“What does that even mean?” Linda asked, head tilted towards Lily. “Are platypuses–platypi? that sounds better. Are platypi known to be particularly unprofessional?”

“I mean...just picture a platypus, and then picture it giving orders or wearing robes or something.”

Branson had a keen political mind when it came to crafting policies and helping bring about equality, but she was also borderline insane when it came to helping de-stress or bring the office together. She was, after all, the mastermind behind the worst office layout imaginable, not to mention the Elf Mead Disaster of ‘27.

We don’t like to talk about it.

“Godric, Linda, just because you don’t give a flying Hippogriff about politics doesn’t mean that nobody else does.” I paused, rethinking that sentence. “I don’t think that was grammatically correct, but whatever. I’m trying to be dismissive and clearly that’s not happening, especially as I keep talkin–”

“What are you, five?” Lily asked. We all paused to turn to her in surprise. She shrugged. “I think the snark in the air is rubbing off on me.”