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shark vs the universe

blake kathryn

JBB: An Artblog!
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Peter Solarz
cherry valley forever

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Cosimo Galluzzi
we're not kids anymore.
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

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Janaina Medeiros
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@edgarsboner
Thanks. She accepts the free lunch with great, silent gratitude - she’d rather not spend her parent’s will money on trivial things. In fact, she’d love to make her own money, but for the time being she would take what she could get.
Nope - we’re always busy nowadays. Especially with all the…again a grey area appears; does she talk about there being a lot of cases? Probably not. She didn’t want Moody chopping off her head before she even got a Ministry paycheck…activity surrounding the past few months. How about you? Are you making sure the Aurors don’t go too far into public property?
Well, if it's keeping you out of mischief, that's one less worry off my shoulders. Plus, you're working with veritable legends up there in Law, like Moody, and Crouch. That's gotta be something, hey 'Melly?
Course - and into private property, should the need arise. Though, that's a bit sensitive for public knowledge. [He presses the flat of his hand to the corner of his mouth, facing outwards, winking as he lowers his voice.] The national secrecy act though, well, that's obviously fair game. Come on- [He proffers his arm to his baby sister, ever the gallant pureblooded gent] -Allow me to escort you to lunch, dear 'Melly?
[Truth be told the less time she spent in the office kitchenette the better. All in all it was little more than a cramped little room towards the far side of the level, blank cream coloured walls and shelves that practically screamed for reorganization (and really, it was likely that any longer in there than was necessary and she’d rearrange the whole thing). Yes, the less time she spent in there the better, nodding along to the thought as she prepared the tea - a pot; she could stop by with a cup for the department head as she made her way back towards Edgar’s cubicle… and perhaps even linger around a little longer should he decide he felt like more than one mug. Once the pot is done (her skirt straightened and some semblance of composure regained) the tea is brewed and she can (at last, breathing a sigh of relief) make her way back out into the office, taking steady steps to avoid any spillages.]
Well then. [Rounding into the cubicle with both mugs held aloft.] I believe the order called for one black, and black with a hint of lemon for yours truly? [Easing his mug onto a coaster and leaning back against the desk, nodding towards the parchment.] Haven’t signed away anything too important, I hope? Nothing nasty in the fine print?
[He brings his gaze up to the mug, eyes filling with gratitude as he hastily rolls up the scroll and places it to the side.] You're an absolute saint Sue - a right angel, I swear. [He wraps his ink splattered hands around the warmth, bringing it to his lips and taking a sip of the scalding liquid, nodding his appreciation and swallowing, before answering her.] Fine print? Ah, you know me Sue; I'm more likely to be the one to inflict the fine print than consign myself to it. Warrant for a search and seize - pretty mainstream, considering the state of things out there. Tell you what, hate to be an accused in this day and age. [He leans forward conspiratorially, lowering the mug a little and his voice as well.] Practically no rights anymore, really. I mean, if the accused is guilty, then be it on their head, but there should be a set of rights that law authorities in our world should adhere to, to ensure that they are in actual fact guilty, and- [He pauses, a grimace taking pride of place as he realises he's been ranting, and he looks over his tea mug apologetically at Sue.]
Sorry - I got a bit carried away there, huh? [And only now does he properly see her position, and he shifts slightly in his seat, cheeks reddening a hint. Hopefully she'll think it's embarrassment from the ] It's just that people are getting jumpy about everything at the moment, the disappearances, the mur- [His voice catches on the word and the events from the start of the summer flit briefly across his mind, a vibrance attached to the memories that makes his knuckles whiten from the grip he suddenly has on the mug.] The murders. [He averts his gaze from Sue as he takes a sip, trying to pretend like the momentary pause never happened.]
100 pictures of John Krasinski - 44/100
[Her lips twitch as she musters up some strength to keep her smile under wraps, though relief lingers heavily in her words, nodding as she continues (with not a single hint of flirtatious teasing. Oh no, what would make anyone think that. Nothing to set office tongues wagging whatsoever).] Oh, of course. How could I have possibly forgotten the infamous badger past. I won’t question it next time. Just rest my faith certainly in your workplace skills. [With a solemn nod - and hint of a growing smile; not to mention the rising heat in her cheeks as she realizes how exactly she sounds and she bites back the response that’s drifted to the tip of her tongue. “Now you’re just giving me far too much credit, Mr. Bones. Wouldn’t be half as smooth sailing without the genuine gems like you to work with…”]
Of course. You’re welcome; as always. [Fond smile slipping back in to place as she turns on her heel and makes her way (at an absolutely normal speed and not escaping any sort of discomfort whatsoever) towards the lunch room. It’s a welcome opportunity to regain her composure and internally berate herself for the near extraordinary (at least as far as she’s concerned) slip from professionalism.]
[His eyes don't flick up from the paper to stare at Sue's retreating figure appreciatively, albeit with flaming cheeks, oh no - ever the study in professionalism is Mister Edgar Bones. Nor does his eyes linger on any particular portion of body, no sir, not this pair of eyes. Quickly, he drops his gaze back to the parchment, eyes scanning inked words for a brief summation of the paperwork. Someone's request for a raid on some other wizard's home - he doesn't recognise the name, but the evidence and the motives seem sound enough.] Can't Aurors sort out their own rubbish in their department? Oh, wait, it's a warrant - okay, that's more understandable. [He mutters aloud, hand reaching up to smooth back his hair, which bounces back into it's fluffy if disorderly style with next to no fuss.] Sign on the dotted line... there we go. Edgar Bones. Goodbye soul, it was nice knowing you.