[devil's den] trouble is my heart twin / i shovel as i sing (etain)

Swirling the amber liquid in her glass, Ailsa wished she'd chosen a booth in view of a clock or worn a watch. The last sliver of ice in her yet un-touched firewhiskey was dissolving into nothingness, which should mean her friend would be arriving soon but sitting idly was never something she'd been good at. Ever paranoid, Ailsa had arrived at the bar a good hour earlier than she and Etain had arranged to meet to ensure she could get a booth where she could sit with her back to the wall and have a view of the door, but the time had been passing slowly and her stomach churned with the nervousness that came from sitting without the comfort of a good disguise.

The Devil's Den, Ailsa had come to learn on this most recent trip back into London, was likely the safest place in all of Britain to wear her true, un-morphed, face but it still was an unnerving feeling for the former Snatcher who spent almost all of her waking moments so disguised even her own mother, vile woman that she was, wouldn't have recognized her. Uncomfortable as she was, Ailsa had good reason for leaving the disguises at the door - it tended to get harder to keep a borrowed face consistent once she'd had three or four drinks, and she planned to have far more than that once the business portion of her meeting with Etain had concluded. She'd purchased the whiskey she held in an anxious, too-tight grip mostly as a prop. Even when it was a friend she was asking for work from, Ailsa didn't believe in making business deals anything less than sober. That was how you ended up half way around the world, knee deep in flaming dragon's dung trying to recover treasure that didn't even exist - a lesson she only cared to learn once. 

She'd expected to see Maia or Nessa, or any of her other acquaintances who seemed to haunt the Den, but had found the bar devoid of familiar faces. To pass the time, instead, she'd been playing one of her favorite games. Methodically going through the bar, patron by patron, she tried to guess what metamorphmagus-enabled disguise would be most likely to earn her an invite home. She'd learned over the years, most people's tastes were simple but the game was a little more interesting in a place like the Den where the patrons tended to be a little ... untraditional. She was trying to decide if the broad-shouldered and bearded man seated at the bar (on his fifth ale in the hour she'd been there... so really, he'd probably take her home without much disguise-tailoring needed) would be more likely to go for a blonde or a brunette when she heard the door swing open.

Eyes shifting back to the door quickly, Ailsa attempted an air of nonchalance as she signaled her friend over to the booth. Her still-too-tight grip on her glass likely gave her nerves away, but it was nothing the prospect of a job wouldn't solve. She and Etain had always had a similar ... creativity when it came to interpreting the law and Ailsa was sure her friend would have found some interesting task to keep her busy for a while. And on the off chance that Etain didn't have any work for her, the bar was well stocked and the bearded man's eyes had lingered on her with interest when she'd called Etain over, so one way or the other the night wouldn't have been all for naught.

Sheathing her sword after cleaning it, she tilted her head at her sparring companion as they finished for the night. @Niska Zukov was a formidable opponent and sparring partner. After the first time she’d spoken to him, she’d been back to Grimli quite a few times, scoping for rare books and weapons. It wasn’t soon after that they’d began to spar, and Etain found herself outclassed. Her father was a good teacher, but he hadn’t been tempered by conflict as Mr. Zukov had. So while they sparred, she learned. And she traveled, able to focus on gaining new knowledge and more skills. She’d been back home to Khemet, and traveled to Italy. Etain and Tony had trained with each other, and more often than not fell into bed right after, but it was bonding. It was the first time she’d been able to find a balance in motherhood and who she had been before.

When that balance occurred, it was as if all the things that had been waiting for her to get to them all rushed out at her at once. The Regan family didn’t toe the line between light and dark, they sat firmly on it, and damned whatever anyone else thought. The whispers were nothing, because words could only do so much to a family that had stood the test of time, it was actions that mattered. After the debacle from last year, little rats had decided that the Regans looked like an easy target. Etain spent most of her time dancing through social gatherings, acting the part of an innocent heiress, smoothing ruffled feathers and making friends. It was easy, boring work and her brother new it. That’s why his highness had deigned to give her some tasks that were a little more up her alley. And what was she, if not generous. Etain would share the wealth with her favorite troublemaking partner, Ailsa.

After freshening up, and putting on an outfit worthy of the depravity that was the Devil’s Den, she sent her husband a quick note detailing where she was, and headed further down Knockturn Alley. Fun times were to be had, and she was quickly outside of the Den. Making sure that all of her weapons were concealed, she was about to enter the Den proper when tattooed arms were wrapped around her waist, and she gazed up into bright blue eyes. Of course. The one night she’d wanted to visit his workplace, he’d be there. Planting a kiss on Tony’s lips and evading his grasping hands, she giggled, and left him with promises to see him when she was done. It took her seconds to find Ailsa, and with a sway of her hips she was over beside her friend.

“If you grip that glass any hard, sweetness, you’ll find shards in your hand three months from now.” She whispered as she leaned over to the other woman, bright amber eyes glittering with mischievousness. Etain slid into the booth, waving down a server, and ordering one of those fancy cocktails off of the menu. When the drink was there and Etain had a sip, she looked at Ailsa, brow arched. “On a scale of 1-100, how eager are you to cause a little…’mischief’?” Brows arched and lips curved into a bright smile, Etain gently tugged at her friend. “It has all of the three M’s. I promise.” Mischief, Mayhem, and Murder. Ailsa’s favourites.