"He's stirring up trouble again," a heavily accented voice groaned and set aside the piece of paper he had been reading. "That Dresden...still, it's nice that he weeded out the troublemakers in the FBI." Gabriel casually flicked his hand and burned the missive from the Council. Although he was several states away, Gabriel still helped monitor and maintain the midwest in addition to his own territory. Although the Wardens didn't want to admit it, they were stretched thin. Their numbers had been declining for centuries and they were overworked.<br/><br/>The man, seemingly in his early thirties, removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose in a world weary fashion. Although he didn't look it, Gabriel was already closing in on 90. Wizards had an unnaturally long life and the man stayed active on top of it, lending him a youthful appearance and vigor despite that. He had served as a warden for half a century in his life and, while he disagreed with much of what the Council did, the need to keep control of magic and protect the normies was important.<br/><br/>The door sprang open and Gabriel sat up with a start, returning the glasses to his nose so he could properly see. He took in the women's appearance with a well rehearsed glance. "Please, come in." He spoke, Irish accent still mildly present in his voice. His sarcasm was just barely noticable beneath the professional tone. Knocking is overrated in this day and age, after all.<br/><br/>The office itself was small, but comfortable. The bookshelves were tidy and well organized, a coffee table stood in the corner next to some comfortable chairs and held a hug of water and glasses along with candy for customer's children. Near the door stood a coat rack with his blue blazer hung on it as well as what appeared to be an archaic grey cloak. To one side of the desk, within easy reach, was a sword in a scabbard. The weapon itself was somewhat short and, anyone with a small knowledge of these things, would be able to identify the weapon as a Roman gladius. The weapon seemed out of place and in stark contrast with the more modern, professional appearance of the room.<br/><br/>He stood to greet the woman, then gestured to one of the chairs at the coffee table. "Please, take a seat." He preferred to confer with clients st the coffee table rather than staring across a desk at them. The more intimate setting felt better to him, rather than feeling as if he were lording over theme from behind his desk. Gabriel ran a hand through his short blond hair, a well practiced motion that he always did when stressed about work. "Now, may I ask your name and to what I owe the pleasure of your company?"