oh why haven't you been there for me, can't you see, I'm losing my mind this time, this time

Jack just should have avoided Satan's. Why she let herself walk into this cursed nightclub would forever be beyond her. She could hardly believe she had ever set foot into the nightclub, regardless, but she had to believe it because she was there to witness the terrible proceedings that had forced her there. But even so, she could barely account for the fact that she was here now. How her feet had led her here, she couldn't say. It was strange enough that she had run into Rivah here. But Jack had learned long ago that she simply could not predict the small, but expert tortures she was eventually forced to endure. She just had to endure them.

She wanted to turn and run for the hills. But, she had been told that running from a conversation was rude. So instead, she forced a smile. "Sounds like a plan." And she took another drink, wanting to forget, as soon as possible.

Rivah couldn't pretend to understand what Jack was thinking or feeling. She simply didn't have the talent that some other people had with faces. One thing was obvious to the woman though, Jack was not happy. If the other witch had just had a bad day, or if there was something larger happening, Rivah had no idea. What she did know, was the she liked Jack.

The two weren't sitting in Satan's together as a Death Eater and an Order member, they were sitting there as two people who got along. And so in the name of that, the blonde wanted to help. Watching as Jack took a gulp of alcohol, Rivah let out a small sigh.

"If you're trying get drunk you might want something stronger. And I'm not drinking, so if you give me your address now I'll be able to get you home," Rivah stated factually. There was no way she would let Jack take herself home while drunk. The Ministry worker had seen what could happen.

Ah, hell. Jack knew she would never be able to convince those who had worked with her at the Ministry that she didn't have a drinking problem. It was funny, actually - she drank more than the usual person, but her tolerance kept her from really ever getting drunk. She simply had learned to operate with alcohol in her. And really, she didn't drink nearly as much as she used to.

But once you move in with an alcoholic, you somehow earn the title by association. And though everyone now knew that Nemo was gone, it did not clear her name.

Jack forced a grin. "No, I'm not trying to get drunk. It's just a tradition, of sorts, for me to drink this brand every time I come into Satan's." Or, well, a habit thrust upon her after countless times of being slipped the drink by Satan. That brat. She chuckled. "Even so, there would be no reason to worry. I have mastered drunk apparation."

Rivah remained skeptical though Jack's assurances. No matter what the other woman thought, Rivah would keep an eye on her. Just to ensure an arm wasn't left behind when she apparated, or something equally as unpleasant.

"I'm not quite sure there is such a thing as having mastered drunk apparation, but I'll take your word on it," the blond told her companion. Chewing on her bottom lip nervously, the ministry worker decided to change the conversation topic in case of things getting too heavy. The witch hadn't gotten anywhere near discussing the war with Jack before, and was terrified that such a conversation would someday happen. What would Rivah say then? Sorry Jack, I really like you, and I know you're in the Order, but I'm a Death Eater, don't hold it against me? Hardly. Rivah was many things, and stupid wasn't one of them.

Head propped upon her palm, the woman figured she should talk, since Jack seem perfectly at peace without doing so. "So Jack," the witch started, "you told me that Quidditch was going well, but you didn't tell me all that much. I've never been a Falcons fan, but I definitely follow Quidditch. How are you stats doing, leading into the season?" Rivah figured that it was a safe enough question. A fairly light topic, with enough common ground.

Jack could handle Quidditch talk. She could not handle any discussions about why she was present on Satan's, why this particular brand of wine was a tradition to her, or what was even going on in her life. She also did not want to get personal with any Ministry workers in general because people had begun asking questions. It was natural of course. Two department heads become so close as to become roommates and then suddenly one is kidnapped and then, again, disappears. Too many people had been curious to know how she had been holding out.

"We've begun our scrimmages, and we're 9-2, so we're a favorite right now. Personally, my Beating connection rate is 87.8%, but I'm trying to get that to a straight 90% before the actual season begins."

"Impressive," Rivah said, word spilling out without a thought and eyebrows shooting upwards. "You must easily be one of the highest rated beaters this season," the woman commented, not even trying to hide how impressed she was. When it came to Quiddich, Rivah was a keeper through and through, and if someone with stats like that was on an opposing team, she would've been scared out of her mind.

Inwardly, Rivah was just glad that Jack had allowed the conversation topic to be changed. The blonde really didn't know what she'd have done if Jack had resisted it. Just when Rivah was about to ask about the Falcons other beater, a dark blue paper bird flew across the bar and stopped right in front of the older witch. Instantly recognizing what it was, the woman let out an exasperated sigh. The bird was something that had been invented by a member of the Ministry a little over a year ago. It was a cross between the paper airplane missives that the Ministrey used to use, and a howler. It least these didn't scream at you.

The Department Head eyed the bird, waiting for it to unfold and start to talk. "Hey boss," the voice of her secretary said from the paper, "I, uh, I really hate to do this since you kinda just left, but we seriously need you here. You know those triple X guys that got out a while ago? Well, they did it again. And they somehow managed to let out our baby griffin- shit, uh, look, just get here as soon as you can. Everyone knows that blood griffin hates everybody but you. JAKE IT'S RIGHT- shit, bye Rivah."

The witch stared in shock at the blue paper for a moment, before glancing quickly at Jack. "Right, and that would be my cue," the blonde said, standing as she did so, "it was great to see you Jack." And with that, the woman turned tail and walked quite briskly, to the door.

She left seemingly as soon as she had come. Jack found that she was almost stirred to be pleased by the woman's approval - for Quidditch was something she desperately cared about - but she was so far gone in her own inner turmoil to be drawn out by any compliments to her ego.

She feared she would have to escape soon. It was too surreal, being in Satan's and being casually caught into a conversation that centered on... nothing, really. Jack could feel herself crumbling from within and she needed to-

Oh.

And Rivah was gone. Jack let out a long breath and looked about the crowded nightclub. She crossed the dance floor and found her booth - her booth. She sat herself at it, remembering all that this particular booth had born witness too - and she laid her head upon the table, drained by memories.