It was a hair before noon--Adon had done the more pressing things for the day, and that left him feeling pretty entitled to the first pickings of today's cafeteria.  The best that bleak Mondays had to offer. 

With the majority of the work on the Werewolf case handed off to Counsel and the attorneys, Adon was feeling more on top of things than he had in a while.  That didn't mean, though, that he was willing to look the part.  Adon had already shucked off his suit jacket, shed his tie, and even if he was required to wear his crimson Auror robes, that didn't mean he was going to do so boldly.  The last time he'd done that and ventured into the Atrium, he'd been targeted and mercilessly heckled.[1]  No matter that that was nearly two years ago, and that he'd been targeted by one of Level Two's own.  It was uncalled for.  And Adon had taken the precaution of draping his robes on inside-out this time around.

BLTs and turkey sandwiches and crisps were wonderful[2] and deserved the proper respect and undivided attention they were entitled to.

Adon made his selections from the menu, arranged his sandwich and trappings on his cafeteria tray, and briefly scanned the tables.  There was an art to this.  You could not sit too close to someone, or they felt violated and infringed upon.  If you sat too far, you opened yourself up to the possibility of getting a while gaggle of neighbors moving in together as a group, filling the space.  No, by far the best approach was to pick a spot a person-and-a-half's distance away.  Preferably next to a stranger.  At worst, you got stuck talking to some a BLM--bland lunch mate--as you tried to eat your BLT.  But you had the distance needed to feign disinterest.  At best, you got to know someone--especially someone...

Adon spied an attractive redhead.  Decision made. 

Tray balanced, Adon slid onto the bench, making a quiet, "is it alright?" gesture as he settled himself.  He gave a momentary smile to the stranger before the smile grew--just a tad--troubled.

She wasn't a total stranger. Adon'd definitely talked to her before.  He remembered the face.  He didn't really remember what they talked about, and Adon never, never remembered names.

"So..." he began, "how's the Monday."

Oh, god.  He was that lunch mate. The BLM.

1.	This thread
2.	Turkey Sandwich reference at 2:02

Nona was a Monday sort of person, a rare creature indeed. Even in the harsh winter months she'd breeze into the office happy as a Crup with a newly acquired bone. She'd always been this way. She was also a morning sort of person (provided she hadn't gotten into a drinking contest the night before). Obviously this made her a little sickening to her co-workers, Gertie Standish was known to remark on this sarcastically and it took all the self control Nona possessed not to tell Gertie she needed to Irish up her coffee or get a personality (or both). It wasn't Nona's fault she liked fresh starts, she'd always been that way! Clean parchment was better than the aged rolled edges after it had been splottered with ink, an unopened bottle of Firewiskey was better than an already open one, and Monday's were better because it was a weekly chance for new beginnings.

Of course this attitude meant that she spent Monday's lunches alone, a self imposed sentence because if you spent time with unhappy people you became unhappy too. It was much better to lunch on Tuesdays. Which was how she found herself alone over a bowl of soup and apartment listings in the Prophet. She had learned over the last few months sharing a townhouse with your siblings was not, actually, all everyone implied it might be. Finn and Lachlan were driving her mad and seriously infringing on her personal space. So clearly it was time to let them have the Spectre house in London and find her own place, though the idea of living alone was not exactly appealing either. Maybe she'd bring it up to Margo after work...

She was midthought when he sat himself down. The DoMLE's good looking poster boy and Witch Weekly favorite. Cor, Blimey the man could wear a dress shirt... and then he ruined everything because obviously he was not a sparkling conversationalist. The last time they'd met had been sort of the same. She'd been gobsmacked actually looking at him in the flesh, up close and personal (verses from around the Ministry and the pages of a gossip rag) she'd felt flushed and foolish.

It was only after they had parted ways that it had dawned on her he wasn't very good at small talk, but then the pretty ones didn't have to be interesting, they were pretty. "It's a Monday," her lips twitched with a smile as she shifted to better face him, lazily swirling her spoon through her soup, "I thought they kept you lot out in the field, chasing bad men down dark alleys. Very surprising to see you in the light of late morning," her tone was teasing, but she may have possibly heard Adon could be a bit humorless with even the slightest indication of mocking, so that might have been a bad idea. Oops.

She spoke! Well, that went better than could be expected. 

Adon gave a subtle smile at her jab.  It was always interesting to gauge others' perception of what his job was, exactly.  By most accounts, Adon's role seemed to be a mixture of Batman and... some kind of cowboy.  This woman, though--who hadn't offered her name, so he was out of luck there, seemed to add in some sort of nocturnal creature to the mix.  Like vampire or werewolf.  Being kept out to pasture--chasing things.  Adon's smile grew at that thought.

Could be worse.

Still, it was for reasons like this that Adon missed Israel from time to time.  No one was ever really at a loss for what you did--you all worked for the army at some point, and everyone understood all too well the level of tedium that entailed[1], without the heightened expectations of romanticisms--Shut up.

Adon tilted his head, keeping his tone light.  "Well.  I mean... your instincts are correct.  But unfortunately, your country's fresh out of bad men and dark alleys, so we poor lot are left clocking in at," his accent adopted a crisp, posh English affectation, "respectable hours."  He took a long sip from his drink before adding with absolute deadpan, "Good news for your country, bad news for your cafeteria, I suppose."

He gave a bit of a wry smile, adding, "And our HR has come up with something called shifts. We'll see if it takes."  By and large, Aurors worked more than most Ministry workers--and were slated to, in fact.  However, Level Two was doing a tolerable job keeping its Aurors from sheer exhaustion.  Primarily in order to keep its Aurors at all. 

And the little fact (that would go unsaid) that Adon had not done true and proper field work--patrols, arrests, surveillance since nearly a year ago when he may have sort of possibly , maybe gotten into a fire fight in Jerusalem--which had led to multiple deaths[2].

"You are probably as busy as we are, at any rate," he said, the question implicit.  He might not have remembered her name, but he knew they'd mentioned--something about werewolves had come up.  And that was a small victory against Monday morning amnesia.

1.	Insight into real army life
2.	See thread here

Ah, perhaps her sources had been wrong! He was not, in fact. a completely joyless man-child with obvious ego issues. Or, he might have been, but he could at least take a little ribbing from a pretty Ginger. Nona's smile was obviously pleased by his reply as she flicked a stray strawberry tress from her eyes, "Very lucky for my country, I'd say. Did you catch them all yourself"?

She almost snickered at the notion of respectable hours. While she had a specific set of hours as a liaison, her work never actually felt done. She carried cases with her everywhere, and she didn't know a co-worker who didn't. It wasn't something you could just walk away from or turn off at the end of the day. She thought about it all the time, worried all the time. Questions nagged at her even late at night after a few rounds with the pub crowd. Was she doing enough, was she helping her charges make the most out of their resources, should she have been pushing harder for better conditions? It never ended.

Of course that was not the sort of thing you admitted to an Auror Super-Stud, or really even in mixed company because so many people didn't understand why her job was even a thing. On more than one occasion people had remarked about rounding up all the flea bitten mutts and shipping them off to a deserted island somewhere, letting them kill one another off. The last time it'd happened she might have hex'd the hell out of the ignorant party, and by might have it should be taken to mean, clearly with malice of forethought.

"Three days before a full moon, we're completely swamped, especially with all the Storm issues" her tone was bright and cheery about it though, she didn't enjoy Full Moon detail, but it was the  time of the month she could actually feel the difference she was making. Of course it was also the time she felt most at odds with the WCU, "short staffed and overworked like every other division I suppose! Still, it's all about public safety in the end yes"?

"Who said anything about catching?  I have rehabilitated them--with a stern gaze and a kind smile."  He gave a wink.  "And I've only been back in London for..."  he considered the ceiling a moment as he thought, "two months? Three. ...I think.  Honestly, though, with my job--or any, probably--sometimes it is hard to see the progress.  It is hard to say how much I have, in three months, at least.  " 

He considered:

• Angered Muggle-Worthy Excuses considerably more in Operation London: Round Two.  No explosions necessary, this time;
• Gotten tangled up with werewolves;
• and Dementors...and his uncle...

"No," he said suddenly with a big grin and a snap of his fingers.  He was amazed he'd forgotten the biggest event: he'd brought his brother back.  Or his brother brought his brother back.  Honestly, he didn't know anymore.  But his brother was home, and Adon was not going to die--and a 2-generation long curse of fear and apprehension was over.  "Actually, sometimes, on good days, you kind of do feel like you've purged a great sort of...burden from the world.  I like that."  He rubbed his forehead, self-consciously.  He didn't even remember what the original question was, but he was pretty sure this wasn't answering it.

Still, as usual, Adon had said what he'd felt like saying.  And at a bare minimum, Adon was good at sandwiches.

Adon took his first bite, chewing thoughtfully as she talked about the patterns and burden of her own work.  That's right.  Jane Doe here was a werewolf liaison.  It was downright respectable work to match those respectable hours.  One didn't get into that job--either of their jobs--without having a strong moral conscience and sense of civic duty.  But her job particularly required a great deal of compassion.  Adon liked to think that she probably did for werewolves what Dree did for Muggleborns and Muggles who had the misfortune of getting caught in the crosshairs of the Magical World.

Adon had spent enough time with London Aurors to know that compassion was not always a priority on candidates they hired.  It was difficult for Adon, but at least it always made it vastly apparent where Adon stood in the good-cop bad-cop routine. 

She summed up her hard work modestly--perhaps disingenuously: "Still, it's all about public safety in the end yes?"

"Well," Adon said, considering her last question--and hoped he had the liberty to question what was likely intended to be a routine comment, "I suppose.  Of course 'safe-ty first,'" he prattled out, "but..." how to word this, "to make a community--the public--safe, you protect them from like... invaders.  It is an entirely different thing with making a person feel safe.  It is not just safety, then.  It is... I guess giving a person a sense of comfort, too." He shook his head.  "It is something I would like to do in my job--but is considered secondary.  I think for you, you probably have much more opportunity for that."  He regarded her a moment before adding, "If so, I am envious."

Nona listened to him prattle, sipping soup from her spoon (praying for no spills). It struck her as very interesting, really, that he'd be so candid about such a thing. Most conversations with co-workers who were not actually co-workers consisted of carefully crafted small talk. It was an intricate social dance that Nona knew well but sort of despised. Niceties had been a special skill her mother imparted but Nona much prefered being able to just speak her mind. It was a conflict really, the desire to break out of the carefully crafted mold but also never wanting to let her mother down, to carry the weight of first daughter with great dignity.

She considered his statement carefully, feeling she owed him the courtesy of being equally earnest, "I don't know about comforting. I don't know that there is comfort to be found for many of them. I do what I can, offer the support I can. Sometimes it feels like..." she trailed off trying to find the right words. It had been a particularly hard month for her. Storm had been the first case she'd had to endure where she simply could not stand the person she was supposed to be supporting. She thought he was a spoilt brat who ought to have been whooped more as a child (and Nona didn't particularly believe in spanking). He had put himself in that situation, reveling in the most disgusting "sport" since Gladiator fights or public executions.

It was the first time in her life she felt no sympathy for someone in her care. His family however, his son and wife? They had broken her heart. She may have hated Storm but Camille never deserved to be put through what he'd done. Chewing her bottom lip for a moment she shook her head, "the perception of the job is that we're protecting the world from them, making sure they're regulated, that they do what they're supposed to do, but I spend most of my time fighting to be sure they can get a fair shake, trying to convince the world that Weres have as much a right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness as the next person. Sometimes I think I'd have better luck talking to a damn wall".

An expression of undeniable relief swept over his face as she began to respond--actually respond to him.  His back loosened, and with a smile and a sigh, he let a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.  The Nameless Wonder here was perhaps the first person in all of England to actually respond to his admission that yes, he had feelings. Often. 

Perhaps there was hope for Britannia after all.

He repeated her words, his smile more ironic as he progressed, "Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."  He gave a soundless chuckle.  "I think you have picked the wrong country."  He shook his head.  "This is what I have felt here, too sometimes.  Things are very..." he proceeded cautiously, "rigid here."  Too strong. "Structured," he backpedaled.  "It can get in the way of a lot of things."   Like fun.  Then again, the ungodly number of laws here gave Adon a fantastic opportunity for creative license where his job was concerned.  As a law enforcement officer with an entire arsenal of laws to fling out in defense of his actions--well, he was not short on ammunition. 

But this regimented lifestyle extended far outside of bureaucracy, far beyond the Ministry, and even far beyond the Pureblood and Magical worlds.  It was this whole country.  Maybe he'd picked the wrong country.  It felt difficult to get past common niceties with people. The fact that he found someone who had even remotely the same experience made him feel less alien. "It is nice to hear someone from here say it, though." 

And he was not about to lose that by talking about systemic problems in their job that were not only depressing, but likely not to be remedied any time soon.  At least not during the course of a sandwich.  Though, at the rate he was eating his...

Adon approached a bite before thinking of something.  An observation that was neither depressing nor, particularly, on-point.

"And something else I do not understand about these brick walls here." He gave a slight laugh, just thinking about it.  "People do not dance.  They drink, yes.  But they just..." he remembered going to a Muggle concert with Jacoba.  He remembered how the British Muggles had listened attentively, but seemed almost, well, stupefied.  He puffed air from his cheeks, not even bothering to waste the words on that sorry excuse of a party.  "I don't get it."  Maybe he was showing up to all the wrong parties. 

She arched an amused eyebrow at his asertion she'd picked the wrong country. Obviously she'd done a brilliant job lightening her accent over the years if he thought she were a Brit proper. Of course that was by design, as a child her accent had been thick and her voice unmistakably loud. Her mother had been oh-so-very-English and had wanted Nona especially to reflect that. When coupled with her time at Hogwarts and living in London after, well it was probably hardly a surprise he didn't immediately place her as a Scot. She certainly didn't have the same lyrical lilt Balfour or her father did.

"Och, you've wounded me and the long history of Tartan wearing Spectres! Really, mistaking me for a cold fish Brit, I never" she couldn't feign righteous indignation, her lips twitching with a betraying smile before she even finished the sentence. In a way he was right about her choosing the wrong country. She often felt that her services would have been better received in other parts of the world, but it was this fact alone that meant she needed to stay in the UK. The place you were least respected was where you could do the most good.

She laughed outright at the notion no one danced, her mind immediately going the million and four times she'd been swept around the family estate grounds. Ceilidh was an important part of every celebration. She couldn't remember a feast that didn't involve lively music and everyone on their feet (even her occasionally stuffy mother Abigail), "You clearly have been going to terrible parties and missing out on delightful pub nights. Quite frankly I am appalled you have not be included in our festivities. they often end in stocking feet dancing through the streets".

She wrinkled her nose a little and held up a hand in a gesture of surrender, "Alright, I admit, maybe that last bit is just me, in the hopes of not falling on my face after a couple of pints, but still! Dancing is very common place when you're out with the right people. Interesting people".

An amused smirk spread over his face at her loud display of Scottish mannerisms.  After a moment of contemplation, he repeated, "Och--" a moment for a breathy laugh before adding, "I'd of been reet neglectful tae even conseder it."  Adon prided himself on his imitations.  If this had fallen short of the mark, he hoped for at least a courteous chuckle.  He tried out one final word in the accent: "Spectre."  He nodded.   "Noted."

"Quite frankly I am appalled you have not be included in our festivitie--"

"Well, I'm appalled, too," he cut in, words overlapping with her own.  He munched absently on his sandwich as she painted a not unflattering picture of her drunken stupors. 

"Interesting people," he mirrored, resting his chin on his fist as he considered her.  "Like you, I presume?"  Another amused smirk.  "Well, I cannot contribute any stockinged feet, but I can manage the pints."

Nona's eyes went wide with delight at his rather impressive impersonation of the family brogue, hands clasped together and she tapped her feet with absolute glee, "That was brilliant"! She wasn't even just flattering him, she almost could picture him in a kilt... actually... tilting her head to one side she considered it, and it was not an unpleasant thought in the least.

Interesting people...Like you, I presume?

Lips twitching upwards, her features settled themselves angelically as she casually shrugged her shoulders, "Well, now that you mention it, yes. Interesting people like me. I'm terribly witty and excellent at darts," she gave her hair a toss for good measure before snickering into her hand. She was really quite glad the rumors weren't true and he actually was funny.

"Well then," she folded her hands again, resting them on the table top, "if you can handle a pint you should meet us at the Hopping Pot in Diagon tonight. It's a Monday, so only the diehards will come out but they're generally the most fun anyway. You supply the pints, I'll supply the stockings".

Well, she was easy to please.  Adon gave a broad smile of self-satisfaction.  Usually he was his own biggest fan--of cooking, his humor, his sincere and almost effusive expression of concern for the wellbeing of near-strangers... It was nice to have someone receive it as well as he'd intended.  Nice, and yet unusual.

Still smiling, he looked down at his sandwich and munched as she spoke. Sounded like she was her biggest fan, too.  He liked that.  "Tonight," Adon repeated, eyebrows raising.  He didn't now why, but something as imminent as this very evening was wholly unexpected.  Recovering, he gave a slight smirk.  "I'll see what I can work out."  Things were at a lull with the whole werewolf fight, at last.  He'd done the necessary court prep, and he was not required to give testimony, so he was more or less off of that one.  Just dementors and more dementors.

"Pints, yes.  But no stockings for me," he added with a decisive shake of his head.  "But," he said, motioning down towards her legs, indicating she could feel free to do so.  He left the rest--and all other commentary about her legs--unsaid.  This was work.  And he didn't want to get written up for sexual harassment when he was already in hot water for grumpy goblin harassment.  That one--well, two, really--had been justified.

It could be fun. Adon hadn't been to the Hopping Pot, he realized.  Jonas and he'd mostly gone to Muggle establishments with names like "A bunch of grapes," or "the Sarachen's Head," or, more general, "Really Weird Thing that Makes for a Great Street Sign." 

"You'll have to carry the weight, though. I'm fresh out of interesting," he said.  That was British sarcasm, right?

She tilted her head to one side, "If you don't think you can handle it," she arched a smug eyebrow, clearly challenging him. It was always interesting when the self assured ones showed that little bit of a crack in the facade. She'd have to make sure Margo went easy on him, the one could stomp a man's ego into dust without actually meaning to. Of course her general abrasive nature was part of what Nona liked best about her.

Pushing her hair over one shoulder, she toyed with the ends, her soup long forgotten in favor of conversation, "And that would be different than now how"? She was joking of course, he was holding his own rather well actually. It wasn't turning out nearly as terrible as his opening would have suggested when he sat down. Which was very lucky for him because spoiling a Spectre's lunch was not in anyone's best interest. It was just a fact, hungry Nona turned into catty Nona very quickly.

Glancing up at the clock she gave a small sigh, "Alas, I must leave you. I've got meetings back to back the rest of the day. I wasn't really joking about the understaffed and overworked part. Even with the fights disbanded my caseload has doubled since summer and there never seems to be enough of anything to go around," her tone and features grew serious for a moment before she shook it off and gave him a bright smile, "See you tonight maybe. Remember, Hopping Pot. Darts and delightful conversation," as she gathered up her things and jogged out of the Atrium.