#aurorstart

The information scribbled on it was necessary for anyone to win, which did give him a bit of an advantage over whoever needed it. And what better way to start a party than with something to hold over everyone’s head? Smiling to himself he tucks the parchment back into his pocket as he heads for the far end of the cafeteria containing the burgers and beer. 

If there’s anything Riva truly despises, it’s bureaucracy. Paperwork and formalities don’t just bore her, she feels like they sap the life out of her. You’d think, since MACUSA insisted on giving her a full medical evaluation when she arrived & as a result knew about her particular... condition, that they’d spare her every minute they could. But no, instead she had just spent the whole morning... in meetings. She can handle them short-term of course, especially if they’re related to her cases, but she doesn’t do interviews. And although she’s only just met him, she can already tell that no one can handle more than a span of a few minutes talking to Ben Eames. 

So as she arrives, at last, at her desk for the first time it’s with an overdramatic sigh and an eyeroll that could clearly kill a weak enough man had she directed it at him. She just wanted... she didn’t know what she wanted. She wanted coffee... and a beer. (And she didn’t even like beer.) She wanted to dive headfirst into a case, but they’d told her to “take the rest of the day” to “get used to things”, whatever that was supposed to mean. So instead she occupies herself by mindlessly opening and closing drawers, snooping. (But does it count as snooping when it’s your own desk?) 

Riva notes that they generously supplied her with paper and pens, how nice. Somehow the sight of it makes her want to scream. Instead she closes the drawer, perhaps a little too solidly, and reaches for another. But when she pulls it, the middle desk drawer doesn’t open. Not even after she yanks, and then violently rattles it. And you see, this is why being bored is a dangerous thing for Riva. Because this setback instantly frustrates her enough that her eyes alight with some kind of spark and with no more warning than half a step backwards, she uses her wandless magic to rip it out of the desk with a huge bang.

She doesn’t actually realize she’s caused the whole room to go silent, busying herself with winding an ever-growing chain of paperclips around her pinky finger with another tendril of magic. Only once she has replaced all the supplies in the desk drawer, picked it up, and put it back on its tracks smoothly does she realize that someone is looking at her with a certain kind of look on their face. She puts on the most innocent face she can (one that has won her many free candies) and half-shrugs.

This time he was zeroed in on that of an all too familiar prize- that of the coveted deerstalker. It’d narrowly slipped his grasp during the last party, and he was damned if he would let it again. With the clue in hand he quickly read it before tucking it into his back pocket, before walking off to find another participant.  

To be honest, he’d completely forgotten about that night’s party until he apparated outside the central offices. He’d just gotten in from St. Louis, fresh off a case, and not exactly in the mood to socialize. Carefully stepping through the hall, he’d had every intention of passing the cafeteria entirely, and make a b-line for the office to get a last bit of paperwork done. With the crowd too preoccupied to notice a newcomer walking by, he’d nearly gotten away with it too, until the smoky smell of barbecue filtered through the open door and into his nostrils. His stomach, having been empty for the last six hours, immediately growled in response. 

He was certain he had a bag of pretzels in his desk, but that sounded far less appetizing than a fresh off the grill braut- and shit, he was sure they’d have some sauerkraut in there as well.... With a soft groan, he turns back towards the open cafeteria door, pausing just for a moment to make sure the detective game had been completed. Eyes quickly scanning the crowd, he spots the infamous deerstalker on the head of none other than Hades. “Huh, good for you, kid,” he mutters under his breath, impressed the other half of the Falconer-Quinn duo managed to sweep the rug out from anyone. 

Having been reassured he wouldn’t be hounded for a clue he didn’t have to begin with, Jim slips into the crowd, zigzagging his way towards the tables in the back lined with food. When he gets there, he quickly prepares a plate, only realizing until he’s filled it that he hadn’t found a stitch of silverware, “You don’t happen to know where the hell they’re keeping the forks, do ya? I don’t mind eatin’ a braut with my hands, but I think I’ll have a rougher go of it with the potato salad.” he says to the person next to him, not paying too much attention to who they were. 

But the competition was over, and Liv was more interested in his beer than anything else going on. He’d be damned if he pretended to care about gobstones, of all things. He barely moves when someone settles beside him, wanting to snap out a ‘what the hell do you want?’, but knowing that wasn’t really the thing you should direct at the people you have to work with. 

“Need something?” He settles on, instead, voice bored and as bland as usual.

This was much, much different from the event her first week with the squad. That had been a small gathering of just co-workers in town. She had been able to hide with Frank, get thrillingly drunk and then slip out early. This, she had the feeling, would be entirely different. To add to everything, Snow had personally taken her aside the other day and told her that she had better “dress like the gorgeous woman you fucking are” so as not to embarrass him. What did one even wear to a gala? Honestly. What she had landed on for attire likely fell short, but that was the least of her worries, really.

Finally, she came upon a server laden with flutes of something bubbly. Lifting a glass, she sniffed it surreptitiously. Giggle water. Well, she could do with a little glee, she supposed, and it was alcohol. She would just have to take care not to have too much. Spotting someone from the squad, Fawn sidled over and took a sip from her drink. “What are my odds of being able to sneak out early, do you think?”

Fancy dress-up type parties were not Cal’s cup of tea. 

Maybe it would have been easier if she’d just worn a suit -- she’d really thought about it, had one hung up in her closet just in case, had decided at the last minute against it because she’d bought the dress and everything. But it had only taken about three and a half minutes of the party to thoroughly regret the snap decision. 

Still, as used as she was to more comfortable and maneuverable clothes, it was a gala. It was the kind of thing you were supposed to go out of your way to look good for. As long as she could avoid Snow all night, she’d consider the entire thing a success -- the last thing she wanted was to give Snow another reason to question her ability, especially a reason as stupid as wearing a pretty dress.

     “You haven’t seen Snow around, have you?” she asked one of her fellow aurors in passing, one hand moving to their arm to stop them from walking by, creating a sort of shield for herself in case he happened to be nearby. 

He wasn’t very fond of spending more time than necessary in the offices, the lighting oppressive, the mood of the company even more so, constant reminders of all the sin and evil in the world in not just the cases being discussed, but the people themselves. When he was young, when Becker had made him play aurors as children, he had always imagined noble heroes, white knights with strict moral codes upholding the law, but that wasn’t the reality. Not that it was a surprise, considering what he’d seen of the world, what this world had done to Becker. So he held no amount of love for any of it, really, and it wasn’t a fact that he made an effort to hide; in his mind, it was all a necessary evil of doing what he felt was right. If he had to live among sin, so be it. 

But he had a case, so here he was, sitting at his desk, cigarette in bandaged palm, mulling over if there was any possible way to pass it along on someone else. He had complained about visiting home, but this wasn’t what he had in mind. Either way, Camden could feel the eyes on the back of his head, and even trivial conversation felt like a better option than staring at the file.

“You can say hello, if you want. I won’t bite.”