2nd May, 1894 — Ministry of Magic Lift

It still smarted somewhat to walk into the Ministry again after his own (unsuccessful) bid to be Minister, but of course Emerett could not let that derail the rest of his days – his causes were real, and eternally urgent, and not just put-upon for political opportunity. He cared for the fate of the country, whatever the country cared or did not care for him.

There were a range of departments and committees he lobbied, often enough – he preferred to follow up all owl correspondence with an in-person meeting, to be sure they were quite listening to his recommendations. Today, he was headed not for the Werewolf Capture Unit, the R&CMC, or the Research committee with a new paper, but for the Department of Magical Education. (His newest priority, Emerett had decided, was the Youth.)

He stepped into the lift with one other occupant, and had nodded genially at them, as one did. When the lift shuddered to an abrupt halt, suspended somewhere between floors with a flashing bulb that seemed to be warning of something, Emerett was disappointed but not surprised. (He assumed that this was just as likely a targeted attack as an inconvenience of the Ministry’s shoddy workmanship – and if so, naturally he took this detainment as credit of his own renown.)

Still, it was rather vexing to be late to an appointment – Emerett rapped on the lift doors with his cane, hoping the clanging sound might resonate on the metal and magically get this ridiculous cage moving again. “Does this happen to you often?” He inquired, of his comrade-in-thwarted-elevation.

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Fallon had one thing and one thing only on her mind as she stepped into the lift to head back to the aurors offices: sleep. The mission, while successful in its effort to stop the dark wizard targeting squibs, took far longer than expected, stretching through the night and into part of the morning before he was finally in custody. She had long since grown accustomed to missions going awry, but with her already broken sleep schedule she couldn't shake the exhaustion creeping up on her shoulders.

She barely returned the nod to the older gentlemen (one of the failed minister-would-be's, she realized after a blink in his direction), and instead chose to continue running through the paperwork she was to begin. It wouldn't take her long, a couple of lines about the fight had, an explanation for what error led to the fight (one of the trainees had mistakenly alerted the wizard to their presence) and she'd be home free.

Or so she thought.

Fallon's eyes narrowed at the lift and the man banging his cane on the metal. The last time she'd been trapped in a lift had been with Jesse, and that was years ago. This was already far less pleasurable. "Often enough to understand that banging on the door won't help our cause." Fallon snarked, for she was barely able to hide her displeasure on a good day, never mind when she was completely exhausted.

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“This place only gets worse with time,” Emerett muttered, the thought gone to the dogs in his head, though he held it back. He had supposed this woman a secretary, but neither her demeanour and tone seemed cordial enough for that. She seemed cantankerous, in the way Emerett remembered vividly of his time in the field – with the Auror office and the Werewolf Capture Unit – and of everyone being almost perpetually exhausted and exasperated. (She was unlikely to be in one of those departments, but.)

Emerett relented only to tap his cane against the inside of his boot instead, trying to curb his own impatience and mostly failing. He surveyed the woman in disinterest. “I suppose – as you work here – you have a better idea, then?”

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Fallon had been largely spared any elevator mishaps throughout the past few years, the last of them being when she and Jesse weren't speaking. She was, however, certain that that stroke of luck was largely due to a lack of opportunity and not the elevators being fixed to any degree. After all, it was impossible to become stuck in an elevator when she was often in the field for weeks, if not months, on end.

Still, Mr. Picardy was hardly someone she had any interest in soothing the fears of. Not with his vicious stances and overall negative attitude. Which meant, there was nothing stopping her from further antagonizing the man. "One of my coworkers, Mr. Sterling, was trapped in an elevator for several hours just last week." She said with a shrug. Ben hadn't been stuck any time recently as far as she knew, but she also knew he'd back up her lie without a second thought if asked. She picked a stray piece of lint off her robes and added with mock sincerity, "I hope you weren't on your way to any important meetings, Mr. Picardy."

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Emerett Picardy

  

“Indeed I rather was,” Emerett admitted, through gritted teeth: if she was sorry for it, on behalf of her workplace, as she ought to be, there was something saccharine and unpleasant in her tone. He narrowed his eyes. Perhaps she had been the mechanism to delay him, put into place to stall him on purpose.

He considered her anew, wondering if he could work out her loyalties. “Sterling?” he echoed with a frown, because he did remember that name – and he did not much like the dots he was connecting. “Of the Auror office?” He rapped his cane against the elevator floor this time, half to irritate her. “You work in the office too?”

(As a secretary, he hoped.)

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"Well, I shall hope they will be tolerant of your tardiness then." Fallon continued with her false sincerity. In truth, she would enjoy those involved in his meeting being as intolerant as he. Picardy deserved a taste of his own medicine for once.

She smirked at his confusion. He, with all his traditional stances and judgmental attitudes, wouldn't be able to stomach a female auror for more than two minutes. And there was no way of telling how long they were to be trapped for. Perhaps, she would be lucky and he'd try to strike her. Fallon hadn't ever fought in an elevator before (besides the single slap), the close quarters would be a good training exercise. "Sterling is often assigned as my partner on cases." Her pride was evident in the way her shoulders straightened and eyes sharpened.

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Oh, so the woman was an Auror. It explained a great deal about her – Emerett knew Aurors better than he did any other Ministry worker – and of course only made him like her less. “Of course. I should have guessed, Miss...?” he said, with something close to an eye-roll and altogether no actual interest in her name. Because she was abrasive, however much she was trying to hide it. She would have been fired as a secretary on her first day.

“The Department of Magical Education will still be standing tomorrow, I’m sure,” Emerett answered dryly; he was losing hope he would ever get there today. But he would write, and reschedule, and continue lobbying for his reforms later. “But when you are renowned enough as I, to have enemies seeking to impede you, you must learn to take these sorts of setbacks in stride.” She was an Auror; she should understand the threats dangerous radicals posed; she dealt with nefarious criminal plots. Some werewolf activist had probably heard he was in the building and had broken the elevator system on purpose.

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Fallon restrained herself from laughing only by envisioning a whole host of sad, miserable things. Later, when she regaled the tale to Kieran, Jude and the others she would laugh herself hoarse. Mr. Picardy might've been renown but it wasn't in any sort of favorable light. Once progress pushed past his strict morals he would be entirely forgotten, just as all those before him who failed to stop equality from forcing its way into their world.

"Is that what you call placing seventh in the race for minister? Renowned? I would have thought someone with the fame you claim to fare better amongst his peers." Fallon taunted, blowing straight past his request for her name.

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Oh, she was an impertinent creature, if ever he had met one. Her sort were doomed to find their home in the Ministry eventually, he supposed, because no man could stand to have them at home for any length of time. And they certainly ought not to be raising children, with their bitter ways.

“Perhaps you are unaware, but unlike our current Minister,” Emerett said, haughtily, “I did not need to win an election to find my fame.” She knew his name, but perhaps she struggled to read anything more academic than a case report? “I have founded my life upon research, in order to make the wizarding world safer by it.” Really, as an Auror, she ought to agree with his aims. “Indeed, the leading scholarship on werewolves is mine.” He raised an eyebrow, daring her to contradict him.

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Fallon had plenty of thoughts about their current minister, but seeing as she had been named to his vote reformation council wisely thought to keep them to herself. Progress would never happen if the progressives had their power to effect change stripped.

Instead, she latched onto his research. Negative, all of it. Fallon had yet to encounter an evil werewolf, though she didn't doubt they were out there. "It's a pity your scholarship wasn't focused on more practical uses, like mechanical engineering for instance. Perhaps then you wouldn't have missed your very important meeting."

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Emerett’s top lip curled; it took all he had not to bristle with indignation. Who did she think she was? This little debate was getting them nowhere, evidently – and there was something smug and defiant in her demeanour that he fancied he would find fault with, no matter the topic.

“Your name, madam?” he asked crisply, for she still had not given him it. (And he would certainly be filing a complaint about her conduct.) “And then I think our time would be spent more constructively in silence.” With any luck, it would not be too much longer to endure.

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A complaint made about her behavior wouldn't go far - not when Prewett owed his wife's life to her and Sterling. Still, Fallon didn't particularly want Mr. Picardy knowing her identity, didn't want him to have a solid target for his hatred. "Mrs. Lo-" She began answering in that same sickly sweet tone right as the elevator jolted and began to move once more.

Fallon didn't hesitate to leave through the now open doors despite it not being her floor. "I shall pray you don't get stuck again, Mr. Picardy," she then said as the doors closed once more.

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