settling in okay? [OPEN]

[Amos Patroclus Diggory]

If Amos Diggory heard the words 'Settling in okay?' one more time he was going to stab himself in the eye with a quill. Despite the fact that his response was a smarmy smile in response along with a nod, Amos was not, in fact, settling in okay to his new job at the Ministry. In fact he was hating it. He had been initially quite wary when his father suggested getting a job in the Ministry. He had wanted to hold off after graduating from Hogwarts - enjoy a summer of doing nothing much in particular other than party and enjoy himself and play Quidditch, before starting his career as a star Keeper - first playing for his county team and eventually moving on to be star of the England Quidditch team. He had thought this was a rather realistic future plan.

But Mr. Diggory Snr didn't seem to agree, and perhaps to humour his son a little, used his limited influence to secure Amos an entry level position in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Whilst slightly impressed with the department at first, Amos was very reluctant. A life stuck in an office he was sure, was not for him. But with wanting to make up the money to move in with Nessa, and with.. everything else happening between them, and the possibility of becoming a dad frighteningly soon, Amos had a rare moment of sensibility and accepted the job offer. Not that he resented Nessa, quite the opposite. It was just that Amos felt suddenly out of his comfort zone. Working at a desk all day made him feel back at school, and he had never enjoyed the academic side of school very much. Although he knew the position was entry level, Amos still expected more glamour - at least a few celebrity Quidditch players strolling around. But no such luck.

Instead all he had done in his first week was what seemed like tons and tons of paperwork. He was beginning to think looking at so much paperwork was going to make him need specs, which was a horrifying prospect. His position was, unofficially, the assistant of an assistant of an assistant. And that was just as crap as it sounded. By the end of his days he usually began watching the higher-ups enviously. At least, if he had to be an office monkey, he wanted to be at the top of the office-monkeys, top of the department. He wanted to be the one handing out the smarmy 'Settling in okay?'s to the lackeys. But he doubted that was going to happen.. not this week anyway. Instead he was focusing on ticking and signing and sucking up and - thankfully - lunch! This had continued from Hogwarts in being his favourite part of the day. Today was no exception. In fact Thursday was cheeseburger and chips day. And Amos was taking a break from his monotonous paperwork and getting stuck in in the Ministry canteen - whilst trying not to get any ketchup on his Ministry of Magic robes. That probably wouldn't be making a very good first impression to his colleagues who he was currently watching 'casually' over his cheeseburger and a copy of the Quidditch magazine his Department published monthly.

[waldemar]

Waldemar had always been sponsored by his family, had never done a day's real work apart from homework and essays, and he had even hired people in his parents name to move his things to his new apartment over Morgan's Apothecary in Diagon Alley. The bad thing had been, of course, that by pulling that trick, his parents had found out he was moving at all (which he would rather not have told them) and they weren't particularly happy about it. That, in Waldemar's eyes, was bullshit. They ought to be happy he wasn't moving back to Finland like he had planned in the first place!
Either way, his parents had told him to get a job. Seeing as he wasn't planning to assist his brother in taking over the family business (because really.. a business in producing magical household items realllllly didn't interest him, really, reallyreally) and he was, apparently, so desperate for independence, his father wrote him a letter of recommendation and advised him to try the Ministry of Magic. So that was where Waldemar had gone. Very much not looking forward to it. At all. He was probably going to get a desk job, something boring, something confined within walls, oh- He just wanted to do something outside, something challenging.

That was when he'd seen the vacancy in the Daily Prophet (which was, really, a rubbish newspaper, but came in handy for things like this, and Waldemar did like reading something brainless from time to time, so he'd taken a subscription).

WANTED!
Dpt. Mag. Accdnts&Catastr. - Acc. Mag. Rev. Sqd.
Appr. Wit/Wiz, FT, M-F, refs reqd, no exp reqd, avail immed, apply ASAP.

It took him a while to translate the advert (Wanted - Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes - Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. Apprentice Witch or Wizard, full time, Monday through Friday, references required, no experience required, availedable immediately, apply as soon as possible), but it had been worth it. After all 'Accidental Magic Reversal Squad' sounded rather exciting, plus he had his father's reference.. and he was sure he could maybe get a teacher from Hogwarts to write him one and then he'd have a job fixing other people's messes. That didn't sound so bad? At least it would be interesting, or so he hoped.

If you'll excuse the skip in time, Waldemar had gotten the job. His graduation results had been great, as had his father's reference been - apparently, that was all there was needed. Waldemar suspected they weren't being very critical simply because there were more and more incidents of accidental magic or attacks on muggles these days and all the help they could get was welcome. All the same, he was happy..ish.
Thing was, he had yet to get out in the field. He'd worked at the department for four weeks now and so far, all he'd been doing was filing reports. Which was okayish. At least he could work at his own pace, there wasn't much pressure (mainly because Waldemar's 'own pace' was higher than most, so he never really got behind), plus they'd told him everyone started out like this. He'd just have to be a little patient, get familiar with the protocol, and then they'd put him on a proper case, they said.
True.. but it was still no challenge at all, and filing reports, Waldemar had soon learned that his co-workers in the field weren't much better or smarter than he was - he could read from the files! Sometimes they solved situations in a simply half-arsed way, which he knew he could to better. He had commented on that a few times, but they never believed him, and when he'd given his opinion, his ideas on how to solve a certain situation, they'd laugh and tell him that it wasn't just the thinking, it was acting under pressure, and that they'd see if he was really that good later - when he was allowed to come along.

This bugged him. It wasn't fair. He could do better than this. Most of all, it didn't motivate him one bit to try any harder, really. So he'd skipped the last file and gone to lunch early. There. Take that, stupid red tape!
Cheeseburger and chips - far from his favourite, but Waldemar was going to have to get used to it. A colleague of his, a witch who always wore earrings that were far too bright, laughed and nudged his side, saying something about that he could use some more flesh on his bones, that he should stick to a cheeseburger diet. Ew. What did she know?
Glancing around, plate in hand, he searched for a seat away from her, spotting an empty chair opposite some young bloke reading a magazine. That would do. Sitting down with a sigh (not bothering to ask if the seat was taken), he glanced at the young man opposite him. Seemed about his age. Maybe they'd graduated together, but Waldemar couldn't remember for the life of him. He'd never really bothered to remember faces. He'd been planning to go back to Finland, dammit - and here he was. Exhaling slowly, trying not to give in to the annoyance that arose when thinking of that, he pushed his chips around a little listlessly. He was going to have to eat it, he was going to have to get used to it, this Britishness, frying everything.

[Amos Patroclus Diggory]

Amos had never been very good at multitasking, and sure enough, the strain of eating lunch, avoiding ketchup spillage and 'subtly' watching his colleagues while pretending to read the magazine took its toll soon enough. It was the element of mystery that he liked to think he had that dropped, which, he supposed was fortunate - he was now watching the others in the canteen eating lunch with a rather candid listlessness, but at least he hadn't slopped ketchup and chips all over himself. (He'd always been absolutely crap at those household type spells for cleaning clothes and that malarkey - that was his mother's job. Or, perhaps just a 'parent' job, which Amos realised with a jolt of mixed emotion, would include him soon enough).

Now with glazed eyes he was watching a young trainee witch from the Magical Trading Standards body - which he referred to privately as the 'Most Boring Body' on a post-it in his desk drawer because there were really far too many to remember all at once with their official titles. Despite working in the Most Boring Body Amos mused as he swallowed a lukewarm mouthful of meat that the trainee witch herself actually had quite a nice body, from behind at least. She was wearing one of those pencil skirts that seemed to be fashionable with the women at the MOM at the moment (well.. he'd seen quite a lot of them lately, so they must be, as that was as far Amos' fashion knowledge stretched). But anyway, they always gave the wearer a very nice arse. He was sure Nessa had one similar to that, didn't she? Maybe? Maybe not? He'd have to ask her - she always knew about fashion and clothes and that.

Amos realised too late that this was the wrong avenue for his mildly-lecherous thoughts to amble down, really. Within moments of trying to imagine Nessa in trainee-witch's pencil skirt (with the vague notion of comparing imaginary arses) Amos' stomach lurched uncomfortably again with guilt. He really should not be doing that, even if it was totally innocent - Nessa's arse, naturally, won the imaginary battle - it didn't seem right, which was probably to do with the fact that lately he found it difficult to think about Nessa his girlfriend without thinking about Nessa-carrying-his-child. With difficulty Amos swallowed his mouthful of cold chips, tuning back in just in time to turn his glazed-eyes with surprise at the new boy at the table. He had been too caught up in his own thoughts to even notice the other boy sit down, but, smoothing down the magazine he was 'reading' Amos noted that he wasn't that only one who had just lost his appetite.

After a polite, dazed nod in Waldemar's direction, Amos gave a small grim smirk at their matching cheeseburgers and chips. "Finest the Ministry can offer eh?" He snorted, his sarcasm not as subtle and hilarious as he'd like. It was true that the food at the Ministry was no Hogwarts (and certainly no Mrs. Diggory) at the best of times, but Amos wasn't usually that fussy. He'd eat anything if it stayed on his plate long enough, his mother used to quip - mind you even he had limits, and the Ministry of Magic's chips were honestly pretty crap. "I usually drown it with salt and ketchup myself" He admitted, thinking aloud on how he managed to flavour the chips in question. On the pretence of smiling at his own joke, Amos looked up long enough to cast a quick searching glance over Waldemar. He was crap, utter crap, at recognising and remembering people - he'd been awful at school, pleased that by the time he finished he'd been able to remember his Quidditch team, teachers' and Nessa's name - and at the Ministry it was worse. Hence the post-its for Departments, bodies, committees, peoples' names. But as far as Amos could remember this guy wasn't on the post-its just yet. And he seemed young enough that Amos could get away with not knowing him without potentially pissing off a superior.

With that in mind, Amos extended his non-chip-eating hand across the table with an open, polite smile. "Amos Diggory. Department of Magical Games and Sports" ...Actually, the job might have been boring so far but Merlin, he liked the way that introduction sounded. Wonder how it'd look on a business card..

[waldemar]

Waldemar knew he had to eat this. After all, he still hadn't quite mastered cooking, so his dinner would probably be sandwiches with maybe an omelet again - this was the closest to a warm meal he was going to get! Toying with his fork, he slowly chewed, pulling a bit of a face at the texture of the food - a tell tale sign it had been prepared too early, that the warming spell had been on too long. His colleague opposite him seemed to have not noticed him, but that wasn't so terrible. Waldemar wouldn't have known what to say, anyway. Not that he wasn't skilled at small talk, oh he was, it was one of those things that you needed to survive the afternoon parties his parents used to throw, but Waldemar didn't like small talk much. He liked conversation, proper conversation that didn't involve the weather or 'wasn't business booming' or 'my, how you've grown'.
Glancing at the young man opposite him, Waldemar cocked his head a little as he realised that he didn't seem to be reading his magazine at all. He was watching people. Well - Waldemar couldn't blame him; watching people could be amusing (if not a bit rude). Or maybe he was just as new as he was and he was practising names. You had to do something to keep yourself entertained during lunch after all, especially if you didn't have someone to talk to.

Ah, his table-mate seemed to notice him now. Waldemar half smile and nodded back at him, popping his fork with another piece of deep fried potatoe into his mouth and chewing reluctantly until it was mashed enough to be washed away by the drink he'd bought. When he'd swallowed his mouthful, he gave a quiet, mocking-agreeing laugh at Amos' comment. "Oh, yes - almost makes the job worth it," he said, sarcasm dripping from his words. "I'm so disappointed it's just lunch and not breakfast and dinner too." He rolled his eyes a little and smirked. Waldemar couldn't cook, it was true, but he was sure that with a bit of practise he could do a better job at chips and cheeseburgers than this.
The suggestion to drown his food in salt and ketchup made him pull a face, though. "Oh, well, yes-" Waldemar swallowed and shuddered. "As disgusting as it sounds.. I suppose it couldn't make it any worse." He smiled a little. Waldemar could swear he recognised the young man's voice. He might have heard it in class or in the hallways at some point. Then again, voices could sound alike - and what did it matter whether they'd shared a graduation or not? He was goodlooking, though - Waldemar would certainly not say no to that.
For a moment, the suddenly extended hand surprised him (pulled him out of his thoughts and perhaps his mind out of the gutter), but he soon found himself smiling back, putting down his fork and shaking Amos' hand. "Waldemar Järvinen," he responded with a slight nod. "I'm with the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad." Like Amos, he realised it sounded much more impressive saying it that actually doing it, go figure.
"So sports, eh?" he asked, well aware that he was making small talk, but not really caring at this point. "Well, you certainly look athletic enough." Had he just said that? Apparently he had. He smirked a little lopsidedly and quickly added, gesticulating at his plate: "You must not eat this crap often." Was that enough to make it not sound like flirting and rather like a joke - man to man joke? Honestly, Waldemar felt a little stupid. Then again.. if Amos was as perceptive as his colleagues at the Squad, he wouldn't have noticed.. right?