Christmas
7pm

It was supposed to be a celebratory occasion.  It was, after all, a time of giving and charity.  Of gathering to loved ones in the cold of winter and lighting a candle in a spirit of hope for the coming new year.  But all poor Theodora could think about was disembowelment.  Cruciatus. And apple-spiced tea.

She sipped at her cup, her ice blue eyes staring off into space.  She sat at a very small table in the Black Chimaera, downstairs for this rare celebratory occasion.  Tawse and his new staff may have attempted to decorate, but Theodora Kingstreet sat deeply hooded and facing the wall.

The Daily Prophet was laid out neatly in front of her, opened to page two where could be viewed a lengthly article concerning the arrest of a certain young wizard.  This young wizard had been caught with runespoor eggs, attempting to frame the Minister of Magic's fiancee, Moira Randall.  But you couldn't read it now, not if you wanted to.  It seemed something had set fire to those three columns of text and the accompanying photograph.  It was charred through to the table where the surface was black and smoking.

Theodora's nostrils flared as she inhaled the cinimmony holiday scent of her tea, basking in the comforting thought of what she would do to Devlin Matthews.  Disembowelment.  Cruciatus, perhaps.  And apple-spiced tea.

Outfit

Christmas at Tyen Manor was virtually non existent. Melanthe was not opposed to the holiday, but she did not entertain during the season and so she saw little use in decorating for it. Usually, she went out to celebrate and she had several venues or parties from which to choose from. Moscow, Paris, Wales, London....there was never a shortage of invitations.

Most of those invitations were reserved for the pureblooded elite. High society purebloods that preferred to pick and choose who they rubbed shoulders with and keep their noses out of trouble. Folks like the Whitmans and the Hanovers or even the Morozovs. Melanthe would stop in at all of their celebrations, but she wasn't planning to stay long. She would get too restless.

Luckily for her, she had gotten a different sort of invitation for the holiday and Melanthe actually enjoyed the thought of spending time in this person's company.

Theodora Kingstreet was someone that Melanthe tended to admire from afar, mainly because she tried to keep such a low profile as far as her dark side was concerned. The right people knew, of course, and that was how she preferred it. And Kingstreet was someone who knew the extent of just about everyone's darkside. She was in the know and it paid to know her.

Melanthe stepped inside the Black Chimaera, a place she had not patronized since Cin's welcome home party, a calculated choice on her part. Even now, she was careful to make sure that she wasn't flashy with her entrance. She was glad that she had reconsidered her wardrobe choice for the evening, as a more festive green or red would have had her stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this.

Its' shadows were strangely inviting for her, but she was accustomed to Tyen, so they weren't strange at all. Still, her deep purple dress looked almost black in the light and coupled with her dark hair, she still looked completely cloaked, even after she had shrugged her robe off and now draped it over one arm.

She slowly made her way towards the back of the establishment, avoiding eye contact with certain individuals because she knew it would deter her away from her purpose. Perhaps after she took care of business, she could visit with Cin and some of the others for a bit before heading off to her bevy of soirees.

She approached a hooded figure facing the wall and silently slipped into the seat opposite the woman, not even waiting to be asked to sit.

"I would wish you a Happy Christmas," she began in a wry tone, "But I don't think you'd appreciate the sentiment." Melanthe reached out and pulled the charred paper towards her, as if making an effort to skim the details, even though that was impossible. Not that it mattered as she had already read the paper and that article in particular. Most of it meant nothing to her, but the bit about the runespoor eggs had caught her eye. Anything to do with that 'business' was capable of stealing her attention away.

She clucked her tongue and tapped a perfectly manicured fingertip to general area where the runespoor mention would have been. "A shame they went to waste...."

Her brown eyes then went to Kingstreet's drink. Melanthe tilted her head to the side. "Your drink....it must be getting cold. Perhaps you need another? Or something a little stronger....?"

Melanthe had arrived for their palaver nearly on time, and Theodora could appreciate that.  It was the holidays, after all, so a few minutes short was forgiveable.  Unlike most of the ruffians in this part of town, Grumman knew how valuable her time was and that she only met with contractors by appointment.

"Melanthe Grumman - Human Resources" was neatly printed in Theodora's schedule upstairs in her office.  She'd had Devlin Matthews smuggle in that bit of office paraphanalia, picked up from Leoman Gild's shop not a month ago.  Hard to come by when you were a woman the likes of Theodora, but imperative to her personal code of conduct: destroying the Ministry of Magic, everyone in it, and then rebuilding it from scratch for much tidier results.

But there was the matter of Matthews and his failure. 
"The tea is exactly the right temperature," she responded pertly.  Frivolous witch.  "Furthermore, I don't drink alcohol and neither should you.  Don't you know it's poison?"

Theodora squinted at the younger woman, hoping to drive the point home, and slid the newspaper back towards herself in a plainly territorial display, as if she meant to keep the periodical for her records and that Melanthe may inadvertantly spill something on in whatever drunken stupor she was in at the moment, presumably with her preoccupation with alcoholic beverages.

Another point against the Chimaera (and they were stacking) all the drunks.

"Have you ever hurt anyone before, Melanthe?" she then asked in a more conversational tone.

"Suit yourself," Melanthe said, allowing her shoulders to rise and fall quickly, as if she cared not. But she was observant and she took note of Kingstreet's mood.

Not drink alcohol? What absurdity was that? Did Kingstreet expect her to be a nun in the prime years of her life? Melanthe was not sure that was feasible. Not that she got drunk often and certainly not when business was being done or discussed. Her height and frame usually allowed it to move through her with little effect.

Still, to appease her company, Melanthe decided that she could prolong her festive, inebriated celebration until later.

"Yes, I know that. But then, to each their own poison, right?" When the server came to take her drink order, Melanthe pointedly raised a brow and said, "I'll have what she's having."

She could show restraint. She was a proper pureblood, afterall.

Melanthe sat back in her chair and folded her hands neatly in front of her on the table and patiently waited for her companion to begin the business discussion. When Kingstreet's straightforward question was asked, she could not help wondering where the woman was going with it.

"Have I hurt anyone before?" Melanthe echoed, her tone with a hint of mild amusement in it. Then her lips curled into a sly smirk. "I'm sorry, Miss Kingstreet," she returned with feigned pleasantries. "But have you suddenly misplaced your records on me?" Even if Kingstreet did not possess physical records on the various dark artists and criminal wizards, Melanthe was certain that she kept a meticulous mental tab on each of them, including herself. Melanthe splayed her hands out before her and looked at the older woman expectantly. "I know I may look like the typical socialite, but surely you must know that's just a ruse. I went to Durmstrang, afterall. We hurt each other for sport."

Kingstreet's eyes narrowed and behind her lips, she was ever-so-slightly biting her tongue.  Lost her records? Heat welled up in Theodora's chest.  She was growing very excited.  First, any mention of records made her blood churn with excitable happiness.  Second, the sporting notion that Kingstreet had been remiss in any way in her research of Grumman was... fightin' words.  Theodora's imaginary tail flicked, back and forth.  A mountain lion taunted by a tail-dangled rodent.  Delightfully.

Siiiip.

"There is no such thing as a socialite," Theodora noted.  "And there is no such thing as Durmstrang.  However, I see what you're trying to say."

Theodora touched the index finger to the table and then continued, "As per your services,  I hope to commission you to hurt a single individual.  Are you familiar with the Unforgiveable Curses? One of them are particularly useful to me in this scenario, and the other two particuarly not.  Can you speak to your experience with Cruciatus? Perhaps you have a reference who might be able to attest to your quality of work on minors?"

Melanthe watched Kingstreet closely with mild amusement glinting in her dark eyes. The young witch could not help but feel a certain amount of satisfaction for being able to get the older witch a little worked up. She brought her fingertips to her lips, which curled into a smirk.

Melanthe said nothing to Kingstreet's comments about the non existence of socialites and Durmstrang. She would let the woman live in her fantasy world. Instead, she straightened in her seat a bit as the conversation continued. Naturally, her interest was piqued when it was mentioned that she was to hurt someone.

Melanthe tried not to take offense to Kingstreet's question regarding her knowledge of the Unforgiveable Curses. It was on her tongue to point out that no respectable witch or wizard could live without knowing what they were unless they lived in a bubble for much of their life. But reiterating her previous point about attending Durmstrang, which was known for being a Mecca for Dark Arts instruction, was moot.

The Dark Flower took a long sip from her drink before setting the cup down and steeling her gaze. Calmly, she told her company, "Yes, I am intimately familiar with the Unforgivable Curses, Ms. Kingstreet. Although I cannot say that I have much experience torturing children and young adults. Not that Iwould be adverse, mind you. But I simply have not had cause to do so at this point. I rarely waste my time on minors. Most of my targets have always been old enough to know better," Melanthe admitted.

After a pause, Melanthe frowned in deep contemplation, but still with obvious interest in Kingstreet's request. She inquired, "Why Cruciatus? Is there a particular reason you wish to use it as opposed to something else a bit more...oh....legal?"

The three unforgivables were powerful, indeed. But to Melanthe, they were often best used when all other avenues had been exhausted. Melanthe did not wish to visit Azkaban just yet in her life.

Melanthe traced the rim of her cup. "You see, the secret to me being who and what I am comes from my ability to not get caught." She gave the other woman a sweet smile. "Surely you can see my logic in that, correct? If I do not get caught, that means I will be able to help you again....and again...and again...."

She was toying with Kingstreet a bit and that might not be so nice. So Melanthe leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Can anyone speak to my proficiency in torture? Besides those who are already dead? Probably not. But, you could alway contact my Dark Arts Professor from that little school you claim doesn't exist."

Theodora listened politely as Melanthe Grumman was kind enough to answer her questions.  Thoughtfully, thoroughly.  She'd clearly recovered from her earlier lack of professionalism and was now speaking of their arrangement in the long view, providing estimates on other options, considering issues of the law...

However, something was amiss.

"IN OR OUT!" Theodora's scream suddenly cut through the pub.  Her teacup hopped in its saucer as the disgraced barrister, flew up from her seat and slashed her wand through the air.  Thirty darts removed themselves from their bullseyes, or collected themselves from off the floor and flew in a swarm at whoever was standing with the pub door open.  It was freezing and he'd lingered there for three long minutes now and she just couldn't take the chilly gusts a moment longer.

The guilty party disappeared out into the cold before the darts reached him, and they arrowed into the door in a barrage of sharp stacattos.  Many of them stuck, and the rest clattered to the floor.  "Mind the door!" she snapped at Tawse's useless hire.

She breathed in then out and closed her eyes for a moment.  Despite her high level of personal routine and poise, life in the Black Chimaera was horrid.  And being wanted shot dead on sight had its vexing inconveniences.  As the months had worn on, colder and colder, yet, her slick veneer of control was forming hairline cracks.

And she was ever so disappointed about Devlin Matthews.  When she turned back round to Melanthe Grumman, her face had gone just a touch softer.

"I do apologize. I've been out of sorts.  Had I been at my best, I certainly wouldn't have missed him." 

She smoothed her robes and sat back down, a lingering pain on her lined face apparent.  Some kind of secret sadness that a parent of a deliquent might wear.  A state of being at a loss.

"Lgality is something we won't have to worry about.  The Ministry of Magic is currently being run by baboons and they haven't done anything right in the past ten years.  Wizarding Law is currently only hypothetical until I can find the time to slay Annwyl and tidy things up on that end.  Essentially, there is currently no rule of law, and so we needn't bother with trying to appease the empty-heads."

She covered her hand with her mouth, and closed her eyes. A single tear escaped her left glasses lens and she dabbed it away with her napkin.

"I...I just..." she hesitated tightly.  Perhaps on any other person, this show of vulnerability would not be notable.  But for Theodora Kingstreet, certainly, she was in the throws of great emotion.

"This young man's been very rude to me and I want to punish him.  Cruciatus is the best there is."

Melanthe tried not to look bewildered by the sudden outburst her companion made, but it had all happened so quickly that she looked from Kingstreet to the door and wondered what kind of circus she had managed to get in the middle of.
 
It was clear that the older witch was distressed--if not by this person loitering and trying on her patience, then by what had happened to cause her to request Melanthe's presence here in the first place.

Melanthe offered Kingstreet a sympathetic smile. "There, there. It's alright. And if it'll make you feel any better, perhaps I can seek him out after our meeting and have a word or two with him about how inconsiderate he was, standing there and allowing the cold air to come in and distress you so."

All this talk of unforgiveable curses was certainly making Melanthe's fingers itch. She was still skeptical as to what kingstreet claimed about the ministry and the legality of using them, or what she might be able to get away with. But perhaps it was time to put her questions and concerns aside and go ahead and return to something she did awfully well--the Dark Arts.

She had taken a break from those vengeful acts, mainly because her personal vendetta against her father's adversaries had all been put to rest by their destruction. Melanthe had turned her attention to the family business operations and also making sure that she looked like a respectable socialite, the perfect disguise to cover up all of her evil doings.

The truth was that Kingstreet's proposition was perfectly suited for once again honing her skills for something equally or more devious later.
 
Melanthe was somewhat lost in her own thoughts--the back and forth battle of to do it or to not do it--and did not focus fully on Kingstreet's emotional display. But she was ebbed out of her reverie at the tail end of it and finally she focused on the other woman more seriously.

Her lips formed a grim line and her eyes, already a dark chocolate brown, seemed to go darker still. She evenly told her companion, "Yes, I will do it. Simply give me the particulars and I'll take care of the rest. The where and when...that sort of thing."

Something seemed to change in the witch across the small round table, Theodora noticed.  Perhaps the emotional outbursts had bonded them together somehow. It was an unfortunate fact that on occasion it was difficult to be taken seriously until one threw a fit.  Not that Theodora had thrown a fit - she'd just faltered momentarily in her professionalism - but all the same, it seemed to make an impression.  Ms Grumman was clearly a reasonable witch.

The cup of tea was finished and she slid it seven inches to starboard out of the way and folded her hands where the saucer had been.

"I'm so pleased," she said, with that same cold smile that made her eyes sparkle.  It was so refreshing to tick something off on the holiday to-do list.

"I will forward you an informational packet within three business days.  Very standard privage contracting documents, I'm sure you're familiar.  This will also contain the particulars in the form of a runic circle for the sake of security.  Half up front then?"

A large carpet bag seemed to appear out from under her robes to sit on her lap and her thumb unsnapped the latch. 

"Then it is settled," Melanthe declared in a quietly cool manner, belying the excitement twinkling in her eyes. Already she was looking forward to using her powers again. She reached out to pick up her tea cup to sip from the liquid.

She held the cup there as Kingstreet finished hers and pushed the cup and saucer away from her. Melanthe then listened as the woman informed her of the next steps. The dark witch was in midsip again when Theodora brought up payment.

Melanthe quickly retracted the cup and set it down. She brought her hand up to cover her mouth as she swallowed the sip of tea before she waved the notion off.

As soon as she was able to speak, Melanthe lowered her hand from her mouth and gently refuted the other woman's offer. "Ms. Kingstreet, please. Allow me to do this favor for you without the monetary incentive. Surely you know that I really do not need it." Melanthe's statement was not meant to insult Kingstreet's intelligence or to dent her pride in offering. But the dark witch had something else in mind. She hoped Kingstreet would see the benefits of making an alliance. "But, let's say that I perform this task to your satisfaction....how about then we make arrangements for another means of payment? I am sure at some point in time, I would be in need of your skills and services and would be equally grateful to know someone as honorable as you who would be able to assist me."

As soon as Grumman waved off the offer, Theodora moved to stow the bag away.  It wasn't at all Theodora's preference.  It had been proven time and time again that the best quality work came from those who were paid.  Volunteers, no matter how motivated, always harbored some sort of resentment.  Always.  It made them slip.  It made them cut corners.  Favors were never as quality as good, honest work.

Honestly, the next works out of Theodora's mouth were going to be something along the lines of nevermind, dealbreaker, and/or this is not a negotiation.  This was the kind of unprofessional behavior she expected of frilvous, pretty witches who'd never worked a day in their lives, and-

Pardon? said her thin, light brown eyebrows, that arched over her round glasses.  She wanted a less formal arrangement, reciprocity, but concrete payment just the same.  Again, gold was Theodora's preference, but Grumman seemed to have had this in mind all along.  Theodora squinted, for a second time having reason to question Grumman's trust.  However, the counter-bid played to her well cultivated ego.  Her legal manueverings, even without her licence, was powerful and reliable.  And well sought after.  It was what kept her busy in her office during her long business hours.  Client after client begging her for her counsel, her expertise.  Thousands coming through, needing her. 

And now Melanthe Grumman needed her.

Perhaps this would do nicely.

"I'll insist upon a contract," she said.  She brought the bag back and took out a perfectly crisp leaf of legal-sized parchment, an inkwell and a modest brown quill (arrow straight).  Bag out of the way, she began to write in beautiful, impeccable script.  The cursive was tight and even, and the flourishes on the capitols and descenders were grand, and fluid.  The margins were perfectly justified, even as she free-handed the document.  The spacing was millimeter accurate.

She seemed to go about writing the contract with as much ease as a grocery list.  She narrated for Grumman's benefit as she wrote.

"The contract includes a non-disclosure rune which would disallow either of us to reveal the nature of our agreement to anyone, including the so-called 'legal' authority of the current Ministry of Magic...  At the finish of your obligations, I will submit an evaluation of your performance and should it meet a satisfactory mark, the contract will then act as a voucher for a limited and equal amount of my services to you.  This contract binds me to perform your single request to the best of my ability in good faith."

And with a firm tap, Theodora punctuated her last sentence with, unexpectedly, an exclamation mark.  An enthusiastic gesture of her own eagerness to proceed.

"We'll sign and then it will be settled."  Theodora made her mark, a complex, sweeping, tightly elegant signature.

She rolled an ink blotter over it and then handed the quill to Melanthe Grumman.

Melanthe was observant of Kingstreet's response to her offer. She was aware that some might find it offensive or others would even take what she was offering too lightly. Clearly she was curious as to which way the older witch felt. For a moment, they seemed to be caught in gaze that was intent on measuring up the other side.

Finally, Kingstreet seemed to acquiesce.  But it wasn't without stipulations of her own. Melanthe hardly expected less from the efficient witch across from her and she resisted a knowing smirk.

Melanthe listened carefully as Kingstreet spoke and absorbed the information as it was explained to her. But once the contract was passed her way, she just as carefully perused the handwriting to double check what she was signing  and accepted the quill and affixed her own signature to it.

She then set the quill on the table and with a confident and bright smile, she told her companion, "Excellent. I'm sure it will be a pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Kingstreet. I simply cannot wait to get started."

Then, the dark witch reached out and picked up her cup of tea. She gave a nod in Kingstreet's direction and held the cup up in salute. "I don't know about you, but my holiday is already looking more exciting by the minute. Cheers!"