Vaguely, Ariel was sure that there was a rule prohibiting smoking in one’s cubical but he professes internally that he did not see any anti/no-smoking signs on the way in that morning. He had, however, seen a Werewolf being struggled into the treatment centre for, well, treatment. The poor bloke looked like he’d been through hell. Ariel was feeling a little delicate but it was nothing a glass of Firewhisky and a cigarette couldn’t cure. It was a little on the early side for drinking though so he had to make do with a glass of orange juice he’d been given by some of the House Elves that were wandering around. He had never imagined the Ministry would need House Elves but apparently, according to Reg Heatherfield who had spent the better part of his youth trying to catch Ariel’s father, they worked in the cafeteria though no one was entirely sure where the cafeteria is. It was ironic really.
It was Reg who had lumped him with a case they’d all been interested in and some of the elder members of the Department, those who had been working since before the First Wizarding War, had noted that it was highly appropriate someone who shared blood with those who they were interested in, had the case. So Ariel had been dumped with twenty years or more in paper work along wish about a years’ worth that wasn’t actually based on his father but instead who they wanted to catch at the present moment in time - Ms. Naomi Greyback. It was as if Fenrir had been forgotten because he was old and Naomi snapped up because not only because she was vicious but because she had youth, agility and mental-instability on her side.
Ariel couldn’t think of anything better to do on a Monday morning; and of course, to top it all off, it was pissing down with rain outside. Hence the reason for the smoking. It calmed him. But also because he knew it irritated that pretty little brunette in the cubical directly left of his. To hear her huff and puff in frustration directed at him was music to the werewolf’s ears.
Leaning forward, Ariel took a last inhalation before stubbing out his cigarette in the ash tray he’d lined at the bottom with a little bit of water so they didn’t insist on staying smouldering when he was done. As much as he disliked the Ministry at times, he had no desire to burn the ruddy place down.
Pulling Naomi’s folders off of the desk and into his lap, Ariel kicked his feet up into the space the folders had occupied mere moments ago. He then leaned back into the chair and opened it up, red marker in hand, to circle or cross out any inconsistencies. He’d be thorough with this, then he’d decide whether there were secrets worth selling - and whether he actually had secrets worth selling. He needed to have a word with Barker, really, wherever that temperamental idiot was. As much as Ariel wanted to save his own neck, he didn’t exactly want Naomi killed. She was a royal pain in the ass but she was no threat to him or to their father’s pack. Until she was, he’d focus on that unfortunate incident with a Hippogriff and a load of gobby teenagers that knew less than they assumed they did. But as soon as she was a problem he’d do something. First though, he actually had to work out where she was. Not with Barker though, that was way too obvious.
Oh how I love Mondays, Ariel thought sourly.