:: frolickers.
Maybe it was just the amount of time she was used to spending outdoors that spoiled her, but there was always something about the days sitting still in the Ministry that made Marcella heinously claustrophobic. It never took long for her, despite her want to focus, to wind up fidgety. Twitching. Uncomfortable in her skin, as if her skin had shrunk a size or two, and no longer properly fit. She could only tolerate a handful of minutes ( though, to be fair, it felt like a handful of hours to her ) with the bridge of her nose pinched tightly between her thumb and forefinger, before she was getting to her feet, slinging her satchel over her shoulder and making a beeline for the door.
She didn’t have a destination in mind, not really. Though, come to think of it, Marcella didn’t usually. Regardless, it didn’t surprise her when the number she pushed in the elevator was for the floor featuring the Department of Magical Law Enforcement -- or, more specifically, the Child Welfare department. There was a buzzing in the pit of her stomach, as if she were no more than a hive poked at with a stick, and left harbouring some very angry residents inside. She felt wrong. Stifled.
Marcella moved quickly once the lift stopped, and she could stumble out. Already, her chest felt less cramped, less frozen, and her boot-clad feet moved quickly now that they knew where to go. Even with her muscles coiled as tightly as they were, she tried to breathe easier. But it wasn’t until she poked her head into an office door, and spotted a familiar mop of dark hair, that the tension stringing her up tightly really lessened some.
“Hey there, Boot,” she greeted, grinning sheepishly. She sounded sheepish even to her own ears.
