TBAY: The wages of SIN

[Kirstini]

No: HPFGUIDX 70700


In the sweetly-scented cabin of the SAD DENIAL, Kirstini's head had 
started to throb. She guessed that either she had a psychic 
connection to the evillest wizard of the century, or that the mother 
of all hangovers was a-comin'. She tried to cure herself by staring 
fixedly at the newest crew member of the SAD DENIAL, but realised 
that Lorrie's new theory was just making it all worse. Pettigrew? 
Transfiguration? Ouch. It didn't really seem worth pointing out that 
Pettigrew must have been given the silver hand for a reason, which 
had no relevance to Sirius falling through the veil, as there wasn't 
going to be a body. She knew her words would only fall on deaf ears. 
Actually, now she thought about it, it occurred to her that that was 
a rather interesting connection between those two "deaths". No 
bodies, either...but no! NO! What was this place doing to her? She 
had to get out. Immediately. Sirius was dead and gone, and she was 
attempting to compose her own acronym about this fact, with a view 
towards getting some new t-shirts printed up. These wicked 
DENIAListies were distracting her from that purpose. And she wasn't 
making any money out of them.  
She tuned back in to the discussion, hoping to find another good 
exit line.
"This ship needs something to keep the Gators off the deck," Lorrie 
was saying. "We'll tie a rope round him, let him hang over the side, 
and play 'Avoid the Snap',and before you say that's 'sick', I'll 
tell you no it's not, it's EVIL, and no more than he deserves." 
"An excellent idea," Kirstini pronounced, attempting to involve 
herself again. "I suggest you implement it - " (here she indicated 
Lorrie's squirming burlap sack with a swift movement of her 
foot) "immediately."
"Hem hem," interjected Captain Terry, rather shirtily. "Might I 
remind you that you are, by your own admission, not a crew member of 
the SAD DENIAL. Therefore you have no authority to recommend any 
interior or exterior modifications to the vessel or it's crew 
members."
"Well, *I* know that," said Kirstini. "*You* people seem to have 
some trouble remembering it though. I keep on leaving, and you keep 
on pulling me back in, dontcha. Shucks, a girl might almost feel 
flattered. You *crave* the voice of reason. You *need* me."
"You've left *once*," said Marina, copying Kirstini's excruciatingly 
sarcastic tone. "Feel free to do it again. Any time."
Kirstini swept out of the cabin muttering to herself.
 "What a bunch of ungrateful nutters...mentalists...really..."

She paused beside Kreacher, who was being lowered into position over 
the prow of the SAD DENIAL. She took aim...she really was all for 
elf liberation, but there was something perversely satisfying about 
this particular pastime. She glanced quickly over towards the SILK 
SHIRTS vessel to check that her old drinking crony Sara ELL couldn't 
see her, and was slightly distressed to notice the entire SILK 
SHIRTS crew lining up along the side of their ship, glaring over at 
the SAD DENIAL as though squaring up for a fight. A can(n)on 
marked "Sirius was an utter bastard anyway" was pointed at the 
deck. "OoPs," Kirstini thought. "I suppose that's been brewing since 
they read 'Snape's Worst Memory'. Mmmm. He was an incredibly sexy 
bastard in that chapter, though..." She cast a lingering look 
towards the cabin door, but steeled herself as the first shot from 
the SILK SHIRT-ed can(n)on flared out. "Wrong place for me to be!" 

She Apparated herself to outside the George, and was about to wander 
on in, grab a little hair of the dog and see who was about, and 
possibly unload some rather thin-bottomed cauldrons she'd picked up 
on the sly, when she heard a mewling noise somewhere over to her 
left. A small, greasily-haired boy with a nose ten years too big for 
him was sitting on an old barge by the jetty, crying. His clothes 
were ragged and dirty, but he had a rather upmarket looking SCARF 
wrapped round his neck.
"Hello there, little fellow," said Kirstini, bending down. "Whatever 
can be the matter?"
"Well,"  began the pathetic figure,  "it all started behind the  
broomsheds. My  mum, Florence, was a lovely woman. That was her 
trouble. Believe anything, she would. Anybody could spin her a tale 
and she'd never suspect a thing. Problem was, half of what she was 
told was a load of old rubbish. There was this boy, giving her the 
eye, trying to impress, you know the sort of thing. Mom wasn't too 
sure; he seemed a bit untrustworthy, know what I mean? Anyway, one 
day he sent her a couple of  SILK SHIRTS, some grey lingerie and a 
note. Said how he was a misunderstood character, how he'd suffered 
in the past. Of course, she believed him. It was downhill all the 
way from there; the broomsheds, the unfashionable wedding; no 
guests, no presents. Honeymoon in the Leaky Cauldron. Then, just 
when  it seemed it couldn't get any worse, it did. I came along, 
cried a bit, like most babies. Mostly because of the dragon pox. He 
couldn't stand it.  Started going  out at night. Got mixed up with a 
really bad crowd. Nasty lot. Thing was, they'd got money and we 
hadn't. Couldn't pay for 
his rounds in the pub. Then one of them suggested that he'd have 
more  to spare if he didn't have a family to support. Beginning of 
the end, 
that was. My dear old dad, Professor Severus Snape, did the dirty on 
us."

"Ohhh," sniffed Kirstini. Then she did something highly 
uncharacteristic. "Take this. I think your need is greater than 
mine. Wages of SIN."
"SIN?" sniffed the mite.
"Yeah, SIN" said Kirstini, through her tears. "Snape Is Nice. It's 
all the money I made from selling knock-off SILK SHIRTS to those 
Snapeologists. The misguided fools. Don't you worry, kiddo. I'm 
going to go into that pub and start a collection for you. People 
should KNOW THE TRUTH!"
And with some misguided zeal she stomped off towards the Royal 
George, and pushed open the heavy oak doors. She wasn't quite 
inside, however, when she heard the little mite whisper excitedly.
"Hey, boss, I got another one! Look at all this wonga!"
"Well done, Hypothetical!Severus junior. Excellent. ESE!Hermione 
*will* be pleased." murmured a familiar voice.
"Wait-a-cotton-picking-second!" Kirstini screamed, wheeling 
around. "Kneasy! Get back here, you dirty rat!" 
"Drat," said the voice. "How did you know it was me?"
"I recognised the flashing lights on your bow-tie." said Kirstini.
A crumpled figure in a sleazy-looking suit made his way into the 
light thrown by the open pub door, proffering Kirstini's purse.
"So, that whole, heart-rending story is a load of codswallop, then?" 
Kirstini said, angrily.
"Ahh, that's better," said Kneasy. "Codswallop is a much more 
authentically British expression than `wait-a-cotton-picking-second'"
"Well, you're one to talk," Kirstini countered. "You're as British 
as I am, and you made that child, who, as Snape and Florence's  
hypothetical son, would presumably be British, say "Mom" just there. 
Anyway, as I was saying, you two have just knitted that SCARF up 
between you. I should have known better. You know, I was perfectly 
prepared to buy the old "Snape has a family, thus giving him extra 
story-line potential" theory that you were seen touting round the 
list last week (you might want to get a licence for that sort of 
thing, by the way). But this is just taking it a bit too far. The 
reason I was prepared to buy it was because it went quite well with 
the other post doing the rounds about that time, the one about Snape 
not eating at Grimmauld Place because he had to go home to Florence 
and Severus junior here at the end of the day. Even though I object 
to it being Florence at all, on the grounds that Snape would  have 
been fourteen at the oldest at the time, and I don't think young 
Snivellus could have attracted a girl, let alone kept a steady 
girlfriend back then. But that's beside the point. That SCARF there 
doesn't work with that theory, and without that little bit of canon, 
I don't think you have any evidence to back your knitted goods up 
with! It's all supposition! I could make this child explode in a 
puff of hypothetical smoke, if I didn't think he was such a shrewd 
marketing idea...listen, I'll strike you a deal. I won't inform 
anyone about what you're up to with this kiddy, and we'll split the 
revenue two ways...Kneasy...KNEASY?"
Severus junior had attached himself to Kirstini's knee, and was 
beaming up as appealingly as he could manage with that nose. Kneasy, 
however, was muttering sulkily into his bow-tie. "...and she 
said "dontcha" *and* "shucks" in what was almost the same 
sentence...surely a chap can be permitted a little vowel slippage..."
*********************************************************************
Kirstini