Your Interrogation Techniques Are Lacking

[Braham Butterfield]

So there was a lot to be said for exploding pigeons, Braham decided. It had brought him to sit before a very attractive journalist with every intention of wasting his time and getting him to talk as long as possible without revealing anything of interest to the foreigner.

The incident that had lead him to this encounter was far more entertaining for the audience than it was for Braham at the time, since it had only served to ruin his day rather than amuse him. He knew that the chaos had started in the Brain Room of the Department of Mysteries where he worked, and that it had something to do with testing the encephala's reactions to external stimuli. Bray worked in the Ever-Locked Room which, contrary to its name, was not ever-locked as one might suppose since Unspeakables actually had to enter it to do their research. There was certainly a way to get in, but it definitely wasn't through that door. Either way, he had nothing to do with the Brain Room but was the first person to encounter the pigeons after they'd duplicated and started spilling into other rooms and outside the Department of Mysteries.

No one was completely surprised, since mysterious things happened in the Department on a daily basis, they were certain, but chaos had ensued after the onlookers had discovered that touching one of the conjured birds set of a chain reaction of detonations, resulting in the quarantining of the entirety of Level Nine. Quite the story, according to the local rag, but the incident had attracted mocking and criticism from foreign journalist, and Braham had been caught by one after he'd made a brief statement to the Daily Prophet and a nice picture of his face had gotten in as he held a struggling pigeon skeleton.

All this unpleasantness had made him disinclined to talk to someone he was sure was only there to induce some kind of accidental revelation from an Unspeakable, but Braham was bored, and the longer he sat in front of the handsome young reporter, the better he felt about his decision.
"Forget all that for a moment, love- let me buy you a coffee, and I'll tell you more about the Ministry," he was telling a Mister Ferdinand Oakley. Bray would tell him plenty about the Ministry, yet nothing at all about the pigeon debacle and less yet of the Department of Mysteries.​

 

[Ferdinand Oakley]

There was only so much Ferdinand could do with a few words and he had learned that the hard way. That freelance writing work is nothing less than pointless without an enticing story or something new to offer to readers, and since making such a realization he refused to settle for nothing less than perfect. Even if it meant forgery, slandering identities to get where he needed to be, creating gossip for nothing more than to cause shock and interest in people to read more of his writing. And that was exactly why he tapped his fingers impatiently on the table to keep them from shaking as he alternated between scribbling answers on parchment with ink and asking questions so he could find the answers. It was a repetitive task not made lighter or interesting by the answers nor the questions he asks nor even the subject of exploding pigeons. Especially when the person he's asking refuses to answer and further gets on his nerves in more ways than one and none of them in ways he cares to admit.

Long story short, exploding pigeons were boring. Not something the general public seemed to be interested in if it didn't involve the department of mysteries. Mystery was what captured the reader and the ex-Ravenclaw was sure the location rather than the situation would be the attraction to his article and quite frankly was the only reason he had taken the job of interviewing the person involved. A Mr Braham Butterfield. Someone who continued to get on Ferdinand's nerves with every word either of them spoke and by the time an alternate suggestion was made the twenty-one year old nearly let out a sigh of relief himself that the interview was over. The promise of coffee seemed like nothing more than a getaway at that point but a drink at a bar seemed like paradise so Ferdinand pulled his stationary from the table to his satchel and smiled at the other man as he simply stated. "I'd need vodka instead. I don't care about the ministry anymore."

It was a cop out. Ferdinand didn't care about his work on a regular day. Covering pigeon stories was not what he really wanted to do and when he was stuck covering said stories the idea of starting a gossip magazine with Sage seemed like all he needed in his life. The same went for alcohol which he certainly needed after the tabulations of the day. More so on that particular day when the traveling was exhausting Ferdinand as much as the unknown frustration he was feeling on top of the realization of the shitty hotel room he was about to return to all left the most sour of tastes in his mouth. "Where to?" He queried as he sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve as he stood up with his satchel slung over his broad shoulder. Ready to have the day over with so he could party for the remainder of the night because writing was indescribably boring in comparison.
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