Though his business at the Daily Prophet had taken him far longer than expected, Iago still had a few hours before he absolutely had to return to Italy. And if he was in London, there was one place he definitely could not leave without stopping, especially since he was quite certain that the proprietress would flay him alive and use his blood in her next brew for the audacity of not paying her a visit while he was in town. It had been years since the two of them had seen each other, the last time being at his wife’s funeral. She’d held little Perdita for him while he placed the last of the roses on the casket, his hands trembling. And they were again, now, with anger rather than greif, the conversation with the Journalist having brought back pained and unpleasant memories. He supposed that was the other reason he found himself in the office of Delany Mullen, after having sweet talked his way past her ditzy little waitress. Another time, Iago might have lured the woman into a broom closet for a bit of fun before sending her off to fetch her boss, but Iago was a different man now… though not all that different, as he leaned out the office door, enjoying the view of the waitress’s rear for just a moment before closing the door behind him.
And if Darling Dela was going to make him wait, well Iago figured it wouldn’t hurt to try out some of her latest works… he eyed the door that led from her impeccably kept office to the back room, knowing exactly what she kept back there. Running a hand through his shock of brown hair, Iago’s willpower held out for all of thirty seconds, though in fairness he wasn’t trying very hard. The door opened soundlessly and he confidently walked in, checking out what she had stored away as he snagged some of the tasting glasses off the shelf where she kept them. Little had changed back here since he’d been gone, where he used to sit and critique her brews. He poured himself a small glass of the first, smelling deep before sipping it, nodding appreciatively. There were two kegs off to the side, where she liked to put her personal stash, or her current works in progress. Those he would save for last of course, helping himself to some of the peanuts to cleanse his palate.
By the time he’d made his way to the last two, he could hear her voice out in the main room. One was a German style beer, and probably was the end of a run, so the other would be a new project if he wagered a guess. Grinning, he helped himself to a glass before pouring one for her as well, returning to her office and setting them down on the desk, leaning against it.
The last time she’d seen him, his hair had been down past his shoulders, and his clothing much more rigid then the relaxed comfortable man who stood before her. Italy had been good to him, his skin having a healthy glow about it, and the smile on his face speaking volumes more than his words did. Any worry he had about her recognising him went out the window as he held out his arms for her, glad to have her back in them, holding her tightly. He’d never say how much he’d missed her, but the tightness of his grip on her revealed as much. “And hello to you too, Miss Mullen. Is that any way to greet your lawyer?†he teased, pulling away and greeting her with a kiss on both cheeks, before holding her shoulders at arms length and smiling at her brightly, though his lips twisted into a bit of a frown at her question. “Not yet. But I was in London for business and couldn’t leave without seeing you.†he looked away for a moment, letting out a soft sigh and then back at her, his smile back. “But soon I hope. Though my uncle says even more has come out about my father’s activities… and they still haven’t caught the Arsonist. You could of course unchain yourself from your desk for a weekend, and visit Italy… you might find some inspiration there. And November on the Mediterranean is far more pleasant then dreary London.â€