James wrinkled his nose as he approached the Black Chimera. The pureblood filth he was seeing there tonight awaiting him there. That he was going to have to give her his hard-earned cash rather than the pain she deserved did not improve his mood one iota.  If only his last dealer ‘Black Ernie’ hadn’t run afoul of the German Ministry of Magic when trying to smuggle a ridiculously large amount of acromantula venom into Kiel he wouldn’t have had to deal with the inbred. Still beggars couldn’t be chosen.  He would have to put up with her until he could get another supplier. Then her time would come.

 He inspected his appearance in the window and was pleased with what he saw. His scarf was dutifully covering the bottom of his face. Together with his hat it should disguise his appearance just enough. He was glad it was winter. Had it been summer he would have had to go to a much greater effort. Mr Edwards was how he had introduced himself to the inbred. Hopefully that was all she would ever know him as.

 It was time to play nice though. Gritting his teeth he forced himself to appear calm and untroubled. He entered the establishment, looking for the lady in question.

Dazmond sat at a little table by the window alone, playing a game of Solitary Witch (also affectionately known as Hag's Breath).  A miniature deck of Aquarian tarot cards flocked out before her in the shape of an X, with a draw pile on one side and discard on the other.  A half full tankard of ale was set to the side of the old wooden table by the ashtray and she glanced up leisurely so often as there was activity by the door.  It was just after ten o'clock on January the second and Dazmond Wiedman was waiting on her first new client of the new year.

The night's live music was setting up -- a musical saw was playing preparatory chords in the corner -- causing the noise level in the room to grow as people gathered here and there.  It was the perfect hour in the perfect shadow for lucrative business deals. 

The Page of Rods was usurped by the Queen of Pentacles.  Her hand hovered before covering the Queen with the King of Swords.  The Tower in the corner prevented her placement of the Star, and the front door made sound of someone's entry.  Dazmond glanced up as she placed the Star to discard, spotting a large man with cold, leveled eyes looking about the room.  She didn't recognize him, so it was easy enough to assume he was her man.  Dazmond sat up straighter and let her gaze rest on him in acknowledgement.  She gave it a moment.  He was looking for someone. 

She popped out of her chair and approached him slowly, touching the back of his arm lightly.

"I'm sorry, you wouldn't happen to be Mr. Edwards?"  She smiled and extended a warm hand.

 James took her hand and shook it and returned her smile, although it did not reach his eyes.  His grip, as always, was firm as he believed all men's handshakes should be.  He had no prejudices based on people's sexuality or silly inferences about  it. He just found there to be something intrinsically unpleasant about shaking hands with the limp-wristed. Still it was nothing as unpleasant as the company he had to keep tonight.

 She was quite attractive for an inbred. A bit short but she had no obvious deformities. Had he not known her heritage he might have wanted to get to know her he supposed .  It was good that he knew then. The thought of going out with a pureblood , even by accident, disgusted him.

 When he replied to her though he made sure to sound warm,

 "I would indeed. Ms Wiedman I presume. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. May I get you a drink?"

As far as first impressions went, this was on the better end of what she was used to.  He was warm tempered, had a clear, crisp voice and didn't have any sort of foul body odor.  Yes, Daz had low standards; being an alley rat, one wasn't as used to men in nice scarves with good money as in some other circles.

Dazmond put a lot of weight into the message behind a handshake, however.  You could tell a lot from a handshake -- sometimes even the lineage or interests of an individual Witch or Wizard introduced to such a quirky, time-honored art.  There was a shake in the Wizarding world that said 'I like your sweater' and there was a shake that said 'I had porridge for breakfast' (the latter of which seemed to convey some level of excitement).  Mister Edward's shake, on the other hand, said simply 'I have a strong sense of self' and Dazmond's in turn said cockily that 'You're in the right hands'. 

Offering her a drink did of course sweeten the deal.  Dazmond grinned but gave a little shake of her head.

"No thanks," she said in her South-end accent.  She thumbed in the direction of her table.  "I've an ale in the corner.  Meet you there when you've yours, mister Edwards?"  She quirked her brows and went to reclaim her seat, then drew her cards together and started shuffling them out of the way into a single pile.  The sweet smell of fresh business was in the air.  It smelled like galleons.

 James went up the bar and placed his order,

 “A pint of ale please.”

 She seemed assured and gave the impression that she knew what she was doing. That was good both in the short and long terms. In the short-term it would hopefully ensure that he actually got Wolfsbane potion rather than some dubious homemade concoction. It also would hopefully keep her from being picked up by some interfering busybody the way ‘Black Ernie’ had been. In the long-term it likely meant that she had a reliable supplier of ingredients herself. When her time came if he intended to make sure that her supplier became his supplier. That would save him a lot of money and give him options. There would be time enough for that in the future though. For now he just needed his potion.

 Taking his ale he headed over to the corner...

As she shuffled her mess back into a neat little stack, three mischievous marauders from the major arcana fanned themselves before her and made Dazmond take serious pause.  Death, Temperance, and the Tower.  She glanced over to the bar front for a few moments with a curious expression as she mindlessly touched the edges of the cards stacked in her hand.  Looking over that way was only depressing, however, and her thoughts were readily distracted by the absence of Mannie Ashford.  Forcing the free-floating stragglers back into the pile, Dazmond tucked the deck into a small amethyst box and squirreled it away in her bag.

Just in time for Mister Edwards to reappear with a drink and take a seat at their table. 

Dazmond cleared her throat and straightened her spine, feeling a little anxious and fluttery for some reason.  She positioned her feet firmly and flatly on the ground.  "Mister Edwards," she said, putting on a smile.  "If I'm correct in thinking -- this is a change in supplier for a monthly deal, going into the foreseeable future, yes?  That'd be five galleons a month for that," she informed him.  "And you really start to see the increased benefits of my personal recipe after the first few cycles.  Taste is even better!  So I'm told.  I'm not above trades, either, if you're ever in a pinch, you know.  Happens to the best of us."  She shrugged, a proud little smile blooming.

So why was her heart racing?

 Five Galleons a month was a little more than ‘Black Ernie’ had charged but not dramatically so. It was a seller’s market after all. Moreover James reckoned the extra loss would be a short term one. He would eventually take everything from her that she had.

 He smiled warmly,

 “An ongoing supply for the future is indeed what I am after Miss Wiedman. Five galleons a month it is then and whilst I do not expect to be in a financial bind any time soon I do appreciate your offer of a trade if it became necessary. Shall we do business then?”

 James surprised himself about talking of easily finding 5 galleons a month. A short while ago it would have been financially crippling. The amount of money he had gained by pawning Rosier’s goods had set him up nicely though and there were more rich inbreds whose deaths would soon fund his plans further.

Dazmond nodded, still sitting quite upright and feeling a bit odd.  Mentally she noted to herself that playing Hag's Breath may have been a little too ethereal for a work-up to a business deal.  She felt like she might've floated out of her seat she was so ungrounded. 

Maybe she was still suffering for her New Year's Eve escapades.  She and Nate had been in full recovery mode all of yesterday, after all.  Daz had always found it funny that so many people started out the new annual cycle of growth in an agonizing stupor.  Strange thing was, her bezoar soup had done nothing to help their hang-overs, and that always did the trick, mixed with rest.  Faulty ingredients or something, perhaps.

"If you've the payment, I don't see why not, Mister Edwards."  Dazmond turned to her side, bending over her bag for a moment before pulling a large opaque bottle out.  She passed it over the table and held it over the edge of the other side.  "Does the second next month work for you as well?  We can play it by ear if that's better for you.  I can always be reached at the address you owled.  If you've any questions?"