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Irinei tended to wait, a lot, or else he tended to be impressively late; there was no real middle ground and it all depended on his intention. Today he was early, and sitting in a window booth at his new favorite cafe, the one down the street from the estate. Little London, the sign said. He stirred cream into his tea and sighed, spinning the little carrel of jams. He had been very early, but his superior officer was very nearly late. In five minutes, she would be officially Late.

Not like he would have recourse. Irinei leaned back in his chair and stopped the carrel on fig butter, because who cared, and broke open a steaming biscuit. Maybe he would order lunch before this day was over, but right now he had breakfast biscuits, sausage, and tea, and that was really all his needs met right there.

"Good morning, Miss Stark," said Irinei, the very image of politeness. He pushed the carrel of jams and the basket of biscuits minutely closer to her, indicating she should take one--or else that he was done, whichever. It interested him to know which she'd assume.

He judged that she must have spent time on her makeup today--the hair was styled perfectly, confidently even, but the makeup was--while technically acceptable--slightly surprising in its palette. It did make her look older, which he supposed must have been the point, but it didn't entirely disguise her youth. "I hope you're well," he said, breaking his biscuit in half the other way and then again, finally popping a quarter into his mouth. "I've been curious about what exactly my duties are as an officer of the Destiny City branch of the Negaverse. I gathered from my tour guide that they're quite different than what I might expect from St. Petersburg."

Which was really his polite way of saying what the ******** do you expect me to do, and also as a denial: he'd been drafted into this war and intended to do exactly enough to get by. If that. He was definitely not going to do the energy draining, if he could avoid it.

Adjusting well? He had successfully acquired a transit pass, a membership to the local science and art museums, and arranged models for the first few weeks of October. He supposed, by any measure someone not a member of a mystical mafiya might use, he was. But by the measurements of the Negaverse? Certainly not. He didn't know how to drain energy, he didn't intend to learn, there was no part of him that actively cared for all of this and not precisely a part of him that cared if they could kill him. People would notice if Irinei Lazarev went missing. People would notice, and they would look, and that minor inconvenience was honestly above and beyond what Irinei needed to play rebellion.

He laughed, a little grimly, and said, "Oh, no. I have no intention of draining or attacking anyone." Why lie about it? She'd notice it right away. "So I can assure you, the Dark Mirror--and what might they be, I am unfamiliar with them, they were not mentioned to me when I was briefed--is quite safe from me. As is anyone else."

Irinei broke his biscuit in half again, and ate one of the quarters, black eyes fixed on Clary's. Waiting for a reaction, as it were. Revaillite wouldn't have taken it. Laemilline would have slapped him around until he cooperated. But he had an inkling that this superior would be of the more forgiving sort.

Irinei choked on his biscuit, brought up a hand to cover his mouth as he cleared his throat. She wasn't even going to... threaten him? What the hell? He hadn't expected her to be so... easygoing about it. "I appreciate it," he said, taking a bite of his biscuit again. "Thank you for the guidance, Miss Stark."

She didn't seem... like he had expected his superior officer to be. He had expected... firmness. And temper. And, well... for the Negaverse to continue being as it was. "What happened to the one who decided to try to get rid of them all," he asked, sipping at his tea. "I do not suppose he is still with us?"

There was literally nothing he could say to that, Irinei thought. In St. Petersburg, he'd watched a lieutenant get severely beaten for getting into a fight with another lieutenant--the man had almost died. Here, attacking what sounded like the head of an allied court's person was only enough to get demoted and... what sounded like a joke. "That is the most moronic thing I have ever heard," he said, fully aware that in St. Petersburg, this too would have been a beating offense. "What purpose does that serve? Will he grow to love her through being her toy?"

Schadenfreude. Here was more evidence that the Negaverse was less a military operation and more of a gang. "With such fearsome punishments, I suppose I had better mind my manners," he said dryly. "I will keep that in mind."

"Has that often been a problem," asked Irinei, a little concerned now. No one had mentioned rampant infighting or a need to be worried for the state of his own skin, as long as he did his job and wasn't a p***k about it. If the Negaverse now had a problem with stabbing each other, he certainly felt he deserved to know.

But as the vibrating of his phone informed him, he did have another meeting to get to. "My apologies," he said, "but I do have a meeting with the docent of the Rackham House to be getting to. Please don't worry about the check. I have it in hand."