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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The smile brightens, a bit more certain, as he settles across from her.

"Nope. New York, actually," Alexis replies easily. "Where are- Okay, that was almost a dumb question. I'm just going to assume you're from London then, since you said it. Which would make sense. And the accent. Um. Right."

She laughs, a bit self-deprecating, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at herself.

"Well, from what I understand," she elaborates. "There's a 'All roads lead to here.' sort of deal. You sort of get tugged in from wherever you happen to be - like wormholes or something. There's different time-lines and universes and - yeah, it's kind of incredibly confusing."

He nods slowly.

"That is confusing," he says, trying to wrap his head around it.

(And possibly failing.)

"Who keeps track of it all? Or - or um. Is there a way to keep of it?" Pause. "How did you first come here?"

"I don't know if there's any sort of tracking system, actually. There's a lot of people here. I mean, I know that there are people who come in from the same place - um, world? I guess," her nose wrinkles thoughtfully. "So I guess they could keep track of who knows from where they are?"

But even that can get confusing, she imagines. What with timing coming into play.

"I was just on my way home from school," she says, answering his last question. "I unlocked the front door and ended up here instead of my house."

"It makes the world you come from look very, very small," he muses quietly.

"Kind of weird to think of New York ever being small," she murmurs, one shoulder twitching upward in a shrug. "Though if anywhere's going to do it, I'd imagine that it would be this place."

She takes a moment to glance speculatively at passing patrons. Even out of their Halloween finery, there's quite the impressive array.

After a moment, she blinks - jolted out of her reverie by a sudden remembrance of her complete lack of anything resembling manners. Which, wow, way to make a positive first impression on the first person you've met here that's around your age, Castle.

"I'm Alexis, by the way," she says, words rushing a bit as she sticks her hand out in front of her. "Castle. Um, Alexis Castle. It's nice to meet you. Even if that was totally belated."

"The Wizarding World, too," he agrees. "It's always so ... well, busy. And full of things to do, I couldn't imagine thinking of it as a small place."

And - oh. Right! He's a bit ashamed too, remembering that manners are a terribly important thing. He's usually the polite one of his siblings.

"Albus," he returns, taking her hand briefly. His handshake is a bit soft, almost shy. "Albus Potter. S'nice to meet you too."

Alexis is beginning to take pride in her ability not to squeak incoherently in these sort of situations. Maybe it's some sort of weird desensitization. Or maybe being forced to run lines with Gram all the time is rubbing off.

She grins instead - squeaking not included.

"Ready for the rules then?"

"There are rules?"

Of course there are rules. He should have expected as much. There has to be some form of organisation in a place this big and ... intergalactic.

"They're actually kind of comforting," she replies, before her head tips thoughtfully. "Well, unless you're into the whole 'public indecency' thing. Then you might be a little disappointed."

A beat, during which she actually manages to pull off looking rather serious.

It doesn't last very long, mind you. But the thought is there.

She laughs, ticks off the rules on her fingers, "Basically? No outside grudges. If you want to kill somebody, you have to do it on your own time. Which segues nicely into the no violence in the Bar policy. And, lastly, keep your clothes on at all times."

He has the good grace not to turn tomato-red at the mention of clothes being taken off or left on at all times, and nods towards the other two rules.

"I-I can do that," he says, fidgeting with his tie. "All of them. I'm not much for killing anyone - or doing anything violent. And I rather um. Um - like my clothes on."

"I kind of figured," she admits, smiling widely. "You don't really strike me as the sort to get arrested for riding a police horse naked in Central Park."

Not that she knows anyone who has been arrested for doing that.

Of course.

"You also get the first drink for free. Possibly to make up for the trauma of imagining Bar patrons naked on your first day."

He lets out a laugh; it's mostly embarrassed, but there's amusement in there too.

"Possibly," he agrees, nodding. "No one really does it, do they? What happens if the rules are broken?"

"I've heard they have cells somewhere?"

Obviously she's not too much of a delinquent either.

Philosophically, "I guess it's kind of like the time-out corner at the end of the Universe. You stay in there for however long and think about what you did wrong."

"Does that work?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. Then he pauses and briefly glances around the space.

"Well. I suppose it must ... if everyone still comes and goes from here."

And there are kids.

Younger-than-him sorts of kids.

"I guess?" she ventures. "I mean, I haven't seen anyone get put in them. But I also haven't seen anyone breaking the rules so far, so I'm really not the best source of information."

New people shouldn't be allowed to introduce other new people.

It probably leads to misunderstandings and misrepresentation of the whole establishment.

A sheepish grin, "Sorry."

He shakes his head, apologetic too. It was probably a strange question to ask anyway.

"Oh, no," he says, fiddling still. He offers her a smile. "That's okay."

Her smile widens in response to his, eyes crinkling a bit at the edges.

"Want to get your first drink then?" she inquires, head tipped and glancing up at him. "You choose your method - waiters or Bar?"

Something about her tone of voice implies that, either way, it's going to be a learning experience.

A learning experience, indeed. He isn't sure which one to choose, especially in a place like this where anything is possible.

(Certainly makes a wizard feel utterly boring and normal.)

"Which one's - um. Better?"

(And what does that make being normal feel like?)

Her nose wrinkles thoughtfully, "Well, I guess you're going to have to get acquainted with Bar eventually. And I don't think that anyone's going to steal my textbooks if we take a quick walk."

It's like taking the scenic route!

Oooh. The anticipation and excitement of this little adventure is making him wonder just what to expect.

"'With Bar'?" he repeats. "That sounds to me as though you're implying - that um."

Her grammar is impeccable. The cosmos is just weird.

"It's a she - she's a she," Alexis laughs, hops down from her seat, and seizes his hand with a smile. "Come on, it'll make more sense if you meet her yourself."

He glances briefly down at their hands, then turns a beet-red.

But there is no time to be awkward or nervous, or pull it back (~~because a pretty redheaded girl is holding his hand!~~) because there is Bar to meet.

This whole place and this Bar is overwhelming. Overwhelmingly cool.

She tugs him along easily enough - her chair wasn't too far from the Bar to begin with, really, and people are generally polite about making room for one another - and only lets go of his hand when they're both settled at two available Barstools.

"You just have to ask her for whatever you want," she says, one hand patting the hardwood affectionately. "Easy as that."

"Really?" he asks, wondering just what the limits to 'whatever' may be.

He's guessing - not very many.

In any case, his hand is still warm from hers; and as is his face.

"The ... Bar." This will make him look terribly stupid, won't it?

Not anymore stupid than everyone else here looks on a regular basis.

"Yup."

She's pretty aware that he's a bit uncomfortable with the whole procedure. And it's fair enough, considering the fact that if she were to talk to thin air while at home, people would not only stare at her funny, but she wouldn't be getting anything to drink out of the whole deal.

"I'll order something too, if you want?"