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When not making use of the Floo Network, there are two alternate methods to enter the Ministry of Magic whether you are an employee or a visitor. Accessible by means of Muggle London, not far from Trafalgar Square, are the underground public toilets and the red telephone booth. All employees are required to make their way the underground public toilets, whereas any visitors are to step inside the telephone booth. It is suggested that using these methods be done post haste -- you never know when a Muggle might come around the corner.
Ministry employees needing to use the underground public toilets will find the entrance on Horse Guards Avenue. Fifty yards along the pavement are spiked black railings flanking two flights of steps. The closest flight of steps toward Whitehall Road is labelled 'LADIES,' whereas the one opposite is labelled 'GENTLEMEN.' Following a descent down into the grimy black-and-white tiled area, one need only insert a Ministry embossed coin into a slot on the door, step inside the cubicle, climb into the toilet, and flush themselves.
Any visitors will find the telephone box linked to the Ministry beside the Department for International Trade building on the corner of Great Scotland Yard and Scotland Place, just off of Whitehall Road. Once inside the booth, the received will need to be picked up and the numbers 6-2-4-4-2 will need to be dialed. A voice will sound from inside the booth, requesting that a name and reason for being there be stated. Once that is done, a badge will slide out of the metal chute and the booth will make its slow descent.
Puff by day, snake by night | Mj's bestie | Always UP to Something...
Quote:
Originally Posted by Bumblebee
Ami nodded and headed over to take a seat. She scanned the variety of delectables available to them in this fancy picnic. "This looks wonderful and tasty." This was all edible and safe right? Probably.
Amidala chuckled at his question. "Not at all, though I might send in a request to do so." She grinned. The red head would be up for the challenge, no questions asked. Ami took a bite of her food. "How's the food so far?" Food was tasting pretty good and the sun setting was adding more beauty to the already scenic location.
He couldn't help himself when he picked up a sandwich and took a bite, all that climbing and failing made a man hungry. "It's good" was he got out before he looked at her and smiled, "Sorry, where are my manners." No need to act like an animal and just eat without conversation or being polite. "Wonder who the company had made this or if the ministry food court people did." They could have had them easily do picnic foods he assumed.
He looked up to see the sun setting and moved a bit closer to her. The air was cooler up on top of the ministry, "Do you want my jacket?" He had worn one but slipped it off after the climbing had him hot. He wondered if it was to soon to put an arm around her as they watched the sunset, but kept it just behind her instead. This was turning out to be a nice date after all.
He couldn't help himself when he picked up a sandwich and took a bite, all that climbing and failing made a man hungry. "It's good" was he got out before he looked at her and smiled, "Sorry, where are my manners." No need to act like an animal and just eat without conversation or being polite. "Wonder who the company had made this or if the ministry food court people did." They could have had them easily do picnic foods he assumed.
He looked up to see the sun setting and moved a bit closer to her. The air was cooler up on top of the ministry, "Do you want my jacket?" He had worn one but slipped it off after the climbing had him hot. He wondered if it was to soon to put an arm around her as they watched the sunset, but kept it just behind her instead. This was turning out to be a nice date after all.
Amidala giggled, there was an element of radiating cuteness with young man and she was all for it. "Good point, I'll have to check that out. Though I'm not complaining it's all very nicely presented and tasty." Mhm! Amidala had slipped off her gloves long before taking her first bite and the chill of the evening made her already naturally cold hands even colder. There was no explanation as to why her hands, heck her entire body, was always cold regardless what season it was.
Sensing Victor inch closer to her she shyly folder the corner of her lips into a subtle smile. Her cheeks a darker shade of pink and the small blue veins in her hands were more vibrant with the cool breeze. "I wouldn't mind extra warmth." She nodded, accepting his request for the jacket. The sun was setting lower and the rays of its light were hitting her eyes just right, revealing the small rays of turquoise in her deep blue eyes calm like the sea.
She lightly leaned her head on his shoulder and admired the scene, taking bites of her food from time to time. She was having a great time, in fact the best time. Better than she thought this date would bring her. "You want to take a picture?" She pointed at the sun setting low.
Bathes in Maple Syrup | Dancing Lobster | Moy Pomidor | Seneca's Beard | That Is So Fetch!
Nikolaos had decided somewhere around the third form, second signature, and first person telling him he needed to take a document back to the department he'd just come from that the British Ministry of Magic was not particularly interested in efficiency.
The international documentation had been tedious enough. Necessary, apparently, but tedious. Then there had been the last-minute stop by Games & Sports to sort out yet more paperwork, which had somehow involved enough parchment to make him wonder whether the Ministry had a personal vendetta against trees. At this rate, they were going to decimate an entire forest just to document that he'd been there.
By the time Nikolaos stepped into the telephone box that would return him to Muggle London, his opinion of the place had been firmly established: not impressed.
He shifted as the booth began its ascent, watching the Ministry disappear below him. He'd dealt with enough magical bureaucracy back home to know that paperwork was unavoidable, but this place seemed to have elevated it to an art form. An especially dull art form.
Eventually, daylight filtered through the grimy glass and the telephone box settled back into place at street level. After what felt like hours spent underground, the insolation striking the surface was stifling.
"Thank you for visiting. The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day," a woman's voice sounded coolly.
Nikolaos paused with his hand already reaching for the door. His gaze shifted slowly toward the telephone receiver. Now you wish me a pleasant day?
"Yeah. You too," he muttered in Greek with all the sincerity of a man who had spent far too much of said day filling out forms. With a roll of his eyes, he pushed the door open and stepped forward.
The traffic and noise outside felt considerably more pleasant than his entire experience at the Ministry.
~ Mrs. Steve Harrington ~ Claimed by Bits ❤️ ~ Queen of Typos ❄ Magical Mosh Pit ❄
SPOILER!!: Niko! <3
Quote:
Originally Posted by Zoe
Nikolaos had decided somewhere around the third form, second signature, and first person telling him he needed to take a document back to the department he'd just come from that the British Ministry of Magic was not particularly interested in efficiency.
The international documentation had been tedious enough. Necessary, apparently, but tedious. Then there had been the last-minute stop by Games & Sports to sort out yet more paperwork, which had somehow involved enough parchment to make him wonder whether the Ministry had a personal vendetta against trees. At this rate, they were going to decimate an entire forest just to document that he'd been there.
By the time Nikolaos stepped into the telephone box that would return him to Muggle London, his opinion of the place had been firmly established: not impressed.
He shifted as the booth began its ascent, watching the Ministry disappear below him. He'd dealt with enough magical bureaucracy back home to know that paperwork was unavoidable, but this place seemed to have elevated it to an art form. An especially dull art form.
Eventually, daylight filtered through the grimy glass and the telephone box settled back into place at street level. After what felt like hours spent underground, the insolation striking the surface was stifling.
"Thank you for visiting. The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day," a woman's voice sounded coolly.
Nikolaos paused with his hand already reaching for the door. His gaze shifted slowly toward the telephone receiver. Now you wish me a pleasant day?
"Yeah. You too," he muttered in Greek with all the sincerity of a man who had spent far too much of said day filling out forms. With a roll of his eyes, he pushed the door open and stepped forward.
The traffic and noise outside felt considerably more pleasant than his entire experience at the Ministry.
Lysander had had a… tad better experience with the British Ministry so far? Sure, there was that one time where he had been called in for a query regarding his birth information, and so he had needed to produce the relevant documentation - yet again. That plus the additional bureaucratic procedures that required him to show up in person… well, one could say that Ly was now wondering how many more appearances he would be making before the Quidditch season actually got started. Still, he remained calm with just a hint of annoyance bubbling up.
With today’s business out of the way, he was already outside of the Ministry trying to figure out which direction he needed to go in order to reach the quaint café his sister wanted to meet up at. Um…
Yeah, he was going to end up getting lost someday. Because if he couldn’t find a café that was supposed to be five minutes away while getting some steps in… Sometimes, Apparition was not the answer to everything. Such was his awkward and possibly what could be considered a shameful dilemma, Ly failed to notice that he was loitering directly before the Ministry’s telephone box. Not until the door to it nearly conked him in the face.
“Woah! That’s my face!” He jumped back instinctively.
Bathes in Maple Syrup | Dancing Lobster | Moy Pomidor | Seneca's Beard | That Is So Fetch!
Nikolaos had made it precisely one step out of the telephone box before someone nearly became intimately acquainted with its door.
He stopped, one hand still wrapped around the handle, and looked at the man who had jumped backward. There was nothing but mild irritation on Nikolaos' face. He'd survived hours of British bureaucracy only to emerge into daylight and immediately have someone complain about where he was opening a door.
His gaze lingered, taking in the man's face, the dark hair, the way he stood. There was something familiar about him.
Nikolaos' eyebrows drew together slightly as he studied him, trying to place where he'd seen that face before. He was reasonably certain they hadn't met. But he'd seen the man somewhere... Quidditch, maybe?
That seemed likely. Nikolaos had spent enough of his life around the sport that faces tended to stick even when names didn't. Still, he couldn't immediately place him, and after the afternoon he'd just endured, Nikolaos wasn't particularly motivated to dig through his memory to figure it out.
Instead, his eyes dropped briefly to the patch of pavement directly in front of the telephone box before lifting to meet the man's eyes.
"Yes," he replied in English, his Greek accent considerably thicker around the single word. "Your face. I see." It was ridiculous how pretty it was.
There was a beat.
"Maybe watch where you stand, yes?"
Nikolaos released the door, leaving the man to do with that observation whatever he pleased. His expression remained mostly impassive, save for the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth as he pushed a stray curl back from his forehead.
~ Mrs. Steve Harrington ~ Claimed by Bits ❤️ ~ Queen of Typos ❄ Magical Mosh Pit ❄
SPOILER!!: Niko! <3
Quote:
Originally Posted by Zoe
Nikolaos had made it precisely one step out of the telephone box before someone nearly became intimately acquainted with its door.
He stopped, one hand still wrapped around the handle, and looked at the man who had jumped backward. There was nothing but mild irritation on Nikolaos' face. He'd survived hours of British bureaucracy only to emerge into daylight and immediately have someone complain about where he was opening a door.
His gaze lingered, taking in the man's face, the dark hair, the way he stood. There was something familiar about him.
Nikolaos' eyebrows drew together slightly as he studied him, trying to place where he'd seen that face before. He was reasonably certain they hadn't met. But he'd seen the man somewhere... Quidditch, maybe?
That seemed likely. Nikolaos had spent enough of his life around the sport that faces tended to stick even when names didn't. Still, he couldn't immediately place him, and after the afternoon he'd just endured, Nikolaos wasn't particularly motivated to dig through his memory to figure it out.
Instead, his eyes dropped briefly to the patch of pavement directly in front of the telephone box before lifting to meet the man's eyes.
"Yes," he replied in English, his Greek accent considerably thicker around the single word. "Your face. I see." It was ridiculous how pretty it was.
There was a beat.
"Maybe watch where you stand, yes?"
Nikolaos released the door, leaving the man to do with that observation whatever he pleased. His expression remained mostly impassive, save for the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth as he pushed a stray curl back from his forehead.
Well excuse him.
If Lysander hadn’t been so preoccupied with the dismal thought of being injured and possibly - though less likely - being unceremoniously turned into a vegetable due to major head trauma, he would have placed the young man before him. As it was, he was sort of, kind of taken aback by the scrutiny with which he was met.
Was it a judgemental lookover?
A condescending one?
Ly resisted the urge to roll his eyes because this Mr. Somebody certainly was tempting him into matching his energy. The accent distracted him though. It was one he would be able to place anywhere - despite being from Australia. His parents and most of his extended family were Greek. Then it clicked. This was Nikolaos Katsaros.
“Might wanna be a bit careful opening those doors, mate,” Lysander responded without thinking twice. It wasn’t meant to be rude but as was mentioned before… he wanted to match that energy. And brush that silly curl back onto Nikolaos’ forehead. Instead, he turned away. What had he been hot and bothered about before being interrupted?
Bathes in Maple Syrup | Dancing Lobster | Moy Pomidor | Seneca's Beard | That Is So Fetch!
Nikolaos' eyebrows lifted. Careful opening doors?
His eyes flicked toward the telephone box, then to the entirely unobstructed pavement surrounding it, and finally back to the man who had chosen the one place directly in front of its door to contemplate whatever existential crisis had apparently occupied him.
"Ahh, of course." Nikolaos nodded slowly, as though he'd just been offered some particularly valuable advice. The Greek's expression remained perfectly serious. "Next time, I knock first."
He should have left it at that. Already he'd spent far longer in the Ministry than he'd intended, and he had other things to do before heading back to Banchory for practice. More importantly, the man had turned away, which ordinarily would have been enough of an invitation for Nikolaos to continue on his own way. Except—
There was still something irritatingly familiar about that face, and then there was the accent. British? No. His brow furrowed as he listened back to the few words in his head. Australian, perhaps? He'd spent enough time around international Quidditch players to hear a fair assortment of accents, though identifying one from a single sentence wasn't exactly his greatest talent.
The combination of the accent and the face then stirred something in his memory. Not a name, exactly. More like the vague recollection of seeing that face somewhere before while one of his former teammates had made some sort of comment about the man attached to it.
What the comment had been, Nikolaos couldn't remember. Knowing the teammate, there was a reasonable chance it hadn't been especially useful.
"You know where to go?" he suddenly asked, the question delivered with an almost careless nonchalance. His gaze returned to the man, one eyebrow aslant. "Or you plan to stand in front of more doors?"
~ Mrs. Steve Harrington ~ Claimed by Bits ❤️ ~ Queen of Typos ❄ Magical Mosh Pit ❄
SPOILER!!: Niko! <3
Quote:
Originally Posted by Zoe
Nikolaos' eyebrows lifted. Careful opening doors?
His eyes flicked toward the telephone box, then to the entirely unobstructed pavement surrounding it, and finally back to the man who had chosen the one place directly in front of its door to contemplate whatever existential crisis had apparently occupied him.
"Ahh, of course." Nikolaos nodded slowly, as though he'd just been offered some particularly valuable advice. The Greek's expression remained perfectly serious. "Next time, I knock first."
He should have left it at that. Already he'd spent far longer in the Ministry than he'd intended, and he had other things to do before heading back to Banchory for practice. More importantly, the man had turned away, which ordinarily would have been enough of an invitation for Nikolaos to continue on his own way. Except—
There was still something irritatingly familiar about that face, and then there was the accent. British? No. His brow furrowed as he listened back to the few words in his head. Australian, perhaps? He'd spent enough time around international Quidditch players to hear a fair assortment of accents, though identifying one from a single sentence wasn't exactly his greatest talent.
The combination of the accent and the face then stirred something in his memory. Not a name, exactly. More like the vague recollection of seeing that face somewhere before while one of his former teammates had made some sort of comment about the man attached to it.
What the comment had been, Nikolaos couldn't remember. Knowing the teammate, there was a reasonable chance it hadn't been especially useful.
"You know where to go?" he suddenly asked, the question delivered with an almost careless nonchalance. His gaze returned to the man, one eyebrow aslant. "Or you plan to stand in front of more doors?"
Yes, careful opening doors -__-
Who wasn’t careful doing so sometimes, if not at all times?
Losing his self restraint at the words that followed, Ly rolled his eyes so hard one might be worried his eyes would be stuck staring at his brain. “You do that. Might save a lot of lives.” You careless man, you. What was it about him that infuriated Ly? Was it just the stupid calmness? The smartmouth? No, it surely had to be his mere presence.
But maybe now Nikolaos would be out of mind as he was out of sight. Lysander quickly refocused on his task of trying to figure out how to get to his meet-up with his sister. He tried remembering landmarks she had mentioned - landmarks that would make things easier to locate the place. He knew she mentioned a mall. Then a necropolis just outside of the city.
Unbeknownst to him, Nikolaos was still studying him. The question had Ly turning to glare at the other man. “I plan on sticking my face in front of more doors so that careless people can damage it.” His voice dripped with sarcasm but then some of this bravado evaporated as he thought of his sister who was probably waiting on him impatiently. She was a stickler for punctuality. “No. I’m new here, forgot my phone at home so there’s no way of using GPS and I have to meet someone for a date.” The latter was not a lie: it was a sibling date. “But I’ll figure it out.”
Bathes in Maple Syrup | Dancing Lobster | Moy Pomidor | Seneca's Beard | That Is So Fetch!
"Many lives, you say?" he repeated. There was a brief moment when he appeared to seriously consider the magnitude of the threat he'd apparently posed to the general public by opening a door. Then he nodded once. "Mmm. Maybe people like you should not stand in front of door. Save yourself. Easy."
His mouth twitched, but Nikolaos otherwise remained where he was. He really should have continued on his way. Lingering here trading remarks with a stranger wasn't getting him any closer to Banchory.
But the stranger was entertaining. Irritating, certainly, but entertaining.
He watched as the man turned his attention elsewhere, clearly attempting to dismiss him without actually saying as much. That might have worked if he was anyone but Nikolaos Katsaros.
At the sarcastic response, his expression flattened. "That is stupid." His gaze travelled deliberately over the face before him once more. He let the silence hang for just long enough to make the inspection obvious. "Your face look damaged enough. Like Beater use it for practice." It did not. That was perhaps the most irritating part.
Then came the actual explanation: new here, forgot his phone, date. Nikolaos' eyebrows rose ever so slightly at the last word, though otherwise his expression remained unchanged.
His eyes returned to the receiver inside the telephone booth and then looked back, pointing behind him with a shrug. "There is phone in there." The words were delivered with complete seriousness, as though he'd just solved an exceptionally difficult problem for the man, even though he was perfectly aware that the phone was useless for making calls.
Nikolaos stepped forward before a response could be given, closing what little space remained between them. Rather than moving around the man with any particular care, he passed close enough for his shoulder to brush against him. Deliberately? Perhaps.
Not bothering to turn around, he continued walking several steps before lifting one hand in a lazy farewell. "Good luck. Surely you figure it out."
Ministry Entrances 
x11 
x9
