NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE

Nerezza walked down the streets of Diagon Alley, turning right at the sign that revealed the direction of her favorite part around here. Knockturn Alley was always full of the most mysterious characters Nerezza had ever had the displeasure of meeting, but she always found them very intriguing. She had to be in the right mood for it, though. If she was in a bad mood, she would kill anyone that she thought was looking at her in any sort of way. She didn't care if they smiled. Today, however, she was in a good mood. She wouldn't really consider it day, though. It was really close to midnight, but who kept track of time these days? She sure as hell didn't.

Smirking, she stopped in front of a club that she had been into a few times, finding it quite interesting. Most of the Death Eaters and their supporters were in here, considering the fact that the goody-two-shoes would think it was too far away from Diagon Alley to be good enough for them. She loved it, though. Flattening out her dark red dress, she checked her reflection in the nearby window. Her lips were painted red, as usual and her eyes were thick with natural black lashes, the unnatural emeralds gleaming brightly in the semi-darkness. Her dress showed off every curve she had, her cleavage nearly inappropriate. That was just the way she liked it, though. She was looking for a man to kill tonight.

Finally stepping into the club, she moved her eyes across the sea of thriving bodies and found herself at the bar, ordering a firewhiskey. She didn't like to stray too far from that drink. She knew that she liked it so why change beverages? Seating herself comfortably on one of the stools, she turned her head to watch the dancing people in the club, eager to find one that looked good enough to eat.

Literally.

“Get out of my club,” Came the smooth, low voice of Vito Dee Symons as he pushed a man forward, who then stumbled backwards and almost fell to the floor, but managed to keep his balance. The scene had caught the attention of several in the club, Vito noticed, of course, but decided not to do anything about it just then, being enraged with the drunk before him. What had the fellow done to anger Vito so, you ask? Well he spilled alcohol on Vito’s suit, of course. “I’ll give you until the count of ten, if your not out on the streets by then I’ll f*ckin’ rip your head off of your shoulders,” Vito hissed near the man’s face so that he was the only one who could hear him, his eyes filled with a threatening darkness.

The drunk crawled a few feet away from Vito before climbing to his feet and darting out the door, stumbling as he went. Vito rolled his eyes and looked down at his suit, which smelt strongly of whiskey and was soaked so that it clung to his skin. He growled curse words and turned around sharply, “Anyone else feeling a little too tipsy? I’m fine with you people getting drunk, but if this e v e r happens again, I’ll have you all shot,” Vito told the entire club, standing near the entrance. He had only just walked in when he had been slammed into and had had a drink spilled all over him. Vito’s voice was quiet, but everyone froze and went silent when he spoke, knowing full well that when he did speak to all of them in such a way, that he would only be enraged further if they didn’t listen. Even the DJ had turned the music down so that Vito’s voice could be heard.

Vito waved his hand in a way to signal that they could go on with their drinking and dancing, and walked over to the bar, “Nice bandages…” he complimented the bartender, whom he had thrown his drink at the evening he had brought Jack to the club and had ended up exploding. The bartender frowned, hatred glinting in his eyes, but Vito didn’t see any of it because he had turned away from the bar with a bottle of wine in his hands and had started towards the stairs.

The poltergeist climbed the stairs, running a hand through his hair in order to comb it back; he would clean up his suit once he was upstairs, and then he would be able to finally enjoy an expensive bottle of wine and forget about all of the unintelligent people that he had to put up with everyday.

Vito reached the second floor of Satin’s and headed down the hall towards the room that he had claimed upon opening the place for business; it was the only room on the second floor that could not be rented, and unless Vito brought someone in the room, he was the only one who entered it. It was classer than the other bedrooms, and the wardrobe was filled with every item of clothing Vito owned.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, dropping the bottle of wine on the bed, Vito peeled his alcohol soaked jacket and shirt off of his back. He laid the two pieces of clothing on the stone floor and grabbed a wand off of the bedside table which he would use to repair the damaged cloth. Vito held the wand a few inches above his clothing and waved it, muttering an incantation under his breath that he knew would get rid of the whiskey. “Ah, there we are,” he said with a flirtatious smirk, as if trying to seduce the air around him. “Now for that wine,” Vito spoke once more and fell back on his bed after pulling his shirt and jacket back on, holding the bottle of alcohol in his hand loosely.

The poltergeist grinned, opened the bottle, and tipped both his head and the glass bottle back, allowing the drink to rush into his mouth and burn his chest. “Mmmm, much better,” he sighed, closing his eyes. It had been a long day.