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Alias: Lacey
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Pierre Gardinier

Ministry Official

My Content
Jan 21 2018, 03:55 AM
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<center><div class="momth2e"><div class="momth2a"><div class="momth2b">So close I can taste it I see what's mine and</div><div class="momth2c">take it</div><div style="width:180px; height:1px; background-color:#fafafa; margin:5px 0px 0px 0px;"></div></div><div class="momth2d"><div class="momth2f">

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Pierre waited, rather bored, in the line at the coffee shop he tended to favor. It had an exquisite dark roast, and was not typically too crowded at the time of day he tended to stop in. Today, however, he’d had an early meeting out of the office, and so was stopping in the coffee shop at a different time of day. Apparently it was a bit more crowded, though there was still plenty of seating available to him once he’d ordered.
<p>While waiting, the French wizard replayed the events of the meeting in his mind. He’d been Minister of Magic for six months now, and it was more or less going as planned. There had been missteps in the early days, like what had happened at the Sauveterre Estate, but now things were going much more smoothly. France was still on high alert after the attacks last summer, and for the most part was trusting that their new, young Minister was doing everything possible to keep them from happening again.
<p>Of course, knowing the Death Eaters plans the way he did gave him quite a bit of edge in that regard. So long as things stayed in their favor, he wouldn’t need to arrange another attack with their leader, Raleigh.
<p>As his mind wandered, so did his eyes. His piercing blue gaze drifted over the other patrons, not really looking for anything particular but more as something to do. It settled on the girl behind him in line. There was something vaguely familiar about her; had he slept with her before? No, he didn’t think so, and she didn’t seem to immediately know who he was. Pierre usually left an impression.
<p>So maybe he didn’t know her, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t.
<p>He approached the counter as it became available and placed his coffee order. <font color=#961396>“And also, please add to my tab whatever the lady behind me orders,”</font> he added, turning slightly so that the lady in question could hear the instruction. He smiled charmingly at her, finished up his business with the person at the counter, and then turned to find a seat.
<p>As he passed the woman who’s drink he’d just bought, he smiled at her once more. <font color=#961396>“I’ll be sitting over there. If you wish to come by and chat as a proper thank you.”</font> Winking at her, Pierre left for the table he’d pointed at, content to wait for both his coffee and the results of his minor flirtation.

</div><div class="momth2g" style="margin-bottom:4px;"></div>@[levana_lunette]
</div></div></div><div class="apth2i"><a href=""><i class="fa fa-pencil"></i> marv</a></div></center>
Nov 19 2017, 02:58 PM
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<span class="FgmaL1">━ I</span> see what's mine and take it</div>

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The relationship between government and the press had always been a historically dicey one. In most cases it was a necessary sort of evil. Sometimes they helped you, sometimes they didn’t, and you took that chance every time you involved the press. Pierre had been in the Ministry for several years, and knew this lesson well. This was, of course, unless you controlled the press.
Pierre did not control the press, and had no illusions of such a thing. He might be the Minister of France now, but that power didn’t extend indefinitely. However, he did know the man who did. Aurelien Roux controlled the Daily Prophet, the most widely read newspaper in the wizarding world. And let’s just say that Gardiniers and Rouxes had very similar goals in mind, very similar loyalties.
Considering their families were such old friends and that the two of them had crossed paths in official ways many times over the length of Pierre’s political career, it wasn’t strange at all for Pierre to extend an invitation to Aurelien to have dinner with him when the older man happened to be in France. It was a chance for them to catch up and to talk business, both official and otherwise.
Pierre’s manor was in the heart of Paris, a large, classical stone building. He stood in his study, looking out at his private gardens when he heard the polite cough of his house elf as he entered, bringing his guest along behind him. <font color=#961396>“Ah Monsieur Roux, how good to see you again. That will be all, Rigby,”</font> he dismissed the house elf without a glance.
<font color=#961396>“Can I get you a drink?”</font> he asked, walking over to the liquor cabinet to refresh his own.

<div class="FgmaTAGS">Aurelien Roux</div>

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Nov 10 2017, 02:38 PM
Though Pierre didn’t work for the British Ministry of Magic, he was often there on business. Specifically at the Department of International Cooperation. It was his responsibility to represent France’s interests with the ICW and other Ministries as needed. The French bureaucrat left his meeting and headed down the hall to a temporary office set up for diplomats like him to use as needed.

His current work involved a large scale operation that involved multiple countries. Very hush hush, of course, except for those who were working on it. It involved a lot of travel back and forth to work out the arrangements, but when all was said and done the International Confederation of Wizards was going to be very proud of the results. As it would most affect Britain, he was most often here for the time being.

He set his document on his temporary desk, noticing he’d received some memos while in his meeting. He unfolded the paper airplanes to take a look at them. A request for a copy of the notes from a previous meeting, that was easily done. A note from lawyer wanting his signature on some contracts. That he could take care of later today. But most interesting was the note from reception. There was a reporter named Anika Francesca Rozman wanting to talk to someone with the ICW, would he be willing to speak to her?

Interesting. Pierre was curious about this reporter, and it would no doubt be more interesting than any of the work on his desk, so he jotted down a note to show the woman up. After a few minutes there was a knock on his door, with an intern showing in a redheaded woman. ”You must be Ms. Rozman,” Pierre said, standing and offering her his hand to shake. ”Please, come in and have a seat.”

Once they were both settled in, Pierre smiled across his desk at the young woman. ”So what brings you here, Ms. Rozman?
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