The bell overhead tinkled as the tall witch entered the diner, incredibly overdressed for the venue in bespoke, floor length black robes. Eris looked in one direction and then the other before spotting Regan. She strode over to him and inclined her head, blonde waves briefly masking her face. The Auror had not yet decided if his invite to brunch was exactly that -- an invite -- or if it was a thinly veiled threat. She hadn’t seen him in months, unless you counted being in the same courtroom, on opposite sides.
“Regan,†she said simply in greeting, taking her seat as the older man saw to her chair. She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap, her back straight. “I found it,†she replied, glancing around the restaurant with a look of mild disdain. It was hardly their usual standard and she was not happy about it (if she ever was happy). She assumed the change in locale was down to her promotion; it wouldn’t look very good for the Head of the Auror Office to be seen dining with Regan Reddington or his ilk.
Had she not been so wary of him she might have at least pretended to be amused by his tale. “You haven’t dragged me here to discuss eggs, Regan,†she said curtly, unfond of small talk. She met his gaze. It was such an inconvenience that she couldn’t simply look inside his head for answers. A waitress approached and handed them each a menu; Eris held it as though it was going to bite her -- it was sticky and creased, with the corners crumpled. Her nose wrinkled as she scanned down the list; years of only dining out in finer establishments had led her to become something of a food snob, despite eating plainly within the sanctity of her own four walls.
She set the menu down, grasping it between thumb and forefinger, and picked up a napkin to wipe her hand -- paper, how twee. “Do you have news?†she asked, glancing back up at the man across from her. She was being intentionally vague -- let him decide whether she was asking about himself, the cause, or of Gaius.
