milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The door opens, and the chatter on the other side of the door is almost similar to the chatter within the bar itself. (He'd been in the Great Hall.)

A young boy of sixteen lingers by the woodwork, staring with wide eyes. They're familiar eyes, for those who knew his father (and, as Albus knows very well, there is hardly a wizard or witch who hasn't heard of his father) - or better yet, his grandmother - and the jet-black, slightly messy hair is a another characteristic that bears a striking resemblance to the Boy Who Lived.

But on closer inspection, one can spot the differences. This young boy does not wear glasses. And he does not have the same air of confidence the Potters tend to have. (No Potter, for example, would hesitate by the doorside, contemplating slipping back out as if he'd never stepped in at all.)

Whether one recognizes the boy or not, the unmistakable 'I've never been here before, what is this place?' look is a familiar one for any regular patron of the bar.

[ooc: I meant to do this weeks ago, but did not get a chance. :( I really wanted to stick him in though, so here goes! This can totally be used for car keys, by the way! Should make it easier for some to tag. ;)

It is also subject to slowtime.

tiny!tag: albus potter]

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"I don't mind," he says before he can stop himself.

Whoops.

"I mean - it's okay. I'm fine with - um."

Smooth, Potter.

Quick! New topic!

"Would the bar know - um. What we were talking about if we asked?"

Wait - really?

She grins, chin ducking and turning to start the short journey back to the Bar - and to cover for the sudden color that makes its way across the bridge of her nose and along her cheeks.

Be smooth, Castle.

The reply, when it comes, almost makes for a passable attempt at breezy, "Not sure, actually. But it can't hurt to try."

"Yeah. That's true," he says - now that the embarrassment and bashfulness seems to have passed.

For now.

"But if they'd be found anywhere, it ought to be here, I suppose. From what little I know of this place."

"Think you're going all right on that account," she tosses a grin back over her shoulder. "I mean, you know about the same amount as I do."

Which, to be fair, isn't really all that much.

He smiles.

And soon, they are back at the bar where Albus wonders whether or not he ought to be the one doing the question-asking, or whether he ought to allow Alexis to ... well, do the honours, so to speak.

Great. More awkward social dilemmas!

She pauses - train of thought derailing somewhere along the same line of tracks - and blinks, lips twitching upward and gaze cutting to the side, slitted and amused in his direction.

"Is it weird that ordering drinks seems normal, but I don't know how you go about asking about where they keep their literature?"

He shakes his head.

"Ordering drinks is very straight-forward. And um. Everyone else does it. But our request is a bit ..."

Uh.

"Specific? Or different?"

Or weird?

A wry grin.

"We're such rebels."

Okay. Right. This'll totally work!

"Um," she cocks her head, addressing the countertop and continuing politely. "Feel free to ignore this if you have no idea what we're talking about, but - books? Do you have any here?"

Ahahaha. Rebels.

Albus and rebel are two words that do not go together, not unless 'is not a' happens to fit between them.

In any case, Albus waits quietly, watching the mahogany countertop.

A moment later, a napkin appears through the woodwork with neatly written scrawl across it.

Have you thought to try the library?

"- there's a library?"

Normalcy is rebellion in her household.

Decidedly lame rebellion. But rebellion all the same!

Alexis blinks down at the paper - momentarily content to be distracted by the fact that Bar can write (Which. So cool.) - before even registering the words.

She grins widely when she does, however. "There's a library."

"Where?"

He glances around him, noting the staircase by the bar, the hallways leading to other parts of the establishment, and the back door.

"I suppose it wouldn't ... hurt to do a bit of exploring?"

"It's exploring for a good cause."

Alexis resists the bubbling urge to bounce in place, keeping enthusiasm to a beaming minimum. (Wouldn't do to scare him off now, Castle.)

"I mean," she toys with the edge of the paper. "If you think it would be a good idea."

He nods - and tries not to be so obviously excited about the idea either.

(Albus may or may not be a closet-mystery fan. So, this could bode well for when he reads Rick Castle's book later. Just sayin'.)

"Yeah - I do. It'd be um. Fun - or something. Right?"

There may or may not have been a great number of moments of pretend Nancy Drew-ing when she was younger.

(We're not going to mention how long ago 'younger' was. For the slight amount of anything resembling a reputation that she may or may not have.)

She snags the paper and turns, "Right. Where to then?"

"Well."

He peers at the hallway, which could lead to so many possibilities and gestures towards it.

"Where can a bar at the end of the universe ... hide a library?"

"Seems like a safe bet."

Her head cocks, leaning forward herself to glance down the visible length of hallway.

"And it's a relatively straight line," she adds. "So it'd be hard to get lost."

He nods, ~~beaming~~ smiling a little.

"I can already imagine the ... selection of books."

He starts forward.

She follows after him, quickly matching his pace and tossing a grin in his direction, "This would be so much cooler with spy music."

Not that she's going to hum any.

Well, certainly not outside of the privacy of her mind.

He laughs.

"I've never heard spy music before. What does it sound like?"

Yeah, a question like that really makes him sound rather stupid, doesn't it?

There's an answer to that question.

But it's probably going to make her sound pretty stupid.

She laughs, looks a bit like she would very much enjoy it if she were to spontaneously combust for a moment, and then shrugs philosophically. She mentioned it, after all.

Time to man up, Alexis Castle.

And, with a grin (and red cheeks) she begins humming the Mission Impossible (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XAYhNHhxN0A) theme.

At first, he has no idea what she's up to, but then he starts to get the hang of the tune she's humming.

"So when spies do ... spying, that's the song that plays?" he asks, when she's finished.

There might be a little bit of pleased applause at her performance in there, too.

"If the spy is Tom Cruise."

She's still bright red, but manages a crookedly amused bow for the clapping, not quite able to look back in his direction just yet.

"Um," she waves a hand. "There's a movie series. Mission Impossible. That's the theme."

"Oh."

He thinks he gets it.

In any case, he thinks Alexis is pretty amazing right now. He would never have the guts to sing or hum or anything!

"That would be a cool theme to have."

"It's a lot better with actual instruments."

Or when you're alone in your house with the lights off, a laser tag gun, and free reign to plaster yourself against walls and look utterly ridiculous without anyone ever knowing about it.

That would really be awesome. If Albus could even picture such things. Alas, he has never known the fun of playing laser tag.

"Epic. That's the word, right?"