Thursday November 21, 2008


Note:  Most Thursdays, the Black Chimaera is closed to the public.  On this particular Thursday, The Black Chimaera has been opened up to all residents of Knockturn Alley.  The bar is open and completely self-service.  There've been no fliers - no written evidence of this get together.  Invites have spread through the Alley through word of mouth under the guise of a first meeting of the KABANA - the Knockturn Alley Business And Neighborhood Association. 

Care has been taken to not mention the Wizarding Blood Alliance while word has been spread however, this meeting will be an announcement of sorts of the WBA and it's goals.  There are folks keeping an eye out at the entrance for any uninvited guests - unless disguises are used, most likely aurors would be recognized.  Friends and acquaintances of Knockturn residents are welcome to come with the invitation of a resident.

Feel free to mingle, get a drink, enjoy the company of your fellow Knockturn residents.  Pretty soon, the organization and meeting will begin.  The skull and thorn banner is hanging above the bar. 

---

He'd be a fool if he wasn't nervous.  The last few years, the Wizarding Blood Alliance had enjoyed the comfort and security of relative anonymity.  New members were usually recruited carefully and slowly - with safety of the group being the first priority.  The group had grown, but slowly.  They'd finally reached a strength in numbers and strategy to allow for them to come into their own.  They weren't ready to announce themselves to the wizarding world in general but it was time to unify Knockturn. 

Mannie and two other wand-bearing members were lingering by the door.  Christian had supplied them with a list of active aurors complete with descriptions.  They were keeping an eye out for any infiltrators. 

Cinaed made his way through the growing crowd, several glasses of ale balanced skillfully between his hands.  He reached a table and slid the glasses out to whoever chose to take them.  "How's everyone doing this fine evening?"  He asked, obviously feeling quite chipper that evening. 

Liadán had tried to weasel Lothario into accompanying her to the meeting in Knockturn at Cin's little pub. Her cousin had refused, claiming he couldn't chance anyone seeing him with the wrong crowd and tainting his reputation. Damn her cousin and his cover as a philanthropist. How anyone could believe that a man with his last name and his heritage could seriously care about the general good of the people was beyond her. Lothario was, by all accounts, as slimy as theyc ame. There was nothing at all good about him.

Since he had refused, she had to go alone. After battling with Tawse for the last couple of weeks over Christian (brought on by her own foolishness of allowing her liquor to go to her head) she had somehow found herself roped into attending. Liadán knew what Tawse had going on, she wasn't a fool. Neither was he, apparently. He had played her like a fiddle, and Liadán hadn't realized that was his intention all along until after he was successful.

Damn him and his ability to manipulate everyone! She had taken up a seat at a table with a few strangers, the less rough looking of those gathered, her purse resting securely in her lap, one umbrella topped drink in hand, listening to conversation. Not talking, not adding any opinions, just listening. It was the best way to gauge the crowd and figure out exactly what was going on and how soon she would need to make an exit if things got out of hand. "Evening, Tawse," she greeted as he slid the beers across her table. She wanted to tell him that she would be better if she wasn't here, but she needed him. Liadán needed his information and his ties to others so that she could find out what she so desperately wanted to know.

James had heard that there was going to be an open bar at the Black Chimaera.  Though he was a little skeptical of it, since he did not see any fliers or any other parties announced, Cinaed did confirm the rumor.  He was debating to ask why he was not invited or not, but figured since Cinaed did not stop him from coming, that it must have been alright.  Not really knowing or caring what he was doing nor why Cinaed had opened up his place on a Thursday evening, he was going to take a seat by the bar when he saw Liadán.  Apparently there was an umbrella drink theme tonight, because Lidian had managed to snag some drink that required it.  James thought that if umbrellas were in the drinks, this Kabana party was probably a little more literal than James had guessed.  After getting a firewhiskey from the bar, he walked over to Liadán and sat down next to her.

“I haven’t seen you in almost a month, how have you been?” James asked her, genuinely interested.

James did see Cinaed, but did not hear his query.  Regardless, James was more interested in how Cinaed got Liadán to come to his bar.  James thought if Liadán would be drinking anywhere, it would be one of those fancy places where you had to pay for the water and the waiters had a broom shoved up their butt.  His opinion of Liadán went up a little.  While he doubted he would willingly go to any upper-crust parties with her, he could probably coax her out to go to Signature or some other place that did not have ludicrously expensive bottles of wine.  He did wonder why Liadán showed up alone though.  James doubted the aristocrat could handle this area of town by herself, forgetting that they had met in Knockturn before.   

Theodora Kingstreet squinted at the bearded mayhem called Cinaed Tawse, squinted out from under the shadow of her wide-brimmed hat.  The crown of the hat curled forward like a ram's horn.  She was dressed all in black robes, tall black boots.  Her arms were folded across her chest, her wand pointedly out.

She didn't trust anyone that Cinaed Tawse did, not as far as she could dismember them and send the pieces by first class global owl post.  He'd been in very hot water with her, whether he cared or not, since the explosion had caused Aurors to swarm Knockturn.  Luckily, the incident proved to be the work of someone far less important and Theodora had been able to divert attention from the Black Chimaera by causing a stink on Dazmond Wiedman's behalf about the mishandling of her husband's arrest.

But Cinaed and his shady, rowdy, bearded nature was a risk in her mind.  And so she'd decided to supervise him on her own.  All the better to protect her privacy.  The Ministry of Magic was so nosy, what with it's policy to arrest and incarcerate their most wanted fugitives.  It was crude and inhospitable!

"I presume you haven't even drawn up an agenda? What's this all about, Tawse? Oh good God!"

Seamus, Cinaed's massive mastif had just wandered out from the back. Theodora literally spent all her time on the second floor, or Apparating from the side ally, and hadn't seen the beast since the explosion. 

She stood up and held the hems of her robes off the floor revealing black-stocking legs. 

"Neglect your own grooming, but dispose of the beast if you can't care for it! It's falling apart!"

As Ari approached the Black Chimaera, he wondered if he was making a terrible mistake.  It was near seven in the evening-- if he was to make the checkpoint at eight, he would have to leave this "party" early.  He hadn't overcome the injunction against Apparition, yet, and the nearest Portkey to Bridge House was in Diagon Alley.  It might be overlooked, if he was a few minutes late for check-in, but if he missed bed check and lights out, they would tack on another six months.  His step-mother had worked very hard-- hired the very best lawyers-- to shorten his tenure at the halfway house, but even his family's influence couldn't spring him immediately.  The Ministry needed reassurance that he was reformed, before they would set him loose into society.  Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that, though his step-mother had appealed on his behalf, his father had written him off... again.

Whatever the case, Ari was still a resident of Bridge House rather than Knockturn Alley and spent his nights there.  If his informant had been mistaken, then he honestly didn't belong at this meeting.  He eyed the wizards at the door nervously and they eyed him back threateningly.  He hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands deeply into the pockets of his black robe-- the same robe he was given upon release from Azkaban as part of his parole (to look respectable while he supposedly looked for work).  Underneath, he wore the black, dragon-leather pants he'd worn the night he'd been arrested and a black, cotton tee-- artfully torn just above the heart.  He would have to find work, soon.  He'd only the clothes on his back to his name.  Which meant it was a very good thing that the bar was open.  He hated to think what would happen, if he discovered he was actually running a tab...

He slunk to the bar, feeling the eyes of the door-guards on him as he did and seized the first abandoned glass that came to hand.  It held something dark and thick.  As he knocked the drink back, his eyes fell on the skull-and-thorn banner above the bar which reassured him somewhat that he hadn't accidentally wandered in on a Concerned Citizens meeting.  He breathed a sigh of relief before realizing that his eyes were watering and the banner was blurring.  The sigh came out with a burn.  He wasn't used to drinking and obviously the jigger held more than simple butterbeer.  He swallowed convulsively and chose a mug, pouring a full head of something frothy from the keg topping the bar to accompany him to an empty chair.  Mead or beer, it would be better to keep a clear head, tonight.  The dark stuff had been worse than Firewhiskey.

He sat down, took a sip from his mug-- yes, beer, thank Merlin-- and ran a worried hand through his thick, dark mane.  For a moment, his face was fully visible as the motion of his hand drew his hair away and down his back where it paused for a moment as if considering a pony-tail.  Then he released it and the hair fell forward again over his shoulders.

He was here... he wasn't quite certain why he was here, except that he'd been searching for a place where he fit in only to be turned away time and again by "respectable" citizens.  He was an ex-Azzie and most people crossed the road to avoid him.  With a glance around the room, he decided that an hour wouldn't kill him-- unless the place was raided but he suspected that the wizards with wands at the door wouldn't let that happen.  He swiveled his shoulders to relax them and took another sip from his beer.

'How's everyone doing this fine evening?'  The voice was familiar.  Where had he heard it before?  He shrugged apathetically and took another sip from his beer.

A prunish woman with a pursed and puckered expression set up a commotion over a dog, interrupting their host.  Ari's hand went through his hair once more as his thoughts turned inward again.

If his informant was right, this meeting could well be a cusp for social reform.  Since it was held in Knockturn Alley, it was likely that those reforms might benefit poor souls like Ari.  He might as well be a soldier for revolution, rather than a broken and resentful phantom lurking on the edge of society.

Or maybe it was simply the open bar that drew him...

When  Cináed slid glasses of ale onto the table, Iza wrapped her dainty fingers around one, lifting it in toast, smiling happily and taking a small sip of appreciation even though she normally didn't drink.  The Chimaera's namesake drink had cured her of that.  But bilge water would taste of ambrosia to her, coming from  Cináed's hand.  She licked a bit of foam from her upper lip and sighed, glad to be back in the Black Chimaera during business hours.  She didn't answer immediately when he asked how everyone was doing: she assumed it was a rhetorical question, intended for the bar in general.

She wasn't entirely finished with her work in the Friday but Leda could wait one night.  Iza missed  Cináed, missed the company at the BC-- and there was no way she would let him down and miss this meeting.  To her, it was the crowning jewel of his glory.  He was taking the WBA out of the closet, so to speak, which was what she'd hoped for all along.

She glanced around the room.  One or two of her own Lib members were in attendance, though looking nervous.  She didn't mind "losing" them to the WBA-- after all, that was the point.  A "step-up" program to introduce them to the Cause gently.  If they'd already graduated to fully cognizant members, then they deserved to be part of the grander scheme of things.  She spared them another of her childish smiles-- guileless and happy-- but she had eyes only for  Cináed, tonight.  She was breathless with anticipation...

She fidgeted with a pink ribbon at the waist of her cotton dress.  She wasn't used to the change in weight there, yet.  In fact, her own wand was secreted in her skirts, wrapped and tied as she once had worn Nadine's.  It was lighter, thinner, more petite like herself-- small and innocently pretty but with a deadly sting.  She was happy to have it with her again, though she would be in serious trouble if she was found with it.  Her aunt had wanted it snapped, to hide her secret.  The Ministry would love to review it and the spells it had cast when she was a young woman.  Despite the risk, Iza was glad she'd made the choice to reclaim it.  Nadine's wand was useless, except for mild torture.  Sooner or later, Iza's life might depend on killing or being killed.  Her own wand would not balk at that moment.

Her table mate did answer, wryly.  'Evening Tawse.'  Iza spared her a glance and whatever she saw made her smile again.  She inched her chair over minutely closer to the woman.  She looked like a respectable business woman and not a potential revolutionary... Iza wondered how she'd missed her, while recruiting for Lib, but at the same rate obviously somebody found her and she was already one of them if she was attending this meeting.

"My, my," she murmured for  Cináed's ears though the woman next to her could surely hear.  She cast a dramatic glance around the bar as it filled.  "We have been busy bees, haven't we?"  It did her heart proud, to see all of  Cináed's hard work coming to fruition this evening...

She glanced sharply at James when he spoke but realized his comment was for the other woman and promptly dismissed any need to respond to his query, though she smiled at him-- somewhat less sunnily than she'd smiled at  Cináed but nevertheless warmly.

"Evening to you, Liadan."  Cinaed offered with a wink before scanning the quickly filling room. 

The pub was filling up nicely.  This pleased Cinaed to no end and, though he'd never admit it, it also surprised him.  What had once been a bitter, backroom social club for frustrated ex-Azzies had grown to a remarkable collection of the wizarding world's citizens.  It was that, perhaps, that really surprised him the most.  The room was filled with more than just wandless ex-Azzies.  Liadan, a respectable business woman.  James, a famous and highly respected quidditch player.  There were still plenty of ex-Azzies amongst the crowd - which was important.  They were the ones who had already skirted the law; they were the ones who could be counted on to engage in ... those activities a quidditch star would be less inclined to agree to. 

But, then, there was plenty a famous quidditch star could do that an ex-Azzie never could.  The diversity of attendants was fantastic.  Cinaed had only invited Knockturn because he'd assumed that was who would attend but the room was filled with more than Knockturn residents. 

Of course, this whole thing was also somewhat unnerving.  Cinaed had never figured himself for a public orator - he had always despised doing things in front of his classmates during his Hogwarts days.  But, if the WBA were to grow - if it were to become the revolutionary force it was meant to be - someone had to rev it up and set it loose.  So far, no one else had.  Iza, James, even Persephone had been amongst the ranks that had convinced Cinaed he might as well do so. 

James - who had always had a certain affinity for the finer visitors of the Black Chimaera had already sidled up to Liadan.  Poor bloke - if only he knew.  Shaking his head, grinning, he leaned towards James and offered consolingly, "good luck with that one, mate.  She was taken years before she knew she was taken."  Of course, he wouldn't discourage the man from trying.  A one-night romp or two would probably do Liadan some good.

Wondering who'd let a cat in heat in the pub, Cinaed tipped his head back and peered across the room to find Kingstreet standing, her skirt in hand, by the doors leading to the inn rooms.  "Drinks are free, help yourself to one," was all Cinaed offered the woman in response.  Turning back to the crew at his table, he muttered, "or three or four for all of our sakes."  He offered Izadora a wink this time before pushing himself to his feet and crossing the room to Kingstreet who still stood like a housewife forging a stream of rats.  The woman was a good source of income; there was no doubt.  In the months previous, Cinaed had been careful to avoid pushing any buttons for that exact reason.  He'd grown to accept her less-than-pleasant demeanor, figuring it was part of the cost of doing business with her.

But, things were changing.  Since the explosion that had rocked the Chimaera's back alley, Cinaed's priorities had quickly started to change.  Support had come out of the woodworks for the Black Chimaera in those weeks after the explosion and he'd come to realize while her money was good, he no longer needed it in the way he once did.  Without hesitation or pause, he leaned in to plant a scraggly, bearded kiss on one of those all too clean cheeks, fully prepared to retreat quickly if any surprise on the woman's part faded faster than expected.  "Take a load off, Kingstreet, and relax for once.  It's a party." 

---

(I figured I'd give everyone another round to socialize and let any stragglers into the pub/thread before the meeting starts in earnest)

When Cinaed spoke to her directly, Theodora's demeaner only worsened.  The young criminal was mangey and insolent.  She looked down on him perhaps more than he realized.  He was a violent, slipshod fool.  A murder in cold blood and youthful passion and misplaced loyalty? A shameful thing to be imprisoned for.  And his slovenly situation now was pathetic.  Wandless.  At the beck and call of Aurors, even one so respectable as Tamis Raynor. Skulking about serving drinks like some servant.  Business owner or not, there was nothing respectable or vital or honorable about owning a filthy wood-panelled speakeasy. 

So when he spoke to her so casually, suggesting an alcoholic beverage, her glare dripped with hate.  Thoughts crossed her mind that he might find it easy to keep clean-shaven if she removed his head from his neck so he could rest it in his lap or on a table.  Perhaps then he'd take razor to jaw.  But she got what was coming to her when he bent down and assaulted her cheek with his bristly mange.

She flinched away with her whole body, but it was too late.  "You insolent bastard!" she hissed.  She flicked her wand out immediately, not to cast retribution on him, but to conjure a wet nap.  She scrubbed her face and surpressed a revolted gag reflext. 

She squinted at him with hate. Now was not the time.  She knew she could ruin him easily.  If he thought it was difficult to avoid the heat from that little accident in the allyway, his head would swim with the trouble she could rain down upon him.  She could have the Chimaera demolished.  Closed. Reposessed.  She could frame him for a thousand and one things.  She could create a marriage certificate, a wife and then divorce him and take seventy-five percent of his assets.  She could have any number of people killed and lay out the blame on his doorstep.

She stalked past him without another word,  her scowl having turned up its corners into a shark-eyed grin.  Her private joy in contemplating just retribution.

He was reckless. Impulsive.  Angry.  Vengeful.  And that was why she was keeping an eye on this little meeting of his.

Despite the fact that she was wearing obnoxiously colorful clothes to flaunt her Knockturn pride, Dazmond was distinctly with the air of a disconcerted anti-citizen.  Tall-backed and on alert, Daz sat with Nathan not far from all the action.  They had been talking amongst themselves over beers and peanuts when Cinaed approached the table next to theirs.  If possible, Dazmond's posture grew ever more erect as she saw Theodora Kingstreet nipping at the giant's heels.  She gave a sorry glance at the dog and a "He got a face full" in explanation to the regal Queen who'd quite recently come to her rescue. 

Despite the oddness of such a gesture, Dazmond smiled and wiggled a little in joy inside her dark coat.  Just look at them all!  She'd rescued Tawse's dog, Kingstreet had rescued her pretty pet, Tawse hadn't lynched anybody, and they were off to a right good start!  If they could keep the Aurors off their backs by working in tandem, this alley was about to get a whole lot homier.  Read: Ripe with illegal activity.  It was enough to give this little entrepreneur a jolt of the jollies. 

She pressed her lips together, however, to avoid inappropriate behavior as the scraggly Tawse leaned in for a kiss from the monarchical Theodora.  To further cushion her fall and avoid any sort of complicity, she turned her head away toward Nate with wild, laughing eyes.  She took refuge in a deep sip from her ale to purposely 'miss' the end reaction, which might have succeeded in putting her on Kingstreet's watchlist as well.  Somewhere she really had no interest in being.  As the Witch's dance turned from chaotic to maniacal and she swept past, Daz looked up and cast a few glances across the room.   

It was quite the turn-out.  Some of the people she hadn't even seen before, a handful of which were eyed with a healthy dose of suspicion.  If they were unkempt and not ordinary, like the Wizard with the hair to match her own, they were taken by Dazmond to be in the right place, no doubt -- but there were a few who looked just a little too normal for her tastes.  She briefly wondered if people who weren't associated with the alley or with the Wizarding underbelly in general would show their faces at a 'Knockturn Alley Business and Neighborhood Association' in hope for reform -- she could at least be rest assured that nothing as silly as that would be the aim with Tawse leading the show.  She assumed it would be anti-Ministry, that they'd be trying to seal off their alley from outside intrusions, and that was why she'd come.  If Daz was going to be keeping a single address from now on, she'd have to make sure red-robes weren't going to be breaking down their red door again.

Noticing the polite smile Iza gave him, James responded to her.

“Iza – how have you been?  I come here often enough but unless I get into some kind of altercation- I never see you,” James commented remembering the times he first time he tried (and failed) to take her back to his place.  And the time that Dilly tried (and failed) to take his food.  Idly, James wondered if he would be dragged into a brawl this time.

After hearing Cinaed greet Liadán and give him some advice, he had to think about that for a second.  Funnily enough, he and Liadán had discussed her marriage prospects.  Recalling that conversation, James remembered that the antique store was not that far down the way.  James wondered if he would again hear the complaints about the lack of men at overtly ostentatious parties.    James knew he was not included in them, and he had no inclination to change that. 

Clearing his head of the thought, James then glanced at the blond girl sitting beside him.  James never knew how attractive Liadán was until she decided to wear something revealing on Halloween.  Since then, he promised himself he would at least try to get into her panties without consequences.  James knew he had to be careful because she was too well connected politically and financially.  Still, James would give it the old Durmstrang try. 

“Thanks – I shall keep that in mind,” James replied to the bartender, hoping it was neutral enough incase Liadán had heard Cinaed’s comment.

James noticed a couple of more people walk into the bar, but paid them no mind.    He saw Cinaed greet another female who was well below the usual quality found at Cinaed's bar.  He was extremely surprised by the vehemence of her reaction.  James could understand being upset by a kiss.  What James could not understand was summoning a wet napkin after a member of the opposite sex kissed you.    James had never done that before in his life.  Granted, he had never been kissed by Cinaed – but something told James he did not have to worry about that occurring.  Even when some ugly and drunk witch kissed James at a bar after a match, James never reacted that badly.  ‘Most people in Knockturn are politer than that’ James silently thought to himself. 
 
“I guess she has never been to France,” James declared, sarcasm evident in his voice.  Remembering whom he was sitting next to (and that she had relatives in France) “Say – do your relatives on the continent greet each other like that – or is it just the foreign ladies who greet me that way?” James reverted to a more normal tone, trying to keep Liadán engaged in the conversation.  Though a little bit of smugness did creep into his voice towards the end of his statement.  James did enjoy that aspect of road games, if nothing else.

Smiling, he summoned a glass of firewhiskey to himself and took a sip.  It appeared to be a nice party, though James had no idea what possessed Cinaed to have an umbrella themed party with a skull banner.  Then again, James was drinking for free so he guessed he should not complain about the decorations.

Liadán had indeed not seen James Forrester since Halloween, and that evening had truly been anything but pleasant. The answer to his question- how she had been- was not something she found entirely appropriate to be discussed in its full honesty given the surroundings and the circumstances at hand. "I've been well. Very busy. With the holidays coming up, I've been doing more business than usual."

Her attention was diverted as a woman sat down next to her, someone she did not quite recognize. In fact, she did not recognize most that were slowly filtering into the pub for this meeting that Tawse had arranged. Busy bee? That was one way to put it, Liadán thought, but made no comment, and instead decided to daintily sip her drink. It was one thing to be civil to those who she knew were worth her time, and to play Tawse's game for her own gain- it did not mean she had to go poking her nose into other's business or be nice to complete strangers. (At least not yet.)

And the way he winked at her made her want to cringe. He was definitely enjoying that little game way too much. Which was made even more apparent given the comment he made to james about her being taken. Regardless of the level of truth behind it (the taken part, she was smitten, but it hadn't been for years as far as she knew) it was agitating that he would say such a thing publicly. People did not need to know her business.

"It depends," she answered honestly. "On the person, and how they were raised and their level of class. It isn't always those who are foreign. I have quite a few female friends who greet one another that way who aren't foreign..." She grinned at him then, a rare sort of smile. If Tawse wanted to play games with her, she would prove him wrong. "Why do you ask, Mr. Forrester? Disappointed I haven't taken to greeting you in such a way?" She really had no genuine interest in flirting with James, but she didn't want Cin to think that he had her under this thumb. Because he didn't. (Did he?)

"I must admit I'm surprised to see you. I wasn't aware that you made it a habit of hanging about Knockturn or with its less than desirable inhabitants," she added, motioning toward Tawse. "Perhaps I underestimated you, Mr. Forrester?"

Trouble was to be expected.  His face wasn't exactly the most popular around Knockturn Alley these days.  Probably had something to do with his little row with Cinaed a few months back and his subsequent acquisition of employment in the Ministry of Magic.  Now, that he was officially amongst the ranks of the Aurors (even if just as a trainee), few were pleased to see him off on Diagon Alley. 

Chris was counting on Cinaed giving him a hand, for old time's sake, if things really turned for the worst.  The man would probably not be gentle about it but, if nothing else, a dead Auror (even a trainee) in the Black Chimaera wouldn't look good on his record.  He knew that, Cinaed knew that.  Even if the others in the pub managed to forget it. 

Of course, he wasn't going to tempt Merlin's hand.  He wore his trusty old black robes - the ones he wore back in his usual Knockturn days.  It was quite successful at covering him from head to foot and it was cut in a style that was more prevalent than not down Knockturn.  The hood was pulled over his head and he weaved his way down the alley with the head-bowed purposefulness that seemed to attract the least attention in the Alley.  He slipped past the two sour-faced wizards at the pub's entrance and slipped into a seat next to the dark-haired young man sitting alone. 

Rintala had been released a few weeks after Chris' 'fallout' with Cinaed and the Knockturn crowd so he hoped the fellow would be less likely than some of the other regulars to recognize him.  He nodded in greeting in the man's direction before pulling a spare drink in his direction.  The pub's namesake - a black chimaera.  A rather foul drink but stronger than most one would find along Diagon.  Chris could remember when Cinaed had experimented with ingredients before coming up with the thing. 

He wasn't sure if the older wizard had recognized him but after a few moments, Manfred Ashford pulled up a chair at the table on the other side of him.  If things continued to work in his favor like this, the evening might actually run smoothly. 

Iza was grateful for the wink from  Cináed-- good, then he wasn't angry with her for staying away so often.  She wasn't sure what she would do, if  Cináed ever became truly angry with her... most likely turn her wand on herself.  She wasn't very good at Memory Modification but if he turned her away she would have to forget everything about him or go insane.  He was her White Knight and she would forever pine for longing... But he'd forgiven her-- or else he hadn't noticed she was gone.  Either would do.

She fiddled with a ribbon on her bodice-- not the ribbon, just a thoughtful habit born from necessity since men paid stricter attention to her when her hands fiddled.  As if in answer to this subconscious lure-- or perhaps just because she had smiled at him-- James spared her a moment of his attention.  "I've been... keeping busy," she murmured with a new smile more akin to the cat that ate the canary, then she shifted back against her chair, relaxing.

Kingstreet-- Iza found her hilarious.  She had to want  Cináed.  Every woman did (or at least it seemed so from Iza's vantage point).  If Iza was a betting woman and she knew  Cináed was serious, she'd make book on his having his way with her by the end of the evening.  Of course, Iza wasn't a betting woman nor did she wish to waste her entire evening "home" waiting for  Cináed to finish with the prune.  She hoped he might have time for her, after his meeting.  Nothing stoked Iza's libido more than  Cináed taking authority...

She ignored Chris' entrance appropriately, especially when Manny parked himself at the same table.  If he wasn't there by invitation, Manny would see to it he got an invitation to the world.  Her table-mates were babbling about France and kissing by this point, which bored her.  She was too used to serving when there were this many people in the bar, even if it had been weeks since she'd done so.

"What sort of business do you do, Miss--" she said suddenly, swinging back around to James and his conversational partner, having remembered that the woman had answered him, '...With the holidays coming up, I've been doing more business than usual.'  She left the title in lieu of a name, but with the hopeful upswing in tone that indicated she expected the woman to introduce herself.  "I've been a bit of an entrepreneur myself, lately..."  The feline smile was back again, making it clear that Iza was quite smug over her successes, even if she might not actually tell anyone what she was up to specifically.

The bar's proprietor-- for it must be he-- quieted the prune... with a kiss, by all that was holy!  Ari wasn't so desperate that he'd find that pleasant, even if he hadn't spent years without female companionship.  The woman didn't look pleased, either: she looked as if she would burst into flame and scorch the man but instead she wiped her face angrily.  Ari couldn't quite hear her answer over the hubbub in the bar, but he was certain that a kiss was the last thing she'd expected...

Had he known the woman, he might have laughed as did some of the patrons.

Instead, he shoved his hands deeply into his pockets, mulling over in his mind how long he should give this "party" before he gave it up as a lost cause and skulked back to Bridge House for beddy-by.  It kept coming back to free drinks... he hadn't the luxury of a drink, most days, so he may as well relax and enjoy himself.  Perhaps before he left, he could have the man sign his employment slip-- no, that wasn't wise.  Ari in no way wanted to admit to the Ministry that he'd been in Knockturn.  Probably, the owner of the pub would as likely not wish to have his name bandied about the Ministry.  Or be connected with someone like Ari...

Except that here and there, he began to be aware of many someones like himself scattered through the room.  One or two, he recognized from Bridge House-- new releases who weren't cursed with the need to return for bed check anymore.  Others had that slightly hungry look in their eyes that no one quite lost, no matter how long they'd been free (and no matter how well they learned to mask it except in unguarded moments).  He nodded to himself and decided to give the man a chance to speak.

Had he realized that the young wizard who took a chair beside him was an Auror-- even an Auror-in-training... All right, perhaps there wouldn't be bloodshed.  Ari hadn't been in Knockturn often enough to appreciate that such things might go on there without ever being discovered.  He would most certainly have disappeared so quickly it would have seemed the injunction against Apparition had been lifted.  The older man who joined them seemed more likely to fit in, however.  He seemed to have that avid, fierce look that Ari associated with ex-azzies even if he plastered his mug with grumpy amiability.

Since he had no reason to protest their company, he nodded to each of them.  "Nice banner, eh?" he asked facetiously for lack of anything better to say.  He'd nearly forgotten how to be sociable, but his voice was pleasant if awkward.

Kingstreet's disgusted hiss was more beautiful a response as any surprise return kiss might have been.  He'd gotten a reaction from the woman and much like the thirteen-year-old on the playground who'd gotten the girl in pigtails to cry over her doll's shaved head, Cinaed felt victorious. 

Though, there was probably very little the woman could have done to spoil his mood.  Cinead felt higher than he could remember ever feeling.  This evening, the Wizarding Blood Alliance would be made public to Knockturn.  Yes, there was a chance it would spread further but Cinaed was feeling a strong sense of loyalty and unity in this room.  He had plans to find himself in possession of a wand of his own.  His optimism was probably improperly elevated but he wasn't going to let that, or a crabby old witch who couldn't find the humor in a peck on the cheek, get in his way. 

Taking advantage of the full head of steam from his enthusiastic height, Cinaed stepped up on to the stage used by musical acts over weekends, the glowing WBA banner hanging on the wall behind his head, and grinned at the crowded bar. 

"Good evening!" He called out to the room.  He needed no magical assistance to amplify his voice; it projected to the corners of the room well enough without any assistance.  "Thank you to everyone for coming.  It's a full open bar - you're welcome to eat or drink anything in this room.  Except for the cookies in the jar by the fireplace; those are for Seamus."  They probably tasted fine but he figured it was worth warning the room at large. 

Cinaed wanted to be careful about how he progressed with this.  The WBA needed leadership and guidance to continue to grow and do what it needed to but, like in the beginning, the ex-Azzie believed firmly it couldn't be one man's army.  It as there for all for all of them.  A people's army - like Iza had mentioned several weeks before, it just needed a General.  He was ready to see the organization move forward and grow; but he didn't want to be confused for a Dark Lord wannabee.  This wasn't intended to further his own, personal agenda. 

So - this was a speech but it wasn't.  He wanted feedback - he wanted the room's participation.  But, he'd have to get them started.

"I don't think it's any secret I'm an ex-Azzie," he said.  Surely, such would be obvious to all but the very newest Knockturn arrivals.  Cinaed wore the label with pride.  "Knockturn, first by necessity and then by choice, has become my home.  I've learned to be proud of it as my home.  But, it's clear outside this Alley, everyone thinks of us as the forgettable underbelly of the Wizarding World." 

He might have come across as sounding foolish.  Or, they might actually be listening, from where he stood, it was hard to tell.  And, an undeniable trace of nerves was also keeping his attention narrowed to the more familiar faces in the room.  Without giving it too much thought, he plowed on.  "It's clear, the Ministry doesn't care about us.  They make it illegal for us to peddle our wares, forcing us to hide it just to make a living.  When that destroys our businesses, they accept no responsibility."  He nodded in Dazmond's direction.  He still faulted Briggs for choosing his business to stash his loot behind but, for the purposes of this meeting, he was more than happy to focus on the ultimate culprit. 

"Two weeks ago, a werewolf attacked and killed one of our own in broad daylight.  Where's our protection detail?  They Ministry's too busy turning our homes upside down for any proof of a misdemeanor so they can lock us away.  We have muggles, muggles stealing jobs from witches and wizards in our own Diagon Alley!  We hide from muggles in the whole expanse of London except for this one neighborhood and they are coming in and stealing our jobs.  And, they expect us just to be happy with it!" 

He was starting to find and settle into his rhythm, to feel the momentum of his own determination overcoming the nervousness of public speaking.  It was time to see if any of it was working; if any of his enthusiasm was spreading to the room.  "Are we?  What do we want?'  He left the question hanging in the hopes it was obvious he was looking for it to be answered.