it's all going just so perfectly wrong ( frankie )

[ANDREW BENJAMIN GRIFFITH]

The Ministry. That place where those things they called laws and restrictions-cue amused snort-were passed and more-or-less enforced. More commonly known as Andrew's worst nightmare wrapped up all into one building. He'd had his hand in a number of illegal activities, not one that the ministry had yet found out about. Though, it still made him itchy being in such close vicinity to people who could possibly put him in prison. Not to mention, he had developed a strong distrust of, and dislike for, the wizarding government. Even if that gave him the image of being a paranoid (occasional) law-breaker, he was okay with it.

It was near impossible for him to care less about what these ministry officials thought of him. Only a select few were important-those who were fellow Order members of course. Still didn't necessarily mean he liked them though. In his experience, they only nagged him about things he did wrong. It was always 'wellll, that's against the rules' or 'tsk, tsk, that's immoral'. Well he figured the Order had to be breaking at least one law, but did he say anything? Nooo-well okay, yes he did. All. the. time. And it was quite irritating-or so people told him.

So if they were all so irritating to him, then why was he here? The answer was simple. While there was a mutual dislike between Andrew and the workers at the Ministry, they didn't deny that he had developed a special talent for working for dragons. After working in Bulgaria for about six years with them, it was hard not to. So the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures called him in every once in a while for a little help. He didn't even mind, since working with dragons was one of those fews that didn't make him want to Avada Kedrava himself.

Today he'd been called in to deal with a little Chinese Fireball incident, while needless to say, was less than pretty. There was a large burn of his left hand, which he was constantly flexing just to make sure the nerves still functioned, there were a few scorch marks on the edge of his shirt, and it was unmistakable that his black jacket was still smoking a little. All of this meant that it was about time to call it a day and go home and grab some Firewhiskey from his cupboard, but first he had the thought to visit one of his only Auror friends. Not purely for the snappy conversation, but also because Andrew had a few things to discuss regarding some suspected bad guys playing dress up-or Death Eaters.

So instead of heading for the exit, he turned onto Level Two, not knowing where even he'd start to look for his friend. With that, he impatiently stopped a passing girl, catching her by the arm with his left hand, and grimacing as the burn on it rubbed irritably. "Hey kid."


tag :: frankie
listening to :: I Write Sins Not Tragedies
notes :: hope that was alright ^^

[FRANCESCA YVONNE MEADE]

Francesca Meade was not exactly a fan of playing personal messenger, but if it was going to get her a job in the Auror department, then darn well she was going to do it. And do it well, just for that extra nudge towards a good recommendation. Even if that meant walking through a rather stormy portion of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, where there appeared to be a glitch in the weather spell on one of the enchanted windows. She looked somewhat frazzled, and it was understandable as moments ago she was sopping wet, waiting for her mentor's correspondent to come up with a reply to the news she'd brought (because "Oh, this message has to be sent back right away! Wait here for a few moments, would you, and run this back for me?").

Frankie wasn't the pompous sort of girl, but she knew she was certainly above playing the messenger girl. She had graduated near the top of her class coming out of Hogwarts, from Ravenclaw of all houses. She was intelligent, good with spells, and was one of the quickest thinkers that she knew. Yet, here she was, being reduced to mere paige work, running about with letters concerning arrests and potential international problems. She couldn't understand why her mentor's most recent case was turning out to be such a big hub-bub. The man was not from England, granted, but from Bulgaria where they had their own Ministry of Magic, who had to be notified that one of their own had been arrested in England for putting a nearly deadly curse on an object that was being sent to a pureblooded wizarding family's home. The man had broken the law, and would be punished for it. Francesca didn't see why the Bulgarian Ministry should care.

Life wasn't entirely black and white for Miss Meade, but there were certain things that she simply didn't see a third side to. Like breaking the law. You either broke it or you didn't - no matter what the reasoning was. Trying to kill someone? That was wrong no matter which way you put it. Performing magic on innocent bystanders? Also a bad choice. She didn't care, nor would she ever. Frankie was determined to enforce the law someday. She would have to enforce it no matter what the circumstances.

She was contemplating this, with the papers practically hugged to her chest, when she was grabbed by the arm. Slightly startled, Francesca let out a small yelp (as the grip was rather tight), and turned to face the person who'd reached out for her. Her eyebrow raised. It was a rather... handsome young man, who didn't terribly older than she, but he looked rather impatient. And he called her kid. Ugh. She wasn't that young, and the diminishing greeting made her frown in disapproval as she eyed the stranger. Over the years, Francesca had trained herself to recognize a number of faces around the Ministry. She did not, however, recognize this one.

"Can I help you?" she demanded, equally as impatient.

[ANDREW BENJAMIN GRIFFITH]

Andrew's grip automatically loosened as the girl emitted a pathetic little cry that seemed utterly like a sound only a dog could make. Apparently they just didn't make these Ministry workers like they used to. Releasing her arm, he pulled back his hand, noting that some of the burnt skin had peeled back upon contact with her arm. It couldn't hurt to stop by St. Mungo's and have it looked at for infection, but he couldn't be bothered to waste his time. After all, he had plans. Plans which involved sitting alone with a full glass of firewhiskey at The Leaky Cauldron. Clearly these were plans that shouldn't be interfered with.

"Well I wouldn't want to interrupt you two," He remarked irritably, giving her and her papers a pointed look. No one cared that much about their reports, not unless they were confidential and top-secret, or if they were just a kiss-ass. He would bet his money that she was the latter. Some girl fresh out of school-because she appeared around that age-and eager to get promoted to some high standing job so she was actually willing to do the lackey work. He would repeat. Pathetic. That was specifically why he refused to take an actual job working on Level Four. People bossing him around sounded almost even worse than the Cruciatus curse. And seeing as he had had experiences with  both of those things, he felt that he was, in fact, allowed to say that.

Though, he did have a typical prejudice against authority of any kind, and of the Ministry in particular. Even if they had a pretty face. Which he would silently admit she did, but that didn't make her any more appealing as a Ministry employee. And it certainly didn't make up for the uptight attitude that he would assume she most likely had nailed down to a T. Technically he had no idea whether she was really that way or not, but in the case of people, he judged them by their covers. And any law official had a damn ugly cover.

He didn't feel too horrible about it though, since she already looked displeased with his very existence. Then again he couldn't blame her, his existence could piss anyone off. "I don't know, can you? Because I'm not even sure you're qualified enough to work here." He muttered the last part beneath his breath, smirking at her all the while. He still doubted she had enough of a backbone to be an Auror if she was bothered by the simplest grab of the arm. Talk about minimal pain resistance...luck be with her if she ever actually had to deal with a dangerous criminal-dangerous criminal being the Askaban or Death Eater type.

"Either way, I'm looking for Jackson Chevalier." One of the few Ministry workers he tolerated-or okay liked. Then again he heard everyone liked Jackson, and especially members of the Order who knew that he actually was some big-shot hero, and not just a Ministry lapdog.

tag ;; frankie
listening to ;; dark side by kelly clarkson

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