Paints & Peace-Making [open]

Simon’s last job of the day wasn’t actually strictly speaking part of his job.

He’d been called out to Wordsworth Prep, the new muggle-magical primary school and nursery in which he’d enrolled his daughters that year, to sort out a burst of accidental underage magic. This time, it wasn’t on the Ministry’s orders, but at the request of one of the teachers there. It wasn’t his first visit by far- in fact, over the last couple years Sim had managed to form rather solid friendships with many of the staff simply during the course of such appointments, which spoke very well for how often he’d had to drop by and fix yet another debacle.

Now, though, it seemed like it was always they that reached out to him rather than the other way around. Simon didn’t know whether the school had triggered the muggle-magic sensors so often it had finally been reclassified as a magical location, or if the staff had done something to somehow avoid tripping them. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Either way, it was Lizzy Woods who’d called him in for the fourth time that month, and Sim was fond enough of the younger woman to pop by when the mid-afternoon rush of work had slowed down.

School had already closed for the day, so there were no little eyes to watch as he worked his magic on the formerly bright blue painting-laden display board that was no longer a board but a huge blinking red light that flashed angrily as it spun in its spot, flickering occasionally between bulb and.a fluttering piece of coloured paper. The only explanation offered to him had been that one of the children was ‘finding difficulty sharing the spotlight with others’- this accompanied by a wry smirk, of course.

Sim perused the board-light carefully, moving around to observe all the angles. He spoke absently to Lizzy, hovering behind him curiously as he worked.

“It’s just lucky at that age their brains are like putty, or you might have had the Obliviation Squad down here too.”

That would have been difficult to keep under wraps, he thought. Not everyone was as easy to deal with as himself, particularly some of the Obliviators he worked with. Particularly where sparky young teachers were concerned. But Sim had the patience of a saint- not that he'd ever tell you that himself, of course.

“Goo,” she corrected simply. At the puzzled look he shot her over his shoulder, she grinned. “Thick and messy and a little bit gross.”

Simon’s eyebrows creased at the last part of the clarification, but he ultimately decided not to ask. He was sure whatever she meant the twins would display it soon enough. Then again, his kids seemed to be substantially better behaved than other children. Wordsworth Prep’s students, at least, were an impossibly boisterous bunch from what he’d gathered.

He concentrated on running through the reverse-transfiguration he knew, wand carefully trained on the flashing light. Meanwhile Lizzy hopped across to straighten one of the miniscule tables, braid bobbing over her shoulder as she shunted it back into place and perched on the bigger desk behind it, watching as the object’s shape began to shift between forms. After a beat, she piped up.

“Thanks, though. Your face beats Eric’s by a mile. I was thinking we should set up bi-monthly lunch dates so you don’t have to keep coming out here on these completely random, purely social whims. There’s a decent pizza place round the corner. Cor’s invited too, of course.”

Simon's lips quirked in amusement, attention unwavering.

“I’ll be sure to pass on the invitation. She can do with some company that isn’t the babies, although they are talking properly now. But it gets lonely. You know?”

“Oh, yeah. I personally only call you here to air my polysyllabic words out. Didn’t you know? You’re the first person I’ve spoken to all day that doesn’t use a sippy cup.” She paused. “Unless there’s a weird secret quirk I don’t know about yet.”

Sim laughed.

“Na, perfectly normal, me. But hey, cheers for the faith.”

The light was now simply a long slab of red plastic on the wall. Sim pressed his lips together as he considered the next step. Barely a second passed before a bright question cut through the silence yet again. But Sim wasn’t complaining. He’d never been one to take offence at distractions, and Lizzy had always been easy to talk to, even for one as reserved as himself. It helped that Corinne adored her- from their one very hurried meeting outside a Ministry fundraiser, and despite their practically opposite temperaments.

“So when are you bringing the girls, then?”

“In the New Year, most likely. Cor wants to spend as much time as possible with them before she goes back to school, so we’ve laid off all our babysitters.”

Lizzy hummed thoughtfully, picking at her braid with deft, faintly paint-stained fingers.

“She can always come here. We offer an exemplary curriculum, I have it on the good authority of a pack of wild four year olds. But the brochures will take the form of finger-paintings, I’m afraid. Actual words are next month. We’re consigned to eloquent splodging for now.”

Sim shook his head, the smile now firmly entrenched on his lips. He didn’t reply immediately, silently casting the last few spells to flatten the board and restore the papers that had been pinned to its expanse. A light tap confirmed the job complete.

“You know what, I think I'll take your word for it.” He stepped back, looking over his handiwork. The display was back to its original shape and blue colour- what was visible of it beneath the veritable mish-mash of shaky renditions of homes and animals and all things in-between. He gestured for Lizzy to check for any imperfections.

“And I also think this is just about done. Thanks for not fiddling with it yourself this time. I do appreciate being able to do the job I’m not being paid for.”

“Well, there’s only so much fun to be had testing if my smarts are running out just as quickly as my sanity.” She mock-grimaced, though the light tone and absence of any worried creases suggested to Sim that that wasn’t the case at all. Her careful perusal of the board with attentive dark eyes and pursed lips was followed by a firm nod a few seconds later. She turned to him, wearing a far too pleased expression.

“Yep, all good in the hood. Cheers for popping by. Be sure to give Cor and the twins my love. Tell them Miss Lizzy awaits them eagerly.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Oh, it is.”

If Sim didn’t know better, he’d say the mischievous smirk was a little too mischievous. If she’d been one to wink, he didn’t doubt she would have then. Lizzy always seemed a little too amused by other people's disconcertion.

After goodbyes were said and thanks were had, Simon found himself back at the Ministry to fill out some leftover paperwork for the last hour before he could take himself off home to his wife and kids. Work always made the time fly by, so he wasn't too bummed by the call of duties.

As he made his way across the atrium, his attention was grabbed by a loud noise. Some sort of scuffle was going on at the security desk, raised voices carrying over symptoms of a disagreement. And because Sim was Sim, he of course stepped in to diffuse tensions.

No, just kidding. Actually, he just frowned a little and tried to side-step the desk, but a sudden crush of what looked like Aurors returning from a mission pushed him off course right into the center of the site of conflict. The last place a man like Sim ever wanted to be.

He didn't yell or admonish the Aurors- no harm, no foul, right? Instead, a sheepish smile and a nod to the warring parties.

"Sorry about that. Bit tight for space in here today." He paused. But because Sim was Sim, he did actually attempt to diffuse tensions once the stepping in had been done for him.

"Everything alright?"

So, the thing about Smythe over in the Department of the Fluffy and Fanged was... he was an idiot. But he was also the best sort of the idiot. You know the kind? The kind that didn't know he was an idiot? The kind that was way too easily wound up? The kind that was antagonized by even the slightest of slights? Yeah, basically, he was a temptation and a half, and Caleb, studied as he was, was a man easily tempted.

It had happened once, by accident. A call was made about a rogue vampire, and he arrived and handled the situation before Smythe could get in there. Smythe had gone on and on about division of labor, and departmental priority, blahiddity blahiddity blah. So when it happened a second time, Caleb was amazed by how angry Smythe could still be. The third time, when a werewolf account crossed his desk, Caleb couldn't help it. Smythe had turned four shades of purple that day, if he recalled.

The icing on this cake was it was a case of a dragon egg smuggler. It had come to the Auror's office only because this smuggler had a darker record, but the situation itself definitely fell under the Magical Creatures Department. Still, he arrived. Handled everything before Smythe could even make it there. Brought the smuggler in. And it wasn't until he was leaving that night when he got his prize.

Smythe had actually tried to punch him! Right in front of security, no less. Caleb had ducked and immediately pulled on an expression of surprise and confusion, ducking Smythe's flailing attack as he condescending talked down "Smythe, my pal!" A twisted glee tickled him deep beneath this carefully controlled exterior, adrenaline begging for a punch to connect, for a reason for Caleb to hit back. His wand was out and it was with a dark thrill that he considered the satisfaction of killing Smythe right there, in front of everyone, the final last laugh.

But as childish as his humor might be, Caleb was much too clever to let an idiot like Smythe be his undoing. Simply wasn't worth it, so he circled away, trying not to grin.

A man stumbled into the cross path and Smythe let loose another flail of his fists which would have connected with the newcomer, but Caleb finally flicked his wand, and Smythe was pulled into the air by the ankle, his fists falling limply beneath him.

Caleb straightened up and wiped his hands, taking in the disrupter, whom he recognized on a second glance. "Simon! Evening, mate, sorry about that there. We're all fine. Just a minor disagreement."

"Not minor in my books."

Caleb knew the voice and slowly turned to see Claire Bishop standing behind him, looking unimpressed... as usual. She glanced at the hanging man and said, "I'll put you right back up there if you continue to be violent." A flick of her wand and Smythe was righted and set on the ground. He was fuming and his mouth opened furiously to defend himself, but it took less than a dart of Claire's eyes for him to clamp his mouth back.

Claire turned towards the third party. "Did you see what happened here?"

Caleb couldn't help but give Simon a lopsided you-saw-it-I'm-the-good-guy-here smile behind Claire's back.

[Rofl Smythe. Does god-modding an NPC count? ]

Caleb Flint reminded Simon of Eric. He meant that in the best possible way, of course. Or, as flattering a comparison as one to his boisterous Obliviation partner could be, polarised as opinions were of the man. Both wizards were startlingly confident, quick on the mark and very… well, combative was the word, he supposed. Always ready to strike back, or strike out. It might have been an Auror thing.

But Sim didn’t mind being surrounded by strong personalities on a day-to-day. There wasn’t much he did mind, really. So he still managed to get on with his colleagues regardless.

If truth were told, though, Sim wasn’t entirely sure about Smythe. Part of it might have been that he insisted on being called Smythe rather than a first name that to this day remained a mystery. Or, it might have been that in the erstwhile days of his internship, when Sim was a wee, quiet sprout whose Ministry badge gleamed a little more brightly, Smythe had been one of those who insisted on sending him on a coffee-run outside the Ministry every morning, and again after lunch. Duties that weren’t part of Sim's role to begin with. Which baffled him, really, because wasn’t Smythe in a completely different department?

Actually, he was sure he was. He passed him every morning now on the way to the Improper Use of Magic offices. But Sim just didn’t see the point in dwelling on the liberties Smythe may or may not have taken with the weak and downtrodden of the Ministry almost a decade ago. He was also pretty sure his brother-in-law had jinxed him into a permanent cold at one point, which evened the ground, slightly. For all intents and purposes, his earlier abuse of authority had pretty much been buried and forgotten.

Which was why, when Smythe’s fist almost collided with his face, Simon was more than a little confused. Caleb's reflexes saved his nose the painful impact, and Sim could do no more than frown slightly, though not directed at either of the men. He nodded, prepared to take Flint's word for it and resume his walk through the atrium, when a voice rang out that he couldn't conceivably escape from.

But it would all be fine now that Claire Bishop had joined the scene. The woman was nothing if not thorough. And capable of fair judgement, too, so Sim felt a little more secure that she was there to break up the fight that was a little more heated than he’d immediately realised.

“Evening Caleb, Ms Bishop. I didn’t, no. I’m afraid I was thrown into their path just now. Almost ran into Smythe’s fist so Flint strung him up. It was an accident on Smythe’s part.”

Caleb was grinning at him from behind Claire. Sim frowned.

“I think Smythe was aiming for Flint. I have no idea what was happening before that.”

He wanted to help- of course he did- but there wasn't really much he could offer, and embellishing the story didn't even cross his mind.

And sure, he might not actually like Smythe. But that didn’t mean he was going to behave out of spite. He was a Hufflepuff, after all. He shrugged apologetically at both Claire and Caleb.

“Sorry, security might be more help.”

((Pft go for it.))

Claire Bishop's eyes shifted between the three. Honestly, the whole kerfuffle was significantly beneath her station. Beyond circumstance, the only thing tying her to the situation was Caleb and her insistence that her team of Aurors set the standard for Ministry etiquette - a tough job for Aurors as it was. She had never really had a problem with Flint before. Sure, he had more... swagger... than she preferred. But his pureblood breeding kept him from stooping beneath his station.

She only knew the other man enough to know he had been disciplined for hot-headed behavior before, but she typically was not one to go with her first assumption. Regardless, time was ticking and people were watching.

She glanced up and down at Simon, her lips pursed as she tried to gauge his stake in the situation. She glanced towards the security wizard, who was looking absolutely flabbergasted. He wordlessly pointed to the mother and daughter still flinched away in surprise. "I was... paging their... the dad. I didn't..."

Claire's lips pursed ever so slightly, enough to silence the man without eliciting any harshness. "Well," she said, her voice calm. "Then maybe it's best we all act like adults and walk away, yes? I'm sure it's not going to happen again."

Her eyes lingered briefly on Caleb who gave her a slight nod. Smythe swallowed down his anger and turned on his heels, hurrying off. Claire lifted an eyebrow. "I don't like repeating myself, Flint."

Caleb gritted his teeth, hoping he had not fallen too far from his superior's graces. "I don't like making you repeat yourself."

She glanced towards Simon. "Thank you, Simon. Have a good evening."

And she was striding out.

Caleb let out a comic whistle and turned to Simon, clapping a hand to his shoulder. "Good chap. That Smythe has become incredibly territorial. Isn't letting me do my job. Very frustrating."

Subjected to Claire's scrutiny, a more easily anxious, insecure man might have faltered and displayed signs of guilt or uncertainty. But Simon had nothing to worry about, as he saw it, having done his best to help in a situation he’d quite literally accidentally walked into. He watched quietly as security stuttered- unsurprisingly- and was no help at all- as usual.

Claire’s solution to the problem, when she eventually offered it, suited him just fine- in fact it was ideal for someone like Sim, for whom conflict was entirely unappealing and easily forgotten.

He was impressed, however, that she managed to silence and get rid of Smythe so easily. It was a firmness Sim didn’t quite have, though he supposed he ought to try for it on occasion. But then, wouldn’t that just mean more conflicts such as this one? It was easier to just keep his head down and appease people for peace’s sake.

Caleb, it seemed, was attempting the same to stay in his superior’s good books. His annoyance was evident, though, and Sim couldn’t help feeling a little bad for the younger man bearing the brunt of that disapproval.

“No problem,” he nodded at Claire, not sure that he really had done much to deserve a thank you. He still had no idea what was going on, and he still had those files to get to before he could finally leave for the day.

But Caleb’s hand on his shoulder anchored him to the atrium for the time being. Sim had been treated to enough sudden expressions of camaraderie courtesy of his rowdy obliviation partner that he was used to it by now, simply offering the Auror a polite smile and ducking his head in another nod.

“Glad I could help, mate. I uh… know Smythe can be a bit difficult, sometimes.”

Somehow, he wasn’t sure Caleb was always so pleasant and easy to deal with, either. But though such suspicions about others crossed Sim’s mind on occasion, they never made it as far as his lips.

“Never seen him get violent before, though.”

(Or, at least, not explicitly.)