beginners

"I’ll be happy to help you! I’ve actually been low on work lately — can you believe that?"

"Work's been a little slow for my team, too. But in my department that's actually a blessing, really."

"Yeah, time flies. Not ready for her to grow up." Maddie smiled uncomfortably, not really sure what else to say. Small talk evaded her often. He eyes widened, though, at the age the woman spouted out. "Six? Fucking hell. How do you do it? If Katie were six… well, let’s just say that I would never leave my flat."

"It gets easier." She felt a bit like Spiderman, at that moment. If Spiderman had maternal instincts instead of spidey-senses, that is. "I used to get so scared when he was little and at playgroup. I'd want to pick him up early, just because I missed him, but -- I got accustomed to it, I guess." Spidey-senses? She was probably still spending too much time with Andrew, if there was even such a thing. 

"Hebrew, English, Arabic, French, Italian, Greek, Gobbledygook, Ruins, Russian, Latin and German."

"Ruins? Perfect. I may need your assistance with something."

farewell-raggedy-man:

At the woman's query, Rosalind made a noncommittal noise and nodded, still somewhat distracted by the baby. "Three months? Blimey. They grow up so fast, don't they?" She sighed then, a noise that rang with slight sadness and reminisense, and was just a tad mournful. "My son -- Andrew -- he turned six a few weeks ago."

"No one mentioned chasing barmy old blokes into run down pubs just to find out that they’re just a little touched in the head when I was going through training. The place was so full of smoke that I could barely breathe, and I’m pretty sure my hair and clothes smell like stale fire whiskey."

"Oh, trust me, you do. I just assumed that you were drinking on the job, and just behaving generally unprofessionally, as per usual. Just another day at the office."

“I don’t even speak that language!” Thalia laughed as her co-worker poured another cup of tea for the two of them. 

"Hm. Well -- what do you speak, then?"

"Oh, but it is nice to see you, Ma'am. I do apologise for my momentary fawning, but, well, we have indeed missed you. I mean -- sorry. Right. I'll get to it."

"You sound like a bloody old woman. Loosen up a bit will you? It has nothing to do with fashion or teenage angst. The way I look doesn’t make a damn bit of difference in my work ethic or my results. But if it makes the stodgy old blokes actually notice that I exist, then I’ll keep it that way."

"And you sound like an immature, unprofessional, uncouth idiot. Yes, they'll notice you, but not for the right reasons. That's just the way it is. You wouldn't wear a bathing suit to a high-class restaurant, because that's not appropriate attire for that situation. As with this."

"There are plenty of aurors who don’t look or act like someone sucked all the life and personality of them, and some of them were quite famous. And if they are so concerned about my appearance that they can’t remember what I had to say then maybe they’re too old and stodgy."

"It's still unbefitting for the workplace, and wholly inappropriate. You can adorn yourself like a punk, like -- like teenage angst incarnate, like whatever you bloody like when you're on an actual mission, but it is unbecoming in a sombre setting like a courthouse."

an"Perhaps then members of the court ought to pay more attention to my abilities and character and less to what I’m wearing or what color my hair is. The last time I checked, blue wasn’t the color of irresponsibility and pink didn’t mean untrustworthy."

"Perhaps your physical appearance will still impress on the court's overall image of you, regardless of your so-called aptness. Perhaps they will firstly remember your unprofessional hair colour, and then your abilities and character. It wouldn't help anyone to take that risk."

"So what is it that single father do to get away from the whole single father thing.. you know, just for a night or something. I’m sick of my usual bar."

"The color of my hair has nothing to do with my success rate or how well I handle testimony before the court."

"Perhaps, but it's still unprofessional. Particularly in a court setting, where you need to present yourself as trustworthy and responsible. Not wild and fashionable, or whatever else you think the colour of your hair suggests." 

Roman shook his head at the woman, laughing as he held onto his daughter’s hands and his wand. There was a certain fire in Rose, and Roman couldn’t quite place where it was coming from. It was obvious that she was a fierce protector of her son, but she was more than that. There was this sort of spark coming from inside her. She was competitive, but that only brought it out more. Before the booth operator started the round he turned to Rosalind and winked, welcoming the challenge, “Bring it on Lewis.”

She giggled. She didn’t usually giggle; it was always more of a chuckle or a full-blown laugh. She didn’t usually do anything that was soppy and syrupy and frivolous, and it startled her to see herself like this. She didn’t like being unprepared for things. More to the point, she didn’t like the feeling that came with it. Quickly, before anything else could surprise her, Rosalind turned to watch the operator start the game. That was safe. That was unsurprising. Or, at least, she had expected it to be. When several minutes had passed and the game hadn’t yet started, Rosalind deftly schooled her expression into something more indistinct before she even had the chance to balk. “Is something wrong?”