Liadán Ó Móráin did not generally frequent the Black Chimaera. This was an entirely new thing. Prior to her whole fisaco with a certain half-blooded man, Liadán was only at the Chimaera to conduct business- with it was with Tawse or some other Knockturn lurker. And yet, she found herself coming in twice last week, and once already this week, trying to weasel some information out of the owner. He wasn't giving her anything, either. It was frustrating, to say the very least, and to say the very most she wanted to tie him up and just torture the information she wanted out of him. But that would be going a bit too far. As it was, she was still only prying gently- not seriously working, and hoping it wouldn't come down to being blunt about what she wanted to know.

And so, for the second time this week (today was Saturday, she had lost popped in on Tuesday after buying some flesh eating slug repellent for the farm) Liadán found herself entering the pub and finding herself a seat away from those who were always gathered there. Mismatched eyes scanned the room, not seeing the bohemuth that was Cináed Tawse anywhere. That meant she would just have to wait.

The food here was likely not edible, and she couldn't be seen drinking alcohol so early in the day... It wasn't even dinner time yet. So Liadán decided her guise for being here would be to meet some mystery client, who would not show up after all. It was an excuse she had not yet used while prying in the last couple of weeks. Liadán decided she would order a glass of wine, and tried to flag down that new girl who was working here. It must be a sad existence, really, to have to stoop so low as to be employed by Tawse as a bar wench in a place like this. If Liadán was capable of pity, she might feel it for the pretty young woman.

"Elven sparkling wine," she stated simply, pulling her gloves from her hands and resting them on the table. Then she extracted a book from her bag, opening it in front of her. It was her latest find, a detailed account of hundreds of different magical voodoo practices. Since she had exhausted her resources on the tribes who practiced head shrinking, and had yet to find a magical way to do it (doing it by hand was so exhausting and not at all hygenic), Liadán had moved on to another branch of dark magic which was intriguing to her.

6 years ago if Nicola had been told where she’d be now she’d have laughed harshly in their face before no doubt cursing them. But now she was stood behind the bar of this grotty little pub, her hair scraped messily back and short dress falling loosely over her curves. Her dark eyes scanned the prophet which was laid out on the bar surface in front of her. A small chuckle escaped her lips as she read. What society now called a newspaper story was ludicrous.

As another punter made her way in, Nic closed the paper and tossed it on the surface behind the bar before grabbing a grubby cloth. Nic made her way out into the main room and picked up a few empty tankards, placing them back on the bar to wash later. Not that anyone that frequented this dump would notice if the glasses weren’t clean.

This new woman in here looked a little out of the ordinary. She’d notice a dirty glass. In fact, she looked incredibly young and far too posh to be in this place. Nicola missed that. One day she looked very similar. Azkaban had aged her both mentally and physically and she grit her teeth, glaring enviously at the woman’s back.

Eyebrows rose upon receiving a highly patronising click and Nic pushed a chair under the table a little too forcefully, resulting in a loud banging noise before she started to move over to the woman, opening her mouth to offer a greeting.

"Elven sparkling wine,"

Nicola’s head tilted to the side as she surveyed the rude little thing in front of her. Thin hands found her hips, resting on her dress and Nic’s eyebrows rose, attempting to hide under her fringe. “Did no one teach you manners, lady?”

Liadán looked up from the book as the barmaid talked back to her. That kind of behavior was most certainly not expected. Most people didn't question her. They understood that any well dressed, confident lady who would enter a dive like the Black Chimaera meant business- or at least shouldn't be underestimated. She folded her hands primly on the page and tilted her chin upward. The smile she gave Nicola was a very shallow one. "Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that my manners were expected to be extended to the help."

Who was this girl, thinking that she was expected to be treated like high society? Not to mention the fact that they were in the Black Chimaera, in Knockturn Alley. How did she expect to be treated? If they were in a fancy restaurant, perhaps Liadán might show a little more respect, but chances were it wouldn't vary by much. She was paid to serve, so that was what she ought to be doing. Liadán was probably treating her much better than some of the other clientele. She was surprised the girl was lasting. The men who frequented this place were the sort who would probably pinch her butt and try to take her home. Then again, Liadán supposed if the woman was working here, she was probably the sort who was easy to take home.

"Though, if you were doing your job, I wouldn't have to snap my fingers at you as though you were a dog. When someone comes in, and takes a seat, you should serve them. Not wait to be hailed. You weren't doing anything. Who's in here this time of day? Besides, you don't have to deal with me for long. I'm just waiting on a business contact to meet me." With that, Liadán turned her attention back to her book. lazily flipping the page.

Did that dwarf-like imp in pretty clothes just refer to an ex prisoner of Azkaban as ‘the help’!? Nic’s grip on the cloth in her hand tightened and she had to resist the urge to wrap her slim fingers around her recently returned wand which lay in the pocket of her baggy black cardigan. No, Tawse wouldn’t appreciate her cursing someone in his pub and would probably kick her out on her hide. Nic’s hands simply remained on her hips as her dark eyes scowled down at the pretty blond elf.

“Apparently you then needed to be made aware. How lucky I was here to serve that purpose.” Nicola spoke through a tight lipped smile. Since finally received her freedom, Nicola’s confidence had started to make its return. Her tongue was becoming quicker and her comments slightly more rude. Still, she was aware it wasn’t a sensible idea to begin to hex people just yet. She’d have to wait until the ministry finally backed off, the nosy creeps.

The well dressed elf opened her mouth again and Nicola couldn’t help but laugh. It was the only reaction she could have that didn’t involve severely hurting the woman in front of her. Unfortunately, Nicola had forgotten the fact that there would have been a day she’d have been acting incredibly similar to the small woman. Now, however, Nicola had dropped down to become one of the lower class people having to work in a grotty dump to make a living. Not for long. She’d find a way out. She was still in her father’s will wasn’t she?

The way the customer instructed Nic how to act like a barmaid made Nic consider handing her the cloth and telling her to get her arse behind the bar while Nic complained like an uptight bitch. Instead, Nic pulled her wand out of her pocket and pointed it at the cloth; shooting water at it, splashing the woman sat down before she leant forward and started to wipe the table clean.

“Carry on talking to me like that, you stuck-up dwarf and I’ll throw you out on your arse. Then I’ll not have to deal with you at all.”

Liadán wondered how it was that Tawse seemed fully capable of associating with the most infuriating people that the wizarding world had ever produced. That grouchy old Mannie had been annoying enough when she was visiting this place for business purposes, and now this witch, who was clearly delusional about her place on earth, had the nerve to give her lip. "Throw me out?" Liadán asked, with a quiet chuckle of her own. She wouldn't dare. Liadán had no qualms using her wand against someone who made her angry, and considering the mood she had been in lately, it wouldn't take much for this serving woman to become target practice.

"I highly doubt you'd like to try to throw me out. If you don't want to serve me, that's fine. Go about your business. But if you would just shut up, get me my wine, and bring it to the table then perhaps I'll find it in my heart to leave you a few knuts as a tip." Perhaps, with those few knuts, she could save the money to get some proper training on how to treat customers... Or maybe learn how to dress better.

Motioning lazily toward the rules of the pub, Liadán offered the lady a false smile. "Besides, one of Tawse's rules is not to fight. I don't want to fight today. I've had a stressful morning, and this isn't exactly the place I enjoy spending my afternoons. However, it seems to be a convenient meeting point for many of my clients. I've always done good business by Tawse, in fact I supply him some of the ingredients he needs for his drinks at a very low price." Liadán wasn't sure whether or not this woman would even give a damn about that, though.

Liadán gave her a level stare, that tug of familiarity pulling at her again. She knew that she knew who this woman was, and it wasn't just because she was working here at the Black Chimaera. She looked much older than someone she would have gone to school with, yet Liadán was fairly certain that she recognized her from Hogwarts. It had been something in the way she had called her a stuck-up dwarf. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to concentrate, attempting to figure out where that familiarity came from.

And then, it hit her. Liadán did know who this was- she had been a few years ahead of her at Hogwarts, one of the more popular purebloods, and Liadán had once tried to befriend her. It was important then, to make contacts at school that would last upon graduation. When she had tried to approach the girl, being nice hadn't been very effective- and she'd been called a dwarf then, too. "Though one has to wonder, exactly what Nicola Randall is doing working as a wench in Tawse's pub. I always thought you would be better than that."

“Oh wow! I’ve never known such astounding generosity!” Nicola replied, her quiet voice dripping with sarcasm. “A few knuts. That’ll feed my starving children for a week.” She laughed and finished wiping the table before standing up straight to hear the elfin child continue to drone on.

Nicola didn’t give a stuffed hippogriff’s arse about this woman’s business collaboration with Tawse. Who was she to poke her nose into the financial running of the dowdy pub? If Tawse thought the elf was ok to do business with then, in Nic’s mind, he was mad. Who would want to do business with a woman quite as rude as this vertically challenged blonde witch? But this was not the time to voice that opinion; Nic was still indebted to Cináed for giving her the job and a room.

Once the woman had finished her monotonous monologue about her little business plan, Nic turned on her heel and headed back towards the bar. She poured out a glass of the wine and resisted the urge to add a lovely bit of saliva to the mixture.  With the glass filled, Nicola slowly returned to the table. She opened her mouth to make a comment about the woman being old enough to drink alcohol as the dwarf opened hers.

"Though one has to wonder, exactly what Nicola Randall is doing working as a wench in Tawse's pub. I always thought you would be better than that."

Nic’s tongue froze and her lips remained parted as she stared down at the woman at the table. How did this horrible little urchin know Nic’s name? The paper? Nah, she said she’d expected better. Nicola wasn’t sure what to say. Her dark eyes remained on the elf’s before she lowered the glass down and placed it on the table.

“That’s two sickles, please.” She muttered while trying to think of a response. She folded her arms and looked down at the table. “Evidently you don’t read the prophet.” She grit her teeth and glanced back at the horrible little urchin, her faked confidence now knocked. “What do you mean always thought?”

Liadán smirked victoriously when Nicola was finally rendered speechless, and quoted a price. Liadán handed over the coins, and turned another page. "Apparently you don't remember me, then," Liadán commented, leaning back, tilting her chin up to better focus on the woman. "Of course, you can't be expected to remember a stuck up little dwarf, could you? There must be so many of us."

"I was at Hogwarts the same time as you were," Liadán told her. "You were a few years ahead of me, one of those girls who was so self absorbed... Rich, popular, and too good to network with the right people." Liadán thought that she was one of those right people. Granted, that was just a year or two after her brother had nearly ruined their name and reputation. Her father had recently been sent to Azkaban, her family business raided and nearly shut down after all of the illegal practices were discovered. Not to mention the charges of muggle baiting and murder on the part of her dad due to the whole issue of magical wards catching people in them every now and again. But really, they deserved it for snooping.

"Though I suppose you can't be blamed. At that point in time we were all puppets of our parents." Not that Liadán wasn't anymore. Even though her mother and her father were both dead, she still obeyed all that they had taught her. If anyone was a puppet of pureblood society, it was Liadán. It definitely explained the entire issue she was having with this whole Christian Colburn problem.

"I just assumed, that with an upbringing like yours, you were destined for something better than the Black Chimaera. Though I suppose that whole... murder rap, that must be hard to shake." Liadán did read the prophet, actually, and after realizing who she was speaking with, it had all come back to her- and rather quickly. If she wanted to be vicious, she would be vicious, too.

"Apparently not" came the mumbled reply from the barmaid as she gazed down at the blonde witch. Nicola’s mind began to query all sorts of possibilities in how she was expected to recall this rude vertically challenged blonde matchstick.  The thin fingers of her left hand closed protectively around the couple of coins she’d been paid with and her top teeth bit into her lower lip as her mind began to skip through theories.

The suggestion of Hogwarts came to Nicola’s mind just as the petite witch mentioned it. Of course. Dark eyes scanned over the other woman’s face and Nic made a quick decision that she must be a few years older than this discourteous patron. Rich...popular. The young ex-azzie remembered those days. That teenaged Nicola wouldn’t have so much as considered not hexing this squat witch for mouthing off. She’d have taught the girl a lesson in what happens when you’re rude to a Randall. Now, with the threat of a return to the hellhole that had been named Azkaban, Nicola kept her wand safely deposited in the black cardigan.

“And I’m guessing you consider you’re uncouth diminutive self to be included in those ‘right people’?” Nicola responded, her quick tongue once again finding its allegorical feet. “It’s a pity for you there’s usually a height restriction on popularity.”

Nicola Randall was not her parent’s puppet. The death of her mother and abandonment of her father confirmed that. Nicola sighed and let the dwarf continue while she resisted the urge to yawn in boredom. Apparently monologues were how blonde dwarfs spoke these days.

A grin erupted on Nicola’s lips, spreading across her pale face to her dark eyes like an infection. “You have no idea. All these people thinking I’m going to crack and kill them. It’s exhausting being this feared. Just had to volunteer my services at this nasty little bar to help my murderous little mind focus on something other than bleeding a helpless man to death.” The barmaid giggled and leaned forward on the chair in front of her, getting closer to the woman’s face. “So tell me, pygmy, who would you consider the ‘right people’?”

"Bleeding a man to death?" Liadán clucked her tongue and shook her head. "That's the best that you can come up with? It's so..." She waved her hand in the air offering Nicola a slight smirk, "so expected." She gave her a small, thin lipped smile. If this woman wanted to play games, Liadán could play them, too. "Why don't you fetch me that wine, and come and have a seat, and I can give you a few pointers on better ways to go about having your fun."

She motioned toward the book she was reading. "This might have something interesting in it." Liadán wasn't sure she wanted to answer the question about who she considered to be the right people. Once upon a time, she might have though Nicola was one of the right people- but given her current circumstances, she wasn't exactly sure if she still felt that way.

"And I feel the need to remind you, not to judge someone based upon how they look. I am small, yes. But just because I'm small, doesn't mean I'm someone to be underestimated. And Hogwarts was such a long time ago, I'm sure that both of us have matured some since then." Perhaps. Perhaps not. Liadán hadn't changed much. She was snootier, she was richer, and the only real difference was those pesky things she was dealing with called feelings. Not that she was about to admit that to anyone. Least of all Nicola.

"I doubt Tawse would mind if you joined me for a drink or two. I'll buy you one, if you like. I'm sure you don't get to socialize much." Now she was being condescending, and she knew it. Either way, she would rather have the girl sit and talk to her instead of making a scene. If Tawse came in and she was harassing the help, he wouldn't be very pleased with her- she was sure of that. "I'm very interested in to hear how you're liking being free again. Are you staying here? In the inn? If so, that's a terrible set up to have. I imagine that Tawse isn't much of a host, and some of the others boarding here are quite dreadful people."

How expected? Yes, her usual MO had always included bright red, warm, fresh blood spilling generously from victims. The edges of Nicola’s lips twitched up into a small smirk as her memory bestowed her with the once adored feeling of warm blood covering her hands, seeping into her skirt as she knelt beside these tortured souls. It really was the most pleasurable method of torture, slowly cutting into their skin with little hexes, watching blood seep from the wounds until the poor person lay weak and almost dead.

Bringing herself back to the present, Nicola glanced down at the woman. The wine? She looked down to the glass still held between her fingers. She placed it on the table in front of the dwarf and pocketed the coins she’d been given a minute ago.

The mature, Azkaban avoiding and job keeping Nicola decided to bite her tongue while the blonde sprouted off about being underestimated. The murderous and sadistic younger girl found herself pondering how fast the pigmy puff could draw her wand if Nicola cut her abdomen open there and then. Or perhaps she’d chop a limb or two off first...

The arrogant little hag...Nicola’s smirk began once more to play on her lips, her eyebrows rising. How generous of the patronizing little elf to offer to purchase the woman a drink. Was she expected to suck up to her and become best buddies all of a sudden? Nicola chuckled, amused.

“I’ve met worse.” Dreadful people? The blonde witch should have taken a visit to Azkaban before she knew what dreadful people were. Those here tended to be fairies compared. The young ex prisoner giggled quietly before pulling the seat back and sitting down at the table. She leant forward to the other woman before frowning.

“It’s a torturous set up. Once I’ve worked in here for a day, Tawse drags me off to throw in the cellar and do what he wants with me body.” She ran her fingers through her practically black hair, brushing it back off her pale face. “I sleep on a concrete floor and eat bread and water, shackled at night to prevent my escape.”

The woman giggled again.

Given Tawse's affinity for women, Liadán had no doubts that he probably was having his way with Nicola. It also wouldn't surprise Liadán if Nicola encouraged it. She wasn't sure whether or not the bar maid was the sort to have her fun with whomever she pleased, but it wouldn't surprise Liadán. People who had it in them to commit murder and other such acts generally had it in them to promiscuous.

"Well, it doesn't sound like it makes you too unhappy. Though you could use more than bread and water. It wouldn't hurt to fatten you up a bit. Though, it's surprising, that even after all you've been through, that you're still so very pretty." It was a genuine statement, too, and her tone of voice reflected that. From Liadán's experience, most people fresh out of Azkaban were far too pale and had that sunken in look, and it was anything but attractive. It worked for her, though, and as soon as she gained some weight she would be a very attractive woman.

Liadán picked up her glass, and sipped the wine. It was very tasty. "Delicious," Liadán commented. "I've always been a fan of wine." Which was true. Most parties, for some reason, seemed to have everything but a good wine. Not that it was an issue. Liadán generally tried very hard not to drink too much at parties. She had learned, more than once, and once recently, that when she was drinking Liadán tended to do things that she normally would not do while sober. It wasn't comforting, either, to know that. Liadán was never going to allow herself to over drink again.

"How old are you now?" she asked. "I can't recall how long you were locked away. You've got a lot of great years ahead of you, you're lucky for that. And this is a place to find friends. Assuming you're still interested in a life that could put you back right where you came from." Naturally, the few nice words had to be followed up by something not so nice. She was trying, though, to be civil. Truth be told, she had always wanted to talk to someone about what made them do the things they did. It wasn't as though Liadán could ask Tawse about what he had done, or most of the others she knew who used to be in Azkaban.

Dark magic had always been enticing to Liadán. She read about it all the time, and often practiced it- just not on humans. She was too afraid of the consequences. Which was why, Liadán supposed, she seemed to exist around the edges of the criminal society. Her curiosity would often get the better of her. Perhaps one day she would be able to overcome her migivings and truly practice the magic that so enthralled her, but Liadán doubted it. Civility was too engrained into her.

Pretty? The slim barmaid laughed harshly. She didn’t need to be told she was ‘pretty’ by a blonde dwarf in overpriced clothing. “What would your vertically challenged, interfering little self know about what I’ve been through? You don’t look like the common genus we get in this place. You don’t look like you’ve ever experienced pain or hell, had a speck of dirt land on your lavish trousers which have obviously been purposely made to fit dwarfs like yourself.”

This woman was trying far too hard to be ‘understanding’ and she was definitely far too interested in Nicola. Something made Nic believe the woman had thought about Azkaban, too scared by the prospect to actually do anything wrong. This was evidenced by the threat of a return to ‘where she’d come from’ for Nicola.

“I won’t be going back.” The barmaid responded harshly to the blonde. She was going to do anything in her power to prevent a return to that hell on earth. Nicola tried to remain strong, not think about it and refuse to talk about it to prevent any emotions showing. Azkaban had terrified her to her very core. It had left her weak, with no motivation and during her time there, any need to kill and torture people had been sucked out. All she’d wanted was to die to end the torment. The prospect of life there had been horrible. It still gave her nightmares.

“Tell me, lady, how are they great years ahead? I was locked away with my entire future set for being behind bars for a murder I didn’t actually commit. My home was sold, my money handed out to family members and I left with quite literally nothing when I was released with a pathetic apology and a shrug from the ministry.” Nicola half laughed.

“Don’t start talking about things you know nothing about, dear. I’m in this place because I have no choice thanks to the ministry playing nauseating games with my life.”