From the seat behind the large wooden desk, Charisma dipped a hand into the pocket of her burgundy robes and withdrew an extremely old pocket watch which she clicked open and glanced down at. It was almost ten o’clock. It was almost an hour after the time she had requested the blonde nuisance to show up for a ‘chat’. Either the witch didn’t value her job or she had killed herself thanks to more reckless actions.

Either way Charisma presumed the Miss Raizel Cohen wouldn’t be showing up any time soon if at all. This was why she slowly pushed herself up from the desk with a wince of pain. The bandaged leg concealed beneath a pair of baggy khaki trousers seared as the venom infected muscles were once more forced to work. And once more the Welsh witch cursed her absent pain in the backside. The witch who was to blame for the fact Charisma had spent a couple of nights in St Mungos and another couple of weeks hobbling around painfully with the aid of a black and gold cane, seeming at least forty years older than she was.

Without any haste, the witch vacated the small office and began to hobble down the long, chandelier decorated corridor and rounded the corner at the end. She was gone for almost five minutes before she once more rounded the corner, walking cane in her left hand, supporting the and taking her weight from her venom attacked left leg and files in her right hand from the bank’s archive office.

As the witch slowly walked down the corridor, she locked her eyes on a witch stood further down the corridor, just outside her own office door. Very quickly the pace of the welsh witch increased as she ignored the cry from her leg for the pain to cease.

“Cohen!” Her voice echoed through the corridor as she projected the tardy cursebreaker’s surname. Well, what she said was closer to ‘Cowan’ in her own thick accent.

“Merch dwp!” She cursed, nearing the door to her office. “You, girl, are extremely lucky to still be in possession of your remaining eight digits!” Upon reaching the door Charisma soon realised that balancing upon a cane and holding files made it extremely difficult to get hold of one’s wand to unlock one’s office. She gritted her teeth and thrust the folders at the younger cursebreaker before reaching into her robe pocket and procuring the wand.

It took a simple mutter in latin and a few swishes and the sound of the lock turning and clicking into place could be heard through the door.

“If there’s one thing I loathe more than having runespoor venom tipped on me from a great height its tardiness! In there, with you.” Charisma directed Raizel with her wand.

Raizel had made her peace with working for Gringotts Bank years ago.  When she was given orders, she did what she was told; otherwise, she kept out of the goblins' way as completely as possible, minding her own business when she was not doing theirs.

Visiting England, as a result, was not something she often looked forward to.  Being summoned back was even worse.  There were a handful of good reasons that a Cursebreaker might be called in to the bank's headquarters in Diagon Alley, but the negative ones were far more numerous.  Breaking a rule, failing to live up to expectations, failing to retrieve something that the goblins had wanted -- there were any number of ways that one could fail, and the Israeli witch had seen firsthand just how painful that failure could be.

Based on whom the summons had come from, Raizel had an unfortunate feeling she knew why she had been called back to home base.  And so that morning she had dragged her feet.  Taken her time getting dressed at the hotel, nursing the slight hangover that lingered from the night before.  Whether she got to Gringotts on time or at noon, Charisma Aldridge would still be waiting.

She got there a quarter to ten -- still acceptedly within the window of "expected appointment," as far as she was concerned, but when she tried knocking on the door to Aldridge's office, there was no answer.  Crossly, Raizel glanced up and down the hallway, her irritation obvious.  It would be just like the old witch to make her wait even when she was running late.

But per usual, she didn't have to wait long.  Charisma Aldridge reappeared in her normal flurry of temper, cursing at her in Welsh and flinging papers about as if she expected Raizel to act as her own personal assistant.  The Israeli witch caught the files, but just barely.  Lifting her chin, she narrowed her eyes at the older witch and then marched into the woman's office, keeping her head high as she tossed the files without care or decorum onto the elder Cursebreaker's desk.

"I, Madame Aldridge, do not appreciate being treated like I am seventeen," Raizel snapped, rounding to face her.  Charisma Aldridge, for all her temper and reputation, did not scare her.  She crossed her arms, keeping her right hand prominently displayed as she glared at the older witch. 

"Nor do I appreciate threats.  I got in to England only yesterday," she added, her voice icy, accent exaggerated by each crisp and precisely enunciated word.  "If I am late, it is because my timepiece was not set correctly.  Perhaps you would fare better in the field if you remembered not to make assumptions."

Charisma followed the younger foreign witch into the office and used the cane to push the door shut behind them. The folders ungracefully clattered against the wooden desk and the Welsh Witch had to physically restrain herself from hexing her new supervisee there and then. She took a slow calming breath and reluctantly replaced her wand, dropping it once more into the pocket of her robes.

“Not seventeen, Cohen.” Aldridge muttered, stepping further into the room and attempting to bypass the pretty girl in a dress and heels with a mouth full of immature rubbish and a brain slower than her body. “My daughter was more mature that you at seventeen.”

But the next words to fall from the blonde’s mouth momentarily stunned Charisma. She would fare better would she? Charisma found herself staring at the pretty thing in a dress as if she’d grown two extra heads and turned purple and spotty. She couldn’t quite believe the words to have been spoken and she couldn’t make out if they were spoken in all seriousness or as pathetic gag.

Whatever it was the cursebreaker was far from impressed.

“Oh, absolutely, my dear.” She began, leaning against the cane as she stood before the obnoxious young witch. “I shall never again make the assumption I am working with someone competent. Look how that turned out for me!” As if to labour the point, the witch indicated the cane with a quick wave of her right hand.

Having been stood for a while now, the pain was increasing in her leg, causing Charis to grip the handle of her cane tighter. Regardless of the need she felt to sit down, that was not a good move to make right now. She had an authority to attempt to reassert.

“And I personally am not in the habit of making threats, Miss Cohen. Not when those above me make much more interesting ones.”

The insults and the sarcasm, she could take in stride, but the mention of superiors was enough to make the Cursebreaker go rigid for a moment.  Raizel stood stock still, the panic visible in her expression for only a moment before she got herself under control again.  She huffed out a breath, nostrils flaring as she eyed Charisma down the bridge of her nose.

"If the goblins have a problem with something that I did, let them talk to me themselves," she said, her mouth set in a firm line.  "It wasn't my fault that you didn't get out of the way in time.  If they're sending operatives into the field, then they should make sure that they're not so old that they're physically incompetent."

She was treading on dangerous ground now, and Raizel knew it.  Antagonizing Charisma Aldridge was not going to make this temporary visit to the United Kingdom any more pleasant, and the only insult that could be any more personal would be disrespecting the Welsh witch's precious boots.  But it wasn't her fault that Aldridge had been too slow.  If she couldn't keep up, then the older Cursebreaker should either prepare herself to face the consequences of her aging body or stop thrusting her nose into other people's assignments.  Even the goblins couldn't fail to understand that.

"Let them threaten whatever they'd like," Raizel said daringly.  She tossed her hair back, arching her eyebrows as she held the other witch's gaze.  "I'm not afraid of them.  I didn't do anything wrong."

The younger witch’s disrespect completely astounded Charisma. She stared in disbelief as she was plainly informed that her age had been the reason she was now scarred and relying on a cane to walk. According to the gobby little excuse for a cursebreaker, Charisma Aldridge, a 4 decade veteran of the job and still incredibly successful was physically incompetent. Or had been physically incompetent when they’d been in the tomb and her less experienced companion who should have known the tomb inside out had released a trap.

Cohen was also completely unafraid of the goblins. Charisma’s bright blue eyes flashed down to her colleague’s hand. She seriously doubted that. And the prettily dressed witch had apparently done nothing wrong, she was happy to be threatened. Charisma resisted the urge to roll her eyes. At this moment she wasn’t angry, instead she silently pitied the girl.

Well she pitied Raizel until she made another step and received a sharp, painful reminder of why the young witch was in this office in the first place. A quick intake of breath and a wince later and Charisma was making her way around the desk to her chair.

“You seem like the type of person that never would.” The witch muttered through gritted teeth as she planted the cane against the tiles floor and took another step. “Sit down, Raizel.”

The Cursebreaker eyed her older colleague with a hawkish expression.  The switch to an informal form of address did not mean that she had carried the argument; rather, Raizel had no doubt that it was a sign that their battle was changing forms.  Just because Charisma Aldridge was no longer cursing at her in Welsh did not mean that the other woman was prepared to admit that she had been wrong, let alone thank her for her actions.

The direction to sit was obviously the older witch's way of exerting control.  Raizel could have chosen to bicker more, but arguing over whether or not she would be seated was not going to move this painful conversation along.  Letting out a loud sigh, she considered her options for a moment, and then decided to graciously allow Aldridge the small victory.

Holding her head high, she crossed the room back to the desk in a matter of steps and lowered herself gracefully to sit, sweeping her cloak back over her shoulders in a smooth gesture.  Raizel crossed her ankles underneath her, shifting to sit on the very forward edge of the chair.  Arranging herself comfortably, she finally looked to Aldridge, eyebrows raised in an expectant expression as she waited for the older woman to speak.

This was certainly not to be a pleasant meeting. Simply the manner in which Raizel Cohen stared at her older colleague was enough to guess that, one didn’t need to hear the preceding conversation. Charisma didn’t however flinch and she tried hard not to rise to it. That certainly took effort when she heard the great sigh released from the younger witch’s vocal chords. Raizel Cohen reminded Charisma exactly of a teenager brought up in front of a teacher for misbehaving in class. She had deluded herself that the fact that Charisma was presently relying on a walking cane and no doubt seeming much older than her years was no fault of her own when in fact her recklessness had been the sole cause.

Fortunately, Charisma Aldridge had raised 3 children through their teenaged years and had spent years upon years of handling troublesome offspring. The main difference here was that this witch was nearing 30 from what Charis was aware and she should certainly have grown out of such behaviour many years ago.

Finally sat down in her chair, Charisma rested the cane against her desk and glanced over at the quite literal pain in her side.
“You’re been here long enough, I presume, to have heard tales of cursebreakers vanishing? Heading into the field and never returning?” Charisma paused in her speech for a moment as she leaned forward and tidied the files that had been dumped so discourteously upon her desk.

“Are you aware of why that happens?” Eyes shot to the door, ensuring it was closed. Not that that hardly made a difference. Charis was well aware of what an untrusting species the goblins were. They had no doubt their own version of extendable ears hidden within the office. Charisma may have given her entire career to this job, but that didn’t mean she would ever be trusted more than any other witch or wizard.

Raizel stared back at the older woman, the line of her jaw tightening.  The pointed progression of questions, the not-so-subtle glance at the door -- it would have taken an idiot who was both blind and deaf not to catch Aldridge's meaning, and she was neither. 

But she was also not afraid.  And not about to be intimidated, least of all by an old woman who waited until she had Raizel on her turf and in her talons before making threats.  Morality tales of misbehaving children who were whisked away from their parents might have been enough to scare her when she was ten years old; stories had no such hold on her now.

"Yes.  They were bad at their jobs," she said steadily, not letting her expression waver.  "I am good at mine.  That is why I am still here." 

It was why she was still here in more ways than one.  Her skills and her instincts had kept her alive -- and kept Aldridge alive too even after the older witch had set off a curse, which the senior Cursebreaker seemed to be forgetting.  But in many ways, the fact that she was good at her job meant that she was tolerated.  Raizel did not doubt that there were more painful things to lose than fingers.

The conversation -- among other things -- from the night before had left her tactics even more bold than they might have been otherwise.  Raizel crossed her arms defensively against her chest, lifted her chin to meet the older Cursebreaker's eyes.

"If you have some meaning in all this, then you had better state it directly."  She held Aldridge's gaze challengingly, her words short and succinct.  "If I were going to vanish, then it would have happened in that tomb.  Which, I must take notice, did not kill you either," she added with purpose.  "So if you have brought me here to chastise me for not letting you die, then the least you can do is say so, madam.  I do not like threats."

Raizel Cohen lived in a sugar dusted world of her own. Reality and sense didn’t seem to have reached this young witch like it had with the majority of the wizarding population. If Charisma hadn’t been so utterly stunned by the attitude of the young witch before her she would have laughed. The complete ignorance the Israeli witch possessed when it came to the truth, the real happenings from that evening was absolutely astonishing.

Despite the urge to correct Cohen, to argue with her about the facts she had incorrect, Charisma decided to take the moral high ground, to ignore the pain this incompetent witch had caused and inform her just what would happen if the ‘old witch’ berating her laid off and sent her to the goblins.

“Hm.” Charisma leant forwards, resting her elbows on the desk between them. “As I said, Cohen, I see absolutely no point in making threats when they would pale in comparison to the goblins. I certainly don’t wish to pack you off directly to them, my dear. Not after I took you off their hands in the first place.” The cursebreaker had started twisting a quill absentmindedly between her fingers as she considered her words, speaking slowly. “If I sent you to them to be dealt with they’d be mad at me as well for wasting their time. Not that they’d kill me like they would you.”

A small sigh was released from Charisma’s pale lips and she looked up from the quill to her younger colleague. “I’d rather not be responsible for that to be honest; despite the fact that it’s your foolhardiness that landed me in St Mungo’s and you terribly out of favour with the goblins. You’ll never learn to be a decent cursebreaker if you’re dead, will you?”

Normally, getting what she wanted left Raizel Cohen feeling much more satisfied.  But as the elder Cursebreaker spoke, laying out her meaning in direct, nonchalant terms, the Israeli mage's expression grew more tense, her fingers curling involuntarily. 

Dealings with the goblins of Gringotts was a necessary evil.  No other organization paid Cursebreakers so well or so steadily; while it would have been possible to find employment in her line of work outside of the London-based bank, finding someone who would grant a regular paycheck meant dealing with individuals with an even darker purpose than the goblins. Most of the time, she could stomach it by ignoring them; as long as she performed well, they granted her the same courtesy.

But now, with Aldridge's words sinking in, Raizel couldn't shake the suddenly foreboding feeling.  She had done her job by the book -- but no one associated with Gringotts used the goblins so directly as a stick unless there was real weight to it.  She knew what happened when they lost their patience.  The implication that they might do so again was terrifying.

"I do not intend on being dead."  The words came out sounding terse, shortened by her clenched teeth.  Raizel forced herself to swallow, then met the older woman's gaze.

"So if I am here, you don't intend to let them kill me."  Raizel took a deep breath, and then couldn't help herself from adding a petulant "If they could."  She searched the Welsh witch's eyes, arms tightly crossed against her chest, her own gaze cool.  "Why have you called me here, then?"

Greatfullness was evidently one word this young Israeli witch had never got round to translating into English. Neither had she apparently been taught how to admit being incorrect and apologise for it. The delicately dressed witch was a magical whirlwind of reckless eagerness and immodesty and Charisma was fairly certain that if the young cursebreaker continued in the manner she was going about her work, the goblins wouldn’t need to try to kill her because she would do it to herself.

“To inform you of the disciplinary procedure being carried out as a result of your reckless actions and putting a colleague into immediate danger.” The welsh witch stated studying Raizel carefully through bright blue eyes. She paused, lowered the quill she’d been holding and instead pulled the glasses from atop her hair over her eyes.

“Ensuing from your actions and inability to adequately prepare for an excursion we were forced to return to the UK empty handed and I had to explain to a handful of very livid goblins why there would be no return trips to recoup this very valuable treasure.” Once Charisma had finished, speaking to Raizel over the tops of the glasses sat precariously on her nose, her attention fell on the large pile of folders she had earlier thrust at Raizel in a mild fury.

A black folder was brought closer and opened. “They’re pissed off, I’m not the type of witch happy to hobble around with a bloody walking stick and you are obviously not fit for the field. That’s why you’ll be remaining here with me.”

Under normal circumstances, most of the words would have one in one ear and straight out the other.  Disciplinary procedure...reckless actions...  If it hadn't been for the heightened sense of gravity, Raizel would have yawned.  For most of her life, she'd sat through lectures of varying degrees of fiery rhetoric; there had been one particular instance during her third year at school when most of her classmates in Gibbor House had been threatened with suspension after getting drawn into a record seventh fight that term.

But the goblins did not just threaten.  She knew that.  And so she sat stock-still, her eyes narrowed, fingers clenching involuntarily.  If this was punishment, she'd hex Aldridge straight off and break for the door.  Chances were slim that she could make it all the way out of Gringotts before they apprehended her, but if she did it quietly enough, she might be able to make it to the street.  And Adon Eleor knew that she was coming here -- her stomach surged with at least a bare hope of victory or vengeance -- because she was supposed to meet him and his mysterious friend in a few days, and if she didn't show up, at least he'd notice that --

"That’s why you’ll be remaining here with me.”

It took a second for the words to sink in.

Raizel's jaw dropped.  "I'll be what?" she demanded, her voice rising, as she gaped at the woman in front of her.  Panic set in instinctively.  She couldn't stay here!  Not in Gringotts, not in London, not when the only thing that made the current arrangement bearable was the fact that she could still go and come as she pleased. 

"No.  No, no, no, no," she said, emphatically shaking  her head.  This had to be some kind of joke -- some weird iteration of the infamous British preference for dry humor.  But it wasn't funny.  She glared back at Aldridge, nostrils flaring, a panicked look to her eyes.  "That wasn't the agreement!" she protested, emotion heating the undercurrent of her words.  "I can't stay here!  You can't arrest me!  There's nothing you can do to make me stay!"