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]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Oh."

She didn't know that.

She really, honestly didn't know that at all.

This place really should come with a selective amnesia option. So that people don't make complete and utter idiots out of themselves. Or accidentally reveal things that they aren't supposed to know.

"Learning anything interesting?"

She's very, terribly good at pretending she doesn't have an idea about such things.

She should be an actress!

"Some things," he allows, smiling. "I'm a wizard, you see. Um. In case you didn't gather that before. So I learn magic at school."

Yeah, that's more her Gram's territory.

Alexis just runs lines.

She grins back at him, "Magic is great. I mean, I'd be willing to bet that anything you're learning is about five thousand times cooler than anything I'm learning at school."

He laughs, shaking his head.

"I guess you sort of get used to it," he says slowly.

Because after a while, magic school just becomes a school you go to. "What do you learn in school?"

She blinks, wrinkling her nose a bit skeptically.

"Um, Chemistry this year, History and English?" she takes another sip of her float. "Nothing too exciting."

A shrug.

"We're going over Poe at the moment, if you know who that is. "The Pit and the Pendulum," actually. Since it's sort of Halloween appropriate."

He shakes his head, no.

"I've never heard of Poe. He's a ... which one is it? Chemist, historian or poet?"

Regardless, those subjects sound generally fascinating to him.

"Writer, actually. Horror stories and mysteries. Though there's some poetry too," she considers for a moment. "A bit of everything, actually."

She leans forward a bit, curiously, chin propped on her palm.

"Do you learn things like poetry in school?"

He shakes his head.

"We've got a sort of history class," he notes, pausing for a moment, "but I think that's the closest subject we've got to your muggle ones.

"But I would like to see what an English class is like."

"A lot of reading," she replies. "And then responses and discussion. You talk about what an author meant when they wrote something or why they wrote something."

Alexis is the daughter of an author. She's a bit nerdy in this area.

She cuts herself off, however, chin dipping for a moment, "It's kind of like a book club. But with your whole class."

"That sounds brilliant," he says quietly.

It so does.

"I love reading."

"Me too."

She grins back at him.

"Like anybody I might have heard of?"

He tries to remember the last few books he'd read. Most of them are definitely wizardly authors, like Newt Scamander and Quentin Trimble.

But there is one who writes about muggle royalty quite a bit, particularly those from places like Padua and Venice.

"Shakespeare?"

"Wait - wait, Shakespeare? As in Shakespeare was a wizard, Shakespeare? Or as in Shakespeare this weird, muggle author that you are, for some reason, forced to learn about?"

Please excuse the surprisingly familiar use of the term 'muggle' - though, hopefully, it'll get caught up in the sudden tumble of words.

It does get caught up.

Anyway, the term is so familiar to him that it doesn't occur to him that someone else might not know the word.

"Both? He writes a lot about muggles, particularly in ways that tend to end in tragic deaths. But - um. We were never forced to learn his works. I read them ... on my own spare time."

"Really?"

And there's the squeaky glee that was missing earlier in this conversation.

"That is the coolest thing ever," she grins. "I mean, that puts a whole different spin on - on pretty much everything he wrote. Perspective's important."

A beat.

"Wow, I sound like a nerd."

He smiles almost bashfully, shaking his head.

"I've read nearly all of Shakespeare's works on my own spare time, remember?" he reminds her. "No one really does that."

In the span of a week, either.

So, who's the nerd now?

"No one who isn't a huge nerd," she agrees, her own smile wide. We revel in the dorkiness of others here, it's rare that she gets to talk to people (her own age, at least) that reach her level of utter dorktasticness. "Though as a fellow nerd, I heartily approve."

A beat, thoughtful.

"And am totally impressed. Because Shakespeare was a busy man. Lots of writing going on."

Albus smiles. He may even blush a bit, averting his eyes towards the edge of the table.

"Yeah," he agrees. "It's just - when I got started, I found that I couldn't put any of his plays down."

James may or may not have made some sort of smart-ass quip at him about that.

"I particularly enjoyed his tragedies."

[ooc: Noooo worries! I've been rather epically failtastic at keeping up with my slows. But eep. I don't like the idea of something chewing on your brain. Like a gremlin. Gah. Scary.]

"He does do maudlin pretty well. We had an entire unit on his sonnets last semester," she chirps, pausing to take a too large gulp from her (nevertheless, completely delicious) coke float.

Halfway through the swallow, her hand smacks to her forehead and she lets out a half-painful, half-amused hiss.

"Ow! Brain freeze."

"What do you talk about in these classes?" he asks, curiously. "I mean - concerning Shakespeare. I've never talked to anyone about what I've read -"

As Alexis experiences brain-freeze, he blinks, wide-eyed.

He leans forward slightly. "Are you all right?"

"Drank too fast," she manages, face scrunched up rather attractively for the next couple of seconds. "Brief, blinding, cold-induced headache. Joy."

Her fingers rub at her temples and she huffs out another laugh through her nose.

"And we talk about meaning, um - symbolism? You know, things really meaning something else, themes carrying down - not just in one book, but over entire genres and stuff. You can talk about anything, really."

"Oh."

It's not quite clear what he's responding to here.

But he still looks a bit concerned.

"Um. Pressing your tongue against the roof of your mouth helps," he says. "So I've heard."

"That probably would have been intelligent to try before."

Another laugh and she rolls her eyes at herself, twirling her straw lazily and sending a mock-glare down at her drink.

"If you weren't so delicious, I'd feel a bit betrayed."

He laughs a bit.

"James does it sometimes. Gets brain-freeze, I mean," he says. "But I never get overly concerned when it happens to him."

Oh, brothers.

"I've heard that's how it works with siblings."

Alexis takes another sip of her float - far more cautious this time, thank you kindly - and grins across at him.

"Younger or older?" she inquires, head tipping.

Edited 2009-11-19 13:13 (UTC)