[Septimus Silvester]

Location: Merlin's Nightclub • Date: 1 January 1926

New Years Eve at Merlin's was always chaos. New Years Day, however, was always much calmer. Where on the Eve in the club, and the city, were always a party with a constant stream of performers on the stage and liquor that seemed to flow forever, on the Day you could practically feel the collective hangover in the air. At Merlin's, though there was certainly a crowd, it was nothing compared to last night. Most people were still recovering, Sep figured. This wasn't his first rodeo as a bartender, he'd worked at Merlin's for a while now. He knew the score.

Wiping the bar down with a clean rag, Sep surveyed the club. His boss, Harriet, would be around here somewhere keeping things in order. The stage manager, a little spit-fire named Daphne, was probably backstage conducting her performers like a well-oiled machine. The patrons were subdued - a feat considering the raucous atmosphere from last night. It was looking to be a good night at Merlin's, that was for sure.

[Vinda Rosier]

America was such an . . . inelegant place. Everything was so new and gaudy, even the dirtier slums. At least that's what someone from an old aristocratic family from France might think. It certainly was what Vinda Rosier thought as she whisked around the United States' largest city on the day before the New Year. Still, the brunette had been quite excited. It was, after all, going to be a VERY big year for her and others who shared her beliefs.

Vinda was in New York City running quick errands and following up on leads on the leader of her cause's movements. She didn't want to interfere and she was a little worried if he found her here that she might be angry. But she was curious. She just wanted to know what might draw the world's most powerful wizard to America, traditionally not a spot that her movement cared much about. Unfortunately, she had found no trace of Gellert Grindelwald and saw little of interest in the bustling, dirty city. And the non-magiques here were arguably even worse than those in Paris.

Still, she wasn't going to leave without accomplishing something. A contact had informed her that many well-to-do American wizards and witches might frequent a certain club. Rosier had attended, lurking in the shadows, acquiring gossip, and listening to the revelers. Now, today, she was back at the club. She was hoping to use the staff to place names to faces. Rosier had heard some things that might be useful if she was ever called on to recruit more Americans to Grindelwald's cause. But in the bustle of the party, she hadn't always been able to remember the name of the person who was talking, or even who was talking to her.

So wearing a green skirt suit, with a darker green cloak over it, she returned to Merlin's, once again rolling her eyes at the name, and casually made her way to the bar. It was very quiet here today, especially compared to the party. She looked at the bartender, and raised an eyebrow.

"A slower day, I see," the dark haired woman said, her French accent obvious.