Frank was feeling a little out-of-place. Perhaps it was the post-holiday craziness (what with people trying to remember what year they were in), or a new-moon-lunacy. Instead of sun downers, this was more of a sun uppers. Just getting into the Ministry had been a hassle, let alone trying to force his way into the lift for level four. Even if it was Friday, that didn’t mean people had to lose their manners.

And then the receptionist on Level Four gave him enough disdain in her over-the-glasses eyeing as she looked over his Casual Friday to make him feel like he was twelve. If he stammered in stating his reason for being there, it was just because he wasn’t used to grandmother types not approving of him. Frank was the perfect antidote to a grouchy old woman. At least he used to be, when his blushes and stumbling over his words came off endearing rather than however they were coming off right now.

He gave her a small smile in hopes of passing the smile disease on. She obviously had antibodies against it, and her eyes rolled their way back to her magazine as Frank walked by. He would just have to try again on his way out.

Once he made it to the cubicle of his case worker, he waited outside of it patiently. At least for the first fifteen minutes. By the time half an hour had come, he was understanding the receptionist’s mood. It was even more apparent when the case worker told him that she didn’t have enough time to spend with him (on his scheduled appointment, no less), but that she could find someone who could.

Another twenty minutes passed before she directed him down to a different desk. Frank thanked her before knocking his way in, putting on as friendly a grin as he could muster right then. “Good afternoon.”

If this had been any other office – in the Ministry, in Great Britian, maybe even in the world – someone might have cracked the joke 'Gee, it must be a full moon tonight!' and people would likely have chortled as they came together to try and overcome whatever chaos was plaguing them. The case workers on level four knew better. The day preceding a full moon was, at once, both ten times more hectic and significantly less hectic than this manic Friday was. It wasn't any busier than usual, but everything seemed to be off, which made it feel as though everyone had doubled their caseload. There had been an 'emergency meeting' earlier in the day, which had essentially been about nothing (apparently someone had been filing duplicates where they were supposed to be filing originals), but had been enough to throw off the rest of the schedule for everybody. When you factored in the real emergencies that tended to come up daily in the field of human services, and a few key members of the staff being out with whatever seasonal bug was going around this week, you had a recipe for chaos.

Brynn looked about as stressed out as she felt. She was decently put together, as always, her violet robes all pressed and professional, but her wavy hair was a slightly frazzled mess, the result of running her hands through it all day as she tried to work out how to get as much done as possible before the weekend. She really was looking forward to her two days of relative freedom, but the weekend seemed farther away today than it had on Monday. Guess who they'd asked to go through all of the paperwork by hand in search of those duplicates that had been accidentally filed! And guess who agreed to do it! Brynn was waist deep in parchment (or felt like she was), casting a soul-sucking, repetitive charm that was supposed to tell her if she was looking at an original signature. This was the kind of thing she'd done years ago, as an intern, and it was likely the kind of thing she'd get stuck doing regularly for the rest of her life. That's what she got for canceling client meetings in order to go tend to an off-site incident that had taken a quarter of the time she'd expected it to. When one of her co-workers came around and asked if she'd mind seeing her client, Brynn couldn't drop the paperwork quickly enough. She sighed a sigh of profound and joyous relief – the kind of sigh someone would expect to hear after stumbling upon a toilet after a lengthy road trip – and said she'd absolutely take  the client. 

She was all smiles when she heard the knock at the door, and that smile only grew larger as she met Frank's eyes and realized exactly which client had been foisted off on her. Usually when Brynn agreed to trade duties or clients or tasks with a co-worker she felt like she was eight years old again and in the school cafeteria being duped into trading her pudding for a broken cracker. This time, however, she'd lucked out! She stood at once, leaving behind her desk full of paperwork and crossing the short distance to the entrance, where she was quick to draw her old friend into an epic hug.

“How are you?” she asked brightly, taking a step inside and ushering him into the wonderland of paperwork and  chaos. She took a seat behind her desk, falling emphatically into her chair and indicating that one of the seats in front of the desk was his to occupy. This reception was likely more what Frank had been hoping for – all smiles and pleasantries. “Really, though, Frank. How are you? Did you make it through last month okay?” she asked, sitting up a little straighter. Blue moon months were rough on everybody, but she couldn't imagine that Frank's special brand of torture had made it anymore fun than usual. Brynn's hands were already busy retrieving a tin of something from her desk drawer, preparing to foist treats upon him. Clearly, she was chuffed – she just hoped he wasn't at her desk for any sort of unfortunate circumstances.

When Frank saw who was going to be helping him that day, he felt both relief and some embarrassment. He didn’t know when he expected to run into old friends, but ever since he’d had his... incident, he’d preferred them to be less than occasional. Frank wasn’t proud of what he had become, however it was that it had happened.

It might have slipped his mind that Brynn worked on level four. In fact, it might have never really sunk in that there might be others tucked away in offices that saw the newspaper articles, or heard of his arrest, or knew the unspeakable things he had done. Frank wasn’t important; he worked, payed his bills, had the occasional one-too-many at the pub, but he wasn’t a household name. He wasn’t famous. And he certainly didn’t want to become famous for crimes and murders that could make the most seasoned Auror blanch.

Hell, he’d tried to stay away from the blinding flashes while dating Laney. Now that that had soured, however... Well. He had more pressing matters to worry about. Like the advancing Brynn Ellis.

He gave her a weak smile while returning her hug. Frank followed obediently into the office. “I’m good.” What other response was there, really? He rubbed the back of his head nervously as he moved to the chair offered, giving her a half grin. As he settled himself into the chair, he was about to ask her how she was.

It didn’t quite make it out in time.

His grin slipped slightly, and he blinked rapidly as he considered her words. After swallowing past the lump of uncertainty in his throat, he reminded himself this was Brynn! “Ah... last month was all right. I get to spend my full moons in the cage.” The accommodations that the Ministry offered werewolves (and direwolves, now) on level four could be labeled little else. Frank had picked up the nickname from a fellow in a cell next to his.

“It’s better than being out and hurting someone, at least.” He gave her another smile, scratching absentmindedly at the scruff on his cheek. The faster growing rate of hair often times itched. “What about yourself? How are you? How’s work?”

Brynn sat up properly and set a round tin, which was slightly battered and seemingly well-loved, on top of the desk, effectively covering up the one corner where there was still visible wood. Even while she'd gone digging for it, she hadn't taken her eyes off of her old friend and current client for a single moment, not wanting him to think that she was choosing snack food over listening. It was very clear, from her job, her manner, her reputation, and her figure that both snack food and listening took equal precedence in her life.

Brynn rarely heard good news when asking about a client's last moon, even though asking was more or less protocol, and her face turned immediately serious once he'd explained. The “cage” situation was not pleasant, she realized, but there were still cases – Frank's included – in which it was mandated, and while Brynn would have loved to buy everyone of them a private penthouse in which to transform, that just wasn't an option. “It's dehumanizing, I understand that,” Brynn told him with a gentle nod of understanding. “The cells aren't the best solution possible, but they're the best solution we have right now. I realize it's not luxurious, but you're very strong to do it each month. I'm glad you do the safe thing. I really am,” she told him earnestly. Most of her cases weren't in his position and didn't have that added stress, and she was constantly astonished that those who did were able to lead such productive lives.

”What about yourself? How are you? How’s work?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, it has been a very busy day,” she admitted, with an overwhelmed sounding but generally lighthearted sigh that segued into a faint chuckle halfway through. “I've been well, though. I really can't complain. It's Friday, right?” she asked, trying to find the light at the end of the paperwork lined tunnel she'd found herself traversing. “Oh, and here. You're in my office, which means I absolutely have to feed you,” she insisted, fumbling for the tin she'd set down and lifting the lid, to reveal a small bounty of tiny baked goods. “I've got these little rock cakes my mum makes. They're a bit sweet, but they're nice, even cold. And I'll have you know that I don't hand out the cakes from home to just anyone, so I'll be insulted if you refuse. Go on,” she insisted playfully, offering him the tin.

“I won't really be insulted, love, but now that I'm looking at them I'd like one, and it would be rude to eat if you aren't,” she laughed, feeling quite herself in his company. She still had her case worker hat on, but it was on a bit crooked for his benefit. “Is this a mandated visit, or can I help you with something today?”

Frank’s gaze settled momentarily on the tin before shifting back to Brynn. She certainly was focused; that was a change of pace compared to the case worker who usually assisted Frank. A refreshing change of pace.

“It’s dehumanizing, I understand that.”

Frank broke eye contact as he glanced down at his hands in his lap, clasped lightly while his thumbs twirled. Dehumanizing for a werewolf. Perhaps the majority of the wizarding world wouldn’t care. Perhaps they thought it was no less than they deserved. There was no end to the possibilities of what the not-so-friendly-to-werewolves society had to say about where they were locked up.

He smiled softly and shrugged, finally glancing back up at her. “If I didn’t do the safe thing, I’d be in an even smaller cage for a longer period of time.” The sarcasm he hoped was evident, and that the comical aspect of it wouldn’t be lost on Brynn. His sense of humor had grown darker in recent months. “No, it’s fine.”

Perhaps it had been too long since he’d last seen Brynn, but he realized he’d missed her bubbly, upbeat attitude. His own had been hard to find as of late, replaced with moody glares and daily gripes. He needed a fresh breath, that was for sure. “Right. There’s an upside.” Friday was always welcome if one didn’t have to work the weekend, anyway.

Frank opened his mouth to decline her offer for food; his sister had off loaded enough sugary treats at his house to cause anyone to bounce off the walls. The insistence, however, turned his shaking head into a sheepish grin. Leaning forward, Frank accepted one, glancing down at the familiar treat. “Thank you, Brynn. They look delicious.” He took a bite and chewed, making a noise of contentment as he nodded, waiting for a swallow to slip out, “They are delicious. Send my regards to your mum.”

“Is this a mandated visit, or can I help you with something today?”

“A little bit of both.” Frank finished his cake before dusting his hands off lightly, chewing thoughtfully as he considered his dilemma. Once he’d swallowed, Frank shifted in his chair and focused once again on Brynn. “I’m a book hunter, which means I often have to leave the country to go hunting. Sometimes to rather desolate places. I needed to renew a work permit visa.” Frank left unsaid that he knew it was difficult to obtain.

“It's still absolutely a choice,” Brynn assured him when he made the remark about prison, “And you'd be surprised how many people make the wrong one. I know you're only teasing, but you should give yourself some credit,” she insisted. Lycanthropy filled people with fear – even family members and loved ones and friends - and when people grew scared, they weren't always able to remember that they were dealing with the same person they have always known and loved. They could forget that people needed to hear that they were doing a good job, especially when what they were doing was hard or unpleasant, or even necessary. When Brynn worked with families, she was able to remind them of that – but when she didn't, which was most of the time, she sometimes had to take on that responsibility herself. She wanted to make sure that every client who was doing the right thing knew it. Only bad guys made the news, after all. The good guys were just about invisible in their society. That made the task of rehabilitating their image seem just about impossible. Nobody was fighting over who'd get to publish the report about the friendly werewolf who paid his taxes on time. The best Brynn could hope to do was neutralize the bad press.

Being serious was hard work, however, and required sustenance, so pushing her mother's baking was a natural progression of events. She was pleased to see him accept one, because it meant she could help herself to one, too – which she did, plucking it delicately from the tin with her thumb and forefinger and grinning at it like a little girl choosing a treasure from the prize box. She took a bite of her little cake, looking incredibly sheepish all the while, that slightly guilty grin never leaving her face. She was even more pleased by his positive reception, and her smile grew softer when he told her he liked it. “I'll tell my mother, absolutely,” she informed him, “Might even be enough to keep them coming!” It was down to business after that, however, and she listened to the reason for the visit he provided, licking the stubborn crumbs from her lips.

”I’m a book hunter, which means I often have to leave the country to go hunting. Sometimes to rather desolate places. I needed to renew a work permit visa.”

“You've put one through before?” she asked him, to make sure. If he'd followed all of the rules last time then putting a new application in and getting it approved might not be the most difficult thing in the world – not as difficult as pushing an initial application through, anyway.  If he had any sort of altercation on his record, however, then it might be a challenge. “I'm not your usual case worker, so I don't have any of your old paperwork, but I can go dig it up, if necessary. Can you tell me honestly – the last time you left the country, were you there for a transformation? Were there any issues? And do you have all of your documentation?” She didn't mean to inundate him with questions, but she was really hoping that he was in good standing so this could be easy for the both of them.

Frank conceded with a shrug and smirk. Choice or not, Frank wish he didn’t have to make it. He hadn’t asked to become a direwolf. He’d been plenty happy with being boring Frank Pratt, the man who could find books, liked browsing card catalogs for old history to read for fun, and enjoyed a cooked steak. Now... he was all of that, except his steak was more often than not rare.

He was fortunate to have his siblings who still considered him (mostly) the same ol’ Frank they always knew. His friends... they were mostly busy, but seemed at least tolerant to it. From other stories he’d heard, shared amongst fellow cage-mates, there were families who disowned those who were turned. Whether they had a choice in the transformation or not. How was that for justice?

When she spoke of her mother, Frank eased into an easy going smile. “My sister always seems to bake more when you compliment it. Which is always a win-win for me.” And anyone else who she shared her goods with. He had joked with her about opening up a shop just so he could get free samples. “If it helps, you could tell her I ate all of them, and you need a double batch next time.” There was no use in allowing someone to succumb to a sugarless day of work, after all. That was a new level of cruel.

“You’ve put one through before?”

Frank hesitated a moment before nodding. He might not have had the luxury of making sure it had gone through when he first did it... but that was behind him now. And it had been approved, after countless hearings and appeals.

“Can you tell me honestly-”

Scratching the back of his head, Frank shifted in the chair and stretched his legs out, getting comfortable in the chair that would no doubt be his for a while longer. “I have been attending my monthly transformations at the Ministry of Magic since last March, after my arrest. Even if I haven’t wanted to. December, I was here for two.” Just in case Brynn didn’t know there had been two full moons in December. Frank was sure she knew, though, considering her place of work. His hand slipped from the back of his head and back to his lap, dusting some unseen speck of something away.

“I was hoping that would help.” Thinking about documentation, however, he frowned and leaned forward slightly. Tongue flicked out over his lips as he considered it. “I have travel destinations, length of stays, and various references for plans I have, and places I’ve gone on the previous visa I had. Of course, I forgot that at home.” It was even in a neat little folder on his coffee table, amid all the other papers and scattered books he’d been going over for work.

Arrest. Ugh. What a dirty word! That basically threw any hope of this becoming a simple and quick process right out the window. Brynn didn't balk, however. When she'd first come in, talk of criminal backgrounds and arrests freaked her out the slightest bit, but she'd gotten used to it quickly. These days that kind of talk didn't even require a poker face – she was really that unfazed. “Good, good. Okay. Now, are you currently on probation?” she asked him, not missing a beat, “And, more importantly, was the infraction related to your condition in any way?”

This was why Brynn wished people wouldn't try to constantly get away with dumping their caseloads off on her. She had to ask dumb questions that anyone with access to the right documents could have answered easily. She definitely didn't mind helping out, especially given the circumstances today, and she loved seeing Frank again, but she couldn't help but think that this process would be a lot more efficient if the other employees kept their own appointments. She absently ran her hand through her wavy, already slightly frazzled hair. Sending this paperwork along to all of the right people was going to be a nightmare, and changing caseworkers in the middle wouldn't make it any easier.

”I have travel destinations, length of stays, and various references for plans I have, and places I’ve gone on the previous visa I had. Of course, I forgot that at home.”

“Okay, good, great! You'll definitely want to attach that to your application when you get a chance, and ideally make sure a copy of all of it is on file with your case worker or the department. Or both. It really couldn't hurt,” she suggested. Being semi-invisible herself in this department, Brynn knew all of the best tricks for making sure nobody could claim they 'didn't get' or 'didn't see' something. Making documents as available as possible tended to help – at least when people were willing to do the tiniest bit of footwork on the behalf of a client.

“Do you have signatures from the liaison office or equivalent in every country you traveled to for three or more days?” she asked hopefully. “That's on or off the visa.” She hated how people had to jump through hoops just to accomplish the simplest things. A cursed individual couldn't even go visit their great aunt for a long weekend without having to stand on line in a government office.

Frank blinked at her question, caught off guard long enough for it to show. Then he remembered she didn’t know his case, and he shrugged a little. Shifting in the chair, he fixed her with a look before working his tongue around in his mouth. He wasn’t proud of his conviction. “I’m on probation, yes... That’s why I have to check in every month at the Ministry.” His cheeks burned in embarrassment. “Last March I... I was arrested following an attack where I killed Georgianne Sleeper.” 

Memories flooded in. Eyes closed as a hand rubbed at them, a noisy breath escaping him. There were times he was woken up from a deep sleep by memories. “I was released on conditions, and I’ve been keeping to them very specifically.” His hand fell away and he looked at her once again, suddenly feeling ten times older. “I have copies of all my hearings. I was actus reus without the mens rea. Or not that they could prove, anyway.”

The back of his left leg ached, a reminder of how unfriendly silver was.

Her suggestions made him nod in understanding; it made sense, really. Frank always liked extra copies of things he was doing for work so that in case he misplaced something (as was apt to happen), he had a back up.

A frown settled on his features as he considered her next question. “That I went to for three or more days?” He scratched the back of his head sheepishly again, giving her a small smile. “I don’t stay three days in one country if I can help it. Getting the job done and on to the next clue helps. Hm...” He thought about it before he snapped his fingers, having let go of his head. “Yes, I have that from one of the countries.”

Brynn was familiar with the attack, the death. Of course she was! She hadn't had any involvement, however – she couldn't advocate for anyone who wasn't a client, and it wasn't her business. Deaths caused by clients always tore her up inside, and the more she thought about them, the more she dreamed up absurd reasons to blame herself. Add that to the fact that there had been equally pressing, equally terrible things that she'd had been required to deal with around that time, and that left Brynn sitting dumbly, feeling like an idiot. She wanted to respond in some way, or at least react, but she didn't know how to do that without causing some sort of damage. Instead she moved on, as though his admission to murdering someone was just a mundane remark that she saw no reason to react to. That was just what Brynn did – she kept moving, kept talking, kept the momentum going... until she didn't. She usually saved the anguished breakdowns for after the work day was over.

“Do the terms of your probation specifically include no international travel?” she asked him, resisting the all consuming urge to get up from her chair, sit beside him, wrap her arms around his neck, and hold him. One of the reasons she disliked working with clients that she knew from school, even in passing, was because it was so hard to see someone you'd known as a child dealing with the fallout of the curse. It was such a struggle for her to talk about things like the terms of probation and paperwork while there was someone in her tiny office who fate had been so terribly unkind to. Some days she wished her whole job could be eating biscuits and telling stories and making people feel human, but instead she had to ask about documentation, even when she knew she was sitting with someone who was suffering. This was her dream job, but Merlin, it was work.

”That I went to for three or more days? I don’t stay three days in one country if I can help it. Getting the job done and on to the next clue helps. Hm... Yes, I have that from one of the countries.”

“Our goal is going to be to compile as much positive documentation as possible. You can fill out the application to renew, but it's going to be looked at by a lot of people, and I'm sure there will be a meeting about it. You'll want to put your best foot forward, and that means showing them you're responsible and deserving of the privilege,” she explained to Frank seriously, her positive and knowledgeable facade not cracking. She could see the open tin of treats on the corner of her desk and she wanted desperately to help herself to another. Stress eating was a horrible, lifelong habit, but it wasn't anything Brynn been able to kick. For now, however, she ignored the urge. “Every record you have that proves you've followed the rules, from before March and after, can only help you. It sounds like you've been doing well in that area. Now, let me get you that paperwork.” She sounded bright, and nothing about her voice or manner had changed, but she felt a little bit phony.

Brynn turned to the bottomless filing cabinet next to her desk and, with a softly muttered incantation a few sheets of parchment flipped their way to the very front, where she plucked them out. Like all paperwork in this department, it was several pages thicker than it had any business being, and probably asked more intrusive, borderline inappropriate questions than anyone deserved to be asked. She tapped it on her desk to straighten it and extended her arm to hand it over to him. “Here you are, love. It's not exciting, but it's what you'll need,” she smiled. Once he filled it out, there would probably be supplemental forms that needed to be attached, too. The paperwork tended to go on forever.

Frank appreciated the way Brynn didn’t dig into the past. It was a relief he didn’t realize he needed, an imaginary breath he had been holding. The looks one could get over something they hadn’t meant to do had a way of putting Frank in his place. So he tried not to meet her gaze, accepting the burning ears and cheeks as he fought to keep his voice steady.

He’d met Miss Sleeper once, before the attack. A life was extinguished before the flame had started to burn bright. All because of him.

A calming breath was taken as he willed himself to focus on the matter at hand. He turned his attention to her question, frowning as he considered. “Not specifically... I made the Wizengamot aware of my job duties. It’s my livelihood, so they have very strict conditions attached to it. The main part of it being that I’m detained around the time of the full moon to the country.” The minute he disobeyed, he knew his ‘privileges’ would be stripped.

Nodding to her words, Frank made an attempt to show her that he heard her and understood her. It made sense to bring as much positivity to something so dark, to try and shine some light in the never-ending chasm of his life. Deserving of the privilege rubbed at him wrong, but he couldn’t deny that that was the main twist he had to show. It seemed inconceivable that he couldn’t just do as he wanted. It was so inhumane at times that Frank wanted to pull his hair out.

But he didn’t. Because it would grow right back.

He shifted on his chair and leaned forward, accepting the paperwork. Frank glanced only briefly at the top page before setting it on his lap, focused once more on Brynn. “Thank you.” As much as he detested paper trails, he understood the need for them. He finally gave her a grin, shrugging his shoulders boyishly as he rocked his knees towards one another in a light swinging motion. “I mean it. It took days to get to this point last time I had to go through this.” Eyes lit up slightly. “Have you had lunch yet?”

Rock cakes could only satisfy for so long, after all.

“It was my pleasure,” she told him, smiling an easy smile, feeling more comfortable in her own skin again now that the tense, disingenuous moment had passed. “I like to get things done. It feels good,” she admitted, her smile widening slightly. She couldn't help but revel a little in the affirmation that she was working efficiently, especially on a day like today when she felt like she was trudging through molasses at a snail's pace. She wanted to believe she was good at her job, but it was hard to tell when half the time she was being given grunt work and the other half of the time she was dealing with horrible things. She wondered if people in other helping professions had that problem, feeling like the tragedies just kept coming no matter how much she put into fixing the ones in front of her. It was exhausting. Little comments like that made up for it, though, especially from the mouths of clients. It meant more to her than she could easily express without getting terribly mushy.

”Have you had lunch yet?”

“Well, no, no, actually. I haven't,” she admitted, looking at him a touch curiously, her brows inching slightly inward, still smiling. Brynn was friendly and generally well liked by the majority of her co-workers, so she did get asked out to lunch on occasion, but not usually by clients. She felt a little funny about it, and she cocked her head to one side, silently attempting to determine whether or not that was even allowed. “I wasn't sure I was going to get a lunch today. I was off site in the morning and it didn't take as long as I thought, so I've been fighting with this paperwork mess since I got back, and it didn't occur to me that I'd have enough time,” she laughed, giving her head a small shake. She'd been snacking all day, and there was no danger of her starving to death in her well stocked office, but stepping away from her work for a little while was the healthy thing to do. Self care was important, after all, and guzzling rock cakes under her desk when she thought nobody was looking didn't actually count as self care.

“If you're asking, I'd love to join you. If you were a regular client I might have to decline, but I'm making the executive decision that this isn't a breech of professionalism,” she decided, chuckling. She couldn't do any damage to their professional relationship if they didn't really have one – and the fact that they'd known each other prior to this meeting meant that she couldn't be assigned as his regular case worker anyway. “I'll just sign off that you were here for your monthly and then I can take an hour.”

Frank couldn’t disagree with her there. It felt empowering to get something accomplished, especially if you didn’t want to get it done in the first place. A kind of ‘screw you’ to the universe. Then again, life had a way of giving it right back to you. If Frank could’ve missed every deadline for a story, or stumbled around trying to find a clue for a book, just to not be what he was now... well, he’d be happy to live in a room at his sister’s.

If he tried to do that now, he wasn’t sure who would last the shortest: all her cats, or himself. There was definitely an equal dislike there that hadn’t been there before. In fact, he used to like the fur balls, much to his brother-in-law’s disapproval.

“Well, no, no, actually. I haven’t.”

Frank’s eyebrows rose and he gave her a sudden grin. He even sat up a little straighter, forming the question on his mind. It was nice to see an old friend, and she was easy on the eyes as well. His tongue snaked out and quickly lit his lips before going back behind his teeth. “You should always make time for a decent meal.” Whether she thought she’d have enough time or not. Frank had the luxury of working out of his apartment, or a small office he shared with Fiona Marren. And when he did go to an actual office, she more often than not ordered take away.

Thinking of curry made his stomach roll in agreement. Even some fresh fish and chips would sit just fine.

“If you’re asking, I’d love to join you.”

Eyebrows bounced and he quickly nodded. “I am.” Listening to the rest of what she had to say, he chuckled and gave a half shrug. “Then I’d just have to insist.” What was professionalism anyway? It seemed as if Brynn did her job exceptionally well. Why couldn’t one have their cake, and eat it too?

“Fantastic.” Frank bunched the paperwork together before folding it over, stuffing it into his back pocket of his trousers as he stood. He stretched, yawning as he did, arms straight overhead as he felt his muscles tighten and relax. “What do you feel like having?” Hands went into the pocket of his hooded sweater, suddenly bashful as he grinned sheepishly at her.  There was still some of the old Frank inside the Direwolf. He just took his time coming out.

“I haven't given it much thought,” she responded to his query about what she was in the mood for. She'd been laboring under the illusion that she was going to have to go without lunch today, so she hadn't sat torturing herself with thoughts of all of the things she couldn't eat. She imagined that she'd pick up some sort of carryout later on and sit in her flat reveling in the joy of terrible but delicious food prepared by somebody else, but she hadn't gotten as far as imagining exactly what that food might be.

“I could go for almost anything. What did you have in mind? Somewhere in Diagon, or London proper?” she asked her old friend, finally giving some real thought to their options. It would need to be somewhere fairly quick and casual, since she only had an hour, and definitely somewhere that would allow them to pop inside and out of the cold. “You know me. I'll eat anything, just about,” she smiled. It was the pure and honest truth and there was no use hiding it.

She fetched her cloak from the hook next to her filing cabinet and retrieved her purse from a drawer in her desk, slipping the purse on her shoulder and folding the cloak over her arm. “Come, walk with me,” she urged him, stepping out of the cubicle and back into the hallway. She just needed to sign and date Frank's paperwork and then sign herself out of the building and she'd be good to go. Only a few brisk paces brought her to where she needed to be, and she made quick work of it. She clearly wasn't dragging her feet.

“There we are! You're all set and so am I!” she exclaimed brightly, happy to finally be escaping for a little while. There were certain days that went so well that she didn't feel like she needed a break – but then there were days like today, when she felt she deserved two and wasn't sure she was even entitled to one. The sooner she got some fresh air, the better. She started toward the lifts, waving at the secretary on her way out, who looked at her a touch oddly. "Don't mind her," Brynn told him conspiratorially, her voice hushed, "Her face is stuck that way."

While he stood there, Frank tugged his hands down gently, stretching the front of his sweater as he watched her carefully. She could go for almost anything... He gave a half shrug and shake of his head, grinning as he lifted himself on to the ball of his feet and back down. “I’m assuming the pub is out of the question.” Giving her a friendly wink, Frank considered a moment. “In London,  not very far from here, there’s a pretty decent kabob place... Or a delicious chippy, if you’re feeling up to something a little heavier.”

Frank could eat a cow and ask for seconds. Especially if it was barely seared. Or maybe he’d hold the beer. That was a lot of calories in itself, after all. Sometimes his appetite was bigger than his stomach could tolerate. Sometimes eating to the point of discomfort was just what the healer ordered. Not that he felt the need to do that now; just sometimes. He probably had Brynn beat for what he could eat. She probably hadn’t feasted on human before. It could be a bit too tough-

“Come, walk with me.”

He followed quickly, hands staying in his sweater once the door was closed behind him. He waited only a moment while she worked on paperwork. “Brill.” Maybe he’d been hanging around Laney too much. Had been, past tense. A hand came out as he gave the secretary a friendly wave and grin, following comfortably behind Brynn.

“Her face is stuck that way.”

A laugh escaped before he could stop it. A hand covered his mouth in admonishment before they walked out of the office. He skipped past her, long strides to overtake her, pressing the button on the lift before she could. “I’m glad to see you haven’t changed much, Brynn. Always cracking jokes.” His hand moved to hold the lift open, offering her the lift. “Ladies first.”