He gave up! If she refused to believe in greed, so be it! "But how do you think he found out about it? Surely he must have known somebody. Of course you know lots of people, but those people are all nice and good. I, however, know a much more diverse range of people. Let's just agree to disagree, yes?" How had he forgotten? Marcus had learned long ago not to use sarcasm around Frida. It always went about a mile over her head, and this was no exception, she actually thought his comment about the dump was serious. "Of course you are" He mumbled before turning to explain, "You see, I was using sarcasm, which means that I meant the exact opposite of what I said. So when I said that it was a fine establishment, I really meant that the place is a dump, see?"
Well, she had a point, he never had met the owner, but Frida didn't know that. Besides, he had done some research on the shack and it's owner, and there was reputation to go off of. "How do you know I haven't met him?" He retorted, quite unconvincing, oh well, maybe Frida wouldn't notice "I don't live at the ministry, I do things after work." At least it wasn't a complete lie, Marcus had his own apartment that he lived in, but he really didn't do much other than work, eat, sleep, and organize his house.
The large man bristled. Either this ministry lady was an imbecile or she just didn't have a clue. Or both. He had already told her a number of times (he couldn't remember how many but it was probably higher than she could count) that he didn't need their help. He had his own materials and tools that worked perfectly, and if it weren't for these two dumb ministry rats he'd have a whole lot of money. "Oho!" He began, eyes narrowed into slits, "The kitty has claws! But," he continued, noting her expression, you don't look like you enjoy usin' 'em much. Now, like I said before, I don't need no help lady!" The big man wished she would leave, talking to the woman was incredibly draining. There was a handbook? Well this was news to him, he hadn't known that before. The Big Man watched Frida with beady eyes as she stated exactly what her handbook said. So it took three investigations before they could close down the premises? Well, this certainly wasn't his first inspection, but the man didn't think it was his third either so he decided to count. "Hmm," He thought, trying to remember, "there was that time a year and a half ago, that was the first time, and then the second time nine months later, and now today . . ." Hey! This was the third time! The man's face turned a nasty shade of purpley-red as he bellowed, "YOU IDIOT WOMAN! THIS IS ME THIRD TIME BEING INSPECTED!" The corners of his mouth turned upwards into a hideous sneer. Ah, he had hit a nerve calling her annoying. He watched with satisfaction as she spluttered, trying to say that she wasn't irritating. "Oh yes you are, always sticking your nose where you don't belong. Now why don't you just leave your friend," he said, jerking his head to where Marcus was tied up, "and crawl back to your little broom cupboard where you can be annoying in peace."
"A HAMMER?!" He exclaimed, fighting against his bonds. At worst, Marcus had suspected being nailed by some homemade spell that had knocked him flat onto his back and he'd hit his head on the way down. The reality was much worse to him. No wonder it that hurt so much, a chunk of iron to the head could easily do more damage than a knock-out spell. What if his skull was cracked? What if he was bleeding? How much blood, if any, had he lost? Marcus returned to his senses. Although his head was throbbing, it didn't feel quite broken, that was good. It was possible that he was bleeding, but it was unlikely that it was enough to be life threatening, that was also good. Great, no serious injury that he could detect. Now he could focus on other things. The man was still hanging unconscious in the corner, Frida was crying, and he was being unt- what? Frida was crying? Uh-oh, what had happened?
"Frida, are you . . ." He began, but stopped himself. Of course she wasn't okay, what kind of stupid question was that? However, the man had no idea what to say to her, so he patiently waited until he was untied. Even though it only took a few minutes, it felt to Marcus as if it took centuries. "Thank you." He said once the task was finished, rubbing his wrists where the ropes had cut into them. Barely a moment after he was free from the chair, Frida collapsed, crying harder than ever into his lap. "Frida!" He exclaimed, appalled at her behaviour, "What the . . . What are you . . ." Marcus sputtered for a moment before finally taking in what she was saying: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry over and over again. "It's okay Frida," he started, hoping that he could cheer his co-worker up, "I'm not injured, you don't have to be sorry for anything. If anything, I owe you my apologies. I should have done better research and been more aware so I wouldn't have been assaulted. And," he added, "if it hadn't been for your amazing wand work, Merlin only knows what and where I'd be, probably dead in a cellar somewhere." Perhaps he was exaggerating quite a bit, but Frida probably didn't know that. Hopefully it would cheer her up, Marcus was rather uncomfortable with people crying, and the fact that it was Frida who was always in a bright and sunny mood made it even more awkward. "Now tell me what happened after I was hit."