feigns | ► one → video/action。

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► one → video/action。

[There’s a teenager!

He’s wet, in something of a ‘I’m going to ignore how much of a drowned rat I appear’ way. One might assume that he fell into the fountain at some point, but equally, the all-encompassing wetness may have something to do with the fact that he was just in England, aka the land of copious amounts of tea-and-rain. His expression, for the record, reflects his irritation at being displaced without warning, frustration from trying to get whatever this might be to work (he's not entirely convinced it is), and curiosity. You know, at the whole ‘suddenly displaced, this isn’t London’ thing. It’s hard not to wonder about something like that.

When he finally speaks, he sounds Remarkably British, although his accent is rather indistinct for the most part – southern, one might assume, well-brought up, although there’s a slight hint of Welsh. No, he doesn’t do anything untoward with sheep. London doesn't have sheep.]

Normally, one only has to ask for my company to be granted with it. [This? This would be the unmistakable tone of `GRUMPINESS`.] I do try to make myself available for all, but it can’t be helped if someone misses out here and there. Kidnapping tends not to be the answer, though. If I said I was impressed, I’d sadly be lying, but if it makes you feel any better, you can pretend I’m of that opinion regardless. Likewise, I think you’ll find you’ve managed to overshoot ‘mysterious’.

[There’s a pause, and for a moment, there’s a flash of wry amusement in his expression, as if this entire scenario is utterly ridiculous to the point of absurdity.] “I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?'” I hope you won’t mind if I happen to refuse any bottles labelled ‘drink me’, or any foods labelled ‘eat me’. I’m quite content with who I am and don’t envision any existential crises a la dear Alice.

I won't decline any explanations, though, even if they happen to come from hatters and caterpillars and assorted small mammals with a fondness for tea and an inability to correctly tell the time.

[There’s another pause, and after he glances away from the device and up at the sky, he shoves the device into a pocket – without, for the record, bothering to turn it off, so have fun with the sound of footsteps and the wonderful blackness of pockets until the device times out.]

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Is there a map in the guide? [Which he has, but hasn't got so far as to actually reading.]

Should be. You could always ask around, too.

[Pause.]

You know, if they aren't up there, that could either mean they're here or... they're still in your world.

I'll be able to find it. [A pause.] Thank you.

Of course.

[A breath of silence. Then - ]

Sorry about―well, earlier. I don't usually...

[And then she laughs a little, sheepishly.]

No, that's a lie. Weasley tempers, they match our hair. But anyway, yeah. Sorry.

I'm yet to see your face, let alone your hair. I hope it shan't be a disappointment; I've spent our entire conversation building up an image of what you might look like.

Now you've got me curious if I sound like I look, or not.

I'm sure you know what they say about curiosity, though.

The cats were yesterday, Mr Herondale.

My mistake.

And even then, I wasn't affected by that curse. So go on.

And satisfaction might have brought you back, if you were.

[He's silent for a moment, the only sound being footsteps.] Shorter than I am, of course, perhaps average height for a woman. You're English, and you speak of your temper in relation to your hair, so-- redhead? Bright red, I'm guessing. One tends not to discuss a muted redhead as having much of a temper. Failing that, brunette. [Another pause.] You seem quite private, so I imagine your dress sense reflects that. [You might be able to imagine his grin.] One wouldn't want to give the wrong impression, would they? So, appropriately covered. I'm yet to meet a woman who takes no pride in her appearance, so I imagine you dress as well as you can.

[Another pause, and he'd be shrugging if she could see it.] Pretty, probably.

[There's a pause and then she laughs, lighter and brighter than the whisper of one earlier. Redhead, of course. How can't she be?]

You're very observant for a bloke who can't see who he's talking to. I'm impressed.

And you're smirking.

[She guesses.]

I like being right.

Yes, I'm sure you do.

I might as well show you that you are. Hullo.

[He's stops walking for a moment, studying the video.]

Brown eyes. Not what I'd have guessed.

[Raised copper brows in your direction, sir. And then she grins.]

No?

I'd have gone for a more muddy green -- the sort of green you see in autumn in the countryside.

[He smiles in return.]

But I suppose brown's fine, too.

Yes, I suppose. [A quiet snort.] No green in my family.

[Though she's certainly fond of the colour. Ahem. She studies him in turn, now. He actually... looks like someone she knows here. But she's only really met him once in person. Look-alikes aren't uncommon in the City, but... hmm.]

Nice to put a face to the name, though. Where did you say you were from?

Edited 2011-06-06 15:28 (UTC)

I didn't. I live in London.

Right in the city, wow.

[That's genuine, too. Ginny flicks her hair over her shoulder and shrugs, lips quirked.]

I'm farther out than that. Devon.

[His expression shifts slightly at that, faint surprise mixed with something that might border on sentimentality.]

The West Country. [INNOCENT CURIOSITY (feigned, of course):] Aren't you all farmers?

[Ginny raises a curious eyebrow, leaning back a little from the camera so she can shoot him a thoughtful look.]

Not all of us, no.

[She pauses, then cocks her head a fraction, amending.]

Well. We've got chickens, but that's about it. Dad works at an office, Mum stays at home, we're at school. No farm.

Edited 2011-06-06 17:24 (UTC)

Only most of you, then.

[After her comment sinks in, he shoots her a somewhat quizzical look.]

Aren't you old enough to have finished school?

Yeah, I reckon so.

[There's something in her expression that quiets at the question, and though she doesn't actually look away from him, it feels like she has for just a moment. The pause is brief and then Ginny speaks evenly.]

We finish school at seventeen, typically. But I arrived here a little over two years ago, like I mentioned earlier, so I'm—well, I'm older than I'm meant to be, if that makes sense. I was sixteen when I got here.

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voice; 1/2

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video; ....you did not see that fail

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video; I SAW NOTHING

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