference to the god of Winter from his very capable body guard's own home turf would not be missed. 

The door of the Hog's Head swung open for him, and he stepped in, coming to a stop after only a few steps.  His heavily brooding eyes assessed the situation, quickly zeroing in on Lothario and Thornton, then locking on every other face and hooded figure in the establishment in fast succession.  The fingers of his right hand flickered against the handle of his wand.  His lips thinned.

"I'll take a Scotch on the rocks," he said, his voice low and even.  "Make sure they give us a clean glass."  Then, straightening himself up so as to appear tall and regal, he slowly made his way over to their table.  He made no sign of acknowledgement toward his company as he eased himself into a chair.  He simply let go of his cane once he was seated.  It stayed upright without any supports.  But his other hand held fast to his wand, resting casually in his lap. 

For Malvivicus, it was not a matter of politeness or graces; as far as he was concerned, his company would all be acknowledged once their party was again complete and all ears and tongues were ready to please him.  He passed the spare minute by rubbing the face of his pocket watch with his titian handkerchief, the features of his face heavy and deep-set.

Winter in Scotland might not fall under the realm of the Greek north wind, but the allusion didn't pass Tiresias by.  He raised an eyebrow at his employer as he kept pace easily beside him despite the cold, his senses alert for anything out of the ordinary that might pose a threat.

"You might want to talk to Odysseus about that one," he replied, reaching pass Kronos to open the door.  "I don't think dealing with the Anemoi went well for him in the end."

The inside of the tavern, though not bright, stood in contrast with the winter's night outside.  Warm where the icy evening was cold, dark and grungy where the sleet-turned-snow fell undisturbed on the frozen ground, entering the Hogshead was like stepping through a mirror darkly. 

Most of the scattered crowd inside was dressed to fit in either environment, dark cloaks providing protection against the weather and the perfect camouflage for the tavern's dim interior.  Shannon Thornton, though, stuck out like a green thumb, her emerald cloak and her too-fancy dress clashing with the subdued appearance of those around her.  Terry smirked slightly as he let his eyes play over the other patrons, searching for any hint of motive or threat.

"Scotch on the rocks," he repeated, keeping the edge of humor out of his voice at the stipulation.  Getting a clean glass in the Hogshead was about as likely as Thornton quietly and smartly capitulating to whatever she was told to do.  Straight-faced, he gave the Old Man a nod and methodically picked his way to the bar to give specific, unforgettable instructions to tonight's tender.

All in all, Terry was in a much better mood by the time he made his way back to his employer's table, sparkling glass in hand.

"Wrong dinner engagement, Thornton," he commented, giving the woman's dress a bland look as he set the scotch in front of Kronos.  He kept his own drink in hand as he took the last seat.  "Unless you finally got bored of that husband of yours and thought you'd see whom you could take home from here."

The door had opened more than she cared to keep count by the time one of her "employers" stepped in. She didn't pay the man much attention until he spoke to her. Her lack of immediate focus wasn't from a cold shoulder or Shannon being rude; her body was having a slightly difficult time adjusting to the fire-whiskey she had been trying to chug down while she waited.

"Good evening. Would you like another drink?"

Lothario was the most civil, two-faced wizard she had ever come across. There was another hiccup that escaped the woman, who looked somewhat surprised that she was getting tipsy, before she thumped her palm to her chest to knock it out and greeted him with a smile equal to a person who had a low tolerance to the person they were speaking to. She didn't entirely dislike Lothario d'Aubigne personally, but his decision to keep her in debt with the notorious Kronos Mavivicus and his circle of black-hearted miscreants instead of helping her did indeed put a damper on their relationship. Her opinion of him lowered every time they attended these little get-togethers.

"Good evening, Mr. d'Aubigne. Why, yes, I think I'll take you up on that offer tonight. Is the market treating you well?"

Honestly, Shannon didn't give a Knut if the man was murdered in his own home. It was just as everyone she was meeting pretended: chit-chat was the mask whereas loathing and enslavement were the true face. Business was business; there was no need for them to get personal.

The Hog's Head went rather silent when the door opened. Shannon needn't look up from her mug of fire-whiskey, which was being refilled by the bar tender, to know full well who had just entered the place. Wizards who knew better than to act suspiciously in front of Kronos Mavivicus went back to conversation rather swiftly. The witch swirled around the drink in her mug thoughtfully while her limping superior struggled to her table which had been carefully chosen to make him walk as far as possible through the bar veiled by the reasoning that it was the table in the darkest corner and furthest away from sensitive ears. And where Kronos went, she judged by the scurrying feet nearby, was his ever-faithful dog, Terry.

When Kronos sat down, he didn't say a word. He was very hard to read which was what probably added to his "charm": silence could mean he was in a bad mood, he was expecting her to bark at his order, or it could even mean that he was trying to keep up his intimidating reputation while, deep down, he was humming a tune from the play "Annie". She rather admired the silence despite her now constant hiccuping and would wait to roll over or play dead with her delightful commentary before they all settled down to business. It was too bad Terry had to ruin her chances of getting into Kronos's good graces this evening.

"Wrong dinner engagement, Thornton, unless you finally got bored of that husband of yours and thought you'd see whom you could take home from here."

Those hazel eyes of hers shot up from the mug to give the man a glare worth five knives in the most painful spots of the human anatomy. How anxiously she awaited the day when she could shove her wand in Terry's face and he wouldn't be able to lift a finger against her. If only that day would come.

"If I wasn't a lady, Terry, you could be right."

Until that day, however, she would have to pray that Kronos didn't become too impatient with her. Impulse drove the woman when she was wooed by the liquor and tonight, the witch didn't feel like resisting its persuasive argument. She took a mighty chug of her fire-whiskey, allowed her venom to settle upon Terry, and smiled as politely as possible.

"On the other hand, if I were to ever be bored with my husband--an impossible feat no matter the case, you must understand that I would choose a hippogriff's rear over the sight of you. After all, sheep always need a shepherd and you, Terry, are nothing more than Mary's Little Lamb. Women aim for power, not left-overs."

If only her remarks didn't, on occasion, make her situation worse. Then again, this night had already been expected to be one of those really horrible nights where she couldn't get away with anything or convince any party present to cut her a break, Shannon decided "What the hell?" and throw the whole thing over-board. Kronos's patience was worn thin already and she would push the issue until, at last, he could tolerate no more.

"Now, what's this about? I was sure we weren't schedule for another family reunion for another month now. Is anything wrong or is your pet wanting to get into the garbage again?"

There was plenty of malice where that tone came from and it wasn't directed at her superior nor at the "gentleman" Lothario. Her harsh tongue was aimed straight for Terry who, just as much as he liked to rile her up, she enjoyed the pleasure of getting in her own remarks--at least, as much as she could get away with. He wasn't so pleasant while they were in private, but she was also a lot less smart in front of him. Perhaps it was her way of showing off for Kronos. Quickly, just to make sure her courage didn't waste away, Shannon took another drink of her fire-whiskey and hiccuped.

He ordered a drink for the woman when she agreed, nodding at her question. "Yes, it treats me very well. There is never a shortage of witches or wizards willing to overpay for a piece of art. And there are always artists ready to perform. My gallery has become quite the commodity." Not to mention the lucrative extracurriculars he participated in. That was where most of the funding came from.

Lothario looked up as Kronos joined them, easing himself into the chair. The old man did not look very intimidating with his cane, but Lothario knew otherwise. He had learned, a very long time ago, not to judge anyone by their looks. Some of the most powerful witches and wizards he met had been the sort that could barely live anymore. And Lothario had met no shortage of dark witches and wizards. He nodded in greeting to him, and to his right hand man when he returned with drinks.

He had to fight to keep a straight face when Terry outwardly insulted the woman. Regardless of the situation, and the fact she was so far beneath them, he did not find it appropriate. Being on the fringes of crime, with his fingers in so many little pies, Lothario had to learn that many wizards did not agree. Women were inferior, there was no question about that. They belonged beneath a man, and if she were a wife, she got to deal with whatever he threw her way- but unmarried, things didn't work that way. It wasn't polite. Not that it mattered, it seemed Thornton could take care of herself as she fired right back. It wasn't wise, though. You didn't talk back to the people who had you under their thumb, especially when they seemed fully capable of keeping her there for quite some time. Lothario did not comment, though. He was not there to do the talkin, but the listening, and he knew that.

Just like Thornton, he was wondering why they were all gathered. He took orders from Kronos, whenever he decided to give them to him. It generally benefited him, so he didn't mind. He was good at being a minion. Ring leader was not the role that suited him, and ever since his mishap in Italy, he had decided to just remain the middle man.

With a last steady, circular sweep, Kronos finished polishing his charmed pocket watch.  Multiple hands ticked and tocked, displaying everything from the time till he could climb into his hot bath to his wavering patience.  He dropped it into his breast pocket after a quick once over and held his stoney eyes on Thornton as he folded his handkerchief and tucked it away.  Under every hiccup and harsh word squirmed an indebted and helpless girl, every moment sinking deeper into the darkness of despair as she became less and less a Ministry do-gooder and more and more a pon of his. 

Kronos, with heavy brows but blank face, turned his attention to the glass of scotch, which clinked as he slowly turned it on the table top for inspection.  It was impeccable.  Brilliantly clean.  His honey-brown eyes moved interestedly over Terry Katsaros, a bit of a malformed smirk creeping into place before quickly fading out in favor of a mostly unpleasant countenance.  Next he settled his gaze on D'Aubigne.  Eyes scrutinizing, lips ever so slightly pursed, he gave his head a little cock to the side.  The time had come when everything was again aright.  Except... the woman's voice, grating on his settling nerves.

"Children, children," he said, eyes still on the handsome and always pleasing Lothario.  "Not at the dinner table, please."  He gave a brief, open-mouthed cough and watered his tongue with a bit of the scotch.

"You know, miss Thornton, that our meetings are of necessity flexible."  Of course, by this he meant flexible to his whim, not theirs.  His beady little eyes slid slowly over to her again.  "I was not so happy with our latest sale item.  I want you to tell me exactly what leads your office has -- all of them.  We would require that you give to us a darker item; no more holding back now!  As much as I know you aim to please, miss Thornton, I cannot help but fear that you are at present a little too relaxed.  We care about you, miss Thornton.  We are concerned over your --" he hesitated, lip more than threatening to curl as he looked upon his hiccuping Ministry errand girl, looking for the word.  "Unflattering habits."  He waved his hand.

"Lothario will be kind enough to gauge the market values of your leads for us.  So do be specific."  Another draw from his scotch, clinking, his eyes flickering over stone-cold thoughts.  "You could learn a thing or two from him, my girl.  Manners.  Where are your manners?  My dear, dear Tiresias -- must we remind miss Thornton of a few little minor details as regards her foul, regrettable manners?"  With this closing statement, his voice grew pained and lamenting.  He leaned forward onto the table to rub his temples as though nursing a headache.  It was his way of pleading for an intervention, while appearing to lament the necessity of threats and use of force.

When in reality, he really was inwardly singing a show tune.   

When you fall on your head, do you land on your feet?
Are you tense when you sense there's a storm in the air?
Can you find your way blind when you're lost in the street?
Do you know how to go to the Heaviside Layer?

Because Jellicles can and Jellicles do
Jellicles do and Jellicles can
Jellicles can and Jellicles do
Jellicles do and Jellicles can
Jellicles can and Jellicles do

Can you ride on a broomstick to places far distant?
Familiar with candle, with book and with bell?
Were you Whittington's friend? The Pied Piper's assistant?
Have you been an alumnus of heaven or hell?

The woman's response was clearly what he had been looking for.  A slight smirk crossed his face as Tiresias eased back into the chair, drink in hand, letting his gaze shift from the woman to the other patrons scattered through the tavern.  As entertaining as it was to bait Thornton, she clearly posed no threat to his employer.  The artifact dealer, similarly, would not dare to touch the Old Man, even if he were capable of doing him harm.  If there were danger here, it would come from a hidden corner.

Terry listened with half an ear as their mutual employer ended the woman's tirade with a scolding and then introduced the purpose of the meeting.  Thornton had clearly already had her fill - a mistake.  Matching wits with Kronos Malvivicus' machinations foiled most wizards in the best of times, and the woman was far from at her best.  Terry considered putting a comment in to try and goad her again when the talk turned to that of manners and he was provided with an opportunity.

There were few things that Tiresias would admit to truly enjoying, but his present line of work was one of them.  That was something that the Old Man understood well.  He provided Terry with his openings, and in return, Terry did his job well.  It was just a pity that he likely wouldn't get to do more with Thornton.  The woman's connections were too valuable to lose just yet.

Dark eyes shifted over to the woman, and Terry gave her a slight, uninterested smile.

"I don't know, boss," he replied, his tone flat and unexpressive.  "I think it might be a lost cause."  His smile sharpened as he met and held the woman's gaze.  "I hear they do a better job of teaching manners at Hogwarts these days, though.  I could always find someone there to play the example."

Working under pressure was difficult for the free-spirited woman and being summoned like some puppy dog on a leash made her rebellious side try to lash out at her "owners". The fire-whiskey comforted her and gave her a legitimate excuse to be an absolute nuisance to the group. Or at least, she really wanted to be.

"Children, children, not at the dinner table, please."

In order to keep herself from further chewing on Katsaros' back, Shannon picked up her second mug and started drinking again. The creepy old fart went on to explaining their business here, but she didn't stop chugging. It was one of her many efforts to block out the world around her--or more specifically, Kronos's displeased tone and the trouble she would have of trying to figure out how to keep him off her back. The comment of Terry Katsaros was deafened by her drinking in her own mind, but her hazel eyes caught the way he looked at her and it was enough. At the end of the briefing continued by Kronos, the woman slammed the bottom of her mug fiercely on to the table with a fatal glare at Terry. She wasn't entirely certain whether or not her insult came out of her mouth, but her eyes moved to the man she was ultimately indebted to.

"My dearest Kronos," she said with a little more sarcasm and force than she meant to, "I work in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department, not the Louvre! I have to spend weeks upon weeks of tracking down worthless pieces of crap muggles happen to come by that are jinxed, hexed, whathaveyou and do you honestly think that the wizarding world is going to pay high dollars for a hexed tea-set? Hmmm? No, they won't! Do you know why? It's a tea set! We're in Britain, sir! Everyone, including wizards, own a tea set! The fact that it's jinxed actually makes it less valuable on the black market. I checked."

The woman nodded matter-of-factly. This was unusual for her and from the look on his face, he didn't like her standing up to him. Well, that was all right with her because she didn't like being insulted by a man who limped around with a cane! A man twice her age and uglier than a Grindylow! She opened her mouth to continue, quickly glanced down at her empty mug with a disapproving frown, and returned to her own side of the story with a swift hiccup. The problem of her drunken state was beginning to increase into a severe issue for her conversational skills.

"You might be pleased--or rather, it's you, so you probably won't be--but anyway, you'll be interested in knowing that I have in fact tracked down a very parti--parclit--spefific muggle thing that once belonged to...what was his name? Uric the Oddball! I remember that name because he's odd. He happened to have an obsession over proving weird theories--not that you would know, Terry, since you probably fell asleep in History of Magic class--and to prove that muggles could in fact fly without broomsticks, he met a muggle named Leonardo DaVinci. DaVinci designed a flying machine on parchment, but he never actually created it. The airplane, if you know what that is, was based on the same prin-prinpal--principle?--thing. Uric the Oddball made a model of the machine so that it could actually fly, but his cousin Elron got his hands on it and hexed it."

She reached into the bosom of her dress and pulled out a few napkins with rough sketches in ink on them and pushed the napkins curtly over to Kronos. They were designs, one napkin being the object she was blabbing about.

"The model somehow ended up in the hands of a little muggle boy who thought it was a toy plane. I conficasted it, naturally, and it's currently on my desk trying to fly. I have it pinned down with Spell-O-Tape. I got something else, too. You might like it. It's a cane that trasforns into a sword when someone says the word 'power'. I'm not sure how much you can get for it."

The second napkin showed the cane with the head of a cobra. The third and fourth napkins were scribbled on in the forms of what could have been a hairbrush and a bicycle, but the images were a little difficult to make out. Shannon had to confirm that the objects were indeed a hairbrush and bicycle.

"The hairbrush was charmed by a vain pureblood who insisted on brushing her hair at least 200 strokes in the morning, so the brush chased the old muggle woman around trying to beat her because she refused to let it go 200 times. The bicycle--are you ignorant of that as well, Katsaros?--is intended to race horses thanks to some ruddy Scandinavian idiot-warlock who thought bicycles had horse power. Imagine the surprise that muggle got when he got on it to ride through London!"

She raised her eyebrows, apparently impressed by the image she got of the muggle racing cars around Big Ben. The woman spaced out for quite some time before finally shaking her head and coming back to the situation at hand. Her now glossy eyes shifted over every one of them.

"Is that all? Can I go home now or is someone going to buy me another drink?"

"When I was a boy, there was a woman in my village who taught manners to the unruly children who lived on the fringes of high society. Perhaps we should find someone like her to teach the manners to Miss Thornton?" It was, actually, a genuine suggestion. Lothario also found her manners to be lacking, but was not very offended. A part of him seemed to understand that being forced into situations like these could make a person lose their ability to think clearly and react with the level of propriety. Still, it was important to learn to behave and cope under pressure.

"A written description, drawings at the very least if there is no way to get photographs would be best. Sometimes it is important to be able to see an item to determine the level of value. Without the fine tuned appraising eye that I have worked hard to improve over the years, some of the most seemingly miniscule details could be missed which would make all the difference as far as monetary value is concerned." Lothario would have given further explanation, an example perhaps, but he knew that the details were not of any concern to anyone at the table except for himself.

He glanced at Terry when he spoke, not responding to the man. He just... did not like him. It was as simple as that. But Lothario had learned over time that there were certain things that were not done in this line of business, and making enemies for no reason was one of those things. Especially if the enemy could prevent your own pockets from being lined with copious amounts of money.

He turned to Thornton as she began to babble about teasets. "Actually, it depends on the type of tea set. There are some, depending on when they were made and who by, that are work thousands of galleons. Originals from certain eras, or the specific type of hex and the way that the hex works could make it worth more as well. It also depends on where, when, and to whom you are selling it to. Do I need to point out, Miss Thornton, that the pricing of artifacts is my area of expertise, and not yours?" Lothario figured that him pointing it out was likely much less offensive than Kronos or Terry doing it for him.

The description of the brush made Lothario smile to himself. It reminded him of his cousin. She was very particular about her hair, or so he had heard from a mutual relative. "The flying machine sounds promising... Hairbrush, cane, and bicycle not as interesting. It is not uncommon for canes to transform into other objects, nor for beautification objects to be enchanted a certain way. If the bicycle had the right buyer, it could bring in a decent amount of money. Although, it depends on the buyer. It is more the sort of item a crazy old man would buy."

Kronos laughed.  He may have been a crazy old man, but he was not the kind to buy a bicycle that would send him swirling through crowds of muggles, cackling wildly over his new joy ride.  Quick transportation?  That was what apparition and port keys were for.  And everyone knew he got his jollies through murder, torture, and belittling.  But Lothario was pleasing enough to the eyes and ears that Kronos allowed himself a companionable laugh.  So long as Lothario did his job and covered his tracks, as professional and well-dressed as he'd been, he would continue seeing the galleons roll in, whether or not they had Thornton bringing in the trinkets. 

"We can add the cane to my personal collection," he said.  "Arrange to have the bicycle and the aeroplane deposited in Mr. D'Aubigne's care for appraisal.  If they don't sell, Terry, you have my complete confidence -- I'm sure that a little visit to the castle to bait out the kiddies will teach Mrs. Thornton to hunt down some really nasty artifacts that will . . . do better for our pockets and her debts.  And for the sake of your brats, Thornton, do bring photographs the next time.  I hate to make Mr. D'Aubigne's pretty eyes squint at your drunken scrawlings."

Kronos took a well-calculated sip of his scotch, and his visage suddenly brightened.  "What exactly did you have in mind for the little ones, Terry?  Do be specific.  Daddy hates it when his children misbehave."  His eyes settled on Shannon, and a smirk formed dangerously upon his thin lips.  She would learn to play along.  Eventually.  It would be an absolute shame if they had to martyr her little bit along the way; only, wait -- no -- it really wouldn't be.  Kronos liked to spoil Katsaros, see, for a job well done by throwing him a bone to play with.  In the end, it was all the better for him, with one 'Kroney' satisfied and the other scared into submission.  Whatever got the job done.  Whatever kept his favorites happy.

Her entire rant, as it was, had been met with vacant eyes and a cold stare on Kronos's part.  Unfortunately she seemed so far gone as to be completely incapable of stopping her own downward spiral.  Completely non-submissive to his pointed glare, sarcasm dripping from her voice as she spoke his sacred name.  Bad lackey!, he thought.  Bad, bad, bad....  And how she butchered the English language in her state!  It was almost humorous.  Almost.

"You see, as much fun as it is having you running our errands, girl, the three of us big boys could always find some other toy soldier to play with," said Kronos carefully.  "If you are not of use to me, Shannon, we can find another way to settle your debt.  With, say, a blood-letting.  Or...."  He lifted his hand in a cheeky gesture, letting a little light laughter trickle off his scotch-laced tongue.