milliways_bar | (no subject)

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It's unusual, really, to see the star much of anywhere on her own.

But she's there all the same - curled up in one of the armchairs near the fire with her legs over the armrest and a long white jacket slung over her lap. There's a neat slice on the side of one coatsleeve and a larger hole in the shoulder - and the fine, white string she's attempting to wrangle has stubbornly wound its way down her arm and doesn't seem particularly inclined to cooperate with any amount of frustrated glaring.

She's terrible at this. (Which, truthfully, is most of the motivation for not attempting it upstairs - where certain people could wake up and see.)

She's terrible at it, but that doesn't seem to make her particularly inclined to give up. She continues on, frowning stubbornly, curses soft and mumbled against bleeding fingers and messily tended material.

Interruption would be a blessing. Unless you happen to be a very angry sewing needle offended by the sort of language your tiny, prickly child might be picking up, mind you.

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Oh, very clearly.

Doesn't mean that he'll get to quite that easily.

Her grin only widens, "And I wouldn't want to get you in trouble, of course."

He laughs.

"No, exactly. Otherwise my mum wouldn't like you. Or my dad, really. Dad hates it when I call Albus names."

"Can't say that my mother is particularly fond of it either," she shrugs a bit. "Though I have it on good authority that they stop lecturing quite as much after a millennia or two."

Though by that point, you usually find other people to lecture you instead.

"Dreadful habit, though."

"Well, I try not to do it so much because it doesn't sound all that nice, anyway," James says, feigning to look like an upstanding, well-behaved boy.

In all honesty?

He rather thinks he's cool when he swears.

Oh, and that millennia thing? Completely ignored on account of him thinking she's merely using a metaphor.

It's just as well, really, as she happens to be a lady. And ladies don't exactly like to feel terribly old.

(Shh! She's so a lady.)

"It's all situational, really," she nods with the distinct sort of impression that she often talks her way out of a great deal of things. "A matter of appropriateness - and cleverness of phrasing."

James can definitely share in the talking-his-way-out-of-things sentiment. He does the same on many occasions (though his parents have built up an immunity to it as of late).

His smile is wide as he nods in agreement.

Oh, but Yvaine is fond of this extraordinarily tiny show of impishness. There is hope for the future generations, and all that.

She shifts over slightly, patting the armrest in invitation, and smiles brightly in return.

"Shall I feed you for your troubles, young Master Potter?"

"As long as the food doesn't turn me into a girl or anything, okay!" he says as he climbs up to sit beside the star.

"Because I've heard of food that turns people into the opposite gender here." He makes a face.

She blinks, scrunching her nose rather distastefully as well, and flagging down a waitrat.

"We'll specify."

A terribly solemn nod.

"As I have no express plans of being a boy either," her lips quirk slightly. "Wouldn't go well with the dress."

"No, it wouldn't go at all," James says, laughing uncontrollably. "I like us just the way we are."

The star restrains a snicker - which really ends up as a sort of flickering along her skin and a red mark on her bottom lip from where she rather uselessly bit it.

"Shall we order something terribly unhealthy that would make your parents frown at me some more?"

Might as well go with what works, really.

"Absolutey!" he says enthusiastically. "We can get all sorts of things - like pumpkin pasties, and cauldron cakes, and chocoballs, and toffees..."

He goes on listing them in an excited rambling manner.

Yvaine blinks a bit dazedly and shrugs helplessly at the waiting waitrat. She's just going to go with it and figure that James knows a fair bit more about this sort of thing than she does.

Which, considering the evidence, might be a wise move.

"I -" she laughs. "Whatever pleases you, then."

James grins, clapping his hands together.

"Excellent. You know, I'd like to have some ice cream, too," he says, turning to the waitrat. At first it was a little strange, ordering from really large rats wearing clothing, but now it isn't so bad.

He reckons he's gotten quite used to the place.

"What about you? Aren't you going to get anything? Like the sort of thing you eat in your world? I'd like to try that, too."

"I am the wrong one to ask about that sort of thing," she grins sheepishly and allows the waitrat to scurry off with the rather expansive order of sugary things. "As I usually don't - eat, that is."

That's totally not strange at all.

"You would have to ask my better half," she shrugs. "And I am pretty sure that he's still sleeping."

"Your better half?" He blinks. "Who do you mean?"

Beat.

"And you don't eat? Then wouldn't you die?" He looks at her incredulously.

"My -" she waves a hand demonstratively. "Well, my boy - thing. Tristran." She raises the jacket slightly, fingers through the hole in its shoulder. "The idiot with the arrow through him."

She rather obviously doesn't do this part of the speech often.

She arcs an eyebrow over slightly reddened cheeks.

"Do I look terribly dead to you?"

"Oh, your boyfriend." He can't help but roll his eyes at that. He's not really into the whole girlfriend-boyfriend relationshippy thing right now. Girls don't exactly have cooties, but he still doesn't think of them that way.

"He got an arrow through him? How? And you don't look dead, but that doesn't mean you aren't. I've seen dead people in this place. They don't need to eat either."

Yvaine isn't precisely certain what to make of the whole 'relationshippy' thing herself, to be completely honest.

She'll concentrate on the arrows.

She's got those covered.

"I cannot stress the idiot too much," she snorts a bit wryly. "But, mostly, we were off fetching taxes and he worries overly much about my personal safety. Which, might I add, wouldn't matter half as much if I were dead."

A grin, "Which I am not - just a star. We eat differently."

"A star?" He blinks, then leans forward a little to scrutinize her closely. "You're a star? How come you don't look much like one?"

He touches her arm with a finger, poking really, and gives her an impressed look.

"How come you're here and not in the sky, then?"

"Well," she leans forward in turn, narrowing her eyes and poking him right back. "How do you know what we look like - met one before, have you?"

She smiles, eyes bright and skin brightening.

"I fell down."

"Well, no," he admits, grinning. "But I always thought stars were just lights in the sky. Not people-looking things."

He shrugs easily. "It's okay, though. So, how'd you fall?"

"Truthfully, when I was younger I was relatively convinced that people were all somewhere around this big," she holds out a hand, thumb and index finger parted slightly. "So I really cannot blame you."

Her fingers fold back into her lap.

"I was hit by a necklace. It's not all that pleasant, I wouldn't suggest that you try it."

"You got hit by a necklace?" James looks at her doubtfully, then lets out a laugh.

"Who threw a necklace that high up into the sky? Can people even do that?" Unless they know magic, or something.

The laughter makes her shimmer. He's rather cute like that - in a midgety sort of way.

"Utterly ridiculous, yes?"

"From what I understand," she elaborates. "It was tossed by a king - some sort of grand scavenger hunt for his sons."