Magical Hogwarts

 John was not used to being in the Ukraine, and especially as he did not speak Ukranian. Now, given, most of the people in the Ukraine he dealt with had either gone to Durmstrang or Koldovstoretz�and thus spoke Russian fluently, it seemed in poor taste to speak Russian to someone who had made a point in distancing herself from the Russian Quidditch League and pulled into an independent Ukranian league. John was typically not worried about quidditch ongoings�despite being a follower�since this was not necessarily his job. However, considering that the split had cost the Russian Ministry a lot of money, it ended up partially his job to pick up the pieces and attempt to create bonds with members of both ministires while jumping through hoops to avoid looking as though he picked one side or the other. That was a part of being a diplomat that John didn�t care as much for. He was a man of intrgirty�mostly�and didn�t like being fake and playing both sides. He was quite good at it, though, despite himself.

He had decided to meet with Liliya Wolanski herself, the spearhead of the split, in hopes of seeing how the British Ministry could capitalize on the split, mend bonds, and create lasting relationships. They had sent a few letters back and forth throughout the past few weeks, and he found her well-spoken and tied to her convictions. He liked that, and she had a spirit that he admired quite a bit, too. He always was a sucker for a vibrant woman, and Liliya was clearly that. He waited in a secluded corner of a well-known restaurant for his dinner �date� to arrive. He was certain she would be escorted to the table, and John did not want to be late. He had helped himself to a double-vodka martini, very dry, while he waited. He was more of a whiskey and scotch man, himself, but when in the Ukraine, he had determined vodka was often the beverage of choice.

He was sipping it slowly, letting it last, as his back sat against the wall, and he looked towards the entryway for the woman to appear. He knew she was a famous player�captain of her team�and this brought him some amusement. It was not often that John was able to meet a woman of her status as a part of a business dinner. He smiled a little as he glanced someone who appeared to be her being escorted to the table, and he put his drink down. He stood to greet her, extending a hand in greeting.

�Liliya Yureyivna, pleasure to finally meet you.� He offered with a smile, using accented Ukranian. He did not speak the language, but he practiced the phrase as an olive branch. �Unfortunately, that�s about the extent of my Ukranian, so if you wouldn�t mind pitying me in Russian,� He said, in less-accented Russian, �I would be grateful.�

He smiled at her a little more, and offered her a seat before sitting back down. �I�m sure you have plenty you�d like to tell me, and I�m very eager to hear it, but perhaps a drink first?�

<a href='index.php?showuser=813' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-37'>@Liliya Wolanski[/url]

It was Day 872 of the stalemate between the Ukrainian Independent Quidditch League and the Russian Ministry of Magic. And at last, she was having a face to face sit-down with an International Magical Cooperation diplomat. From the United Kingdom, but still, at least someone was taking notice.

John Lennox had reached out to her back at the very beginning of November via owl mail, calling her the "spearhead" of the split, which flattered her immensely even as she pointed out that she was simply the voice and face of the movement, not the sole instigator. Had she been the first to suggest departing from the Ministry's purview? Yes, absolutely, but that fact was still largely kept amongst the owners and captains of the five Ukrainian League teams. Over the next several weeks, however, they had continued to communicate, and Mr. Lennox had shown that he was not just an empty-headed panderer trying to gloss over the division for purely political reasons. He was a follower of professional Quidditch, primarily over in the BIL where he resided of course, but he knew enough about the nuances of both the sport and the inevitable locker-room polity to keep Liliya's interest. That in itself was an impressive feat, because as much of a serial dater as she was, she found herself incredibly unsatisfied with the intellectual handicaps of almost every male specimen she spent significant time with - sometimes even including her male teammates, although they had a special place in her heart.

In fact Mr. Lennox had been gracious enough to offer to come directly to Zhytomyr, rather than ask her to meet in Moscow or Rybinsk or Belgorod, or even Kharkiv. Liliya very much appreciated the gesture, considering that with her remaining friends in Russia she made the same gesture and offered to meet for brunches or dinners on "their" side of the border. However, she pointed out to John, Kyiv was not far from Zhytomyr at all and offered a bit more of a formal, diplomatic setting for their first vis-à-vis meeting. And so it was that Liliya found herself having her coat removed by a maître d' complimenting her dress, and being shown to the table where a very handsome man was sipping a martini and stood when she approached.

"Ліліє Юріївно, приємно нарешті познайомитися." Oh, bless him for being such a gentleman; he had learned the phrase in Ukrainian. His accent was cute, in that it was clear his pronunciation was coloured by his greater familiarity with Russian. Liliya chose not to be offended; it was the way of the world, and he was clearly angling for diplomacy points. And besides, not only was he easy on the eyes, but he truly was being a gentleman. So far.

"Я полностью понимаю, мистер Леннокс," she replied smoothly in Russian, offering her hand to him. "Если оставить в стороне наше небольшое восстание, русский по-прежнему де-факто дипломатический язык в этой части мира." And since she would not subject him to her still-limited English, she went on in Russian, "And drinks are the diplomatic language of the entire world. I would be happy to share one with you, if you are buying."

She carefully took her seat opposite John, and as the waiter stepped up to them, she told him in Ukrainian, "Будь ласка, принесіть нам 1970 року Масандру Кокур Десертний Сурож  як аперитив. Мій партнер по вечері дипломат, але не розмовляє українською, тому я замовлю для нас обох, коли ми будемо готові." The young man bobbed his head and went off to get the bottle, and for a moment Liliya idly wondered how John had presented himself for their reservation without speaking Ukrainian, or ordered his martini, before mentally shrugging and assuming at least in the latter case that he'd used a picture menu or found some other way to make himself understood. Certainly at least one employee here would speak Russian since it was a large city and a trade centre.

"I take it that you want me to call you 'John' and not 'Mr. Lennox,'" she teased with a sweet smile, "but since I don't know your patronymic I think you have me at a disadvantage. But I can forgive that, I think." She glanced at the dinner menu and then looked back at John's face, ready to order if he was but not so urgently hungry that it needed to be addressed yet. The rare white blend she'd ordered as their aperitif would whet their appetite for food, but right now she suspected they both had appetites for other topics of conversation. "Have you found your visit to Kyiv to be as beautiful as I hope?" she inquired.

John was feeling good about this so far. Liliya was more beautiful than he had imagined she would be, and just as diplomatic and graceful. He smiled at her warmly, glad she appreciated his attempt at Ukranian, despite its limits. He blushed a little, charmed, by her explanation of Russian as the de-facto language. It was true, for the most part. Up until recently, in this part of the world, the wizards went either to Koldovstoretz or Durmstrang—both which spoke Russian as their language. Now, Durmstrang spoke Swedish, but this was such a new change that most Durmstrang graduates still spoke Russian to some degree. However, he had been learning Swedish as of late to attempt to bridge the gap. That, and the Swedish ministry was growing more prominent and he needed to interact with them more in recent months than he ever had before.

He wondered what she had ordered for them, having not understood her Ukranian to the server, but he didn’t ask her and instead waited to be surprised. If she was ordering something specific, it was likely something she enjoyed or was well-renowned, and either way, he wasn’t bothered. “Of course, John, yes.” He agreed. “Do you mind if I call you Liliya?” He asked, just to be careful. In Russian greetings it was formal to address one with their first name and patronymic, which he had practiced, but of course a first-name-only basis was a little more casual, and John felt the need for permission.

“Ah, my father’s name is David, which is ironically also my middle name. Johnathan David.” He offered with a grin. “Of course, in English, my middle name could have been anything. Not everyone is named for their fathers.” She knew that, probably, but he found it funny that his middle name doubled as a patronymic. “So far, everything is lovely, though admittedly I have not gone far past the hotel and the portkey site.” He laughed. “Perhaps, if you’re not terribly bored of my company, we could take a walk after dinner. I heard there’s a shopping plaza within the mile with a very nice fountain and park area.” He offered. “I’m certain everything here is exceptionally beautiful.” He eyed her up a bit intensely, not going so far as to say it outright, but hinting that she was exceptionally beautiful.

“I’m afraid I couldn’t understand a word of what you said to the waiter.” He confessed, after a brief moment. “What will we be drinking tonight?” He asked, but the waiter came back very soon after he spoke to spoil the surprise. He poured Liliya a glass first to taste and be sure she approved of it, and John sat carefully, watching, and letting her run the show. When the approval was given, the waiter filled both of their glasses and left the white wine in a chiller by the table. John lifted his glass and took in the scent. “I can’t say I’ve ever tried this vintage, but if you chose it I’m certain that it’s worth tasting.” He raised his glass to hers. “Cheers.”

"Yes, certainly," Liliya was quick and kind to reassure John that she had only been teasing him. "Liliya is more than fine." John did her the service of providing his 'patronymic' after all, surely just a courtesy and a jest of his own -- and then went and ruined the whole thing by mansplaining English naming conventions to her. Well-versed in this unfortunate habit of the male specimen, she masterfully nodded in comprehension without overdoing her sarcasm, and let him move the conversation on without any further comment. That was only the first penalty flag, a mere minor infraction; he was still flying fairly well across the field and hadn't lost any points yet.

John's answer about Kyiv was disappointing but not surprising; she wasn't sure what kind of time frame he was on, although the fact that he was staying at a hotel was indicative of at least a one night stay in the area. She was, however, pleased at his offer of a walk after dinner -- she had cleared her schedule in case of such an eventuality -- and especially his mildly self-deprecating comment. He was anything but boring... although he went with the cliché of including her in an environmental compliment. Well, they can't all be winners, Liliya reflected, observing the impending arrival of their waiter with their rare white.

John himself made a comment about her order just a split second before the waiter reached their table, and Liliya smiled sweetly. "This blend is made from Ukrainian-grown grapes, so it is one of the most fitting welcomes that I can give you to our beautiful country," she explained. The waiter gave her just a small bit in her bocal to taste, and she was pleased even from just the subtle scents before the liquid even touched her tongue. She nodded to the waiter gratefully and received a larger pour, and while John was having his own glass filled she went on, "The winery specializes in sweet wines, made from early harvests in orchards in Crimea." She didn't say anything else, wanting John to form his own opinion, but she loved the earthy, oaky notes that accompanied the classical dried grape melody.

Having toasted to nothing in particular, she said, "Ми ще не дивилися меню, моя вина," to the waiter, who waved off her worries and said he would be back shortly. "Do you know what you would like to eat, John? I told him I would order for you when it came time. Then while the food is being prepared we can talk shop a little more." Herself, she was looking at a light salad and a brynza alfredo penne dish with duck breast.

John had not meant to be “mansplaining,” but honestly didn’t know what she knew about English naming conventions, and thought it was interesting that–despite not having a patronymic–his middle name was the same as his father’s. It had meant to be a fun fact, but he could tell she was less than pleased with him. He didn’t worry about it too much, though. He was having a good time here, and enjoying the company. He took a sip of the wine and smiled. It was a very nice wine, though he was more of a whiskey drinker, himself. Scotch was his preferred drink, but he could enjoy nuances of flavor in a decent wine regardless.

“I’m not as familiar with sweet wines, to be fair.” He admitted. “I tend to be a liquor drinker myself. I enjoy a nice Whiskey, Gin, the like. Still, it’s very nice. I taste some subtleties, which are unique. I enjoy it. Thanks for choosing it.” He glanced back at the menu when Liliya asked him what he’d like, and he considered a few things for a moment. He wanted something traditional, he thought, as trite as it might be to order it.

He considered for a moment, then decided on the Kotleta po-kyivsky, a Chicken Kyiv. He agreed a light salad would be nice with it, and told Liliya so. “Pardon if it’s trite.” He admitted. “I just want to try something more traditional while I’m here. I’ve had a variation of this before, but never the authentic thing.” He admitted.

He smiled and waited for her to do the ordering, and looked up at her. “So, you’ve been a busy woman, all but running the Ukrainian league. How has that been for you? Are you proud of your accomplishments so far?”

"Моя супутниця хоче стандартну котлету по-київськи, на гарнір — ваш легкий салат. У мене буде бринза альфредо пенне -- на м'ясо, качина грудка, середньої прожареності -- а я також з’їм легкий салат, будь ласка."

The waiter took their menus back with a polite, "Я піду введу їх для вас," and headed toward the kitchen, while she looked back at her dining companion. Though she hadn't answered John specifically on his choice of adjective, she did not mind the "triteness" of his order at all. Staple dishes of their culture were a wonderful thing to share, and Kyiv cutlets - Chicken Kyiv as it was called internationally - were among the classier staple dishes.

Leaving it to John to break the silence when he was ready, Liliya took another small drink of her Massandra Kokur. John chose to ask a few initial questions almost at the same time, however. "Mm," she made a humming noise briefly, both to indicate she would answer when her mouth was empty and to express her appreciation of the wine. "I don't run the Ukrainian League at all, John," she smiled sweetly, wondering if he was testing her or somehow misinformed. "I'll admit I've become the face of it, something I didn't ask for but don't necessarily object to. But it is the team owners who have maintained solidarity with one another and kept our little independent league going.

"That said," she went on, slipping into a semi-interview voice, "I am proud of that solidarity, and of that of the fans. However we've made very little progress with the Russian League or the Russian Ministry. They still operate under the impression that we 'belong' to them, and must simply take our lumps. I've no idea if they've stopped bribing referees, since I refuse to watch any of their games or read any news about them. Were you at the final incident, John?" she asked politely, holding her wine and ready for another sip. "The 424th World Cup, in 2002?" Although their primary complaints had been League-oriented, it was the further partiality of the Slavic referees toward the Russian team during the quarterfinal match of the World Cup that had cemented the secession plan in the owners and captains of the five Ukrainian teams.