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'm sure my Dad would love to meet you. If you're both ever here at the same time."

Her Dad might be going through a period of 'all boys in Alexis' age range are not to be trusted,' but wizards that like Shakespeare and want to read his books just might be an exception to the rule.

She taps the Bartop lightly, "Um. I don't know if you keep this sort of stock, but - if you could? A copy of Heat Wave would be awesome. I'll totally pay you back later."

Alexis grins widely when the request is granted (Also, totally telling her Dad that the End of the Universe stocks his books later.) and slides it over to Albus with another shy grin, "It might not be your taste, but he really is great."

"Your dad comes here too?" he asks, sounding quite surprised by this fact.

If his dad came here ... (which he did, but Albus doesn't know that) ... well, that'd be almost heart-attack inducing.

"- oh. Um. Thank you," he says a little shyly as he accepts the book. He blinks down at the cover, cracking the spine open to flip through its' brand new pages. Ah, new books. They have such a brilliance to them.

(But. So do old books.)

"I'll give it a try."

"Yup. So does -" she pauses, taps a finger on the front cover lightly. "The detective that the book is based on."

She's kind of awesome.

(Even if Alexis could have done without her Dad's self-projection sex scene. Not that it was terribly detailed or anything. Is she supposed to warn about that?)

"But Dad isn't in here as much as she is, I don't think."

Eyebrows raise again.

"Really?"

He looks to his left and right, as though 1) he'd see this detective, and 2) he'd even know what she looks like.

"How often do they come here?" And really, more importantly, "And um. How often do you come here?"

"I'm really not sure, but I think that Detective Beckett comes in often enough."

Enough that she looks comfortable, at least.

And enough that she's had time to make friends with her Dad's not-a-clone.

"And I haven't so much," she admits, tacking on a grinning. "Before, I mean. It - kind of disappeared. But I'm going to try to come in more, if it'll let me."

Not that, you know, her rate of coming and going really matters or anything.

"I wish there were a way to make coming here when you want possible," he muses aloud, reiterating previous conversational topics.

He shrugs.

"But magic can be rather fickle sometimes, I suppose."

She laughs, "You're the magic expert here, not me."

She tilts her glass, aiming her straw at the last bits of float.

"But, yeah. A permanent door would be nice. Having the ability to make an actual conscious decision to come here."

"Even though I'm a wizard, I'm no expert," he says bashfully. "I mean - there are so many um. Different types of magic. It's hard to know how each sort works."

He glances down at his half finished butterbeer.

"This sort of magic, for example," he gestures to his mug, "is far from my understanding."

"I don't really know whose realm of understanding it is in."

Or if it even is in anyone's realm of understanding.

It seems a bit realm-less, to be honest.

"I don't imagine that they cover this in magical history class," she teases, smiling over at him again. "Or else you wouldn't have been so surprised to find yourself here in the first place."

He nods enthusiastically, in a 'omg you totally get it!' sort of way.

"Exactly," he says. "It's a very different sort of magic."

"Well, at least you're handling the situation with grace."

She nods with the utmost solemnity, before letting out a bright laugh, eyes widening and leaning forward again.

"Oh! Did I show you the exploding cosmos outside the window?"

"Um. No?"

Should he be worried?

Well, judging from the grin that steals its way across her face, he shouldn't be too worried.

Probably.

Remnants of float discarded, she bounces down from her seat and his hand gets snagged again, "C'mon. I'll show you!"

"O-okay."

There may be another blush of red across his face again as his hand gets taken captive.

"Is this where the end-of-the-universe part comes to play?"

She stops them in front of a wide window - deep enough for a person or two to sit in and enjoy the view. (Enjoy being a relative term, depending upon the opinions of said person or two on cosmic catastrophes.)

"And explode," she agrees, head tilting to the side. "In a loop."

"A loop?"

He frowns, glancing from the window to her, then back again.

"How does that even -" Okay, stupid question filter is going to be put into place starting ... now.

Finally, he lets out a breath. "Magic."

"A loop."

A nod of confirmation.

"I, um," she grins sheepishly. "Sort of counted it one day. It seemed a bit similar, and I'd been staring at it long enough. There's a pattern to what explodes when."

(Yeah, so she's a huge dork.)

Now, it would appear that he's doing the same thing.

He's watching the patterns, memorizing them, noting how the stars blossom and grow, waiting for them to finally explode.

They're a bit dizzying, really.

"Is that really what the universe looks like?"

"No idea."

It's kind of impossible to look away from though.

Which is probably how she ended up staring for a number of hours that she lost track of.

"But it's kind of pretty all the same."

He nods slowly.

"It is," he agrees. "It's um. Sort of like those ... kaleido-things. My grandpa picked one up from a sale once and showed it to me."

"Oh, a kaleidoscope."

She hasn't seen one of those for a while herself to be completely honest.

Her head tips - considering the view, and effect of the blur of motion - to the other side, briefly skimming his shoulder.

"Yeah, actually. You're right. I hadn't thought of that."

He is trying so hard not to beam like he'd just answered the most difficult problem in class.

He's failing. Magnificently.

But he does manage to sort of turn away from the embarrassment of Alexis seeing, as he watches the Window.

"I can't imagine what it'd be like if you got lost in it," he says. "I mean - not you you. But. You in general. Plural." Yes.

It's okay, Albus.

Alexis is too busy squinting curiously at the moment to notice.

Not that she doesn't turn her head at the comment, shoulders shaking with a quiet laugh, "It's okay, I got it. I think that we - I and plural them - would be a bit on the side of too many pieces."

He reddens, letting out an embarrassed laugh to match her quiet one.

"I wonder what sort of magic it is that keeps this bar from doing that," he says. "Exploding into many pieces, I mean. Because whoever built this place must have been a great wizard."

Or a god.

They've got those here.

Not that Alexis has run into any yet. But she's heard about it.

"Think they'd have books on it?" her nose wrinkles curiously. "Like - cosmic architecture. Or paradoxical wizardry."