milliways_bar | (no subject)

Unlike other times, the sound of Autor laughing either at him or his mishap is actually welcome.

If only birds could smile...

I've gone through a lot of stuff, good and bad, and had things happen, good and bad.

This? Is probably in my top ten of the strangest things ever to happen to me.

He blinks a few times, and shuffles closer.

Rocks. Of all the things in the world to be obsessed with. Rocks.

The laugh isn't intended to be cruel by any means; the boy is thoroughly amused by all of this malarkey.

Autor laces his fingers together against the carpet and cradles the back of his head when he recovers from his mirth. "There are worse things be obsessed over," he points out. "I doubt Elea would have forgiven a girl obsession as easily."

And Rabastan doesn't think it cruel either. One day he'll laugh alongside Autor about this, but. He has to be human first.

Birds can't laugh either.

Hey now. Nothing wrong with being "obsessed" with the woman you love, he remarks, mock-lofty, and attempts to nip at a button. You'll find that out if you haven't already.

Autor waves a hand at him, sharp and abrupt enough to scare off any other bird from his buttons.

"I meant other than her," he says, trying to ignore the allusion of scarlet on his cheeks quickly threatening to spread to the rest of his face.

It's not the swatting that stops him from subtracting a button from Autor's blazer.

He tilts his head while looking directly at the young man.

Oh?

Just one word, but it more than conveys all the humour and intrigue Rabastan has for this potential bit of news.

News? What news? There's no news here.

Nope.

"'Oh'?" he says, sniffing in a manner most undignified as that damned blush decides to park itself on his face. "'Oh', what? What I said is fairly straight-forward, isn't it? If you'd been obsessed with other girls, it would be a problem for you, would it not? Elea would call you on that behavior and you'd have to cast a repelling charm on everyone and good heavens, I'd have to visit everyday because that would be beyond hilarious."

No, he's not one of those people who speaks rapidly when he's trying to throw someone off a scent trail. Not in the least.

Edited 2013-04-21 01:17 (UTC)

...your proto-babbling is adorable...

He just stares at Autor. And maybe Autor will think it a good thing that birds cannot laugh or smile. Knowing that many birds—chiefly the diurnal species—have excellent colour vision, however, won't help chase the sudden change in tincture on Autor's face.

Yes, Elea would. And no doubt Elea would be frustrated by it, while you stand by and laugh yourself into asphyxia.

He gives another head tilt.

You like her? She likes you? Then don't let my opinions or response get in your way.

"I would, thank you very much," he says, and shakes his head. "That much laughter would be well worth the consequences."

Then he stills. "What? Liking who, now? Who said anything about my liking someone?"

You don't need to have said it for me to guess.

Affecting a smug posture, he lists the clues.

I said there's nothing wrong with being "obsessed" with a love interest. You started blushing when you corrected me and said obsessed with "other girls". Then when I inquire about "other girls" you start babbling about Elea being annoyed if I showed interest in other girls and your subsequent hilarity over the situation.

Damn, he wishes he could smile.

You say "girl". Girl. As opposed to "woman". Now why would I be interested in girls? I'm a grown man. And thus would be interested in women. To be more specific, I'd be interested in people closer to my own age. Not people who aren't even twenty years old yet, which is what "girl" means to me.

Pause.

So. You have someone you like?

"If I weren't laying down already, I would probably have to," Autor says, dumbfounded, "because your logic is dizzying. Girls, women, ladies, females... What does it matter? I wasn't considering which descriptor you'd be interest in."

He wrinkles his nose, as if the very prospect is ghastly.

The point, Autor, is this: you have someone you are interested in. You wouldn't be blushing or deflecting-with-babbling if you weren't interested in someone.

And if you are, then I'm glad for you. Moreso if it's mutual.

Autor slams his eyes shut and tries to make it look like he didn't. He inhales slowly through his nose, but it doesn't help his pinched expression. Nor does it help the raging fire on his skin.

The boy chooses his words very, very carefully.

"You make a great many assumptions," he says softly. "I shouldn't be surprised about that, I guess, but still."

For someone who has a fancy, you're being awfully defensive about it.

What do you think I'll do? Mock you for it?

He preens a bit. That feather just won't lie straight.

Seven years in a boarding school for witches and wizards, Autor. And while I was preoccupied with matters relating to family, it did not leave me blind to what my peers got up to. Crushes and fancies are to be expected when you're dealing with kids going through adolescence in a semi-confined space.

Spending time in Milliways is really not all that different.

"Of course you would," he says, raising a brow as if to imply, if there were someone.

The kid sits up and smoothes his hair. Not that it does much good in the light breeze. "'Has a fancy' is such an awful expression. And I'm not 'going through adolescence' in Milliways."

I'd have to age for that.

Tease? Yes. Mock? No. Good heavens, lad. I thought you knew me better than that!

Still fussing over his feather.

You're missing my point, Autor. My point is this: if you spend enough time in a space populated with other people, eventually you will find someone or several someones you want to spend more time with. That includes people you want something more than mere friendship from.

As for "has a fancy"? Would you prefer I use cruder language instead?

Autor lays his hands in his lap and raises a brow. "Yes, which absolutely explains the flood of crushes I have when I'm back home, studying at the academy," he says. His tone is surprisingly light, given how much sarcasm he packed into it.

"Half the town crammed together in single spot, wearing uniforms and struggling with adolescence at the same time," he says, and sniff. "It's a wonder we don't bring the walls down in our efforts to spend time together as friends and otherwise."

Did I say that, Autor? No. You said that. You are purposefully twisting what I say into something I did not say. Where did I say anything about tearing down walls to get at someone? Wanting to spend time with others for whatever reason means looking for opportunities to do so.

Honestly, Autor. Stop being difficult. And obtuse.

Unless you are such an outcast or a hermit in your world that you really do have no fucking clue how normal people even operate when it comes to socialising with those people they happen to like?

Oh, good, he's swearing, Autor thinks, and relaxes a bit. Rabastan's feathers are ruffled, literally and figuratively, so all is right in the world.

"Goodness," he says, shaking his head. "You worry about my eating, you worry about my sleep, and now you're worried about my potentially being a hermit. You are going to fret yourself right into an early grave, and I'll have to simply say, 'tsk, I did tell him so.'"

You being a hermit is hardly a thing I worry about. But I would think that a smart young man like yourself would have some idea of how people behave when they're around others.

I doubt you do. Otherwise you wouldn't imply that I'd mock you for fancying a young lass, when I told you more than once I was glad that you had found someone you liked.

He leans back on the carpet again, bending one knee. "And again with the assumptions. Do you have a quota to meet with those?"

Autor will neither confirm nor deny anything in this conversation.

Funny how you act so casual now, when before you were so scarlet I would be surprised if there was any blood left below your neck.

And now here you are, pretending that none of this has happened. As if I'm just making shit up to accuse you with.

You can act as if I'm too dumb to notice, but it's too late. I already have. And I know you do.

Horse is out of the barn, Autor.

"That might have been because you were talking about your relationship with Elea," he says as coolly as he can.

"You admitted yourself that you were guessing," he says, raising a brow. "I haven't heard any proof as to why you're so confident, and my cheeks turning red don't count. I have the unfortunate habit of blushing half the time women are mentioned in a conversation."

Of course that's what the cause of it was, he says with pure scepticism. Of course you always blush at the subject of women.

That's why you turn scarlet whenever we discuss Mia or some other lady.

Right?

Pause.

You can come up with an explanation for why you turned red. But I'd love to hear why someone as neatly articulate as yourself suddenly acts like he was hit with a babbling charm during his flustered efforts to misdirect others from something he doesn't want them to know about.

Pause.

For someone who insists that he hasn't found someone he likes a lot, you sure put in an awful lot of effort into your denials.

"Mia's different," he says, and he actually does flush a little, but it's nothing like the inferno he was hit with before. "She's... She's kind and a mother.

"This isn't effort," he says, scoffing. "And I wasn't babbling."

Do you blush whenever you meet Milliways' female population? Every time? Then I guess Mia would be "different".

Ugh. That feather. So misbehaved. Now it's plucked. Ow. But better it be removed than have it compromise his aerodynamics.

And sure you weren't babbling. You always talk as if you're on speed. All the time.