Technically 24 June
1:15 am

Vesta Baddrick sat in the Leaky hunched over something smoking and strong, a black-thick brew that smoldered even as it fizzed.  It was a stupid drink, tasted horrible.  It was getting late, way late, and she had yet to find herself any sort of fun, any thrill in this shite town.  Wasn't London supposed to be the center of Wizarding hubbub? Home of the biggest scores? Streets positively thrumming with heavy pockets? But so far it was a pile of dull, and she didn't know anyone. 

She had sat there for hours, ordering drink after drink spinning her wand on the table.  Well, not her wand.  The wand of some sorry loser up in Leedz who'd cried all over his pinstripes when she'd taken it from him along with all his gold and a pocket watch which netted her seventy galleons later on.  Family heirloom or something or other.  She liked that.  The thing had history.  But, as wand-switchers like herself learned, their shelf-life was short. Vesta Baddrick would need to sell this one off shortly and find herself a new one.

Merlin's arse, was anyone going to walk through who looked even remotely worth robbing?  She was beginning to lose hope that the biggest thrill she'd get tonight would be running out on her tab.  She kept watching the back door, hoping someone would come through to head out into the lonely night. 

Dotty was a nocturnite as she was becoming a Knockturnite. Staying up way late was nothing new to her, her sleep cycle could get pretty screwed up. Only recently had crashing at The Inkwell made it worse. Dietrich spent a day explaining to customers what the sound of buzzing doxies coming from upstairs was until a muffling spell was finally cast. Then when Dotty got up she couldn't understand why nobody wanted to have fun at 2am after their day of work.

So an attempt to make Dotty a team player had her go out for goods. The kind of goods where the supplier is only going to be at that alleyway off that corner between the hours of "who stays up this late" and "watch out for crowing chickens". As Anadotti was the only one wired for that time of night, she got to go out and get the stuff.

Wired was a rather apt way of defining Dotty tonight, still buzzing over a tip she'd gotten about ingesting crushed Fizzing Whisbees straight up the nose. Better than those muggle pixie sticks.

"Eyyyy!" she said to the barman on late duty. "Top it off gov." She placed a black case on the bar and leftover change for a drink. She couldn't handle or pay for Firewhiskey at this point so it was something weaker.

"So check this," Dotty said to the barman trying to not pay full attention to her. She had no clue to just shut up and finish her errand. "I'm in transport now! Big mover and shaker, I guess you could say my landlord made me get these." She opened the foam lined case that had long silver slivers and several tiny jars in the pockets.

"You could tranq a horse with these needles! And believe me, horse tranq's have a hefty kick to 'em. And check it, all these rare inks and gold flakes to put in a tattoo. Who'd want gold flakes injected into them? Itwould be like having dragon pox only yellow."

"Look," said the bartender. "It's getting late and you should call it quits with the one drink."

"Well you're no fun!" Dotty moaned, downing the rest in one gulp, then snapping the case shut to leave. However she was heading in the wrong direction.

A distinct accent cut through the mumbling drowse of the Leaky, and Vesta raised her heavily kohl'ed eyelids to see who was making the racket.  The accent was American, and the speaker was young and looked every bit Knockturn.  And she had a case she was speaking too loudly about.  Witch was asking for it. 

At your service, Vesta Baddrick thought to herself.  If ever a mooncalf deserved to eat a jinx it was this loud-mouthed Yank. 

She was leaving, and Vesta made moves to follow.  She laid a sickle down on the table, not nearly half of what she owed, but it would keep the barman from running after until he was settling the tickets at night's end.  Vesta turned up her collar, readied her wand up her sleeve, and gave pursuit out the door onto Charing Cross.

It was deserted save the two witches, one with the case about twenty paces ahead of the one with a hungry look in her eye.

Vesta struck without warning.  As soon as she saw the American near the open mouth of a narrow ally, she whipped out her wand, quick as lighting, and cast,  "Accido!"

Even before the deserving witch finished falling to the ground, Vesta had quickly closed the distance.  She grabbed the American by the hair, and dragged her into the ally. 

((OOC: Language written and implied!!))

The dark night was silent except for distant city sounds and Dotty stumbled off. The case was heavier than it was thought, mostly from the padding and casing. As if in a haze she went down the sidewalk, counting buildings. Schnizz, she shouldn't be getting to the fork already...and wasn't that one big abandoned shop supposed to be in front of her?

She tripped, falling chest first onto the case of needles. "Frick," she thought, wondering just what the heck she had tripped over. Luckily this case could take a beating. She shrugged onto her knees and used the case to prop herself up--then her long mass of raven hair tried to forcibly leave and take her scalp with it.

"Ow! Ow! Ow-frockin-oww!! Fuc--" Somebody was dragging her along to a gap between buildings. Just bigger than her. Not that she'd been dragged by the hair before but Dotty and seen a few scrapes and had ideas of what to do. She twisted past the pain of fist grabbed hair, the black case swinging up for the head and her knee for the spot that hurt men a bunch more than it hurt women. Squirrels weren't known for claws but Dotty's claws were out.

The witch was fighting and swearing and carrying on, and Vesta had her hands full - of hair.  Briefcases, fists, and knees were flying at her.  It wasn't anything new, but the level of spit and vinegar was in the upper percentile of 'backfight' she'd ever seen.  Reminded her of herself. 

Briefcase to the head and Vesta was knocked off balance too much to avoid a knee to the crotch.  But, she kept hold of that head of hair.  She grunted in pain, and instead of doubling over, she just yanked harder on her hair, and jammed the end of her wand into the woman's temple.

"Listen, idiot, drop the case and empty your pockets.  Give up your wand or I'll replace your brain with a hive of bees, got it?"

The request was simple enough.  But they always fought and Vesta was counting on it.  She gave her victims every chance to keep their noses on the center of their faces, but they always resisted, however weakly.  And that just gave Vesta the leave she needed to drop a few drips of the Dark stuff onto their mangy souls.   

Vesta gave the witch another yank for good measure.  "Do it! Now!"

All of Dotty's attempts didn't fell the other woman who pissed her off. "Make me--OW!!" she cried, whether from a tuft of hair ripping free or the increased point of wand to head.

"I could do with a good hive of bees! Might get some honey out of it. Prick." She tried another swipe but the woman yanked her about again, reinforcing it by yelling "Do it! Now!"

"Okay okay, jeep! Frockin' give me a minute..." Dotty dropped the case and searched her layers of clothing. Remaining pocket change, half a packet of Fizzing Whizbees, a collection of bottle caps and a ball of tissues. As she reached up the sleeve where she kept her wand her mind panicked over if she would be able to get off a spell quick enough. Damnit, nonverbal casting had never been her strong suit.

Any attempt to retaliate or fulfill this mugger's wishes was shot to hell when Dotty's searching fingers found no rod. The recollection smacked into her that she had kept it under the pillow Dietrich had given her to sleep with. In further retrospection, she'd have been screwed trying to enter Diagon from the Leaky Cauldron anyways. Not that she'd miss it, finding time to snitch another wand, but she took delight in the small if circumstantial victory.

"Hah," she spat in her attacker's face (literally, a glob of spit was involved). "Jokes on you, I don't have it. My wand."

True to her demands the American had dropped the case and dropped a bunch of pocket garbage on the dirty, wet ally floor.  There was nothing bigger than a sickle in amongst lint and candy.  Cheap-arse Knockturn drivvel! The case better be as fun-filled as she'd overheard at the Leaky, or this was a bust.  The only fun would be punishing this idiot for being so damn impoverished.

And then, the witch spat on her. 

"You f-!" 

That was a new one.  Truly disgusted, Vesta hauled the witch around to push her back first against the wall.  "You think you're some kind of riot? Extorqueo! Find that funny?"

Holding the witch against the wall at a stiff-arm's length, Vesta Baddrick had drawn her wand up to her own ear, thumb down, elbow up, in a posture taught to her by a near-dead Dark Artist.  She'd then cast a close-range Dislocation hex onto Anadotti's right shoulder.  Vesta's received that hex as part of her tutelage - that was always part of it.  Taste test.  She knew how much it hurt and how much pain seemed to overshadow other priorities.

"Give up the wand.  I've not even got to the punchline yet.  It's a killer."

"You f-!"

Anadotti was pinned against the wall. At least her hair was freed. "Why, you the riot police? Give up your badge then--Ow!" More pain, this time from a spell.

"Find what funny?" Dotty asked, making to slap at her attacker's face. But her arm didn't do anything. What? She made an effort with her shoulder, the arm flopped feebly. "What did you do!!!"

"Give up the wand.  I've not even got to the punchline yet.  It's a killer."

"Stupid bitch!" fumed Dotty, trying to move her arm again, nothing but spasms. "I just told you I don't have my stupid wand! And if I did how can I give it up when you've done this?" She flopped her useless arm again, unintentionally managing to cuff the side of the woman's head with a whiplash of the noodle of flesh.

Keep it speedy, stupid.  A simple axiom Ms Baddrick had devised for herself.  Every second spent with your 'client' and that was one second more for something to go wrong.  For you to split your attention, for the client to get cocky, play hero, or forget how much pain hurts.  Or how attached they are to their limbs.  So what if it was more fun to play - kill the mouse, get on with it, and live to play another day.

...or was it 'keep it savage...?'  She batted away the limp, dislocated arm, and kept her wand trained on her from a high position.

Whoever this witch was, she wasn't her normal sort.  This one was a pain in her arse and went on about not having her wand.  Who doesn't have their wand? Every witch and wizard from the day they were born attached themselves to their wind like it was their most important appendage.  If you didn't have it, you felt naked, vulnerable - which is precisely why she preferred to take wands when she was mugging people!  What kind of slack-brain didn't have a wand with them at all times?  Clearly, the witch was lying.  Lying for some stupid reason. Some blink of self-righteousness, be able to come out of this as some sort of hero?

"Fine.  Keep it.  Enjoy life without kidneys."

Then, Vesta took on a state of focus somewhat incongruous with the heat of the moment.  She wanted to hit and hurt the witch, to make her pay for being so insolent, so difficult.  But not now.  She had to focus.  This curse was very, very difficult. 

She'd tasted it once herself.  Nine years ago.

..."You won't like see a curse like this... if you live...I may teach it to you, Vesta..."

Vesta lowered her wand from its high stance and then jabbed it into Anadotti's soft stomach. 

..."You feel it starting... try and listen through the screaming, this is important what I"ll be telling you... the people at St. Mungo's will need to know...Shh, Vesta, bite your tongue and listen..."

"Intabeviscus!" she incanted, hissing through hard gritted teeth remember her lesson at the hands of her tutor.

..."Your innerds are melting, Vesta... the burning is your stomach juices leaking into your other parts... it's difficult to breath with all that blood in your windpipe...  can you Apparate? I think you should before it's... too late...  See me when you recover... I think you'll have a knack for this one with practice..."

The look on the witch's face mirrored what Vesta's had been when the curse had been first cast upon her.  'That didn't hurt', it said.  'Aren't curses supposed t-...?'  It would only be a matter of seconds. 

Vesta Baddrick stepped back, and in a sudden animation swiped up the case and the few sickles on the pavement.  Wand still leveled at the doomed witch, she started backing away.  She wanted an eyeful before she Apparated away. 
 

"Friggin'-A! 'No Wand' is pretty simple language even I can understand. And I'm toasty toshed!" Dotty said, owing to her semi-inebriated state.

"Fine.  Keep it.  Enjoy life without kidneys."

"What the frock--" Dotty began but was cut off by reddish-purple light stinging her stomach. She moved back, smug about something.

"Was that it?" Dotty asked, feeling no other disjointed limbs. The witch grabbed the case and backed away. "Hey that's mine--*urk*"

Something convulsed within her. Dotty stumbled, bent over, clutching her gut. She nearly heaved right there. She stood up enough to catch sight of the witch disappearing. "Hey! Get back here!"

But she was gone. Dotty collapsed on the ground, dislocated arm twisted in a funny angle, the active one feeling a throbbing as if her gullet had been stuffed with Chocolate Frogs all jumping about at the same time. She screamed in pain.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit I'm dead I'm dead for real this time all because some ugly smelling witch jumps on me and steals my stuff all because I left my wand at the tat shop...

The Inkwell!! She had to get there and fast. Dotty hand only one way to make it, to fly straight as an arrow. Well she couldn't fly but she could climb. She triggered her familiar transformation, pain increased tenfold from the lingering curses. Her scream soon turned into a squeak...

And there was Dotty the squirrel. She spun about until she was on all fours. The gut pain...gone? Great, time to get going. Dotty scampered to the wall, rough brick easy to climb. She jumped up and latched on but fell backwards after going no more than an inch, landing on her head. What the--? One paw was feeble, unresponsive. The dislocated arm had become a dislocated paw, unlike the organs unneeded or changed in squirrel physiology that halted the liquifying curse. Dotty made a few other attempts at climbing with three working paws, not working. Finally she ran down the alley, finding junk a mountain up to a fire escape that she could hop up with a limp appendage.

Squirrel Dotty made it to the roof, scampering into the night with screwed up bearings. Hopefully Knockturn Alley was this way. Or that way...