Griffon had ducked out of his office early to head for lunch. Typically he had a quick bite to eat at a muggle establishment somewhere near the telephone box that led down into the ministry. Today, however, he had decided to head to the Leaky Cauldron in the hopes of avoiding the annoyances of his employees- the ones who kept bumping the goblin complaints up to him. Mostly because the complaints had been... more numerous and more often made in person these days.

He was going to get something and bring it back to the ministry, in fact, until he saw the squat figure of one of Gringott's goblins waiting for him outside of his office. So he had politely asked one of the other employees to take the goblin to a meeting room and had not-so-professionally slipped into the lift and out of the building hopefully unseen.

Thus he found himself at the Leaky Cauldron, eating fish and unfortunately soggy chips and drinking a very cold, very tall beer. (Drinking on the clock was a horrible thing to do, but he had already decided to take a long lunch so it hopefully wouldn't matter much. In fact, he might not even return to the ministry at all!)

He had a being division to deal with the goblins, after all, so that he wouldn't have to. Oh, Griffon didn't hate them or anything, but thought their complains were a tad ridiculous. Why start asking for things back you haven't had in possession in oh- probably centuries? It made no sense. If the goblins wanted treasure, they should just make new and better treasures. Or something along those lines. (Though that might not have been entirely legal, he wasn't very sure- goblin related laws weren't his strong point in the field of creatures.)

"Can you turn the wireless up?" Griffon asked when he heard the station switch over to cover a the up and coming quidditch stars. Quidditch was something he could get behind, and it went well with beer and cheap pub food.

"Does that mean you aren't interested in pleasant conversation?"

Even in a crowded pub, the enormous figure and booming voice of Griffon Manley were unmistakable.  The wizard had always seemed far more suited to the wilds of Tibet than the political pace of London, and Raizel had half expected him to end his days under a snow drift somewhere, either done in by an unexpected avalanche or mauled by one of his beloved yetis.  Seeing him here amid the bustle of civilization was almost disconcerting, as if someone had seen fit to pluck a wild monster off of Sagarmatha and dropped it without regard into the heart of the Leaky Cauldron.  But everyone, it seemed, was coming to London these days.  Why should the wild yeti researcher of Tibet be any different?

Even if it had been years since she'd seen him, Raizel was hardly one to stand on convention. She flashed Griffon a brilliant smile as she placed a hand on the chair next to him.  Without waiting for an invitation, she had pulled it out and lowered herself to sit, tossing her hair back over her shoulder as she shot a look in the direction of the offending wireless.

"I never understood Quidditch," she admitted, before turning her attention fully back on the older man.  She favored him with a warm smile.  "It has been quite some time, Griffon.  I didn't know that you were back in London."  Her smile was verging on a smirk now, her eyes dancing as she regarded him, affecting a hurt tone.  "Are you so busy with life at the Ministry that you don't even have time to keep in touch with old friends?"

Good Golly Godric! Had they no shame? No decency for the human spirit, or was  bureaucracy going to be the end of everything joyous? Sissel thought he had developed an immunity to paperwork given the many time travel permits he had processed and rejected (mostly rejected) during his years at TTI. But this was not the simple reformatting of the hours of the day with occasional obstacle of crossing a time-zone. This was BUDGET! with a capital B that stood for...well, something.

And the amount of it! Weren't they supposed to have some kind of anonymity, the most secret of investigative services hidden away in the already secretive Department of Mysteries? The "funds no one is supposed to notice don't go anywhere" had been discovered and budget amendments were pouring in. What was this nonsense: Recursive debits suggested to compound for every retread of time before payment credits are allocated. Even Sissel, who could tell you how him and Cillian and the Cowled Figure could ambush each other without realizing it, couldn't wrap his head around this one. Was this the CF's doing? Seemed a stretch for his abilities if he could barely blow up half of a menagerie properly.

Plus an insurance claim for "Lost: one (1) Muhra Glass." It wasn't lost, that grubby little thief banished it to Merlin knows where! Ok, that was a definition of lost. But why was that coming back to haunt TTI? Shouldn't the hit-wizards and MLE get slapped with that claim, as Sissel let Ackerzonne haul in Briggs to the brig? Just because it was TTI that foresaw the Muhra Glass theft, they had to answer as to why it was gone?

This was not going to be a simple desk pushing assignment with rotten cafeteria food up from the Atrium. Sissel needed atmosphere, background noise, something to eat. He wasn't worried about taking these documents out into the public realm, the legalese was so thick nobody that caught a glance would be able to figure out what the heck he was supposed to be working on. That reminded him, Trishna had faced a similar mound of paperwork just for some home enchantments (or so he claimed) and he worked on that in the Leaky Cauldron no problems.

Sissel secured himself work and eating space. "Butterbeer, meat pie and leave the bottle of hot sauce," he ordered, tossing up the requisite number of coins. This was going to be a five alarm type problem, Sissel always managed to think better with spiciness engaging his mind.

Grumbling, he set to opening the massive file, but the top page disgusted his eyes so he had to look away at something else. That happened to be noticing Griffon Manley was nearby, talking to a well tanned blonde woman. He couldn't place the dialect but it suggested something familiar...pencil tapping a staccato, he got it--his school buddy Terrence Dawlish, arithmancer for Gringotts, mentioned processing expense reports for a Raizel Cohen, a hurricane force Cursebreaker recently transfered back to the UK that he "admittedly had a crush on" but then Terrence fell for any woman he thought smiled at him when passing in the hall. He should send Terrence a plea for help if he couldn't get this figured out.

Increased volume of a Quidditch match made Sissel wish he didn't have this paperwork and could call it a day to go fly his school quidditch broom. He'd been putting that off forever, it gathered dust in the closet. There was some kind of humor in that statement.

Food arrived and hot sauce liberally added. When he noticed a break in their conversation, Sissel asked Manley conversationally "Business lunch, Griffon? Administration hasn't got you down for listing expenditures on every quill, parchment, and inkwell yet?"

Griffon beamed broadly at Raizel when she sat down next to him, asking if he was too busy with life to keep in touch with old friends. "I didn't know you were in London either," he told her. "Assumed you were still out having adventures in the wild. Hunting yetis and nundu- things like that." He took a sip of his beer, giving her a good once over.

"But busy sounds a better excuse. Alway something going on, you know. First the werewolves and now the goblins," Griffon made a face of disgust, then looked around to make sure there were none in the bar. "They're dead set to drive me to an early grave." An exaggeration to be sure, but he was old and they were very annoying.

Griffon looked to Sissel when he asked if it was a business lunch. Their last interaction had not gone so well, but Griffon wasn't the sort to hold that against someone... He could be gruff sometimes, and his personality was definitely rough around the edges.

"Expenditures?" Griffon asked. "Haven't a clue what you're on about. I'm not so bad off I have to write off my lunch to a ministry expense. I can afford to feed myself just fine, Jowd." Really- who went to lunch and tried to make the ministry pay for it?

"Not a business lunch," he added. "Lunch of leisure." Griffon motioned to his beer, as though it was proof. "Can't be drinking on the job, after all. Probably going to take the evening off for business," he stated. Which meant take the evening for himself and claim there was some pressing business which he had to attend to. Being in charge of an entire level of the ministry had its perks- and that was one of them.

Griffon then looked to Raizel. "Have you met Sissel Jowd?" he asked. "He works for the time travel bureau. Jowd, this is Raizel Cohen... a long time friend and associate of mine."

Of course she rather have been still out having adventures.  Raizel gave a shrug, still smiling, as she let the comment roll off her back.  The circumstances causing her current visit to London were not anything that she wanted to discuss, not with an old friend or anyone.  But she was surviving.  With any luck, Charisma Aldridge would either soon decide that she had served her penance and end the punishment, or the old Welsh dragon would grow so sick of her that she'd send her off.  Raizel was still not sure which option she was actively campaigning for; she switched between the two on a daily basis.

The mention of goblins, though, was enough to make her pause.  Raizel frowned, brow knitting as she gave Griffon a long look.  Cautiously, her eyes flickered across the room.  The Leaky Cauldron was in the Muggle part of London, but it wasn't so Muggle that the awful creatures couldn't sometimes venture here.  And of course they had eyes and ears everywhere -- Raizel had no doubt that the hairy hearts of witches like Charisma Aldridge were so shriveled and twisted, so long had they spent in service to the goblins, that they may as well be goblins themselves.

The interruption came without warning.  Raizel blinked, an irritated frown crossing her face as she glanced in the direction of the new voice.  Did everyone in London insert themselves into conversations without asking?  But at least it seemed as if Griffon knew this man, as garish as his fashion sense might be, judging by the brightly striped trainers on his feet.

Raizel sat silently, impatiently waiting for the former yeti researcher to either introduce her or return his attention to their conversation.  She didn't care who was paying for their lunch, or who was responsible for listing expenditures.  She didn't need to know about Griffon's plans for business meetings.  She was about to nod along to signify that no, while she didn't know who Sissel Jowd was, she was willing to acknowledge his presence for the moment, and then attempt to steer the conversation back on track, when the implication of what Griffon had given as the other man's job description suddenly struck her.

"Time travel bureau?"  Raizel's eyebrows had shot up.  She glanced to the short, brown-haired man a second time, sweeping her eyes discreetly over him a second time.  Short.  Young.  It was hard to place his age, but she would put him somewhere around thirty if she had to guess.  Friendly.  And he had something to do with time travel.

She flashed the wizard a friendly, warm smile, any chill that had formerly been present in her body language gone in an instant.  "You work for the Ministry as well, Mr Jowd?  Please," she said generously, gesturing to the nearest empty chair.  "Sit and join us.  I would hate for any of dear Griffon's coworkers to have to eat alone."

There was a moment of mouth stretching. Not a yawn, but of a mouth laxed of all muscle rigor from shock and surprise. Did he just...and then Sissel remembered that this was Griffon Manley, and besides being Griffon Manley he was the head of an entire department and everyone at deapartment head and higher had an understanding of what went on through the various branches of the ministry, even some Department of Mysteries stuff. And Sissel couldn't really call flack on Griffon for expressing his own thoughts. But if he had just mentioned it to one of his staff, aka someone who did work at the ministry...

"Merlin's saggy pants, Griffon! Announce it to the whole world." Sissel looked about to see if anyone else had noticed or was too engrossed in their own conversations.

"Time travel bureau? You work for the Ministry as well, Mr Jowd? Please, sit and join us. I would hate for any of dear Griffon's coworkers to have to eat alone."

Well, nothing doing for the secret being let out now. You can't randomly obliviate people. Sissel piled plates on top of his paperwork and moved the stack over to the offered seat. "Well, coworker's a very broad sense of the term. But yes, both ministry blokes, same employer. As for my work, well, it used to be fun before this happened." The aforementioned pile of paperwork.

Recalling the odd phrase heard of their conversation, Sissel said, "Though I wouldn't mind arguing with a goblin right now, although I'm sure Miss Cohen here will say that it isn't all that profitable. At least I only deal with them at the bank. It's not as if..." That thought was derailed. No. No, the couldn't have, could they? But as the economic center of the magical UK, maybe it was...

"Most of this stuff is expenses, budget, needing to cough up where the gold is going. You don't think," a glance between the two of them, "Our friends at Gringotts could have..."