If someone had told her about all of the paperwork involved in being auror when they sprouted out about the glory of the hunt and the greater good, Wicca Bridgewater probably would have reconsidered her career choices. A low sigh and a cocking of her neck pulled her from the pages that were before her. On nights like this, it was easy to believe that the Ministry required five forms filled out in triplicate and sealed with the Ministry's seal every time an auror managed to place one toe out of the office. Wicca was the sort of auror who managed to place off her paperwork until she absolutely needed to do it, and by that point she normally had a pile of it to be done.
Which was, of course while she was here this late. Purple socked feet wiggled against the top of her cluttered desk, and a roll of parchment was laying in her lap. Really, she was trying to focus, but sometimes focusing just seemed so hard and so far away. Her hands wrapped around the mug that contained her fifth or sixth cup of coffee, and in the space free between her fingers, the mug scrawled things in a hand that was more akin to a horror movie then anything else. 'I would step over your dead body for my coffee.' Sebastian Bridgewater had thought it was in very bad taste when she picked it up at the joke shop, but Wicca needed something to make the place where she spent most of her time feel like home.
If it wasn't for the space issue, Wicca probably would have moved into the Ministry. All of her time was spent here or out on missions for here, and the flat on Kingly Street never seemed more then a passing memory, or a dark box in which she managed to grab three or four hours of sleep every once in a great while. So, the standard hundred centimeters of the desk served as home. Somewhere below the paperwork were the three pieces of personality she allowed herself. On the upper corner of her desk, near the outside was a small cactus that was shifting into a sickly yellow. Her friends at school had always joked about her Black thumb in herbology, but someday she would eventually overcome that.
The second piece of home on the desk was a rather large chunk of raw Amethyst that was well worn from being rolled between her fingers. A nervous twitch, her father had called it, rather like sucking on her hair when she was a kid. He despaired of her ever not having nervous twitches, and the fact that she was imprinting the crystal had lead to the third piece of home on her desk. It was actually in a space that was relatively clear of clutter. Her father had found it in some sort of muggle shop and had given it to her. The consistency was a bit like...well, it was hard to describe, but it was called a stress ball and one was meant to squeeze it when things got a bit dicey. Wicca found that it worked, mostly because it amused her. It had been passed around the office more then a few times. Raven Rookwood across the way was rather fond of it, and Wicca had needed to nick it back from her more the once.
A loud humming followed before she picked up her wand and held it in one hand, sipping coffee with the other as she tried to get some of this damned paperwork done.