Lunch, Beast Division.


With the care and gravity usually employed when handling delicate creatures or dead bodies, Bai took out a champagne-colored binder and rested it gently against the edge of her desk.

It was a solid thing, with thick covers and a thicker spine, and further weighed down by the numerous tags and samples pressed between its pages; at any page, one would find swatches of colored cloth neatly paired with carefully preserved petals, photographs of centerpieces, cake designs, snapshots of themes. In brisk, neat handwriting, notes were jotted in the margins – occasionally in Cantonese, most often in English.

And there, tucked more sparingly and deeply among it all, was the occasional picture of a burly, smiling figure made of broad shoulders and an easy, breathtaking smile.

Setting the album a bit more comfortably in her lap, Bai smiled a private lover’s smile, one best read not in her lips, but in the way she traced that sunny visage. Although the wedding was more or less all planned out, the magizoologist had grown accustomed to bringing it to work – at first to look it over during lunch breaks, when work could be set aside in good conscience (not to mention out of harm’s way), and then as a comforting weight, a sweet reminder of things to come. Sentiment. In time, it had become something of a familiar sight on Level Four, among those interested in such things.

And then: a shadow, tall and slim, falling across the pages. Bai glanced out the corner of her eye from beneath her lashes—and looked up fully, breaking out into a warm smile when she saw whose it was.  “Prim!” she greeted, pushing the album up onto her desk, rising from her seat.  “Ah- I’m sorry, am I late?”  She glanced at the large clock on the wall, worried.

Prim never forgot an appointment.  Not when it was jotted down in her agenda.  The slim pocket notebook was unassuming, a black moleskin cover with soft pages – each dated with a calendar at the beginning of the month and little indents going along the side for easy opening, but it held her life in it.  She hardly went anywhere in the office without it and she planned everything to the minute in it. 

It was her own form of shorthand, but she knew everything.  It also helped when the pages gave off a faint glow as something approached.  And, about twenty minutes ago, while she was penning a draft of a letter of support for a new regulation being proposed, she noticed out of the corner of her eye the light shimmer and glow – like the fairy dust that was much more pleasant in children’s stories than in real life (not to be confused with pixies, which had never been pleasant, but now were an unbearable thought).  Knowing that meant it was just about time for her lunch appointment, she polished off the last of the paragraph before tidying her desk space.  Everything went back into its place, including her quill in its stand. 

She then tucked the little notebook into her bag and pushed herself up from her chair.  Primrose tucked it in and surveyed her area once more before slipping out of the entryway and down the hall toward the Beast Division.  It wasn’t a walk she took often, but she was keenly aware of its location.  Even more so because she found herself looking for any excuse to perhaps pop by.  It really helped that Bai was in the same division. 

Taking a glance around, there was no sign of Grigory above the cubicles.  Either he was sitting and working or he was out in the field.  Either way, it was a brief disappointment before she reminded herself that it was not him she was here for this time.  She turned down another aisle of the cubicles and stopped in front of Bai’s, not that she even realized. 

She was doing that dreamy-eyed thing that Prim was all too familiar with.  That didn’t stop her from smiling wickedly though and glancing at her watch.  “Only two minutes and thirty-two seconds,” she replied with obnoxious precision, “but I can see how you’ve gotten lost in his blue eyes,” she teased, motioning toward the book.  “You’re forgiven,” she wrinkled her nose, deciding it before Bai could even ask for it.  “Now, where did you have in mind?” 

Pink bloomed in Bai’s cheeks, but she rolled her eyes anyway, crossing her arms. Primrose Woolfolk, ever so gracious. Still, amusement tugged at her mouth, lending it a wry twist that did nothing to dampen her smile.

In spite of differences in age, political beliefs, upbringing and social circles, the witches shared enough similarities to find a middle ground and develop a rapport. Time spent in each other’s company revealed that Prim – by most accounts an uptight, aloof conservative – possessed a pert, wicked sense of humor and a fondness for teasing; in turn, Bai – generally found lovely and polite, yet impersonal and hard to read – unveiled sharp smiles and a quiet ferocity that simmered beneath. It was a friendship Bai had quickly become grateful for.

Grateful enough, perhaps, that there was more than one reason for today’s lunch.

“There is a new café in Soho,” she replied, picking up her attaché from where she had left it beneath her desk. Setting it beside the album, she popped it open, rifling through it.  “On Monmouth Street. It has been open for only a week, but I have heard many compliments about their croissants and salads.”  Lips curved into an equally sly smile as their owner pulled out a sheaf of papers and tugged open a drawer.  “Nothing too exotic.”

Pride was not the exact word she was looking for, but there was something to be said for the distinct shade of pink on her colleague’s cheeks.  Prim loved winning, so she seized the moment as a victory.  So pleased with herself, she even decided to be generous enough to not rub it in. 

Standing up a little taller, Prim watched Bai rifle through her things and mention a new café.  Croissants sounded delightful.  As much as anyone could say carbohydrates were not good for you and it was mostly sugar, but Prim could not care less.  The promise of something flakey and buttery was just too good to turn down. 

Of course, Bai’s comment pricked her ears and Prim placed her hand upon her heart, “And what is that supposed to mean?” she raised her eyebrows.  It hardly mattered that Primrose did not do well with spicy things, but must Bai bring it up here?  Turnabout, she realized, was only fair play when it was expected.  Having perhaps only a slightly larger than average nose, Prim craned her neck to see just what her friend was doing now. 

“Some managerial task holding us up now?” she asked, still curious at what she was doing.  “Has Carter set you to task on something?” she leaned in and grinned wickedly, like a schoolgirl about to share some gossip, “quite the task master, isn’t he?”  She rolled her eyes, “can’t be seen standing about useless, could you?”