iambetadraconis: (Elea)
[personal profile] iambetadraconis
You'd think by now he knew how things worked at the Bar at the End of the Universe to recognise its weird whenever it sprung up...

He didn't talk to the drunken man; only passed him by.

Innocent, for a beginning.

And an hour after that, he'd forgotten even that much.

But when he saw that oh-so-simple-looking cube, with all those colours...

He spent a good three hours twisting the damn thing this way and that, trying to figure it out and getting steadily more annoyed with it, before giving it up as a lost cause and deciding to hand it over to someone else instead, so that they could share the frustration.

It ended up in his pocket. Presumably for later.

With that little matter settled, he went about looking for something else to do.

That's when he made another discovery.

Contrary to popular opinion, rocks are not dull. They're interesting. Unique. Fascinating.

And the bloody things have their own personality, that you'd only discover once you've gotten and spent time with two or three of them.

Five or six.

Ten or twenty.

And now here, at his home in Lunar, one of the rooms has been transformed into a ... kennel? Stable? Rockery? full of rocks and stones of all sizes and kinds, much to Elea's amusement.

Or is it annoyance?

Well, while her beau spends time dusting his granite companions, she's sitting downstairs waiting for someone just a little more inclined to talk about far more normal things than whether basalt is given towards playfulness, or if flint rocks are happiest in groups.

She examines the kettle that's steadily heating up.

He should be here any minute now...

Date: 2013-04-12 08:49 pm (UTC)
From: [personal profile] herr_bookman
Really, she shouldn't feel responsible for taming the shrew. The kid doesn't need to be socially babysat; just let him muddle through.

"You didn't--" he starts, but then stops when he nearly bites through his bottom lip in embarrassment. "That impression isn't the only... oh, never mind!"

Autor stands again, and straightens his blazer. "I don't mean to keep you," he says, and drains the remainder of his stew. "Lunch was very nice, and I hope the walk is passable. I'll leave you to it, but I'll be borrowing this, with the promise to return it shortly."

He holds up the cube, most of the colors of which he has already grouped into squares. Then he sketches a little bow and starts clearing his dishes from the table, intent upon leaving so that they can get to their walk.

Date: 2013-04-12 09:23 pm (UTC)
herr_bookman: (lean)
From: [personal profile] herr_bookman
Autor nods twice, and, tucking the cube under his arm, holds the door open for the three of them on their way out.

Date: 2013-04-13 02:26 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] herr_bookman
"Oh," Autor says, and chews on the inside of his cheek again. He's a little surprised that she cottoned on to his liking the tea. Did he mention such? He can't remember. "Thank you. I'll enjoy it."

He raises a brow at Rabastan. "Good luck with your rockery issue. Do let me know how it turns out."

Ever confident, he tucks that and The Language of Flowers under his arm, and strolls off into the afternoon.

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Rabastan Lestrange

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