It seemed to be going well.  He seemed to be hearing what she was saying and, more importantly, didn't seem to find significant fault in it.  At least until he turned away, emotionally shutting her out. 

The reaction had been immediate and obvious enough to make it easy to identify what had prompted it.  At least, which words he was reacting to were obvious - what about them that had prompted the reaction wasn't quite as apparent.  "Wait," she offered, her voice quiet but even.  Clearly, he'd misunderstood her.  There was no reason to be walking on eggshells. 

"Sounds like you could write your own book."

"I could," she said, again, her voice still the same even tone.  "In some ways I have, though it's hardly-"  But, he seemed to have found his own resolution.  She nodded as he took his turn to apologize, more than happy to put that misstep behind them.  Hopefully, for good.

She managed to avoid a stereotypically girlish squeal when Adon seemed to accept, or at least acquiesce, but just barely.  The apparent lack of enthusiasm on his part helped stem much of the excitement but what elements of the weren't successfully filtered out did escape her in a broad grin and a muted chuckle.  "I'll assume you're saving the streamers for later."  It wasn't a reaction that really sought to meld seamlessly with his melancholy but it also hadn't been a school-girl squeal.  It was a good compromise.

Her eyes followed him as he settled on the ledge.  "Luckily, you can, so you don't have to know what you'd do," she offered, doing her best to wrangle the excitement and relief so she could meet him in his earnestness.  "It may take a little bit more for me to really grasp all this stuff, but I'll get there.  Ketchup packets?  How would ... nevermind"  She'd always figured Jonas was one of the saner ones but how could ketchup packets help?  Or was this some sort of attempt on the PIs part to become more Get-Smart-esque.

There was something reassuring - reaffirming - about the arm that settled around her shoulder.  It was tangible evidence that they were moving forward, that they were still them in more than just words.  She smiled warmly at Adon and leaned against him. 

"I - no.  I won't.  And, I wasn't shrinking you.  That was mine.  For me - I rarely use them anymore.  Usually only when things are really confusing.  It was why I came to this decision.  But, I can see how my talking to myself out loud can make that confusing.  I'll keep my truisms to myself or at least get the pronouns right." 

She glanced down at the ledge underneath her and shrugged.  "Countless hours practice, I guess.  Seats on the train are definitely more comfortable - and warmer, though." 

"I'll assume you're saving the streamers for later."

A guilty, muddled expression crossed Adon’s face. “Yeh . . .” he said, rubbing his chin. “Reckon we’ll have to wait until Jonas is asleep to put them up. . .”

.  "Luckily, you can, so you don't have to know what you'd do," she offered, doing her best to wrangle the excitement and relief so she could meet him in his earnestness.  "It may take a little bit more for me to really grasp all this stuff, but I'll get there.

The guilty expression had not yet abated. “Thank you,” he stated quietly. “To be honest, Joh, I’d really rather you not have to see all of this. It’s not – usually like this.” What it was, Adon did not think he could express. This whole fucked up situation, he supposed. The magical world. His life. His relationships.

He enjoyed, for a moment, the weight of her body against him. It was cold and she was warm, like this. His hand reached up to play a bit with the ends of her loose hair across her back before stopping abruptly.

“Shrink me?” Adon didn’t really know what to make of that wording. But he suspected that the instinctive entendre would not be prudent. Nor was it particularly natural in this moment. He realized after a moment she was still defending herself. Another cringe. “Look,” he said. He didn’t like this in Jacoba. It wasn’t right. Jacoba was confident. Carefree. She wasn’t supposed to be constantly –

Well, he’d done that to her.

“Just. . . it doesn’t matter,” he said. “Pronouns are difficult anyhow. We don’t really have them in Hebrew.”  He shoved his free hand deeper into his pocket, noting that the hand currently playing with Jacoba’s hair was numb. One of his hands had damn well better be happy.

Not for the first time that evening, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. Well, she knew he liked warm. “Ah-hum?” he asked a bit playfully, responding to her implied suggestion. “And where, Frauline Schlagenweit, were you thinking of taking us this evening? Not the Tower.” He rose to his feet, offering his hand to her to help pull her up. "I'm done with the tower, I hope," he added with a relieved smile. Glad to have gotten out so quickly. That place was a torture chamber.

"Is that so?"  Jacoba rolled her head to the side and arched a mischievous eyebrow up at Adon, hoping to let his look of guilt pass with their usual humor.  "I suppose most fun activities will generally have to wait until he's asleep.  It'll give him something to ponder when he wakes up tomorrow."  Which, watching Jonas puzzle over the sudden appearance of streamers throughout the apartment could be a source of amusement. 

He was back to worrying again.  If Adon couldn't clarify what 'it' was, Jacoba certainly wasn't in a position to figure it out.  She could only guess and assume it could relate to any of this: the complications, the uncertainty, the generally blahness that was tinting their whole relationship.  It was that still lingering guilt.  That feeling that he'd somehow dragged her unwillingly into this it.  That needed to stop.  Whether it was because he had enough on his shoulders with everything else or it was because he needed to realize she deserved more credit than that, he still needed to get over the guilt. 

She closed her eyes a moment, choosing to focus her attention on the gentle feel of his hand in her hair rather than the movement of people passing in front of them.  "I don't have to.  Stop guilting yourself." she insisted, firmly.  "I could have said 'no.'  I could have walked away many times before.  I'm choosing to be a part of your world and, yes, that means being a part of 'all of this' in whatever way you want or need me to be.  We'll figure it out as we go." 

Jacoba let out a slow, deep breath when it was clear Adon was willing to move on to warmer endeavors and topics of conversation.  The change of tone from cautious and foreboding to playful and in the moment was unquestioningly welcome and Jacoba offered a grin to match.  "I'll usually take food over looking at an old prison," she admitted, using his help to pull herself to her feet.  "Unless, of course, you were serious about that sandwich." 

She was happy to assume he hadn't been serious.  Or, to make it clear said sandwich really wasn't a correct option.  Her fingers remained closed around his as she started towards the subway entrance. 

Adon squinted one eye as he considered the deepening proposal of midnight mischief against Trevelyan. "It'll give him something to ponder when he wakes up tomorrow."

Adon nodded sagaciously. "Like stealing his eye-phone," he said with a wolfish smile. "And using it. To take photos of his confused face when he wakes up." Now that it was said, the plan's brilliance was reaching its full potential in Adon's mind. He hardly needed the iphone to capture the image of Jonas' knit brows and irritated face (accompanied by likely pillow-throwing).

He listened to her protests that she was wittingly walking into this. Those reassurances didn't matter and certainly didn't count. She had no idea what she was walking into. Preliminary assertions of courage were hardly credible. Everyone had intentions of being brave before the fact. And while certainly true Jacoba was strong, there ought to have been little need for that sort of strength from a girl--from someone her age.

Even if that was what he admired most about her. He rubbed his hand over his face, giving a light sight. "Alright. One point to Schlagenweit," he conceded.

"Me? Serious?" He asked as he pulled her to her feet. "I make it a point not to be. Unless you were actually going to make me one."

They began to pick their way down the stairs. He glanced over to her as he used his hand to check both pockets, sighing. "We'll need to break out way in through the gates, though. I don't have Muggle tender." A momentary pause before he added, "We never did break into my old house." Had that been the initial plan?

It was a shame spelling couldn't be detected though speech, otherwise Adon's contributions to the plans to confuse Jonas would have opened up a whole new world of potential jokes.  Luckily, there was still plenty to be had even without the misnomer.  "Oh, my dear."  She reached out a hand and rested it on Adon's cheek, shaking her head.  "Steal his phone to take pictures of him?  With ifart and ibug out there?  You clearly are such an amateur when it comes to technology, aren't you?"  It was endearing, really. 

"Alright. One point to Schlagenweit."

"I'll deposit it in my account on the way home," she offered with a soft smirk as she leaned forward to press her lips lightly to his before he pulled her to her feet and started down the stairs.  "If you really wanted a sandwich, I would gladly make you a sandwich.  I was considering going the fondue route, myself." 

She looked back over her shoulder at him, arching an eyebrow and working very hard (and generally failing) to suppress a smug grin.  Mr. Auror was suggesting breaking through the gates.  She, of course, had developed the habit of carrying both forms of currency but opted to withhold this information for the time being.  This endeavor was becoming all too appealing a possibility.  Again, trying to (and, again, failing to) sound wholly disappointed, crestfallen and appropriately guilty, Jacoba nodded her head.  "Shame.  But, yeah.  We might need to.  Is there some fancy spell for confusing turnstiles?  Hocus Pocus Revolvus" she said, waggling a finger at the gate.  Alright.  So, maybe she wasn't trying at all. 

"No.  We didn't," she confirmed with a slight nod of her head.  A lot of their plans got somewhat sidetracked.  "We could stop by a bakery and pick up some cookies to leave in our wake."

"Oh, my dear."  She reached out a hand and rested it on Adon's cheek, shaking her head.  "Steal his phone to take pictures of him?  With ifart and ibug out there?  You clearly are such an amateur when it comes to technology, aren't you?" 

“No, not to technology,” Adon said matter-of-factly, with a bit of a teasing scowl at the hand placement.  He jerked his head, pretending to make an attempt at nipping it. He then reclaimed the hand in his own, swinging it a bit as they moved down the steps. “Just consumer-friendly platforms and non-invasive interfacing. I also don’t buy into the Apple enterprise. Or PCs.” He waved his hand. “I actually hate operating systems. And the internet.” He thought a moment. “You can’t see what’s going on in most computers these days, you know?”

Mentally, Adon meted one point to himself for this response. Joh one, Adon – well, it was just a number, really. Though if Joh had her own account, he’d have to open one as well.

"If you really wanted a sandwich, I would gladly make you a sandwich.  I was considering going the fondue route, myself." 

He smiled as he leaned in to take the kiss. Moments like this – kissing in (even deserted) public places, where anyone could see them – felt so foreign after Thea. It felt dangerous (and, if it had been Thea, it would have been.) In its way, this was thrilling.

Fon-doo sounded rather less so. It sounded like some knock off, fusion Middle Eastern dish. “What the hell is fon-doo?” he asked, scrunching his nose in irritation. 

  "Shame.  But, yeah.  We might need to.  Is there some fancy spell for confusing turnstiles?  Hocus Pocus Revolvus.”

“Look at you, Muggle. A natural at magic.” He cracked a smirk as he looked at the turnstile. “How about you try the magic and I try the Muggle?” he looked both ways before placing his hand on either side of the turnstile, swinging his legs up and over the revolving metal bars in an acrobatic feat. It was for this, Adon told himself, that Israel trained all their children in gymnastics until the age of eighteen.

Having passed the gauntlet, he said, “I apologise. I ought to have let ladies go first. Your turn.” He recalled the apparent delight she’d shown in the thought of him shimmying through a window. Adon admitted he was rather curious to see what she would do to get out of this as well.

If worse came to worse, he had gold coins in his pocket. He could claim foreigner and annoy the hell out of any ticket booth operators with broken English and indecipherable currency. At least two pockets’ worth.

She'd been, admittedly, a little surprised by his response and, therefore, a little distracted when he feigned a nip towards her hand.  She'd never admit it, but he very well may know more about computers than she did.  Interacting with 'consumer friendly platforms' and 'non-invasive interfacing' was about all schools allowed you to do in their computer labs.  They didn't take kindly to invading school machines. 

Unfortunately, her delayed reaction to the bite proved to heighten the brief surprise in her expression only further illustrating he'd, indeed, earned at least one point.  The concession was, of course, short lived.   

“You can’t see what’s going on in most computers these days, you know?” 

"Of course you can't.  Labor laws.  Those little munchkin elves inside the CPUs wanted privacy to work.  Bloody inconvenient, but those unions are tough." 

Adon hadn't ever heard of fondue?  How was that possible?  Jacoba stared at him a moment, letting the requisite five seconds pass during which some twitch or chuckle would signify the comment was a joke if, indeed, it was one.  "Fondue," she repeated, just in case he'd just not heard it correctly.  "You've never heard of fondue?  It's Swiss?  It's melted cheese in this pot and you stick bread in it.  You like cheese, right?"  Unless he, indeed didn't like cheese, this lack of knowledge would need to be promptly rectified. 

When Adon turned back to her from safely on the other side, he would have found Jacoba chewing on a cuticle, her hand doing its part to obscure the broad, toothy, amused silent laugh on her face.  That little show of gymnastics had been fantastic.  "Beautiful," she managed without too much of a laugh breaking up her voice.  "Perfection.  I ... I fear I won't measure up."  Maybe he'd buy it. 

She quickly stepped up to the turnstile and gripped the bar and hunched down, letting her momentum swung her under the bar and to the other side.  Once standing up, again, her hand found Adon's again before she started towards the escalator with a murmured, "mr. lawman." 

"Of course you can't.  Labor laws.  Those little munchkin elves inside the CPUs wanted privacy to work.  Bloody inconvenient, but those unions are tough."

There was a momentary hesitation. That almost sounded accurate. If you were a mage.

Even if it was a load of dragonshite. Which illustrated, yet again, to Adon, just how very . . . preposterous the world was. He'd gone through nearly an entire year of looking downright ridiculous his first year in the IDF, trying to figure out what were and were not commonalities between both worlds. There hadn't been much. Adon had come across as an eccentric, religious-schooled boy, probably formerly Orthodox or some sort of mystical branch of Judaism.

Moments like this took him back to the first year of teasing. He blushed a little, shaking his head. "That almost made sense," he said in a low voice. "Uncanny."

Adon broke away to cross the barrier, turning to fold his arms speculatively as Jacoba claimed -- or feigned? -- ineptitude. He'd let her have one go before he did anything to help her.

And help she most certainly did not need. He gave her a peck on the lips, pulling away to grin. "S'my girl," he said, taking her hand and leading her towards the circle line. "So fon-doo. . ." he said, contemplatively. "Could be good. Where are we going? And can I pay in sickles?"

Adon's experience with acclimating to life amongst muggles in the IDF was probably an advantage to their relationship (the political irony of it aside).  She was now, in many ways, where he had been during that first year.  Of course, the transition was reversed: going from a purely (or mostly) non-magical world to one that included both possibilities rather than magical to muggle.  Different details, same process. 

It was usually during moments like the one that left Adon hesitating - not to mention the admission that there might possibly be some kernel of truth in the CPU-dwelling munchkins - that reminded Jacoba of that culture gap.  "You're kidding?"  Jacoba arched both eyebrows.  It was her turn to wait a moment to see if that had been a joke. 

But, her lips curled into a small grin under the short kiss after joining him on the other side of the turnstile.  "St. Moritz has pretty good fondue.  Unfortunately, I've yet to find a wizarding restaurant that serves Fondue in London," Jacoba admitted with a grin, redirecting their path towards the central line, westbound.  "Zurich may have one ... but does wizarding Zurich have its own currency?  Or ... is there a wizarding version of the Euro dollar?  So bloody confusing.  I've got some pounds, though." 

She smirked as she reached the platform and turned towards Adon.  Yes, she could have mentioned that back at the ticket machine.  But, then she wouldn't have been able to watch Adon leapfrog over the turnstile. 

"You know," she mentioned, pursing her lips.  "In the muggle world, many countries offer language and culture classes to immigrants.  Help them get acquainted with local customs and such?  I remember my father and mum-" her voice broke off for a moment and she stared blankly off past Adon's shoulder before shaking her head.  "-they took a class after moving here from Berlin.  Living under Thatcher was a little different than the Soviets.  Something like that for the wizarding world wouldn't hurt.  It'd help those of us trying to muck our way through things and get settled." 

"You're kidding?"

"Am I?" Adon asked, arching his brows in an over-the-top display of smarmishness.

"Who's this St. Moritz and how do you know him so well? I will fight him," Adon mumbled against her cheekbone as he laid another kiss there. At the question of wizarding money, he grinned. "Well you Muggles pay for Tubes with Oysters. So I wouldn't complain too much about confusion." He rested his chin on her shoulder blade, walking behind her as she moved towards the platform. "Lead the way." He was quiet a minute before wrapping his arms around her middle. "You brought pounds?" he asked, lifting her slightly off her feet. "But what about oysters?"

Jacoba was, clearly, trying to worm her way out of the situation, talking about something that would have, for certain, derailed the conversation . . . if he'd been Dreogan. "Here's the thing, Joh. You don't immigrate into the wizarding world. You've weasled your way in," he said, the fond smile on his face and the warmth in his voice apparent that this was particularly endearing to him, "but most others -- well, except Muggleborns, of course . . . Look," he said, drawing his musing to a close. "You should talk to Dree about it. He's got all these ideas. He could write a whole book." He looked about. "But be a bit more careful, talking about Muggles and wizards in the Tube, yeh? It's just," he sighed. He'd been worried about the Death Dream, about Dree, his job, and now this relationship -- he didn't want to worry about the good of Muggle-kind.

Frankly, he just wanted to make out.

"Talk to Dree about it," he summed up again, moving the hair away from her neck before kissing her. It was nice, that he could do that here, in public. Without anyone wanting to denounce them. It was bold, but not risky. Pulling away, he considered. He ought not to have dismissed her. "So. . . you think the government should hold classes?"

Somewhere, in the back of her thoughts, some smart quip or response to his cocky display was waiting in the wings.  But, the soft brushing of his mouth as it rested against her cheek just made it too hard to care about finding a way to make that comment materialize.  She surrendered that point. 

"Oh?" The intrigue in her tone was obvious.  She grinned back, mischievously.  "Well, St. Moritz and I go back to when I lived in London before.  He was close Centrepoint so we crossed paths frequently.  Not that I was his type back then."  A man offering to fight for her (whether in jest or otherwise) was certainly a new thing.  She had no desire or intention to actually to test it but what girl wouldn't like the idea?  "I'd like to see that," she offered quietly with a simper.  "You just better make sure you win.  Don't want to get stuck with a self-proclaimed saint." 

"I di-yes!"  She'd started to admit to having pounds, quite ready to defend herself for not mentioning that fact before they'd broken through the turnstiles when he hoisted her off the ground.  She laughed, loudly, her hands taking hold of his arms in a needless effort to steady herself.  Between laughs, she made an attempt to answer.  "And, I have an oyster, too."  She released her grip on his arms, since it wasn't making much of a difference anyway, and raised them over her head, resting her hands at the nape of Adon's neck. 

"Alright," she agreed, simply, hearing and agreeing to the unspoken request to abandon the topic of muggle education for less academic and more pleasurable pursuits.  She would try to talk to Dreogan about it, though.  She was sure those like Auror Roh wouldn't be thrilled about the idea but, in the long run, it couldn't hurt to blend in better, could it?   But, just as quickly as her mind had gotten distracted, it was just as willing to be brought back to these more important endeavors.  Her eyes fluttered closed and she tilted her head forward, offering him easier access to his neck just as a stiff breeze from the tunnel heralded the train's arrival.  It was a shame the Statute of Secrecy prevented them Adon from just poofing them onto the train just as they were. 

But, Adon pulled away and drew the conversation back just as the train barreled into the station, giving Jacoba a moment to consider the question before the rumbling died down.  "Maybe not the government and maybe not to everyone.  But, someone should do it," she voiced as she led the way onto the train and settled herself in a backrow seat by the window.  Given the conversation, it was probably best to know no one was sitting behind them.  "I know you're not the only one that has dated someone like me.  And, for all those Ministry blokes talk about not supporting the purist ideology, they sure are quick to alienate anyone that acts in a way that's contrary to that.  All my family is here, now; is it so bad to not want to feel like an interloper?"

Contrary to what Auror Roh and those purists might think, Jacoba wasn't trying to stage some muggle revolution or change their society.  In fact, at least for now, all of her motivations were entirely personal and selfish.  This may not be her world but all of her world was here.  She didn't want to be stuck on the outside looking in.

"Well, I'd imagine it's like kibbutzim," Adon said, quietly after some thought. They stepped onto the cart after "minding the gap," and Adon settled into a blue, plush seat with wild patterns on it. This was not his first time on the Tube, but it was the first time he'd noticed it. "You get a lot of hippies who want to join -- who can't even speak Hebrew. They just want to be a part of something. And then you get the people who shouldn't be there. Who wish the kibbutz harm. You've got to figure out what they're really about. Not just make sure that they deserve to be included, but that they know what we're about, and that, what's more, they have the skills and the knowledge to be productive in the community and actually happy there. You can't just accept anyone." He looked at Joh before kissing her temple.

"This may surprise you, but we've have been persecuted a fair bit. We're hesitant to let just anyone in. We've reason to be selective." At this moment, Adon didn't clarify if he spoke as a Jew or a wizard.

Quickly, he added, "I"m not saying that I disagree, or that you're wrong." Adon was much too much of a relativist for that, though not as much so as his brother. "But there are things -- history -- to consider. As an individual, I want you to be included in all this if you want to. And I think you, as an individual, have a right to be. Ideologically, in a community, as a member of your community trying to come into ours -- and don't deny that that's not the case, because it is -- it's much more conflicting."

"Assuming our history on the matter isn't that far off, it doesn't," Jacoba admitted with a slight shake of her head.  What of muggle history could be counted upon in this instance, she didn't have the slightest clue.  But, she knew enough about her own history - both her family and religious history to guess.  Even without Adon's clarification, either way, it was a true statement. 

She knew what he meant, of course - in either sense.  His description of those seeking kibbutz hadn't really been that far off from her own experience.  She had never considered herself a hippie, exactly - she'd always seen them as those that willingly chose their personal state of exile, usually, it seemed, out of a fear of responsibility.  She'd never known a street kid to run the same social circles as hippies.  And, she never actually sought a kibbutz, proper.  Whether she would have had she had the financial means was anyone's guess.  But, she had sought Judaism in London and later in Munich for that similar hope of finding something to be a part of.  Originally, it had simply been a matter of the Bevis Marks Synagogue being one of the few places in London she could seek refuge that was guaranteed to be void of anyone in her father's social circle. 

"I know that's the case and I'm not saying everyone should be allowed.  Even the immigration office doesn't allow that." Jacoba insisted, shaking her head.  She leaned her head against Adon's shoulder, seeking one of his hands with one of hers.  "There's a process - a need to prove suitability.  But, for those that make it through the hoops, it can only benefit everyone if they can better understand and ... well, blend in.  I know I'm trying to weasel my way in.  I don't know - it's hard to explain.  I just want to understand, better."