[Aurelius Audish]

Revolution was busier than usual tonight. There was a large group of young wizards wearing England scarves glued to the Wizarding Wireless near the bar. Audish hadn't really paid attention, but it was quarterfinal of the 416th Quidditch World Cup or something like that. He didn't care much for the competition, but a busy club suited his purpose for the evening just fine. Nobody would be paying any attention to him when there was an occasion to get sloshed.

He picked up a tumbler of firewhiskey from the bar and started looking for a free table. His usual spot was taken up by a group of sports fans, but in the deepest recesses of the pub there were still some spaces available. Normally, these tables were reserved for Knockturn riff-raff and low lives, but they were apparently drinking elsewhere today. It was a good thing then that he hadn't come to see any of those contacts today and wasn't in need of any services.

The man he was about to meet with, in fact, claimed to be nobility. Audish had never been quite convinced of the veracity of those claims, but it mattered little when Spaulding was both convenient and useful. His service over the years had been reliable and discrete and Audish had yet more work for him. His connections to the muggle world, while repugnant and reprehensible, were useful. And Spaulding knew how to keep his mouth shut. In fact, Audish thought that was by far his best trait.

He hadn't seen Spaulding in a while. Things at St Mungos had gotten too hot for a while. There was a bit of an art to finding the right time for his activities to avoid a formal investigation. The last such check had taken longer than usual due to some administrative cock-up at the Ministry. It had been trying his patience, but such things were out of his hands. However, with the aurors finally gone, Audish was free to act again. It was high time too, as his Lord and Master was asking for generous contributions again. Unlike some others in his circle, Audish couldn't fall back on his family's wealth for that purpose. He actually had to 'work' for the money. For some definition of work.

Audish settled down with his drink, and carefully positioned his briefcase under the table, ready for imminent exchange with Spaulding. Thinking of, where was that wretch anyway? Audish's head turned towards the bar, scanning for tweed, elbow patches and a sleazy smile.

[Vincent Spaulding]

He'd had to set off later than planned - some minor quibble over land rights had delayed him, and he couldn't very well let the matter drop, not when it would mean money not being on the table going in the right direction. His estates' tenants weren't generally much bother but it could be so tedious when they were late paying. Why couldn't they just pay on time like everybody else? And if they couldn't live within their means and pay on time, perhaps they should move on and let someone else who can.

No matter, it was all settled, and Vincent hadn't even had to send any of his men over to finalise the transaction. One didn't like to spend too much thinking about the details, it was so dull and tedious and 'I promise we'll pay you next week, my lord' and 'we've just been laid off, we just need to get back on our feet and if your lord would be so kind'. Excuses. They should try having his job and see how bloody difficult that was.

On that note, back to business... it was time to go see that fellow Audish. Truth be told, Vincent wasn't exactly an admirer, but respected him: man knew his place, knew how to get things done, and knew not to draw attention to himself when it wasn't appropriate. Excellent traits in an employee, not that Audish was an employee of his; he had no real need for a healer, and in any event the transaction was more what he could do for Audish rather than the other way around, and naturally pocket a respectable handling fee for his time and trouble. Nothing wrong with facilitating good business, now, was there?

Revolution had never been his favourite venue of choice - far too noisy, the drinks on offer... even their 'top shelf' drinks weren't worth the asking price: he wouldn't ordinarily even give the more expensive whiskeys here to Pokey for cleaning purposes, but when in Rome, one rather should go native, he supposed.

And today it was, regrettably, more raucous than usual. The youths and hooligans of the area all bunched in, celebrating what he presumed must be the Quidditch World Cup. They all had their little national scarves on - even Vincent couldn't resist a moment of pride in his nation, his homeland, but the moment passed - and they were again just youths and hooligans making noise. But he supposed that the noise presented reasonable cover for men doing business they would rather not be noticed.

He did hope that he had perhaps beaten Audish here this evening, but alas it was not to be; the man was hiding in a corner usually reserved for the locals. He nodded curtly to the man, before proceeding to the bar. It would not do for him to be here and not have a drink, assuming he could find something that wouldn't rot his stomach.

A swift conversation with the bartender later, and an exchange of Galleons, and Vincent had himself a bottle of Scotch that might even have seen some actual peat in the barley, perhaps even dried in a peaty smoke fire - and two glasses. They'd done enough business that Vincent was prepared to share a drink with the man, and it never hurt to lubricate the wheels of industry, such as they were. He had insisted on clean glasses.

With that, he made his way across the room to where Audish was sat, watching like a hawk. There was something about his expression, his demeanour, you knew when you were being watched, because you were being Watched. He'd never quite realised it before but Audish did have a bird of prey look about him. Perhaps the next meeting could be on his estate, perhaps with his falconer present.

He plonked himself down opposite Audish, "Do apologise for being late, my dear chap, but alas my business cannot entirely be trusted to run itself, not least with all the people who don't pay their bills on time." He set the bottle down on the table, with the glasses. "I thought, on the spirit of the occasion, you might care to drink something a little more... finessed than usually available here, before we get down to business." There was a smile. It might even have had some sincerity in the corner of his mouth.

There was a cheer across the room, someone had seemingly scored. Vincent continued smiling, even though the noise was rather... untoward.

[Aurelius Audish]

And there he was. Finally. Patience was a virtue Audish didn't possess and he was glad that Spaulding hadn't kept him waiting longer. The sooner they got this business started the sooner they could both go home and not be at Revolution; a win-win situation really. Except, was that a whole bottle of Scotch? Hopefully Spalding didn't plan on staying until they had finished it. That would extend their stay to somewhat longer than Audish had planned for.

Spalding made a vague apology of having been detained on business. "Don't apologise. I know what it's like." In fact, Audish thought he knew rather more on the nature of unplanned work than Spalding. As a healer he was confronted with it constantly. What sort of unscheduled troubles could possibly come up as a landlord? Audish kept his thoughts to himself though. There was no reason to antagonise Spalding over nothing. "And the drink's certainly appreciated. The choice here really is rather underwhelming."

Maybe, he should consider a new place to make exchanges? Revolution was great though, in the sense that punters were usually inebriated and too out of it to remember much of anything.

Audish's heard turned as the crowd by the bar broke into a loud cheer. Something good had to have happened. Why people got so invested in sports was beyond him. Especially sports they couldn't see. He could see the appeal of seeing a match in the stadium but listening to the Wireless broadcast sounded positively dull and dissatisfying.

"I've got two muggle world cases for you this week," Audish cut to the chase. "The first one should be pretty straight forward. The deceased was an elderly muggleborn wizard. I am unaware of any descendants. The other is a little more complicated. Halfblood witch with substantial muggle holdings. There's a squib son who might contest the will. I suspect we might need some legal representation here." Or a well-placed confundus charm. Audish was relatively certain that was what Spaulding had meant when using the term 'legal representation' before.

[Vincent Spaulding]

Well, well, old Audish really was interested in getting down to business this evening. Even before the scotch had been opened, he'd outlined what matters needed attending to.

Vincent listened to the particulars whilst opening the scotch, and poured them both a healthy measure. Under other circumstances he might have proposed a toast - the only civil and decent thing to do, of course - though he had grown to understand that Audish wasn't that sort of fellow, and in any event their business was neither civil, nor decent. It was simply good business.

There was a build-up of noise from across the way, anticipation building then a combined groan. Evidently someone had missed a strike at the hoops. Vincent shuddered, concealing a wince at the volume, but it was a good way to cover their conversation from unwanted listeners. Not that there would be anyone here who could possibly be interested in their business anyway.

"A deceased muggleborn." He pondered, letting the syllables roll over his tongue along with the scotch. "No descendants certainly makes it easier." It certainly did, the assets would only otherwise go to the state, and frankly, they'd only waste them on something entirely frivolous like grass verges in those new suburban developments.

He took a second snifter of the scotch. "How substantial are we talking about?" He let the liquid in his mouth coalesce toward the back of his tongue before swallowing, to get the full belt of the alcohol. "This sounds like a job for my legal representatives, Messers Dewey, Cheetem and Howe, partners at law."

They were, in truth, a real firm. As real and legally binding as such a firm ought to be. Just the sort for such a matter. He had, of course, used the phrase 'legal representation' with Audish before, and it was such a wonderful euphemism. It could mean actual legal representation if the situation called for it, or it could be something entirely otherwise, as long as it looked legitimate when all was said and done. The partners in question might be as bent as a nine-bob note, but whatever needed doing would stand up to scrutiny in court... if the plantiffs could afford to drag it out.

No doubt Audish would assume some more... direct method. A memory alteration, perhaps. Simple, quick, but so undignified, and there would inevitably be a trail in the wake to deal with. And it wouldn't hold up in court if it ever came down to it. That was really what his part in this was, to make it all go away.

Vincent put his glass down. "I daresay we can have these matters cleared up. The only question is how quickly." He did a brief bit of mental math. "We can do it quickly, but I'd need to... shall we say... invest a little more of the proceeds in the legal representation."

[Aurelius Audish]

Audish nodded at the mention of Messers Dewey, Cheetem and Howe, unsure if Spaulding was serious or having him on for a laugh. For a moment a smile appeared around his lips, but it didn't stay there for long. If the mentioned law firm was real, the three named partners had to be the three most unfortunately named muggles ever. Audish therefore assumed it wasn't and that Vincent was going to do his magic. Whatever that really entailed. He didn't need to know.

Apparently, there was a bit of complication attached to the case. Audish knitted his brows together in disapproval as a slight delay was mentioned, but simultaneously moved his hand to dismiss the problem as minor. It took time to take proper care of an issue. He knew as much from personal experience. There was no point in asking for a rush job when they were in it for the long haul.

"If it were just for me, it could wait," Audish said after taking another sip from his drink. Spaulding really had made a decent choice all things considered. More decent than a place like Revolution usually served. "However," and here came the crux of the matter, "you and I both know who the true beneficiary of this operation will be and he is not known for his patience or generosity. Take your cut, but don't take the piss."

Audish gave Spaulding a stern look, but didn't feel the need to push the matter further. He knew other man would do the sensible thing. Spaulding was many things, but stupid wasn't usually one of them. He'd think long and hard before doing something as foolish as shortchanging the Dark Lord. The wizard wasn't known for his forgiving disposition either.

"I'm sure I don't have to tell you how important this is." Not that Audish actually knew the details. The Dark Lord hadn't disclosed any of his plans yet, at least, not to Audish. If that was a good or bad thing remained to be seen. While Audish had the ambition to rise in rank, he wasn't in a hurry to make it to the top. People fell in and out of favour with his master all the time. When he got where he was going, Audish wanted staying power.

[Vincent Spaulding]

Vincent listened as Audish felt the need to... rather assert himself as to how important this all was. Of course it was important, making sure funds are diverted to worthier causes than muggle ones was always important, and it needed to be done properly.

"Relax, old chap, it's all in hand. And I shouldn't bite the hand that feeds, not when there's better business to be had. That's, uh, where the lawyers get involved - an hour with a good brief is worth a good many Galleons down the road in saved time and cost, especially when they can get others to actually foot the bill."

He poured another measure into his glass. "At any rate, the bean counters do keep tidy records of the proceeds, as a sort of insurance policy. Very tidy indeed, not a knut out of place. More than they're worth to cook the books like that."

"Besides, keeping my hands clean is just good business: who'd do business with a lout with a reputation for dipping purses?"

He got the impression that Audish didn't trust him particularly far. Then again, Vincent didn't have the impression Audish trusted many people. Something about the way he connived old biddies out of their properties and savings had to mean something, and that, old boy, was just another reason to keep the hands clean. He wouldn't put it past Audish to get ideas about his estate and title, someday.

But all the time he was useful and above reproach, he was safe. Just the way he liked it - safe, useful, above reproach and taking a fair day's pay for a fair day's work.

"Can I pour you another? One for the road perhaps?"

[Aurelius Audish]

"One for the road," Audish agreed somewhat to his own surprise. He wasn't sure what was keeping him here other than perhaps a vague sense of emptiness. Audish didn't like being between jobs. While he was charming and outwitting his latest victim he felt alive, when he was planning and researching a mark he was engaged but during the period of wrap up he found himself strangely adrift. Spaulding, well, he wouldn't usually spend time with him. Bute surely there was no harm in a small indulgence. So much for standards. So much for just being in and out and on his way.

He received the glass from Spaulding and nodded a toast before taking a sip. As he set down his glass a glimpse of something familiar across the room grabbed his attention. Was that? Yes, it had to be. Blue linen suit and heavy silver jewellery? There were only very few wizards Audish thought would make such a choice. Leaning slightly to the side he peered past a woman handing out a drink. Yes, this was Ó Dálaigh. What was he doing here? He'd made a surprisingly quick recovery. Interesting.

Their last encounter had been a memorable one. The nuisance that was Ó Dálaigh had been handed to him on a silver platter. He'd been a patient. Audish had been close to tying up a loose end that had been left dangling for nearly twenty years only to be thwarted by a Swiss Professor and a French guest healer charging to the other man's rescue. And who was that he was with? Audish didn't recognise the woman. A loved one? A girlfriend? A weakness he could potentially exploit? Interesting.

"Oh, look what the niffler dragged in," Audish commented. "If it isn't my esteemed colleague Ó Dálaigh. Think you can make that guy disappear? Utterly worthless waste of space."

[Vincent Spaulding]

Vincent noted his companion actually taking the toast. Perhaps after all the good doctor could be civil now and then, and stop to enjoy the finer things in life. Perhaps he was rubbing off on old Audish.

"Ó Dálaigh? The same sounds familiar but I can't quite put my finger on it?" Vincent followed Audish's line of sight to see a man in a blue linen suit and quite a weight in silver jewellery. It was, if he could be honest, a trifle gauche for his tastes; one must be more discreet with one's adornments. And silver was such an attention-seeking material; why not gold that sparkled with a warmth rather than the brightness of silver? Must be one of those nouveau-riche, he decided, those of good stock and breeding and actual wealth didn't feel such a need to flaunt it. Vincent himself primarily only wore signet rings, the one on his right hand with the family crest on it, the one on his left with a special charm to show whichever crest he needed to seal with wax.

"Well, as he's a wizarding chap, I daresay I could find something on him; Muggles are easier to swindle but he seems wealthy enough to be incentivised into leaving and not returning. His sort don't know what to do once their money supply runs out."

As he watched, a woman joined him with drinks. Was that...? Rightly so, it was that young filly that had turned up at his door with the most impertinent of questions! He had forgotten that he still owed her a jolly good thrashing for her tone.

"Well, I don't know that fellow - though no doubt I shouldn't want to if you're familiar and he is still breathing. But that woman with him, she's trouble. She came to my place asking questions about things that she ought not to know anything about. That one was even bold enough to visit a prisoner in Azkaban for information - and able to scare the fellow in question more than the Dementors."

He finished his own glass of whiskey. "Shame about the company she keeps, really. I daresay if she could be persuaded to our way of thinking she might be a valuable ally. And if not, well, at least an evening's entertainment could be in it, I suppose."

[Aurelius Audish]

Audish felt momentarily irked at Spaulding assessment of Ó Dálaigh. The other man seemed to think that the Irish healer was easy to get rid of, but Audish knew this wasn't the case. They'd been at odds for many years and he had won as many altercations with the younger man as he had lost. Though he didn't particularly like admitting to it, the other man was a formidable player. The only think Spaulding was probably right about was that Ó Dálaigh has been born with a silver spoon in his mouth and had no idea how to navigate the world without money. However, Audish was unsure how that circumstance could be weaponised.

"Unfortunately, he only looks like a feckless idiot," Audish grumbled. "He's surprisingly well connected and extraordinarily lucky. He has a reputation for solving some very hard medical cases, though I don't think skill had anything to do with it." There was a fleeting thought in his mind that Ó Dálaigh was so lucky it was starting to look very strange. Maybe, there was some method to his madness after all, but Audish didn't have the slightest idea what his method could be. The thought sat rather uncomfortably.

Spaulding meanwhile seemed to be more interested in Ó Dálaigh's companion. He couldn't say that he knew the woman, but he could see why Vincent would find her appealing. She had a pretty face and from the sounds of it a bit of attitude. There was always something satisfying to bending a reluctant woman to one's will. Audish had a couple of spells he rather liked to use for such purposes and looking at Spaulding he thought that perhaps the other man felt the same. Witches were there to serve and please.

"Surely you can bring her in and make her bow to you as well as our master," Audish challenged. "You're not going to tell me that you're about to let a mere witch interfere with your business. How scary could she have been? That wretch in Azkaban can't have been of sound mind." No, he couldn't quite accept Spaulding's words at face value. She was probably just another young thing who didn't know her place in society.

"I don't know what's wrong with witches these days," Audish mused. "They're all suffering from delusions of adequacy and should really learn not to disrespect their betters. I mean look at it, she's with Ó Dálaigh."

There was something strange about this crossing of the streams. Audish didn't like that two people who had caused him and Spaulding grief respectively were meeting and interacting.  Did that mean they were onto something? Thankfully, he had been careful in covering his tracks and if they really tried something, he felt confident that he could put a permanent stop to it fairly easily.

[Vincent Spaulding]

As his drinking partner had been going on - it was clear that old Audish was absolutely no fan of this Ó Dálaigh fellow - Vincent had been struggling to put something to the face and the name.

Something about a meddling ministry employee or somesuch. Possibly even an Unspeakable. The ministry people were all much of a muchness to him; figures of authority that thought themselves some physical embodiment of law intent on making an honest businessman work twice as hard for half the profit. Taxes and law-men, pah. Give him someone who can be reasoned with, any day.

He didn't look ministry, though. Vincent had enough dealings with the official bureaucrats both magical and muggle to know which of them were simply petty bureaucrats performing a service and those that... uh... aspired to authority. This Ó Dálaigh didn't seem the type - perhaps his father had been a meddlesome ministry worker and this chap was simply just... something else. Perhaps he could be reasoned with, though surely with that dress sense reason might as well be out the window.

"Well," he said, smoothly, "perhaps I should go over and say something. Convince her of a better evening's company to be had, eh? Oh," he interrupted his own thought, "don't worry about the briefcase. It's just the sort of thing I usually have on hand anyway."

He raised his empty glass as if toasting, and with a slight heft to his portly frame, hoisted himself out of the booth he had been sat in. The seats were less comfortable than he remembered, on reflection.

Whiskey in the one hand, glass delicated caught in his fingertips, briefcase in the other hand, he made his way with a jovial air to the table Albron and Ó Dálaigh were seated at.

(continued in [Revolution] We're taught not to follow our heart)