“Now hang on a second, Bagel Bite.”  Adon’s trajectory down the long aisle of cubicles was drawn to a halt at the feeling of something solid hitting his chest.  His eyes scanned down to the manilla folder pressed against his robes, then back up to its owner.

“Your Scruffness,” he acknowledged the other man coolly, looking the Deputy Head in the eyes.  In the eye, rather.  In the slightly purpled eye. It had been gone-over with a spell, yes, but Riordan was no woman. He didn’t have years of experience in concealing undereyes like most witches did.  “What’s with your face?”

Riordan raised his eyebrow, his look cutting. “You want to go with that as your comeback? You? I’dve thought you’d steer clear of that topic.”  A flit of his hand gestured towards the right side of Adon’s face.

Adon’s stomach tightened, lip curling slightly.  “Well, it doesn’t look like I was the only one going for easy blows.  They seem to land, with you.”  With restraint, he pushed the natural impulse to balance Riordan’s face out.  To the best of his ability, Adon mirrored his own expression.  Unimpressed. Waiting.

“Well, you should have seen how the other guys’ face looked.” 

“Smug?” Adon offered, helpfully.

The Deputy Head gave an unexpectedly delightful cackle, holding his hands up in surrender. Begrudgingly, Adon felt himself begin to smile, too.  The contents of the manila folder began to slip, a couple of loose leaves of parchment drifting to the floor.  Before Adon could bend to help retrieve it, Riordan had moved with remarkable speet to stuffed it back into his folder.  He drew himself back up, looking Eleor in the eyes, a fucking, self-satisfied smirk on his face.  “I stand corrected, Eleor. I underestimated you.”

“Happen often, I take it?”  Adon’s smile was light, but his eyes were still on the bruise.  There was one point in particular; blunt force with a rounded object. Probably by someone wearing a ring or some sort of jewelry, but maybe just a knuckle. If he’d had to guess, it’d come from above;  Riordan had been sitting or crouched and probably had not suspected it.

Impressive, at least, that there weren’t more.  He’d either fought them off or yielded quickly.  Though, as a principle, the wizarding sort didn’t usually resort to fists and sticks and stones to begin with. Did Riordan associate with Muggles? A bar brawl, perhaps?

”Meant to ask you if you’ve met with your bagel yet.”

“On my way over.  About to slather him up with charm because I’m out of cream cheese.”  Adon’s eyes flitted down to the folder once more.  “You giving that to me?”

Riordan gave a light shake of the head. ”I amn’t. This beaut is for...” He trailed off. ”It’s not that obvious, though… right?”

Dark brows rose slowly.  “Please, sir.  I’ve taken two forensics pathology courses. I know how to identify and categorize wounds and bodily trauma. Not to mention that I myself box.”

”Right. I forgot I was dealing with a contender.”

“Was he right-handed, then?”  That hardly narrowed it down, but at least he’d get a gauge on Riordan’s response.

”He?” Riordan’s eyes bolted open. Another bright guffaw. ”Let me ask you this, Eleor. Ya spend much time around a woman in love?”

Again, Adon waited patiently, not willing to make comment.

”Which is to say, a crazy one? It wasn’t a he, Eleor. It wasn’t even a hand.  She launched a fecking wine bottle at my head.”

Adon cringed.  Riordan shrugged, turning to proceed down the aisle. ”S’alright. I managed to deflect the brunt of it.  Better brush up on those training manuals, Eleor,” he called over his shoulder. ”Sounds like you’re a bit rusty.”

Grumbling slightly at the encounter--and finding the Deputy Head just a smidge less charming now--Adon rounded the corner, pausing at JJ Bassir's cubicle.  He leaned heavily on the wall, rapping a knuckle lightly against the... what were these things made of, anyhow? Fabric-covered plywood, probably.  Oh, the perks of civil service.

"Bassir," he said, voice cutting in.  "Got a minute?"  The man was hunched over, eating a sandwich.  That's right, it was nearly dinnertime, and Adon knew he'd forgotten to do something.  He sauntered into the cubicle, anyhow, pulling out the collapsible chair in the corner for guests.  "Got another sandwich, for that matter?"

JJ looked up from his delicious peanut butter, pickle, and crisp sandwich-- he had been thoroughly enjoying the crunch of it. It was his first sandwich of the day. He was a man with a hefty appetite, and usually scarfed down two, sometimes three sandwiches at lunch along with whatever fruit he had laying around the kitchen. Adon had spoken to him mid chew. He hastily finished his bite, the crisps crunching almost comically loud.

With a swallow that was much more difficult than it should've been, he finally responded.

He opened his lunchbox. "I have a peanut butter and pickle sandwich. And crisps if you want them." He offered, "It's crunchy peanut butter." He peered closely at the sandwich, almost with despair. "And it has banana slices..." So it was extra good.

JJ was about to take back his offer when a loud, ear-shattering boom came from Solomon's office.

""WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU TWISTED DICKSTAIN?!"

Now, JJ was used to women screaming at Sol in his office... But this was different. Sandwich in one hand and wand in the other, he looked at Adon. "I'll race you."  Shoving[1] Adon out of the way, he ran towards Carstairs' office.

1.	Or attempting to, let's be realistic here

[M]--Language in multiple languages.

"It has banana slices."

Adon stared at him, a moment, in silence.  ....What?  Then again, the kid could hardly be faulted for a deranged palette.  This country put vinegar on their crisps.  Adon had little time to yet again ponder on the sorry state of British culinary tastes; the ground shook with a familiar sensation. Bomb.

"Harah!" he growled.  Wand whipped out, knees bent instinctively, hands held above his head protectively, prepped for a second explosion. There was always a second explosion in the military.

JJ bungled past him with all the grace of an blind, infant hippo.  Temper flaring, Adon grabbed a fistful of crimson robe at the scruff of his idiot partner's neck.  He pulled back. HARD.

"Kos och'tok, tisaref be evadon!" he chided, foully, shoving JJ's head forcibly down for good, precautionary measure.  Not that the kid didn't deserve it blown off at this point.  They had no idea what they were working with. "Fucking mamzer!" he added for good measure.  "A broch!" he huffed finally. 

There was no second blast.  Still crouched, Adon nodded and began to sweep forward, wand out, checking all directions. 

Continued HERE.