Friday: 22 May, 2009
The Black Chimera
Knockturn Alley, London
7:27pm

Timing was never really key when entering a pub of any sort.  Unless of course you were one of those stingy happy hour hunting snobs who couldn’t afford making a high roller tab, ever.  In truth, he had been putting this meeting off for months –not that he had a pressing or full schedule, but rather he found that observing the ‘new breed’ was far easier than actually interacting with them.  Most of them seemed prideful, arrogant, cocky and their intelligence seemed to cap out once that cockiness reached a certain level.  He was not a mentor, he did not care to be, and yet a few of the local younglings showed promise.   Cináed Tawse showed a bit more than most, although at times he made decisions which were, how shall we say, brash.

The chime above the door tolled its predictable greeting as the man in the dragonhide coat and sheepskin hat shrugged his way through into the cramped little venue.  Okay so it wasn’t little, but it was certainly quite cramped in a busy sort of way.  Then again, Friday night, just past meals but well past shopping hours.  Much as you can tell a lot about a man by what he drinks, you can tell a lot about an establishment by its customers.

Still; there weren’t any aurors and that was more than a good start to the evening.

The gentleman forged his way to the bar and took a stance, flagging the bartender from halfway across.  “Double Scotch.  Ice.  A splash of lemon and some ginger.”  He didn’t see Tawse just yet but that didn’t mean anything, management was management.  Management also, for the time being, wasn’t his, and that tended to change a lot of things in perspective to how things were run.  With drink in hand he leaned his back against the counter, took a sip and smiled.

“That’ll do…that’ll certainly do.”

The Chimaera remained under close Ministry surveillance which made getting in and out of the pub a tad bit inconvenient.  It wasn't impossible, but it was tricky.  And, quite risky.  But, Cinaed could no more stay away from the place than he could stay away from women.  Or, convince Raynor that he was a good boy and wanted to become an Auror.  He left that job to Chris. 

He did have a number of reliable tactics up his sleeves and he alternated between them, lest the Ministry be on the lookout for any patterns.  This time, it had been a simple disillusionment charm and a long dark cloak, both of which he shed once he'd slipped through the pub's doors. 

Seamus, the eyeless mastiff, pushed himself to his feet and weaved his way around the various tables and chairs until his nose led him to his self-appointed master.  Cinaed patted the dog briefly on the head before circling around to the far side of the bar and, after patting Chris on the back in greeting, fixing himself a drink and a bite to eat.  After a few rounds with the crowd, he'd sneak upstairs and check up on business things until slipping out his bedroom window under the cover of night. 

With a portion of shepherd's pie and a full glass of red ale, Cinaed settled himself on a stool on the back side of the bar and offered the man with the scotch a nod in greeting.  "Evening," he offered, cordially.  "Unless I'm mistaken, I've seen you around.  Can't quite place a name to it, though."  He extended a hand across the table in cordially greeting.

The territory might be relatively unfamiliar, but the ambient feel of the space felt as comfortable as home cooked meal.  The Black Chimaera was like any other pub, neutral ground (not to be lumped in with restaurants where assassinations were fair game) for the underworld and working man alike.  Ignore the fact it was because social circles at such places were mostly pre-established and unless you felt like prying yourself into one, you didn't.  You were still a regular, you just paid your tab and left.

"Evening.  Unless I'm mistaken, I've seen you around.  Can't quite place a name to it, though."

Right then.   Time to finally become more than just another regular face.

 Cináed Tawse was tall, even by his standards and even this casaual greeting was enough to even intimidate him just the smallest fraction of a pinch.  Still, the man had a reputation which spoke for him long before the aurors lurking elsewhere outside the elephant in the room.  "Mistaken? No, I doubt you're that." Burke replied whilst firmly grasping the offered hand for a moment and taking another sip.  "Around, however, would certainly be the operative word Cináed." 

Though his demeanor was casual and relaxed, Cinaed maintained an ever-careful eye on the door.  He knew most of the Knockturn regulars well enough and he trusted most of the regulars in the pub to watch his back; if any unfamiliar faces passed the threshold, he wouldn't wait around for them to identify himself.  He'd be gone through the back doors to the now mostly empty boarding house. 

So, his hunch had been right.  He had seen the fellow around the alley.  The bloke still hadn't offered a name but that wasn't uncommon amongst the Knockturn crowd. 

"Must say.  Can't wait until the Ministry gets bored and pulls their mercs out of our turf.  It's getting a bit crowded with their spies hanging out around every corner."  The Ministry wasn't likely to get bored anytime soon, especially not while he was still at large.  "I assume you aren't friends with the Ministry?"  It was, generally, a safe assumption - the Ministry didn't have lots of allies down this way.