This had to be better than Adon's experience at the airport, but Dreogan could not keep from rubbing the palms of his hands against his suit trousers, expelling his breath in a bit of a puff. Aleron was arriving today at the Ministry, and Dreogan had come to the floo chimney at the main entrance a good twenty minutes early. One never knew. He could be early.

He could be late.

Knowing Aleron, he might have forgotten altogether. But he hoped it hadn't come to that.

The flutters of excitement in his stomach spread as he saw a burst of green flame. But it was not Aleron that emerged from the flames, but rather an old hag with a glass eye. He quickly averted his gaze as her heavy step moved past him. He tried to run through the list of things in his head.

1. lodgings. With Jacoba still staying at Dreogan's home, Aleron would not be sleeping at his studio. He'd need to make sure that he was alright crashing at Adon's for a couple of nights before a permanent situation was found.

2. daily plans. Lunch -- Gil, a mutual schoolmate of theirs, was sorry to be out of town on such an occasion, particularly as he owned a restaurant, but there were plenty of other places nearby.

3. introductions. Archer. Tamis (not looking forward to that). Dragulia. Kabir. And getting him in touch with Aileen Reid at Hogwarts. Perhaps Myrni as well.

4. settling in. Ensuring all Aleron's things were in order (because he suspected they, perhaps, never were to begin with), accounted for, and moved to wherever Aleron would be staying.

It was overthinking, all of this. Aleron was a year younger but was as capable -- if not more so. But it gave Dreogan something tangible, quantifiable, to manage his excitement. To put it to use. So he repeated this list of things, amending and adding as the time wore on, until by the time the flames next flickered green, Dreogan had reached a list of thirteen items. None of which he would likely ever run by Aleron. When he was with Aleron, things had a way of taking their own shape, almost always unexpected.

Aleron had not forgotten. He had, however, overslept. By an hour.

Fortunately he had everything packed the night before, so all he had to do was jump out of bed, get dressed and slick down his hair with cold water. Shaving could wait. Grabbing his duffel bag and a pinch of green powder, he stepped into the fireplace. It was not his own but rather that of his parents, for Aleron had spent the night at their cabin in the Black Forest near Garmisch.

Which was indirectly the cause of his tardiness; as he had sat up drinking Kobold beer and singing “Ach du Lieber Augustin” with his father until almost three AM. Even a Squib had access to magical brews if he knew who to contact, and the Rhineland dwarves made the best beer in Germany. Aleron had a few bottles stashed in his bag. He knew that while Dree never indulged in alcohol, Adon did on occasion.

Knowing Dree as he did, he was well aware that his old friend would be early. Hopefully he had not been waiting since the crack of dawn...There was that sudden feeling of being sucked inside a whirlwind that squashed one flat and then inflated him again, and then Aleron was there. Brushing the soot off himself, he stepped out of the fireplace and grinned as he saw Dree waiting.

Aleron was well organized for his stay in London, which might prove to be an extended one. His magically altered bag held an umbrella, clothing and footwear appropriate to a damp foggy climate, summer things in case he stayed that long, all his journals and notes, resource books and deciphering tools. The bag also held a tent and sleeping bag, just in case he ended up doing fieldwork somewhere. Though the bag looked no different than an ordinary midsize duffel bag, it was quite heavy. Setting it down, he hurried over to embrace his friend.

He did not glance down or he would have noticed that in his mad rush to get dressed, he  forgot his trousers. This was remarkable even for him, and can only be blamed on his being hung over.

Perhaps even more remarkable were the boxers he was wearing. A gift from an old girlfriend, they were decorated with yellow duckies. And...now that he had worn them for more than fifteen minutes without covering them up...they were quacking.

Dreogan had nearly given up hope, preparing to return to the office to send an inquiry to Germany's Ministry. Maybe things had gotten a bit backed up. Just then a flash of green illuminated the space in the reception area of the Ministry. Most robed wizards and witches, accustomed to the frequent comings-and-goings, did not look. Dreogan, however, did, and was rewarded by the sight of a very familiar face. His face broke out into a boyish grin. A very familiar person. "Hee-eey!" He cheered as his friend stepped out.

In a not so familiar . . . get-up.

His smile faded and he opened his mouth to speak, but Aleron had drawn him in for a hug. Dreogan, eyes wide, sputtered something brief and unintelligible. "Eh-bu-th. . ." The hug between men -- something he would not normally be ashamed of -- became something entirely different, apparently, when one of the men was half-clothed. "Ah. . ." he managed cleverly before patting Aleron awkardly on the back lightly.

"Do me a--" he began before shaking his head and pulling back. No, that was not what this was. "Here. I'll do you a favour," Dree said, taking a step back to pull his arms from out the sleeves of his robe, leaving him in his everyday charcoal suit. "Put this on," he said, tossing it over to his friend -- a bit high, so that it landed atop his head.

"Those things stop their quacking eventually, yes?" Dreogan added, hopefully.

Aleron was puzzled why his old friend, more his brother really, didn’t seem to want to hug him; instead just giving him a half-hearted pat on the back. Was he mad at Aleron for being late? Surely it couldn’t be that. There were times Aleron had been later, though never without good cause.

"Do me a--Here. I'll do you a favour. Put this on.” Dree tossed his robe over. It landed on top of Aleron’s head, slipping down as he moved it, and covering his eyes.

"Those things stop their quacking eventually, yes?"

“You hear it too?”Aleron asked, surprised. He had noticed the quacking; but having never worn these particular boxers before he didn’t realize that was where it came from. He’d just thought it was an odd effect of the hangover, that only he could hear.

Pulling the robe off his head was surprisingly difficult, because his arms got caught up in the sleeves. At last he managed to free himself, and wondering why Dree wanted him to put a robe on, he asked, “What’s wrong? Does the Ministry here have a new dress code?” The Brits did tend to be more formal than other Ministries...
 
Then he glanced down and saw what the problem was. “Great Wotan’s eyepatch!” he gasped, throwing the robe over himself and looking around in a panic.

"You hear it too?” Aleron asked with a sort of innocence that made Dreogan cringe. The man was capable, very capable, but this was sub-standard even for him.

"Audibly," Dreogan confirmed gravely. "Very audibly," he repeated distractedly as a colleague walked past, giving them both a puzzled sort of stare. Dreogan waved feebly back, nodding and giving an odd, breathy sort of laugh as he saw from the corner of his eye Aleron scramble to disentangle himself from the robe. Really, it would serve Dreogan well to learn how to not be embarrassed. Particularly as he was spending more and more time around Adon -- though not recently. Notwithstanding, his younger brother, usually in league with their friend Gil had always made it a positive goal to embarrass him in as public a way as possible.

Dreogan considered a moment. Public humiliation, yes.  But then again, Adon also specialised in humiliation in intimate and familial settings as well. Yes, he should learn how to deal better with situations like this. One never hoped for it, but things like this were quite common and their frequency it seemed, had only cemented his reaction to such situations: turn red. Rub back of neck. Laugh nervously. Flee stage left.

And really, that was all that was left to do. They needed to get Aleron gone and to his place as soon as they could.

"Great Wotan's eyepatch!" Aleron gasped and Dreogan smiled somewhat, relieved -- though sympathetic -- that his friend was not at least cognisant of his misstep.

". . . Yeh. . ." he chuckled and looked at his friend's face and now noted a bit more than embarrassment there. "At least," he said, grinning a bit, "this time it isn't in front of Dania. Dania had been a year younger than them, and quite smitten -- in the young, giggling sense -- with, well, it was, in retrospect, uncertain which of them Dania had had a crush on. Gil had taken the opportunity, however, to suffiently mortify both of them with the fact that they had admirers with a variety of pranks.

Well, they'd come a long way. And, mercifully, Gil was not here today, which meant they might have a chance of getting past teasing about this. He looked at his friend and nodded. The quacking had stopped. Thank. God. They both stood there, abashed and slightly flustered. But the slightly red eyes and haggard look surrounding Aleron bespoke more of, well, a hangover. Dreogan hadn't had many, but enough, of those mornings to know that he should speak softly and that, after such a long Floo's journey -- especially when hung over -- Aleron would be wanting to get situated. "So!" he said, punctuating his voice with new optimism -- hoping it might cheer his friend somewhat, who looked rather lost and dismayed in all this, "let's get you situated. I've got a houseguest at my place, so I booked a place for you; unless you'd rather stay with Adon. " Adon'd always had a strong personality, and while Aleron was the most agreeable person he knew to date (well, no. Perhaps that title now went to Akiva), Adon could be a little. . . overbearing.

Stepping just behind Aleron, he grabbed the handle of one of Aleron's trunks and dragged it heavily towards the exit, looking up as he spoke. "I was thinking we could grab lunch, then take you to Level Two for introductions," he was saying, wondering if Aleron was present enough to be catching any of this, "but given the state of things, it might be best to, ah, well . . ." he evaluated Aleron once more. "I think we should just get you situated," he restated, returning his attention to the trunk.

What was he doing? Dragging the trunk that held godknewwhat. Probably some artifacts, instruments, scrolls, runes, books -- Dreogan hoped he had remembered to pack clothing but, knowing Aleron, figured the others would come first; and the trunk was certainly heavy enough that he seemed to be carting his little world with him. Dreogan tugged again, listening to the audible groan as it scraped across the entry floor and blushed. Of course; there were ways to do this.  Recollecting himself and going to reach for the inner pockets in his robes for his wand. Only the garment was on Aleron now. "Ah, my wand -- it's inside," he said, not wanting Aleron to have to disrobe himself to retrieve it.

OOC: I'm so sorry! I didn't see this!!!

"At least this time it isn't in front of Dania.”

“There is that,” Aleron acknowledged. “And better still, we’re not thirteen any more.” He blushed, recalling the time Gil set him up, forging his handwriting in a torrid love note which he then sent to Dania, worse yet arranging for a prefect to catch her reading it. “Although...I wouldn’t mind having Gil to blame for all this...”

"So! I was thinking we could grab lunch, then take you to Level Two for introductions..."

If Aleron had looked lost and dismayed before, now he looked horrified.

"But given the state of things, it might be best to, ah, well . . .I think we should just get you situated."

Aleron nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. “My father felt like celebrating,” he explained sheepishly. “He had some beer, made by the Black Forest Kobolds...”  Being a Squib had never prevented Herr Wilhelm Senior from having some interesting connections....

"Ah, my wand -- it's inside."

“Ach,” said Aleron, tugging at the borrowed robe and then smacking his own forehead. “How foolish of me!”

He gave his trunk a sudden sharp kick. A hidden drawer popped open, revealing Aleron’s own wand which he bent down to retrieve. Then, kicking the drawer shut, he pointed the wand at the trunk.

“Wingardium Leviosa!”