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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Alexis cards a set of fingers through her hair, ruffling it slightly, and her teeth pull at her lower lip sheepishly.

She's not particularly embarrassed by her family or anything. It's just weird to explain without sounding particularly insane.

"I don't really think that they planned on the whole married with babies and a house with a white picket fence thing," she replies. "Not that they don't want me. Just - I live with my Dad. And Gram. Mom's not around too much. Unless she has an audition and wants to make awkward flirty-talk with Dad and kidnap me in the middle of class in order to get herself a new Louis Vuitton bag."

"Oh."

He thinks he gets it.

"I feel ... really idiotic," he admits. "I mean ... families all seem so perfect in my world. Well, I mean ... in my own personal world. I forget that other people have different situations sometimes."

She laughs, bright and genuine and completely without underlying childhood trauma. (We promise, Albus.)

"That's totally okay."

A grin.

"There's nothing wrong with having a normal family life," she says, teasing. "I've heard it's supposed to be pretty nice. People seem pretty fond of it."

He nods.

"I suppose, but. I'm still sorry for being so um. Ignorant, I suppose is the right word for it."

Still, strange family situation aside, Alexis seems rather well-adjusted! So this is a good thing.

"Normal's the right word for it."

She's still smiling - and, yes, looking remarkably well adjusted - friendly, and not at all offended.

"I mean, my Dad accidentally tried to pick up my old babysitter a few weeks ago."

A brief, considering pause.

"Okay, to be fair, she's a model now - and she tried to pick him up first - but still. Normal people do not have these problems."

He shakes his head, managing a small amused smile.

Because, well. Alexis' cheeriness is quite infectious. And she seems perfectly all right with it all, which is reassuring in its' own way.

"That's ... quite something," he says. "At least it's always ... interesting?"

"You can say that again."

Life with her Dad is definitely the sort of thing that keeps you on your toes - which, to be fair, is always good when you need to write those 'what I did over my summer vacation' reports.

No one else had to help their parent figure out the best method for disposing of bodies the summer before fifth grade.

He laughs a bit into his drink.

Alexis takes a slow, thoughtful sip of hers - pausing to blow her bangs out of her eyes, and fidgets a bit with her fingers.

She's going to open her mouth and words are going to come out. And they're probably going to be really nerdy, so she's seriously banking on not getting mocked here.

"Um, so - if you wanted?"

Okay. That probably should have come at the end. But whatever. Forging bravely on!

"Books. We could - multiuniversal book club. If - you wanted to try out the talking about them thing? With - other people?"

He glances up from the rim of his butterbeer now.

Blinking a bit curiously at first.

Then, "Really?" he manages to utter. "That would be. Um. Bloody brilliant, actually. I mean - I've never tried that before, so I might be really horrible at it at first. But. I'd like to. A lot."

He starts to laugh, turning a bit red.

"Sorry. I mean - yes, that'd be really cool."

"Really?"

She beams back at him, Barstool swiveling slightly with the sudden increase in bouncy energy - and she (barely) manages to restrain the instinctive Castle face-grabbing, tackling response to getting awesome news.

"I've never - well, book clubbed before. But, I think we can figure it out!"

Her beaming makes his smile widen to something of a grin in response.

"I'm sure you know far more than I do about such things," he assures her, letting out a relieved and rather cheerful laugh.

"We can start with Shakespeare?"

"Okay!"

She settles down a bit, still grinning over the rim of her glass.

"Do you have a preference? For which one to go through first?"

He shakes his head.

"It doesn't matter to me," he says truthfully, and also to be obliging. "Which of his works is your favourite?"

"MacBeth's pretty good," she mused, nose crinkled thoughtfully. "Or, um, A Midsummer Night's Dream? Hamlet too."

She's - terrible at decisions.

Particularly of this nature. Books are hard to decide between. What if the other one develops some sort of inferiority complex?

"Oh, I do like Macbeth," he agrees. "Though the witches seemed a bit odd."

"What?" her head tips. "Not big on the double, double, toil and trouble?"

He shakes his head amusedly.

"Witches don't actually say those things. Or look like that. Well, most of them, anyway. I think Shakespeare was trying to um. Appeal to the muggle audience with that bit."

"Kind of like the whole wicked stepmother trope," she hums. "I mean, they're obviously not all evil and planning to poison you while you sleep, but it makes for a much more interesting story when they are."

"Yeah," he says, nodding. "Exactly that. Witches in my world can actually be quite boring. Or really mundane."

Pause.

"And of course, not all muggles are like Macbeth and Lady Macbeth either."

"Well, nobody wants to hear a story about things that are completely ordinary," she replies. "Stories are for escaping the ordinary. It's exploring without all the travel expenses."

Not that wizards have to worry too much about that sort of thing.

But still.

"That's a good way of putting it," he says in agreement.

Because - yeah. How many times has he read a book to escape his ordinary life?

"And what about here? It's like living in a story, isn't it? No travel expenses either."

"It is kind of like a book."

There's still that undercurrent of wonder. (It hasn't worn off yet. She isn't quite sure when it will.)

"You couldn't consider it anything but extraordinary."

"It is extraordinary," he agrees, glancing around again. "I still don't understand how it could have been right behind the door either."

He pauses.

"Especially if it's never even been there before."

"I don't exactly know if it even is," she muses. "I mean, it's obviously there - because we're here. But, when you go back home later there's no guarantee that the door's going to stay there."

It's weird.

She hasn't quite figured it out. And isn't quite certain if she ever will, really.