Participants:
| Scene Title | Paperwork (Fetish or Not) |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Mornings in the Ministry can be painfully boring. |
| Location | Ministry Atrium |
| Date | June 17, 2000 |
| Watch For | Morhban shitheads - both of them. Poor Dale. |
| Logger | Phillipe |
Nestled beneath the streets of London is the Ministry of Magic. The main atrium of the Ministry sits along the eighth level of the subterranean bureaucratic center of the wizarding world. The peacock blue ceiling above has golden symbols that move across it. The golden symbols and the light reflect off the polished dark wood of the floor. Fireplaces are seen along the lengthy walls of the atrium, used for travel by floo powder. The fireplaces are designated for arrivals and departures. A pair of golden gates are positioned at the end of the Atrium. Next to these gates is a security desk. Beyond the golden gates is a small hallway where there are a series of lifts that take people between the different levels. Halfway down the atrium in a center of prominence is the Fountain of Magical Brethren. It's a group of golden statues in the form of a wizard, witch, centaur, goblin and a house-elf. The statues spout water into the pool they stand in.
It's still fairly early in the day. The Ministry is, of course, always a hive of activity, but just this moment things are quiet in the atrium. People trickle in or out as they need, but the morning commute is over, the lunch rush hasn't started, and there's a sort of golden haze over the whole space. It's a particular favorite of Lord Morhban's, this time of day. When he has been offered the mercy of a lack of meetings, he sometimes takes half an hour to walk through the large, echoing space and just think. Today is one such day. Adelard walks idly beside the Fountain, listening to its water echo against floor and cavernous ceiling, hands in the pockets of his long, charcoal gray robes. A quill floats in the air behind him, poised over a small bit of parchment as though waiting to take notes. So far, it seems nothing has been written, but that could change.
Dale steps out of one of the fireplaces in a burst of flame and ash, he brushes a little of the ash off one shoulder, and sighs "I hate having to come here every time I come through." he mumbles to himself.
Phillipe Fawley (say that ten times fast) isn't quite so mobile as the Wizengamot staple wandering around the fountain during his golden hour. Pale skin, hair like soft sunshine - these features lend him something of an otherworldly air. It's his eyes, however, bright amethyst and lavender in the sunlight, which most often capture attention. Those eyes dart from person to person, always attracted to movement, but those with a sharp eye might notice that his head is always tilted so that one ear is toward the steady, familiar rhythm of Lord Morhban's footsteps. The flash of Floo that heralds Dale's muttering arrival catches his attention for a brief moment, but the most reply Phillipe has to that muttering is a crooked little smirk. Someone is a creature of energy conservation, after all.
Funny thing about big, cavernous rooms? Even muttering gets inconveniently amplified to audible levels in a room like this. Now, most of the time, Adelard tends to keep to his own business. Really. He swears. Every once in awhile, though, the old man is in rare form. A soft laugh, little more than huffing breaths through his nose, follows as a lopsided smirk tugs up one corner of his mouth. "Try having to come in every day." He quips, good natured, though his tone of voice always leans toward the edge of cold and sharp. There's a glance to Phillipe, and that smirk warms into a small smile for a moment, but then he's settled himself on being nosy once again.
Dale looks up as he realizes even his muttered voice has carried around this large, and surprisingly empty room. When he hears the response from Adelard he smiles just a little, embarassedly, "Well.. I started that thought in the network, and didnt relalize it started coming out loud. I just hate having to fill out five forms, for one cursed Pocket watch. It wasnt even a GOOD curse.. It Just makes you forget the last thirty seconds.. Anytime you open it."
Keeps to his own business, huh? The way Phillipe's head flop-tilts to one side in a lazy, predatory manner says plenty about what he thinks of the 'rarity' involved here. He meets the glance thrown his direction - smirk going bright and sharp for a moment - but then settles back to his lounging perusal of Adelard's current targe-er, friend. Mention of this pocketwatch is interesting at least. If his ears could perk in this two-legged shape, they would be. "That sounds like exactly the birthday present I've been looking for. How much do you want for it?" Nevermind that such things are likely highly regulated and he's lounging in the atrium of the Ministry… Phillipe sounds as breezy and careless as though discussing the purchase of a box of Girl Scout Cookies.
"Five? Goodness, that's silly. Don't do that." Adelard says, as though it really was just as simple as saying 'no, I don't think so.' Maybe, for him, it was. Phillipe's addition makes him bark a short laugh. "That breaks at least two laws." Adelard says, "Do you mind letting me turn around first next time?" Ridiculous, old man.
Dale cant help but smile a little "I break curses, I dont build them." he chuckles "Sorry.. just a normal .. broken.. watch now. " he shrugs "people sometimes call on me to break the curses when they dont want all these questions, I suppose." he then offers "im Dale Cooper.. I dont think I know you, sirs?" he looks between you since you both have spoken.
Phillipe's face falls into a moue of disappointment at the news of watches no longer being any fun. It only lasts a brief moment before his sharp and… honestly vaguely threatening grin is back - directed entirely at Adelard. "It isn't like I'd give it to a civilian. I thought it might brighten Moody's day." By which he means brighten the days of everyone who has to deal with old Mad-Eye. "Your lack of faith in me is downright hurtful." Which might have more weight if he wasn't still grinning when he said it. "Phillipe Fawley," he offers toward Dale, casual and lazy.
"That's why it's only two laws." Adelard quips back in answer to Phillipe, but there's just a little bit more warmth in his tone that softens him somewhat. His attention shifts back to Dale then, and he shakes his head. "Sweet Merlin, they're having you fill out five forms for a broken watch? Nonsense. Really, don't do that." And then offers out his hand as though requesting this watch. As though that's normal. As though it should be understood. Only then does he realize he's not introduced himself. "Lord Adelard de Morhban." Offered then, though his hand doesn't move.
Dale considers the Lord for a moment and smiles "Unfortunately I do not have the remains of the watch on me.. I was not told /that/ would be required. Lord Morhban." he doesnt seem put off by the titles or presences..
Phillipe indulges in that quip with soft, rumbling laughter. "Turn me in and you'll have to live with Tonks running your detail, old man." So no, he won't bother letting him turn around next time. That Adelard holds out his hand for this watch does not seem to surprise Phillipe. Entertain? Yes. Surprise? No. That Dale responds as he does earns proper laughter, though the sound is much sharper than its quiet predecessor. "You've told him no, Mister Cooper. Rookie mistake." Nevermind that he just told the Wizengamot Lord 'no' not five minutes prior.
"Oh, bah." Adelard answers Phillipe, though this is obviously good natured, and comes along with a gesture of his free hand. It's a fair cop, though. No way in hell could Adelard put up with Tonks running his detail. Dale's response gives him pause, however. "Then why in the world do you need that many forms?" Adelard says, his head tilting ever-so-slightly to one side. His hand drops then, his eyes narrow a touch. Now he's just downright curious. "Is someone just trying to give you the run around, laddie?" That's not unheard of around here, "You're… Cooper, isn't it?" Why the hell Adelard goes through files on known cursebreakers is anyone's guess. Or maybe it has something to do with his children being in Hogwarts. "Let me see these papers? I may be able to save you some time." He sounds legitimate in that offer, too. Five forms for a broken watch no one even needs to see. Nonsense. Total nonsense.
Dale offers the papers over, they are mostly completed. "Its possible" he answers to Phillipe, then back to Adelard he offers "Paperwork is the reason I didnt become a Ministry Cursebreaker.. I dont like paperwork." he states point blank.
Something about the way Adelard says Dale's last name makes Phillipe pause, tilting his head to one side as though to consider something. "…yes, I think you're right. Perenelle's year? Maybe one ahead?" Don't mind him. He almost never makes sense the first time around. Though it seems that he expects Adelard, at least, to make sense of what he's said. There's not any additional explanation forthcoming. He falls still when Adelard's tone changes, watching the interaction with a smug and knowing expression. Still, he can't resist a question of his own. "You think we all work in the Ministry because we have some kind of paperwork fetish?"
"Don't worry, the paperwork fetish isn't contagious." Adelard says with a smirk and a quick glance to Phillipe, as he takes the papers. They're looked over with an expression that borders on idle. "Yes, I believe the same year." A brief look up from the papers to Dale, "You were in the same year as one of our daughters, I believe." Back to papers, and then he's huffing, shaking his head again. "You don't need these at all." He says, pulling out two of the papers, "The others, eh… Tell me the story of that particular watch and I'll handle the rest of these for you." Because he can, and because he's curious, and because reports from people who hate paperwork tend to be lackluster and simply lacking.
Dale shrugs "A small family purchased an old home, both the purchaser and the former owner were Magical. But when the teen son found the watch in a secreted compartment, he though it would make a great fathers day gift.. Gave it to his father. And things started to go wrong.. he was late often.. disoriented. They were worried, and I happened to be available, so they called me in. Turns out the watch was fairly own.. a former owner.. about four generations back, was a watch maker, that liked to enchant them.. this was one that didnt really do well.. My guess is he was trying to make something akin to a time turner.. "
"Thank Merlin," Phillipe quips back. "That one is all you, old man." He, obviously, wants nothing to do with a paperwork fetish. The story of the watch is all well and fine, but keeping Phillipe's attention is a notoriously difficult task. One hand dips to trail fingertips through cool fountain water, but he is content to let Adelard investigate uninterrupted.
"How… Anticlimatic." Adelard says with a small sigh of disappointment, "But, very well." Snapping his fingers, three seals mark themselves at the bottom of each of these papers. And then he folds them, pulls out a purple piece of paper from his pocket, and slips them in the paper. "Who had the appointment to accept these documents?" Adelard asks as the purple paper shapes itself into an airplane, awaiting its directions.
Dale gives the name of the beaurocrat he was supposed to meet. "Thank you very much." he then offers, "yes Cooper." he responds to the earlier statement "I think I remember her.. We didnt interact much.. If its who I'm thinking of.. I graduated about 5 years ago now."
"Perenelle de Morhban?" The question comes with a slight edge to Phillipe's usual feline drawl - as though he cannot fathom one of his children being anything less than memorable. "Celeste was three years behind her, and Astrid a year behind her." Hard to miss family, the Morhban clan. Not always an enormous amount of family resemblance, but a tightly-knit group all the same.
"And Aurore two years before, and Michelle four years before." Adelard continues the thought, calm and perhaps a touch amused. Then, he whispers directions to the paper airplane. It zooms off silently, heading toward the lifts. Tightly knit family, indeed - And huge. Hell, even Lyra was in her seventh year when Perenelle went to school. So many children. Some say too many. They don't say that in Adelard's hearing, though, that's how they would be eaten. Perhaps literally.
Dale nods "Perenelle. "he smiles a bit "yes.. I danced with her during christmas ball my fifth year.. A lovely young lady. " he agrees "I knew of her siblings.. but didnt deal much with them.. Though I dare say, now that you mention her, Perenelle and I got along well enough." he looks around and offers "Thank you again for the help."
Phillipe is amused, finally rousing himself from his lazy sprawl along the fountain's edge to stand and stretch - slow and languid and absolutely showing off. The Veela allure becomes much more evident when he moves, slinking toward Adelard like some great jungle cat. "Easy now, I think you've scared him into just about all the compliments he can think of on the spot." One hand rests gently against Adelard's elbow - a subtle but familiar gesture. "Hinge your jaw, old dragon," he murmurs softly. "Else you'll make your next meeting wet themselves." Schedules in the Ministry hardly ever stay static for long, after all.
Any additional notes fall to the bottom.