With Trevor and his female companion gearing up to go underground to rescue Teague and the children, Delilah nerves had her on edge. Even though the woman had seemed competent, Delilah couldn't help but think so much could still go wrong. So much. Too much. She wanted to go with them, to send an army, but she'd made it clear they needed to scout first if at all possible and send for back-up if needed. (As though either would listen.) The fact she had felt the need to coach them as though they were children showed just how much confidence she had that nothing about this would go sideways. In fact, she was certain something would. Whether it was that someone was injured or killed in the rescue, Delilah had no clue. But something would happen. She could feel it in her bones. Both had some sort of vested interest in this. She knew what Trevor's was, but she hadn't completely put her finger on the woman's interest. It wasn't Trevor or his well being entirely. No, that was only obvious loyalty and being a good little dog and saying what was needed. No, there had been a hint of something else. A hint, and Delilah had listened to social graces and hadn't pushed despite the fact she now felt she should have.
Blowing her hair from her face as she sighed, Delilah set her quill down. She hadn't been writing, but the feather had been something to fuss at. It now had some parts where the soft fluff of the feather no longer was present, and other places were in varying states of distress. What was once a fairly pretty quill was now anything but, and Delilah set it aside. Fixing that was out of her hands as much as how things went for Teague, the girls, and their rescuers. She had to focus her anxieties elsewhere or else she would quite simply go mad, fall off her rocker. Take your phrase of choice. And the only place she could find to do so would be the other side of the coin she knew had influenced her future: the muggles. She could see now why they had allegedly attacked. If the government of this day and age had cut the previously typical contact, anyone would be batty to not question it and start looking. Given any resistance group of choice's influence, they could be made to believe militant interactions might be necessary and prepare. It could explain so much, including the mutants. There was no way those sorry creatures had been natural. No way in hell. So, she had to break the current regime's stance and at least establish friendly terms in hopes someone hadn't gotten to the muggles first.
Had someone been watching, Delilah's sudden movement from her entirely still state to put her feet on the floor and push herself promptly from her desk chair would have seemed to have come from nowhere. It was determined and purposeful as she moved to the part of the office where she'd spelled a closet to house some closes, pressed the bricks in the proper pattern, and watched as the hidden door emerged from the wall and slid open. Delilah walked in and looked over her clothing, seeking anything that would be appropriate for a meeting with the muggle prime minister. He was high up to them, was he not? Someone to show some respect to for sure, which meant her current attire of black leggings, a black tank top, and black work boots would simply not do. No, she at the least needed these low heels, and...and this black pencil skirt, and the rose-colored top she'd received compliments in. Frankly, she felt like she looked like some sort of news person she had seen in the muggle shows she had watched following the werewolf attack on London, but Delilah paid that no mind. It was simple but nice enough.
Delilah worked quickly to shed her current outfit and change into the one she had picked out then walked over to the vanity and sat down. She quickly brushed her hair then put it into a simple up-do. After, she applied a beautification charm to make her lashes darker, her lips a little redder, and her cheeks a tinge rosier as though she had on a modest amount of rouge. It looked natural enough not to stand out but made a noticeable difference to the woman who had only really just begun to like make-up in her fifth year before her life was turned upside down. It was so much easier not to care and to go unnoticed in her opinion, but she had to make an exception for this and other public events.
Satisfied enough, Delilah stood from the vanity seat and smoothed her skirt out, observed her appearance from the side, and walked out. She spelled her closet shut then walked across the room and through the door that connected her and Teague's offices. His fireplace was the one with the floo network still attached, and she'd ensured that both the connection hadn't been restored at any point between the Minister of Magic's office and the Prime Minister's office (Suspicions had to be researched out, after all, and any chance to catch Hunt red-handed even moreso.) and that it was provided between the Lord's office at Puxley and the Prime Minister's office on Friday after her meeting with Trevor. The link was passworded (common enough practice for anything that connected to the fireplace here) to ensure no one unwanted found out about and utilized the link, and anyone who attempted to have the connection made to their fireplace would have to know it to manage to reconnect it.
Delilah stepped in after throwing on a hooded black crocheted capelet she had grabbed on her way out of the closet. Hopefully it would protect her shirt enough not to show too much soot. She'd requested the fireplaces at both locations be cleaned, but no matter what, some amount of soot always seemed to be present. She grabbed the floo powder, performed a quick fire call to ensure the place only housed the person with whom she wanted to speak, and then flooed to the office.
The man there jumped, startled at the sight. He stood quickly, a little bewildered but not entirely surprised. Perhaps he was good at masking surprise or the one who had held the position before him had warned him of the possibility. "Who are you?" he asked, looking at Delilah as she took off the capelet and draped it over her left arm.
Delilah offered her hand as she walked toward the Prime Minister. "Delilah Chase. I'm here representing a society which...well, I'm not entirely certain you have knowledge of."
"I'm not calling security, am I?"
Delilah chuckled, both embarrassed at and frustrated with herself for not being quite so quick on the uptake. "Right, of course."
"Are you a...a witch?" he asked, motioning her to the seat across from his desk, which she took with a thank you. He sat as well.
Delilah nodded. "I am, and I'm sure you're wondering why I'm here."
"I am, considering all I have heard from my people."
"Heard?" That wasn't exactly a good sign to Delilah. Depending who spoke with her people or who his people had observed, it could be too late for any sort of salvage job.
"Yes. Concerning things. Slavery, power struggles, social disrest."
Wonderful. It was too late, wasn't it? Delilah looked to her hands then to the Prime Minister as she licked her lips. "Well, it's not entirely that bad. The people within our populace seem quite happy."
The Prime Minister grimaced. "Even the slaves?"
Delilah cleared her throat. "Well, I suppose not. Frankly, I have no interest in the establishment and am working with our minister to end the practice. A brief moment of cloudy judgment."
"'A brief moment of cloudy judgment,'" the Prime Minister repeated. "Is it really that unimportant? Human enslavement? I'd call that a gross infringement on personal liberties."
"Well, no. Only, I believe there is no word to describe the extent of that infringement."
"Yet there are stronger words in your vocabulary, I'm sure."
"Not ones appropriate for such company as I now hold."
"Miss...Chase, was it?"
"Miss Chase, I'd like to bring in some people who would be interested in hearing what you have to say, if that would be alright."
"Of course," Delilah replied as she watched the Prime Minister grab the strange black device on his desk and punch a few numbers.
"Miss Jefferson, contact Agent Jones."