Turns out moving from working all the time at a dragon reserve to not working at all was not the right move for Ace.  He had no clue what to do with all this free time and so he found himself hanging around the Ministry of Magic - specifically Level Four - in hopes that he'd be around to volunteer for something or be dragged into a conversation.

Ace knew he was being weird and maybe a little creepy by standing by the doors to Level Four or constantly riding the elevator or even sitting by the fountain or grabbing a bite to eat in the tearoom. He really had no other choice other than to sit in his flat.

So here he was again loitering around Level Four not trying to get in anyone's way but listening to people talk. In other words he was bored.

“Are you lost?” Ambrose Pepper asked.

He put his politest voice on. He’d learned last week that staring at people on Level Four could get him into difficulties. He’d stared at Tristan Vaillancourt, the vampire consultant to Being Division, and got quite a frosty - and fangy - reply. This bloke didn’t seem fangy or cold enough to be a vampire. He was one of those good looking blokes that Kayla fanned herself with memos about. However, the squib secretary was lying low to keep out of Alec Carter’s way, as he was on the warpath to fire her. Mr Carter lacked a sense of humour when it came to Kayla. Apparently it all stemmed back to Mr Carter’s first day when there’d been a pixie prank played on Level Four by Level Two. This lack of humour and hard work ethic was partly why Ambrose was so surprised to see someone under-employed on Level Four.

“Or are you waiting for a meeting with someone, only Mrs Lanningham is the best person to ask if you are looking for someone in particular.” Mrs Lanningham was Balfour Spectre’s legendary personal assistant and the Beast Division secretary. Ambrose had quickly grown to respect her and follow her lead for all administrative duties. He’d picked things up quickly under her moon-rimmed gaze.

Today was a big day. Two floors above Level 4, Zora Roh was going to be having an interview at some point today, and her wife was probably more nervous. It was well overdue, considering how long Zora had worked on Level 2, but that was what happened when a witch played in the big boy wizards club.

Not knowing anything about what was occurring had left Bruce decidedly fidgety and anxious simply sat at her desk. As such, she chose to actually leave the office and her crazy piles of paperwork to eat lunch elsewhere. Maybe the canteen would be serving pumpkin soup. On such a dark January day, pumpkin soup would be welcome.

So, Bruce was click clicking down the corridor towards the main bullpen of the beast division and soon the entrance to the department, when she saw it all happen. It was as if it was in slow motion.

Ant McDoogle was a rather inept 56-year-old assistant in the Beast Division. He’d never really progressed due to his ineptitude, and had been in the same role since Bruce herself had started as an apprentice werewolf hunter. Well, he was running into the main bullpen, looking rather confused. Confusion wasn’t, as one might guess, a rare expression on his mug. He was always confused.
 
Well, one look up into the rafted answered the question of the present confusion. He’d lost track of a few pixies. And there they were, hanging out above them.
“Cachu…[1]” she swore under her breath in Welsh as she eyes the pixies above them. One little blighter then stuck out his little blue bottom and plop. Bluish creamy poop dropping all over the unfamiliar wizard lingering by an empty desk.
“Cachu.” The Welsh witch confirmed, before letting out a loud laugh. Level four was never quiet.

1.	Welsh for ‘shit’

Ace was, as usual, absent-mindedly staring at the walls of the area around Level Four. He almost didn't hear the question that was asked but he heard the tail end of it and turned to look at who was doing the asking. "No not lost." he said answering the question. "I'm just hanging around waiting for something exciting to happen." Ace said with a crooked grin.

He was just about to launch into a description of exactly why he was standing there hoping to kill maybe a few minutes or start up a longer conversation when someone else approached and said something in a language he didn't know. Then he felt it dripping down the side of his face onto his shoulder which upset him a bit because he was wearing his favorite leather jacket.

Looking up he saw the creature right before it flitted away and as he began to realize what had just happened , he muttered, "Damn pixies," before trying to clean himself off with his wand.

“Oh Merlin!” Ambrose exclaimed, seeing the pixie zoom in above the stranger’s head. He abandoned all thought of wondering how the wizard had been waiting a while for something to happen on this floor. There was always something happening!

“Here, here, let me!” Ambrose hurried to clean up the pixie poo with a charm he’d learned, only as he waved his wand at the other wizard, his eager but haphazard magic did not remove the poo. No. It rather…

… set the poo on fire ….

The other pixies began to dance, chattering, around the fire. Ambrose’s face twisted into horror and he hastened to attempt and aguamenti, enthusiastically hosing the bloke down, head to toe until he was dripping, still covered in semi-charred pixie poo, and smelling of burned hair.