My name is Monroe. I'm an ex-Gryffindor, and still very much in love with Quidditch. I'm meant to tell you I'm a lycanthrope, but please don't let that colour how you view me. I run Little Paws, a cooking class for children, so if your little ones would like to come along, please do. I love Austen, baking and clothes.
Draco finally retrieves his voicemails, after spending an hour at his mobile carrier's outlet. He's still trying to maneuver this new phone, but takes a break to catch up on his messages.:
Love... it pains me that we've gone a few days without talking. My phone malfunctioned, and I lost two clients because of it. Please forgive me...and offer me an outing from my misery. I need to see you. Tonight. Wherever you are. I know you're busy, but get back to me when you can.
Monroe is covered in paint. His dress will never be the same. They had told him that they intended to make a splash; this was not what he expected. The red was symbolic of the spilled blood that would result of the Ministry's changes. But to Monroe, it might as well have been the real thing. He had left promptly, and returned for a bath, food, and time to relax. He missed the call when in the shower. His heart had all but stopped when he spied the flashing beacon of a message. He hastily dialed, and awaited an answer:
Monroe waits for a call back that never comes. It has been a Sunday though. Sundays were traditionally busy. It's with a smile still plastered on his lips that he leaves another message:
Good morning. I shall keep this brief. Today we are occupying the street outside the German ministry. It should, at least, get their attention. Merlin knows we need that. I won't keep you. I look forward to hearing from you. Goodbye.