Ever since he had ruined Maggie Groust's kitchen in his latest temper tantrum, Dominik had decided to take her wise words of advice to heart.  He wasn't following Niobe around, or begging her for a date, or showing up at the Prophet.  He didn't bring her any flowers, he didn't send her any owls.  He just walked around, half-tranquilized, went with her back to his flat after parties, let her come to him what few times last month she wanted.  He didn't say anything about how he watched her sleep, or thought about her when he was on the Pitch.  He didn't say sweet things outside the realm of brief compliments, and he didn't draw pictures.  He just stayed quiet, smiled what he hoped was a dashing, devil-may-care smile, and swept her off her feet in an animalistic fever for a rough and tumble that was supposed to mean nothing. 

It was terrible.  To be so close and not to have her.  To bite back the poetry that overflowed in him, just to see her face, to feel her.  It was incredibly lonely, and a little too quiet inside.  And somewhere in the silence he had noticed Dolly's absence.  At first it was just curious, and he sent her a note.  Then he went to her flat, and she wouldn't let him inside.  Eager to project his problems, he started thinking she was fucking up.  She needed his help, right?  He had to save her; so it was a good thing that he had tons of time on his hands to redirect his stalking priorities.

Cocktails.  Calaveras.  Nine o'clock.  Tonight's lounge singer was her favorite.

How could she ever hide from him?  He knew all of her routines like the back of a bottle of firewhiskey.  They'd been friends since she was crawling around the floor in diapers, and Dominik hadn't missed a beat.  No one knew Dolly better than Dominik.  And he knew exactly where she'd be tonight.  Nothing could keep her away from it.

I'll eat out, he thought, chucking a poem into the fireplace.  You couldn't eat a poem.  It was a shame really, but you just couldn't.  Not if you had to watch your diet for Quidditch.  But, as much as he was prone to making excuses for going to Calaveras 'on a whim', Dom had been wiling away the time till cocktail hour for, well, hours.  There was nothing spontaneous about any of this.  He was going to catch her in public, where she hopefully wouldn't throw things at him, and force her into having a conversation.  That was what friends did.  Talked?  Why wasn't she even talking to him?  What in the sodding hell had he done now?

He dressed up a bit.  He still looked shaggy and animalistic, still had a scruffy chin, messed up hair and dark circles under his eyes, but he had on some pretty dashing black robes, and had put on a bit of bergamot oil, so when he strolled into Calaveras looking and smelling all handsome and rough, he gained some feminine attentions.  Dominik Wiedman:  Badass.

He didn't really feel like a badass.  He didn't really look at the women.  He didn't have to, because he already knew none of them were her.  She'd be further in, at her usual table.  The one with the view.  Dom walked there, taking his time and letting his eyes absorb the space, flitting off the people to focus more on things, and of those, the more intangible the better.  He was buzzed already on the atmosphere of the place, grounded but with a definite agenda vibrating in his body, driving him forward.  The singer hadn't set up yet, but Dolores would be early.  By twenty-three minutes or so.  As in now. 

Life was good. Her book was coming out in a week, this was the best time in the whole process for her. People showered her with attention or insults and either way she enjoyed coming back with a response. She had even almost forgotten the unpleasantness with Niobe. Well, nearly, she was aware that the reporter and Dom were doing whatever it was they were doing... and knowing that had forced Dolly's hand. She gave it up. Dominik had had near complete control of what Dolly wanted out of life for so many years the freedom to choose what the devil she wanted to do - with no thought to the reaction it might illicit from Weidman was... so very liberating.

There were even days and nights she didn't think about him at all. She had said everything she needed to say to him the night he came to her door. He couldn't keep her on a string, she wrote about empowered women it was about damn time she started acting like one. And there was the rub, the difference between her life before and her life now; there was the free fall of literally not giving a shit what Dominik thought. She didn't sleep with men on the off chance it would get back to him. She didn't start fights in a desperate attempt for a dark knight sweeping in to rescue her moment. She simply enjoyed herself, enjoyed the attention, and when she really needed a pick me up there was Kurby or Alastar who happily crawled into bed with her.

Tonight she was on her own. Well, that wasn't totally true, she was perched on the lap of Jules McCoy cooing in his ear. The smile on his face could only be described as one of a very satisfied man - who was promised greater satisfaction later. He lit her cigarette and gently touched her chin - unaware there was a new member eying their private party. Dolly's laughter filtered above the din of cocktail hour, genuine and musical with her head thrown back as Jule's whispered in her ear. When she moved from his lap finally her dress glittered like a thousand stars, almost swaying in anticipation of her next move. The pair kissed- or rather Jule dipped Dolly back and kissed her in such a way that most would have been sure he wasn't going to see her for another nine months rather than just through his first set.

When he righted her, the leggy author patted her hair, and giggled. There was something to be said for younger men. She had always liked them older but at a certain point there were too many scars to try and compete with. Every so often she needed a hopelessly devoted little puppy. Dolly believed it was sort of like the way a vampire would steal the blood of the young rather than old. Once she had her fill and was strong again she'd leave him to write an album or two about the one who got away. As she exhaled a long plume of smoke she happened to glance behind herself just long enough to spot Dominik and scoff before turning her back on him and sitting again.

Nate had been working for Renfield at Calaveras for nearly a month now and had begun to fall into a routine.  The kitchen was better and worse than Sellaphix's apothecary.  There he'd had to do a fair about of yessirs, and be at least marginally friendly with customers.  But he also had a great deal of time to himself to do the meticulous sort of tasks he liked - rote, mindless, methodical.  When you were a genius as Nate fancied himself, you used your brain in the most efficient way possible.  Do as little work for as much money as you could get and don't ever, ever strain yourself.  Easy living.

So thank Merlin for these kitchens.  It was louder, sure.  And more hectic.  But time flew by.  Ticket after ticket, the monotony of whatever task he had that night ticked on until the rush petered down and he was wiping out cauldrons. 

Saturday night, cold night, and it was half eight - right in the middle of the dinner rush.  And Nate was being as efficient than ever, having wandered out into the lush, warmly lit lobby, on a meandering path out front to smoke.  In his stained and threadbare undershirt and in his patched corduroys, he offended the ambiance.  He caught a nasty look from the witch tending bar - a narrow squinting of her eyes showing her disapproval at a kitchen worker who wouldn't stay where he belonged.

A familiar figure caught his attention just as he was rapping his pack against the heel of his hand. 

"Dominik..." he said with a grin.  His fearsome thug of a brother-in-law.   Nate could never decide if Dominik Wiedman was worth his admiration or pity - I mean how in the world did he manage to cut a deal like he had? Serve Azkaban time as a bloody-knuckle celebrity? Honestly.  Honestly, how is that done? 

He swaggered up to Dominik Wiedman as if the two men were on equal footing.  As if Wiedman wasn't wearing a jacket that if sold could pay their rent for six months; as if Nate wasn't the lowest man in the kitchen and covered in the sweat and smells of every item on the menu.  He wiped his hand on his pants and held it out for a shake.

"Alright, brov? Your sister still has her way with me, so I'm doing fine, since you asked.  Damn, son. You look run over."

It was a normal night for Calaveras so far. Normal was good, especially after last's night little chance encounter with a junkie admirer. She still had a lot of negotiations and planning to do before Valentine's Day at Hogwarts. The project was turning into quite the string of sleepless night. Meredith was delighted. She thrived under stress.

She had, however, decided that tonight she would work in mostly empty private upstairs rather than the main floor or her office. She liked being in the midst of her own establishment but she would rather not have any interruptions tonight. The upstairs was an inverted balcony of sorts, wrapping around the inner perimeter of Calaveras and allowing the few privileged guests to watch the main floor, stage and dance areas behind a waist-high wooden railing. There were tables close to the edge and pushed back for maximum privacy.

Still, micro-manager that she was, Meredith's table was right next to the railing so it only took a tilt of her head to survey the main floor and see the entrance of a not one, but two famous wizards. Dolly St. James, the little socialite and pulp novelist and Dominik Wiedman, professional Quidditch player. Both had frequented Calaveras before and the scarred woman made sure her staff knew on no uncertain terms to treat them well. People like St. James and Wiedman could boost sales by their very presence, though trying to wrangle an autographed photo for the wall couldn't hurt (which reminded her -when and how in the blazes could she get Potter in here?)

Meredith paused her work as she watched Wiedman approach Dolly's table (regularly booking Jule had been a fantastic investment). Funnily, the only woman's head the Quidditch star didn't seem to catch was St. James. Meredith smirked a little and inhaled on her cigarette.

As she exhaled and looked down again she saw the approach of one of her newest additions. Meredith frowned slightly. She rose from her chair and walked to the railing, leaning against a support column, one leg crossed over the other, fedora angled to emphasis her scarred side, cigerette in hand and wafting curling smoke up in the air and clever earrings glinting in the candlelight. There were times, like now, that her inner theatere child shown through.

Meredith caught Jess's eye from the floor. Clearly the woman was ready to intercept Nate if needed. Meredith shook her head enough for the assistant manager to see. A brief background check on Briggs was enough to discover who he really was (not the absurd story Phil fed her), who he was married to, and relations by blood and marriage. Let him have a chat, despite how he was dressed.

Meredith's eyes flicked back to Dolly. The socialite had stormed out with a scene a few weeks ago, and even though she had come back in and the cause of the tantrum hasn't been from the staff, Meredith wasn't eager for it to happen again.

Well, with the current clintele, paperwork would have to wait. Meredith liked to have her hands on the serving on the more famous patrons of Calaveras. She was not above bartending or waitressing or even clearing tables if it came down to it. The woman indicated to one of the staff to clear her table and take the paperwork to her office.

Meredith took one last long drag of her cigarette, before snuffing it out in an ashtray and making for the stairs. From the stairs it was simply a matter of crossing the floor, giving Jule and appreciative nod and smile as she made her way to Dolly's table.

"Miss St. James," Meredith said smoothly. "So good to see you again. Enjoying yourself, I trust? Is there anything I can get for you?"

There she was.  And yes, she saw him.  Dominik slowed to a stop, looking over, only to see Dolly roll her eyes and take her seat again with her back towards him.  His eyes somewhat squinted, he was onto wondering what in the bloody hell her problem was -- his bleedin' mate, friend for life, treating him like the scum of the earth.  He made to take a step, but his confused face was redirected towards a lank shape that had stepped in on his path, and it took a beat or two for him to make sense of who it was and what he had his sweaty hand out for.  Briggs. 

"What?  Oh," said Dominik, his sense of displacement transferring over to Nate's sudden appearance.  He only just looked at the hand held out, and then his gaze dropped and he hunkered down into the space he occupied where once his step lingered, teetering forward toward the angry St. James woman.  "Nice pants," he said, and it was a little unclear whether the statement was genuine or not, though for all intents and purposes it seemed sincere.

"That's right -- Daz said you got a gig here, nearly forgot."  He glanced over at Dolly, who was making a show of how great ignoring him was.  Then he turned his attentions fully towards Nate, and made pretend like he'd meant to meet up with him all along.  He took note of the pack of cigs in his hand, and made it into a decoy. 

"Let's have a smoke, yeah?  You're on break?  Been a bit, man, we could use a good catching up."  He threw his heavy beater's arm over Nate's shoulders.

Had Dominik ever expressed brotherly interest in Nate's activities?  Other than threatening to beat him up if he hurt his kid sister?  None could tell.  But, there was something in Dominik's stance that said he wouldn't be taking no for an answer.  They were going to talk, and they were going to have a cigarette together.  And most likely, Dominik would be having one of Nate's cigarettes.

"C'mon," he said, "We can sit over in the side-lines with these sodding 'special' people."

Daz had just been in the bathroom, hadn't seen Nate yet, but totally knew Dominik was on his way.  Not that he said he'd be coming, it's just that she was the one who'd told him Jules McCoy'd be playing, which was as good as saying here's your chance to catch our Dolly St. James.  It'd been a casual mention, but she'd more than just barely noticed the strange vibes bouncing off those two.  Daz went by Dom's flat more often than anyone realized.  And she noticed more than she ever dreamed of letting on, let alone all the things he freely told her.

"Dolls, baby, thank Salazar you've finally laid off that lounge singer.  Isn't he a bit too pretty?  Eaugh," said Dazmond, who preferred boys in patched corduroys to perfectly smoothed skin, smoothed slacks, smoothed -- ack -- any bloody day of the week!  She smiled, sitting in her friend's lap now, and totally changing the previous atmosphere of unsatisfactorily high testosterone levels into one of girly love.

As she set in, Meredith was already setting a path toward the uber-celebrity of Dolores St. James, and soon after she perched on the other girl's knee, they were joined by Renfield, and Dazmond's grin increased.  Meredith Renfield was fantastic, and Dazmond was giddy at the thought that her darling Nate had landed a job here.  Nothing was better than mischievous female entrepreneurs.  Nothing!

"Yes Dolls, what's your heart desire?" laughed Dazmond, nearly winking at the ever professional Renfield, feeling she had a boot in with the Witch and could drop her guard a bit.  She was here for fun dammit, and maybe to catch a glimpse of the man she was all proud of, working his sweat over cauldrons and looking fine as hell, just before she forced Dolly and Dominik to make good again.  All with the appearance of being on Doll's side. 

Well, appearances aside, she really rather was.  She wasn't sure totally what was up with Dominik, and she didn't like Niobe.  Had tried to mess her up with potions once, but was distracted in the line of duty by -- by whatever had taken her away last Summer.  Whatever that had been about.  But that was even before Dom had started professing his love for her.  It was all rather weird.

"If I had any say, I'd ask you to join us," piped in Daz, pretty eager for Renfield time, as was she ever.  The stories of cannibalism just made her all the more endearing.

If ever there had been a soul to distract Dolly St. James from the charms of a man it came waltzing back to her side then all of her five-foot whatever, midget self. With her strong nose', raven hair, and the flashes of red that seemed so like the woman they belonged to - Dazmond peeked out of places you'd never expect her; to offer a glimpse of color in an otherwise dreary life. The short version of that sentiment of course, was that Dolly loved Daz only slightly less than she loved Dominik. No, that wasn't right, it wasn't a more than/less than situation - it was just different. She loved Daz differently but just as greatly as she loved the elder Wiedman.

Which was exactly why she greeted her with as much enthusiasm as she'd sent Jules off with, sliding her arms around the petite waist of her companion. "Tsk, tsk, Darling - you needn't be jealous. Jules is quite aware you are the one true, ever faithful, love of my life," she giggled against the other woman's cheek as she gave her a kiss, "You know I must live off the souls of the innocent sometimes". It was nice, since she was absolutely not in love with Dominik anymore, to spend time with Dazmond. She didn't have to worry anymore that Dazzy would feel some sort of strain - some sort of jealousy about sharing either her friend or her brother. Dolly was never really sure which bothered her more; the way Dolly stole Dom or the way Dom stole Dolly.

It hardly mattered anymore of course, because they were having a charming time and were soon joined by their lovely hostess. "Oh, Mer Darling, how many times do I have to tell you to drop the silly Ms. St. James bit! When I come to Calavera's it's much more akin to coming home - which means you ought to just call me Dolly," she winked at the restaurant propritor as she reached out to squeeze her fingers.  "Every little thing is absolutely divine! This is a particularly fabulous bottle of scotch and I absolutely adore you for sending it over, and letting me giggle over all your lovely entertainment. Jules is an amazing addition to the atmosphere," she punctuated her sentence with another giggle, and a squeeze around Daz's waist as well as Mer's fingers.

She was not pretending to ignore Dominik. She was just having too damn much fun to give a flooberworm's colony of farts what he was doing. She could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head, and for a moment she felt that twinge of smugness. She'd gotten a rise without even trying. However, it was more of a flicker than a feeling as she found herself nodding along with Dazmond's suggestion vigariously. "Of course! You must join us, I insist. And you do know how I adore being humored," extending one of her rather famous gams she used the time of her toes to push out a chair opposite she and Daz, "Sit, have a drink on me".

Nate couldn't help but feel a burn on his pride when Dominik Wiedman all but looked right through him.  The snotty bastard.  Wasn't as if the two 'brothers' had ever kicked around the football as lads, though, had they?  No, their relationship began with the rocky crucible of Nathan boffing Dom's little sister.  But having Dazmond's blessing was just as solid a Protection Plan as being on Lord Voldemort's badside, and Nate had that blessing in spades.  He pivoted around just enough to see where Dom's eyes had taken him; who the hell was that? Was that Dolly St. James?  Nate rolled his eyes.  Lady Love Dazmond was there (outshining all of her company) rubbing bony elbows with the famous book writer (Nate would never call her author) and his boss Meredith Renfield (boss) hovering nearby.  A coven of three witches such as those certainly meant someone was going to die tonight.

"Yea, right.  Break."  Is that what they called doing whatever the shit you wanted?

If Dazmond was a bony pixie, a sprite, a dryad, then her brother had more the bearing of a centaur.  Perhaps a wizard with less narcissism as Nate had would have felt diminutive in the professional Quidditch beater's muscled presence, but there were more important things for a lad to get at besides repeatedly lifting heavy objects.  Like having a damn smoke.  He shifted his weight beneath Dom's heavy arm and heavy suggestion, not at all fluffed.  The Head Chef, whatever her name was, was twice Dom's size and had been threatening to remove his ears all night - Dom was a pussycat.  But that fixated glare was a touch off-putting.  What was he talking about.

"You mean by piano yonder?" Still under Dom's arm he stick a cig in his lips and then passed on to Dom.  Wand out, lit the tip.  "Your funeral, brov."  Light it up, inhale, puff of virgin smoke.  Nate wasn't usually overcome with the mystique of celebrity, but having a smoke with Dom Wiedman, Dolly St. James and the incomparable underground queen Mere Renfield was a touch out of his normal schedule.  But then, he'd get to snag some time with Dazmond, which was the whole point of life's charade wasn't it?

Meredith smiled at the two women. She rather liked Dazmond. The woman was talented, striking, and made a hell of an impression, all things Meredith admired. How Nate Briggs had ever gotten so lucky Meredith would never know. Well, she was a snoop, so she probably would eventually. It's how she thrived. Never knew when someone would come asking for information that may or may not seem to be of any practical use. Criminals, reporters even a few false reports to the Ministry mixed in with a bit of truth. It paid well and advertising was a natural by-product. But as of now, she wasn't looking for dirt on either of the two women.

"Of course Dolly," Meredith said. "Call everyone by their titles and surnames long enough by the end of the day going casual starts sounding unnatural. Occupational hazard, I'm afraid. I'm glad you enjoyed the scotch. My usual supplier recommended that label to me and I thought you might enjoy it as much as I did."

She ought to give the man a little treat sometime. His excellent taste and knowledge of his industry had been invaluable to business. Maybe a free dinner for him and his wife. Their anniversary was coming up, wasn't it?

Meredith looked up at Dazmond when the woman suggested Meredith join them at their table, an offer quickly repeated by Dolly and which Meredith was only too happy to accept. Oh, of course it paid to keep people like Dolly happy, and Dazmond had some interesting connections and income if rumors were to believed, but a little girl time outside of business meetings were something a little too rare and entertaining to pass up.

"Dolly, Dazmond, I'd be delighted," Meredith said. She leaned down to whisper in Dolly's ear. "You might want to fix your dress. You seem to have come a little undone."

She was an interesting one, Dolly St. James. Almost as famous for her antics as her works in Meredith's opinion. People like that could easily be labeled as having nothing but fluff in their brains and easily manipulated. She had yet to decide how true it was of Dolly. Regardless, the woman was always sweet to Meredith and the performers she fawned over were at least the highly talented ones. It made giving her the celebrity treatment enjoyable.

Still smiling, Meredith slid into an empty seat and turned her gaze to Dazmond. "And how have you been lately? Hopefully I haven't been keeping your Nate too long away from you."

She could say this for Nate- he had been doing good work so far. They were only a month in, but Frankie had no complaints on his performance. He might not be the best put together man, but he was a good worker and Meredith was almost glad he had nearly knocked down her door, chasing after Phil.

Meredith reached for the scotch and poured herself a glass. Well, Dolly had offered and it had come from Meredith herself in the first place.

Daz gave a wide, child-like grin to Meredith and swiveled on Dolly's lap, shifting her weight so all three women could more easily converse.  This was not a formal meeting, she was drinking, and besides, they'd be needing that extra chair when Dominik showed up.

"Good!" she said, a little too quick and eager like.  "I'm good."  It was a total lie, but she just shrugged a bit and went on smiling.  Dazmond was keen on having a normal night, and not thinking about Jonas or Lexus or what she was going to do come tomorrow.  Telling her friends and associates what was going on would only be disastrous to her reputation.  Not to mention the power that the potions recall had on her, which was everyone's business, or the Werewolf Capture Unit's recent blackmail scheme, which only Nathan and Dominik knew about. 

Instead of hinting at any of that pesky truth stuff then, Dazmond did a little laugh.  "The schedule's fine, yeah.  I've got a lot myself to keep me pretty well entertained.  You know how it is, path of the business Witch, all that."

Daz's eyes glinted as she caught sight of Dominik coming their way, and he was joined by Nathan.  She pressed her lips together and tried to stall Dolly from realizing that she was sitting on the woman's lap half out of the hope that she'd be forced to stay put when the other Wiedman came along.  She looked at Dolly, head tilted, as she explained to Meredith.  "Dolly's having me along for a spot of fun; I think she's concerned I'm working too hard."

Dominik had his eyes set on his goal pretty hard; he was anticipating having to trap her into a corner in order to get a word in.  But he wasn't completely distracted from Nate.  He stopped along with him as he got his smokes out of the pack, and Dominik followed his motions of lighting its tip and taking a first slow inhalation before slipping his wand back into his pocket singlehandedly.

"Yeah, let's have a sit by Dazmond."  He ignored the funerial comment by telling himself that it'd all blow over soon enough.  It always did, and they rarely fought in front of Dazmond.  But he didn't really budge yet.  How much more emasculation could the poor lad really take?

Dominik walked a line with Nate.  They had their moments, and although he made sure to play Alpha dog pretty consistently, he had never yet gotten violent against him.  The worst it got was maybe this last Summer when Dom yelled at Nate in a violent outburst for not knowing where Daz was.  But Daz would poison even her own brother if he crossed the wrong line.  Dominik tried to avoid that; poisonings courtesy of little sis could be particularly unpleasant and could last for days.  He didn't want to know how much more creative she'd gotten since the time he fed her collection of horklumps to the garden gnomes.  Apparently this was not an acceptable form of entertainment in the Wiedman household.

"Alright yeah," said Dominik, taking a firm step forward again as he relished in his cigarette.  "Let's get my head chopped off or coddled yonder."

The duo approached the table where their three Viragos sat, and Dominik pulled his arm off Nate like a snake dropping from a tree branch.  "Meredith Renfield," he said, putting on another of those false, dashing smiles.  He made himself for a moment into the perfect gentleman, taking her hand in his and kissing its back lightly.  "Pleasure as ever to steal a moment with a female entrepreneur."  He squoze her hand for a brief moment before sliding around the table and placing a kiss on his kid sister's cheek. 

"Daz," he said warmly.  And without really looking added on the more luke-warm acknowledgement, "Dolly."  Then Dominik lowered himself into a seat much too heavily and sunk into it with terrible posture, his legs wide apart in an arrogant stance.  His eyes darkened, and he looked away from the conversation, an awkward addition to the table.

Dolly was delighted when Meredith plopped herself down and poured herself a drink. Dolly reached for the bottle next, refreshing her drink and pouring another for Daz. She had become accustomed to doing this with someone on her lap at an early age. Dazmond had always preferred laps to chairs. Resting her chin on Wiedman's pale shoulder she dug one handed through her bag for a cigarette - having let the other burn completely away. She was awful about that sometimes.

She watched as Daz lied through her teeth and simply shrugged it off. She didn't particularly want to rehash all the bullshit that was going on. Besides wanting to make doe eyes at Jules all night, she'd brought Daz out to get her mind off things - to keep her own mind off things. This was the "good phase" for her - but she would also ruminate for hours about things she should have changed in the book if she wasn't constantly busy. Luckily she had two brilliant assistants who kept her schedule very full - if a little distracted all together.

She felt Dom looming closer - but kept her cool - in so much as her only reaction was to pinch Dazmond's side, a subtle signal of her discontentment and that Daz ought to tell her brother to get himself back from whatever hole he had climbed out of it. He could get himself back to Miss. Niobe and waste away for all the devil she cared. He could go drown in the Thames! He'd ruined too many things for her, never appreciated how much of herself she gave him - things she never did for anyone else she had never hesitated to offer him. It was a sickness - and quite honestly she was ready to be well. He wouldn't ever give her what she needed, what she wanted, not because he couldn't but because he was a weak coward. It was easier to be miserable for sure than take the risk that she'd love him forever.

So now she wouldn't love him at all. Sometimes her logic was...screwy but it made sense to the parts of her Dom had broken. She didn't even bother to glance at him when he greeted her. Instead she chose to give a bright laugh and cover her lips with silken fingertips, "Oh My! I'll have to remind Jules to be more careful," glancing up at the shaggy equvilant of a brother in-law she fluttered her eyelashes, "Nate, Love, be a dear?" her voice was amused as she lifted her long hair, "Zip me up? I was in a bit of a...rush," and then she giggled. To be fair she didn't demand things from Briggs, her tricks and charms had never worked on him - probably because he fell in love with Dazmond before Dolly had a go at him.

She didn't mind though, Nate was good to and for Dazmond. Dolly played him fair and respected him enough not to assume he'd treat her like the sun shone out her ass. As she waited for the gruff handed man to fix the back of her dress her blue eyes wandered to the stage and she gave a dreamy sigh that could have belonged to any sixteen year old girl at Hogwarts. "Just look at him, Darlings. Merlin but that boy can sing, and such a pretty face," she giggled again against Dazmond's shoulder. "If only I believed in true love and living on a dirty mattress in Diagon. We could have a brood of brats and he'd sing to me every night," taking a swig of scotch she shook her head, "Lord but that does sound dreadful even when I say it".

Nate made no gallant displays like his thug-in-law as he stood in his kitchen scrubs arms crossed his chest, a cigarette hanging from his lips.  If he was trying to put on any sort of show himself, it was one of delibeate disinterest.  That was, indeed, the visage he was attempting to cutivate especially when he was truthfully somewhat intimidated.  He wondered how long it would take before his boss stopped tolerating him here among the clean, pretty customers when he should be around back stirring something.

He stood slightly back, and nearst to Daz.  And since she was on Dolly's lap, quite near to Dolly as well.  He caught Daz's eye and flicked an eyebrow in a cheeky, silent greeting.  It said something like..."Honestly?"

Of all the perks of being as rich and famous as Dolly, certainly the curse was that one was open game for harsh judgement.  When it's all laid on the table, when your life is a performance, some of those who watch are entitled to boo.  Nate found everything about Dolly as garish.  Her overt sexuality, compared to his own unshaven wiles, was oppulent and clownish. 

So when she giggled and asked for a zip up, Nate had to stop himself from scoffing, letting out some nasty vocabulary and launching into some diatribe.  Who did she thing he was? The help?

Oh okay well yes. He was the help, but not her personal dressor.

He didn't move an inch from his posture, instead just lifting his chin a touch and speaking without removing his cigarette.

"Na, Dolly - looks better undone."

Dazmond seemed...tense. It was subtle, to be sure, but there it was. Tell-tale tightness around her mouth and eyes. Not being a talented enough with her wand for Legimency, Meredith had long-ago learned to rely on other means to discern the thoughts of people around her. The theatre helped a tad with that, although, to be fair, the expressions were far more exaggerated than in real life.

"Well, let me know if there's any trouble," she assured the woman, "And I'm sure we can work it out. Business witch to business witch."

And if she had an issue with Nate’s schedule, she could talk to Meredith about that as well. For some reason, Meredith always assumed it was Dazmond that wore the trousers (so to speak) in her marriage with Briggs.

Speaking of the man, soon enough the trio of witches were joined by Dazmond's husband and brother, the latter of which kissed Meredith's hand like one of those old-time gentlemen. The charmer. Even if his connections to Dazmond weren’t enough for Meredith to like him by association, the woman was always a sucker for those little nods to gentleman decorum of decades past. Anything or anyone to remind her of Clark Gable and Humphrey Boggart were always a welcome sight in her place. Not that she would ever say so aloud, of course. It was so embarrassing to be caught with your Muggle showing.

"The pleasure, I assure you, is mine," Meredith assured the man. "I am a fan of your work on the Quidditch Field, so it’s always a delight to see you in here.”

It was true, to a certain extent. She had been paying more attention to individual players of late, having had recent encounters with players or relatives of players themselves. There wasn’t much profit to be made, but every once in a while a bookie or a gambler came knocking, eager to pay for some juicy dirt on a scandal, injury or rumor that would hinder or help a player or team. And if one wasn’t there, well..a little extra gold and the right people at the right place and some vouchers did wonders.

She took a sip of her drink as the men sat down. Dominick was exhaling on a rather nice-smelling cigarette.  The smoke and his greeting to Meredith and Dazmond was about the only thing sweet around him now. Once he’d said hello to Dolly he looked quite…sullen and the little flighty socialite looked only happy to ignore him back.

My, my, my. Drama did have a tendency to follow Dolly around, didn’t it? Maybe that’s why she was able to write such wildly successful teen drama novels. Personal experience. Or just a general lifestyle know-how.

Meredith did have to chuckle a bit at Dolly’s declaration against whirlwind romance. Funny, she was the type Meredith wouldn’t be surprised if she turned up with a string of month-long marriages. Provided of course, the lovers had an adequate gold supply, which would always be Jules’ fatal flaw.

“Not unless that pretty voice can hypnotize passerbys to loosen purse strings,” Meredith said. “In which case, I’d double what I’m paying him now.”

She reached into her breast pocket and pulled out her cigarette case and wan, grabbing a fag and lighting it, before bringing it to her red-stained lips and breathing in deeply. She exhaled just as Nate told Dolly his opinion on how she was wearing (or not wearing, depending on who you ask) her garment.

“Now, now, play nice,” she chided lightly, an amused smile on her face.

"You got it boss, and cheers," she said, holding her glass up in a long-distance toast to Meredith.  "I've a thing I wanted to chat you about later.  Bit of business."  She gave a low-key wink to show just what she meant by 'business'.  Some might call it attempted manslaughter... Daz, she called it your friendly neighborhood watch group taking political action.  Action against the Muggle and the Squib, and the Squib's Muggle-loving baby to be precise.

The pinch at her side came as no surprise, but Dazmond jumped a little anyway, instinctively, then grinned with childish eye at the approaching Wizards and said, "Well if it isn't my two favorite blokes."

Nate's "you're smarter than this" eye-brow cocking salutation was met with a playful portrayal of an aghast person who follows the dictates of polite society; it was all in the face, and subtle.  She got a kick out of it.  Dazmond revered the lovely flow of nonverbal communication she could maintain with Nate, both because it was playful and because it spoke of a deeper, sort of psychic, connection between them.  She laughed a bit as Dominik swept over to kiss her on the cheek.  "Hey Dominik," she said complacently.

After he sat down and started stewing in something, Daz eyed Dominik with a smile, but warily with her mouth open and with a prodding, questionable gaze.  He was so moody, and decidedly so.  Sometimes Daz wasn't sure why Dom had to always make things harder for himself, but she could still sort of understand it.  He had never really grown up.  But he sure acted like he did, and just hated life.  He was either an old fogey or a young kid stuck in a melancholic state of mind.  As soon as she started analyzing him, however, she came round to thinking he was just Dominik.  Curious, masochistic Dominik.  And she loved the petunias out of him. 

She turned easily to watch the humorous exchange between Dolly and Nathan, feeling the oft-felt and weird disconnect between the types of social relations garnered by her pureblooded upbringing and her very natural, rootsy union with Nate.  It was still strange, juxtaposing those worlds, and Nate for his part was rather good at putting up with her friends and, quite frankly shady, clients.  There were lines she had to draw occasionally, and family reunions were just simply hilarious.  If you asked her, she'd say she had a pretty good gig.  Nate had a way of showing her how ridiculous her inherited sense of superiority was, all the while helping her develop an even higher level of superiority, the cast of which consisted of two:  Him and Her.

"Oh you two," said Dazmond merrily to her mate and her friend.  "Go and get married already."
 
Daz took a sip of her drink, then leaned in on the table, her attention directed at Meredith again.  "Just a thought but, I'll double the pot on that business deal if you want to give my boy a longer break."  She tipped her hat, a grey and scarlet red fedora.