10:43 a.m., 200 Picadilly, London

This particular coffee shop was a bit off the beaten path, it was true--in that it was Muggle, and not near the Muggle Banking district, adjacent to the Ministry, or King's Cross station--the more typical wizarding locations of London. Kahve Dünyası, the newest--and only--Turkish coffee shop in greater London was not the most convenient, but then again, Adon  had been known to go to places as far as Portugal for a coffee[1].

And besides. He now had a Muggle credit card. Platinum.  Classy.

As big as Adon was on grand--and, if possible,[2] rather awkward--entrances, he was also a stickler for order in his life.  Coming into a consultation with a new contact with half-conceived notions, questions, or theories was like leading one gently down the path to disaster.  And while Jonas might have had the gift of quickly adapting to situations in displays of improvisational genius (that may or may not have involved weaponizing cabs), for Adon, his wit and ability came from a ready arsenal of various tried and studied strategem--in addition, he would amit, to some improvisational genius of his own. But study first.  And so, sitting in one of the stiff, armed leather chairs of the place, Adon sat reading over his notes lightly, a good 15 minutes earlier than the arrival time.

Bai Li Yang, 32, Hong Kong, teacher of Magizoology at the Salem American instutition for magic.  Consultant on a (undisclosed) case for the Ministry of Magic (London) in 2004. 

He looked over some of the notes of the case.  Though written on loose leaves of parchment, they had been hand-numbered, with writing in crisp, straight lines.  Anyone who had had their files done-over by Adon--and that was to say, Jonas Trevelyan--had known the violence of his precision... though perhaps unexpected in nearly everyone else who had met the sometimes loud and often dramatic Auror.

The parchments were laid out in a neat, straight row when he felt a blast of hot air enter from outside.  It was nearing the time, though perhaps a touch early--Adon realized that perhaps he ought to have accompanied the woman here, except that--the purchasing of particularly fantastic beverages, the one-on-one conversation--it would have made the place sound significantly like a date.  Except for the inevitable mention of anticoagulating properties of Runespoor venom and a potential linkage to Runespoor venom and Muggles.  Though, he supposed, Adon was not entirely beyond bringing that sort of thing up on a date.  He probably had, with Thea.

Adon was only happy to have found someiont proficient in--but not of--the Ministry and its subtle dealings.  Enough that you could talk to someone without having to worry about shedding too much light, and in the dark in all the right places.

The person who entered was a squat sort of woman--squinty, and well into her 50s.  Not his match, then.  Adon ducked his head, once more pouring over the parchment.

1.	Referenced in this thread, here
2.	Referenced in this thread here

She had been surprised, to say the least, when she had learned they were to meet at a Muggle coffee shop.

Frowning slightly, Bai Li thought back on the letter as heels clacked quietly against the pavement. It had been stamped with a seal she hadn’t seen in a long time—already enough to gain her interest. And its contents. . . By no means had they been cryptic—far from it, really—but they had been vague; the wording had been polite and succinct, and had said as much as it clearly intended, which hadn’t much at all.

Not to mention that it had been some years since she’d been called for some consultation work in the UK, her last case a tight one at that. Even the most basic information were to have been withheld. She had been surprised when it became apparent that her name had surfaced; it was enough to give her pause.

And so here she was, at the doorstep of the Turkish café, a gloved hand stopping the front door before it shut completely—and then pushing it no further than she needed to slip in. Stepping to the side, Bai took a moment to survey the room, dark eyes skipping from head to head. . . until they fit the profile of the one she was here for. Lips pursing briefly, she made her way to his table, and stopped. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she murmured as she shook his hand, casting the burn on his face a quick, slightly curious glance before dismissing it completely. Burns did not bother her, even if she was curious as to how that one had come about. “Professor Bai Li Yang, of Magizoology. Shall we begin, Mister…?”

Adon had had a second's warning, when the slim sihloutte was cast against his line of notes, that his consultant had arrived.  He glanced up as he rose fluidly and offered his hand in a firm handshake.  There was a steeliness, for all the softness of that gloved handshake.  She was graceful, but stern.  And anyone who wore heels that high meant business.  (Any higher, and that business might have involved irreputable street corners.  But Adon was not exactly objecting tothe leggy brunette's appearance.)  And straight to business it was—Adon had not even had the opportunity to practice some recently-learned British manners and inquire for several minutes about the weather.

"Auror," he corrected with a smooth smile.  "Auror Adon Eleor."  It felt like a lot of vowels, all at once, he mused before pressing on, "And you're precisely on time, actually," Adon stated in a .crisp accent. He kept his smile civil, restrained, and businessnesslike as he felt her gaze shift to the side of his face curiously.  It always took reigning in a defensive posture, or a sharp tone.  With a conscious, added measure of ease, he said, "I like to arrive a bit early; it gives me a few moments to set up and gather my thoughts." He gestured to the notes before gesturing to another stiff-armed chair on the otehr side of the table.  "And order the coffee.  I hope you don't mind--" Few women would; women liked assertive men. And they liked men who bought them things.  But Professor Bai Li Yang didn't exactly seem like the sort of woman who wanted men making decisions for her.

Time to smooth out the tone.  "I took the liberty of presuming you'd want the standard Turkish coffee, which should be arriving shortly.  Do you care for something else...?" he said, leaving the invitation open. He'd acquired an outside consultant with the requisite security clearance on little to no notice--he was going to do what he could to pacify any doubts she might have. And an extra 2 or 3 quid on a duplicate drink or some pastry seemed the least he could do.

The several minutes' time had also been sufficient to cast a sound muffling charm in their very immediate proximity.[1]  And now that he was actually seated, he could tell from the deadened sound as he exhaled, that it was at least working to some extent. 

As with interrogations (which were more euphemistically called “interviews,”) consultations were all about setting the individual at ease; setting the tone of the conversation, so that you got the sort of flow that you wanted.  Ms. Yang’s no-nonsense manner required a sort of directness, but it wouldn’t do to clam her up so soon.  “I’m working on a case involving runespoors,” he said, directly as he could.  “My questions are more academic and theoretical in nature.”  He wet his lips, then smiled slyly.  “So, naturally, professor, I requested your assistance.” 

“What is your experience in dealing with Runespoors? Have you ever been to any of the unplottable forests in Burkina Faso’s designated for their habitation?”  There was a thought, tucked away in the corner of his mind, that she might not care to hear his own answer to this question.  There was a great likelihood for all her stiffness that she was a bleeding-heart animal lover.  Such a woman might not particularly care to speak with a cat-hating, owl-loathing, elf-avoiding, serpent-incinerating individual such as himself.

But he did like dogs alright.

1.	Adon's past experience in Muggle intelligence had taught him quite early on that the easiest way to cast a wanded spell was most certainly to act as though taking notes with a large, oversized pencil which, while earning a few odd glances, did not seem to summon the Obliviators.

Gracefully she sank into that proffered seat. A quick, tiny smile flitted across her features, tucked somewhere between politeness and genuine pleasure, and was gone as quickly as it had appeared.  She shook her head slightly when he brought up coffee; another time, she would have risen a brow at what would have been ‘foresight’ best contained by apostrophes. Now, however, she could appreciate the gesture for efficiency’s sake more than anything else. If she chose.

“Coffee is fine,” she declined, watching him carefully as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind an ear. If anything, a cup would only help—even if she did prefer tea.

For one, it also said she was not so easily swayed by pastries.

Full lips took on a vaguely amused curve. Despite that ramrod-straight posture, that second, ephemeral smile seemed almost. . . lazy, if such a thing could be associated with her. “Yes, I have,” she answered, seemingly unfazed by his manner. “Twice, when I was still a student. The first time was for firsthand observation,” which was the best way to learn, she had always felt. Texts and lectures could only do so much. “I was studying at Laevenstrome then. When the opportunity to observe them in their natural habitat arose, I took it. The second time was… a follow-up, of sorts.”

For a moment, eyes lowered—a respectful gesture. “A botched attempt for venom extraction—for antidote research,” she was swift to add, sharply meeting his gaze again. “Bites do not respond well to Healing, as I’m sure you know. And… they were making headway.” She looked at him steadily as she continued. “But there was an accident, and people died. Most of what notes had been taken were lost as well.”

Ultimately, the venture had been a failure. She didn’t like to think about it, and did at night all too frequently. And she did not like thinking about that, either. With a slight, almost imperceptible shrug, she ended with, “I have continued to visit Burkina Faso’s forests since then, however. Not often, but I do. Two years ago was my most recent trip. Runespoors are runespoors, I’ll admit, but they are fascinating, don’t you think? Well worth the stifling heat and all the potential explosions.”

And while her tone had been smooth the whole time, her words, in a way, had been clipped; although she was in no way put off by his forward manner (at least half of Salem’s staff were terribly candid), she was guarded. Information, especially information relating to herself, was not something she gave away freely. This, a feeling told her, was not a normal consultation meeting.

Adon had made a good call; his apparent, near-immediate access was enough to make her curious about his case—wary, in fact.

Adon kept a cool, level expression through most of the tale, brows knitting at the word died.

Death, of course, was not a foreign concept to him.  He'd been a career soldier for a while.  But events like this--Adon knew, of course, that magizoologists were about dangerous business.  And that there were casualties, injuries--it just seemed so... harsh of a lifestyle for someone like the woman in front of him. 

The shrug was enough; he hardly knew the woman, and she clearly did not want to talk about it.  Despite this, the conversation felt remarkably personal--and one-sided.  Frowning, he said, "That is important research; I suffered from a bit of Runespoor poisoning, and it was a bad business.  An antidote would have been..." he looked down, and exhaled.  Neither of them had come for this, and it would not be the least bit productive for him to talk about the helplessness he felt in the hospital.  "I learned first-hand that the venom reacts negatively to magic.  Apparently, as a pureblood--" with, he did not add, a rather sizable bit of magic, "I was more susceptible to it effects; I know of a man who did not have magic, and he was not the least bit affected with a bite."

He frowned.  "Which is what I wanted to talk to you about.  We obviously keep the Runespoors in a highly magical and regulated setting--which, as we've found, runs its risks, when it is wizards and magic which contain and interact with them daily.  Have there ever been, to your knowledge, attempts to have Muggles interact with Runespoors--say, in transportation?"

Bai did not remark on his admission, only nodded; she would not comment on what was desired to be left alone. At the mention of Muggles, her already intent gaze narrowed further. The implications his question posed…

“No,” she answered, exhaling slowly as she did. “Not with Muggles, no. But Squibs? Yes.”

It was a well-known fact that Squibs—being offspring of wizards and witches, parents that, even in magical/Muggle pairs, produced magical children far more often than not—were rarer than Muggle-borns. But in places where wizarding blood was weak and Muggles outnumbered, they were more common than usual. And when the Muggles believed in magic (-albeit it was more mysticism, really, a watered-down closure so closely entwined with folklore and tradition that it was a gray area for the Statute), and the small village was full of them… Needless to say, if one wanted a few hands on hand for such an endeavor, one would not be found wanting.

“They brought the runespoors into the facility. It was… not as safe as it would have been had they been Muggles, theoretically, but the risk was notably less than if they had been wizards and witches.” The idea of using Muggles had been turned, for the usual, traditional reasons, but that was more on the facility’s part than the village’s. “The locals are quite familiar with the creatures, though not as educated about them as we are.” She did not mean that the locals were stupid, or even ignorant, in the most negative connotation, but simply that limited means had seen to it that they’d become knowledgeable about them in a different way. “They have their own methods concerning them, and so were allowed to handle and transport.

“They were not, of course, allowed to participate in the venom extraction itself,” she felt it important to make a point of. She stared at Adon levelly.