#marcus001

Late February Order Headquarters { @marcus-mck-innon }

Minerva’s head was beginning to throb, and it was making her annoyed. She had been sitting at this desk in the Order Headquarters for hours, pouring over these rotation schedules as Albus had asked her to, trying to find a way to make it work with the complicated schedules that everyone in the Order seemed to have. She felt a prick of annoyance that she was the one saddled with the administrative tasks that Albus detested. Wasn’t Head of the Transfiguration Department, Head of Gryffindor house, and Deputy Headmistress enough responsibility? Throw in all of the administrative work for the Order, and she felt overwhelmed and overworked.

There had to be a way to make this work so that they could get everyone on the schedule and fill all of the duties that they were trying to take care of. There were so many moving pieces, and she often worried that something would slip through the cracks. If it did, it would be the lives of every Order member in danger. At the thought, an exasperated sound left Minerva’s lips and she dropped her head onto the desk in frustration (not to mention exhaustion).

Hearing a sound from the other side of the room, her head shot up off the desk and her green eyes narrowed in on a figure she hadn’t noticed before, her heart jumping into her throat. Recognizing Marcus McKinnon, Minerva sighed in relief, though her expression was guarded. “Marcus. I didn’t hear you come in.”

Somewhere between the fifth and sixth piece of correspondence from the Danish wizarding officials, Cece’s patience broke. “How many times,” she hissed, before she could stop herself, “must I say that I do not translate Danish?” The poor intern holding the letter cowered away from her desk, going pale as parchment. Cece sighed. Now there’s this to clean up. She stood, taking a soothing tone of voice. “It’s Celia you’re looking for, dear. Not me. I hope you find her next time.”

With that, the little thing took off like a shot. Long, manicured fingers comb through short brown hair. After taking a moment to calm down– it won’t do to lose her composure in the office again, after all– Cece made a quick note on a scrap of parchment, 

Coffee. Back in 20. C.N.

left her office, and took a quick elevator ride to the office of one Marcus McKinnon. With a quick rap on his office door, she leaned against the doorframe, smiling.

“Hey. Do you need a coffee run as badly as I do?”