feigns | ► two → video/action。

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► two → video/action。

[When the video first clicks on, all that's visible is Will's face and the top of his shoulders. The feed shifts slightly, and from the angle it's being held at, it would be reasonable to assume he's led down, and even more reasonable -- from the slight squint and the admittedly somewhat dirty red bricks visible in one corner of the screen -- to think that he's outside and on a wall. After a moment, he appears satisfied that the device is, in fact, turned on, and places it somewhat clumsily behind his head, slightly further along the wall.]

I assume if this were normal, it would have been mentioned somewhere in between the rampaging wooden animals and the impromptu, temporary marriages ― perhaps just after cats, but before the clones. I shan't complain, though I feel as if I ought to be speaking of― [he pauses for a moment, waving a hand vaguely and briefly adopting something approaching a passable West Country accent] ―thic faraway lands, visited only by a daring, and arguably foolish, few on gurt maggoty ships.

[He sits up suddenly, and turns round to study his device; he looks cheerful, albeit slightly grubby and fairly nonplussed by the situation as a whole, although it soon fades into poorly concealed irritation.]

Perhaps Bristol's only up the road, or Teignmouth to the west and Torquay just below that. I suppose we shan't ever know; in a few hours more, we'll be somewhere and somewhen else entirely, taking part in a wholly ridiculous scavenger hunt. Why would it be as simple as playing along in what amounts to a bastardised children's game?

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You have that?

Occasionally, when the stars align and the tide's right.

If you say so, Professor Trelawney.

[Still walking, walking, walking.]

And I've seen enough of the tide for one day, thank you.

I do say so, Miss Weasley.

I shouldn't imagine it'd be that interesting to you, anyway, as you live in Devon.

Actually, I was sort of further inland. I hadn't really seen the ocean until the City, though my eldest brother and his wife apparently have a cottage on the coast of Cornwall.

Hence the chickens, I suppose.

Loads of chickens.

[And she seems to have come up along a wall, which... oh, Merlin, it looks like the one in the video. Ginny stops walking, frowning as she scans the area.]

D'you have anything against them?

[Whilst Will is just continuing to do nothing much except laze around on it, really.]

They're more trustworthy than ducks, even if that's due only to their subpar intelligence.

Sounds like there's a story behind that.

[This as she still looks around, and–oh, Godric, there he is. Well. It would be rude not to introduce herself, though their last conversation didn't exactly end on an amicable note. So she tucks her device into her belt and wanders over to him; she's all breeches, boots, and full-sleeved billowing shirt. Hence being mistaken as a bloke had she worn a hat to cover up that mane of copper hair of hers.

Ginny sighs under her breath and approaches him, one brow quirked.]

Don't tell me William Herondale got his arse handed to him by a duck.

[He'd been about to reply, but the sound of approaching footsteps distract him, and he turns his attention to the noise. Whilst Ginny isn't instantly recognisable, both her voice and comment give her away, and he shoots her a grin.]

There are ducks at Hyde Park. I convinced a friend to feed them poultry pies in an effort to breed an army of cannibal ducks. [He pauses, more emphasis than anything else.] They ate the pies, you know.

[To be fair, most people might not recognise her since her clothes are slightly too big and sort of... swallow her slim frame. Not meant for girls, clearly. Not that this is anything new, she gets hand-me-downs from her brothers occasionally. Ginny flicks her hair over her shoulders and crosses her arms, a slightly amused grin tugging at her lips.]

So did you get your army of cannibal ducks? And why in Godric's name did you want one in the first place?

[He leans back, stretching his legs out in front of him and inhaling audibly before sighing melodramatically.]

Alas, not. They followed us for a while, hoping, I believe, that we'd be able to provide them with never-ending supplies of pies made of their brothers and sisters instead of week-old stale bread, before eventually giving up and waddling off to bother some other poor, unsuspecting soul. Fortunately, they're not quite as vicious as pigeons, nor as determined. I'm fairly certain that if I truly wanted an army of birds, pigeons would be the better option.

[He stops, regarding her briefly.]

I was bored and it seemed like an appropriate way to pass the time.

Owls would be the best option, they're more loyal than a pigeon could ever be. But I reckon I'm biased. Maybe if Sir Weatherby was a bit less nocturnal, I'd have him on my shoulder now to complete the look. But he'd be offended, I think.

[Ginny shakes her head with a brief flash of a smile, bright against the beginnings of a sunburn and her thousand freckles, and she leaps lightly onto the wall and crosses her legs to get comfortable.]

And you. [She glances over at him, head cocked.] You've a funny concept of appropriate ways to pass time.

[He watches her as she hops up onto the wall, his expression reflecting mild amusement. When she's settled, he leans towards her, the corners of his lips upturned into a small smile, although the emotion doesn't quite manage to reach his eyes.]

Funny happens to be far more interesting than anything else.

[Turning back away from her, he shrugs lightly.]

You certainly seem attached to your owls, though -- so I'd agree: you are biased.

[Half of her wants to lean back, but the other half is a bit more stubborn and has her stay her ground and her bright brown eyes meet his. There's something there, what, she isn't sure; but something that she'll later identify as slightly unnerved settles low and turning in her stomach. It's strange, to see such a different expression on a face she recognises as someone else's, one that certainly wears a warmer smile than this one.

Ginny purses her lips musingly, her own expression belying none of her thoughts, then shrugs one shoulder.]

Well, yeah. Wet-start fireworks are funnier than anything else but I don't throw them into people's showers.

[She pauses, then smirks slightly, gaze turning skyward.]

Cannibal ducks sounds a load more sinister. But here I am, still talking to you. Properly, even, and not through a screen.

[He glances at her out of the corner of his eyes, and it's not clear whether he finds her amusing or the situation as a whole. He finds her interesting, though, the way that like Tessa, she's not afraid to point out when he's being an arse -- not, of course, that he'd admit to it.

He hums idly in response to her first comment.]

Perhaps there are better places to throw them, and that's what you do.

I can't say I understand why people would rather communicate through them. [As he says the 'them', he gestures loosely towards his own device, which is still cast carelessly to one side.]

That's exactly what I do.

[But she won't say where. That's for her brothers (and later, Snape and the Carrows) to find out.

Ginny pushes her fingers through her hair, brows knit in faint annoyance as the wind keeps trying to blow it into her face. She makes a non-committal sound in response to his comment as she begins to wind the vivid red mane into something of a bun just to get it out of the way, and then she replies.]

It's convenient. I can see that it is and I've used it long enough to know it's faster than using owls or fireplaces to communicate, but...

[Ginny reaches into one of her long sleeves and draws her wand, using it to secure her hair with a bit of fiddling. For all the world, it looks like an elegant wooden stick and nothing more.]

I'll never be entirely used to them. They have this irritating habit of turning on when they're not meant to and no matter how much abuse they're put through, they either survive it or you find a new one under your pillow the next day. I don't know. Seems like this place is determined to record our lives here as much as possible.

[He watches as she withdraws her wand, not recognising it for what it is, but noting the vague, loose similarity it holds to a stele. It's obvious, though, that Ginny isn't a Shadowhunter, and he sees little point in commenting upon it; it'd only open up questions as to what he does -- and is -- and it's a conversation he'd rather avoid. After all, as far as he's aware, Ginny is nothing more than a mundane. Nevertheless, he shoots her a quizzical look and chooses to focus on her comment regarding communication, all but ignoring her latter comment.]

Owls and fireplaces. [He repeats the words, humour drifting into his tone.] Your world sounds quite interesting. Why anyone would think, let alone want to communicate through a fireplace is beyond me. Does one stand atop the roof and call down the chimney stacks? It sounds as if it's open to all manner of misunderstandings.

[And to her, Will is nothing more than a Muggle, albeit one who comes from a world where at least vampires exist. Though, this being the City, that doesn't always mean a person is just as magical—for lack of better word.

Though all of that is far from her mind now, because he's picked up on fireplaces and she didn't even mean to say it. It's the other young man with this same face, Alan, who knows who and what she is, what she can do, what sort of world she's from. She can discuss Floo and fire-calling with him and she knows he'd be interested, but looks alone shouldn't get her guard down. She knows better. Ginny bites the inside of her cheek as she thinks fast, and then of all things, she lets loose a peal of laughter.]

Oh, so you were paying attention to what I was saying? I wasn't sure. [She looks at him askance, eyes teasing.] I'd imagine if people tried to talk through fireplaces like that, nothing would get done except getting sooty.

[Not strictly a lie.]

[He presses his lips into a line, eyebrows quirking at her remark. He tries to ensure that people -- all people, even Jem -- hold a poor opinion of him, even if part of him sometimes wished the opposite, and another part found irritation in assumptions being made based on his other habits, real or fictional.]

If it weren't such a nice day, I'd be offended by that. [Since moving to London, he'd always found he preferred the inevitable grey and rain that seemed to accompany most days than the sun, and here was no exception. It wasn't that he disliked the sun -- far from it, in fact -- he just found it wasn't particularly interesting as far as weather went, and people expected far more socialising when it was bright and warm.] But you're in luck; I'm feeling far too lazy to bother.

[It worked. A silent exhale of relief and an equally silent clap on the back for the youngest Weasley (as well as a mental word of thanks to paying attention to the twins' various tactics in avoiding Mum's questions). Ginny shrugs again, idly kicking the heels of her boots against the wall as she remarks, ]

Mm, yeah. I expect it's the weather. [She glances up to the sky again. Her favourite place.] But you'd be offended anyway, wouldn't you?

[Though there's little malice behind the words, just quiet observation. If she were younger, there would be a trace of a grudge held over their last conversation, but she's grown slightly since. Now it's more curiousity, though it tends to border on too curious.]

Would I? [He looks at her for a long moment before averting his gaze.] Have we grown to know that much about each other in such a short amount of time? It's almost scandalous. [Although his tone is level, polite even, it's likely not difficult to notice the fact that he attempts to refute most claims to know him on any level beyond that of 'superficial'.]

[Barely waiting for a response, he hops down off the wall and turns in the direction of the ocean. Wherever they were, it was noisier, busier than Tenby had ever been, and that alone is enough to destroy any nostalgia he might have felt at being on the -- a -- coast. Changing the topic abruptly, he continues:] A lot of coastal areas are rumoured to be haunted, did you know that? Bindon Hill at Lulworth Cove supposedly has Roman soldiers that march up and down the hillside at times of national crisis. I imagine most of the stories came about to deter late night wanderers away from the area, or to persuade the impressionable into ignoring the smugglers that decided natural coves with doorways made of limestone were the best places to make port.

―Or to add a bit of romanticism into an otherwise unbearably dull geographical location. I've never been fond of the sea.

[She doesn't exactly respond to his first comment in a heartbeat, merely shooting him a Look that is all at once dry, mildly irritated, and vaguely amused. Then she murmurs under her breath with a trace of something difficult to place,]

Don't talk to me about scandalous.

[Because dating the Boy Who Lived brings nothing short of it. But that's two years in the past, now. Oh, Merlin, has it really been two? Ginny sighs a little, passing a hand over her face for a moment, and when she glances over to Will again, he's moved off and over a bit and she takes the moment to study him with knit brows and a slight frown. Of course she notices the subject's been dropped. Of course she can't help but wonder why. But there is a lot of truth to what he had said; or, rather, not said—they don't know each other well enough at all.

She pulls one leg up onto the wall and hugs her knee to her chest, chin perched on top of it as she listens. Hauntings. Ghosts. She isn't afraid of ghosts, they're just witches and wizards who chose a different path because they were too afraid of the first one. But his last sentence gives her pause, and instead of looking out at the water, she keeps her gaze fixed on his back.]

I've a friend who's in love with it. Why aren't you, then?

[He cocks his head to the side, only half bothering to look back at her. It's a lie, to say that he's never been fond of the sea, but equally, he's never been fussed about either lying or being caught lying, and he sincerely doubts that Ginny would be able to tell.]

Why should I? All it is is water that tastes horrifically awful if you're unfortunate enough to swallow it. The most interesting part of it is that it separates one stretch of land from another. I'd even prefer to sit on the shore and build sandcastles.

[He pauses thoughtfully.] Or sit and eat ice cream. I don't recall Billy Bones ever confessing to a fondness for ice cream, though, so I can only assume that pirates lack a fondness for it, or simply fail to know what they're missing. Of course, it may simply have been because Billy Bones had a liking of alcohol to the detriment of nearly everything else.

[Somehow, the thought of him enjoying ice cream on a beach amuses her. Maybe because she's only ever seen seen him as this dry, dismissive thing and she associates a relaxing time on the seashore with someone... not William Herondale. But there she goes again, making assumptions. Not all people are Slytherins, Ginny Weasley, and not all people can be so neatly Sorted into Houses and their rivalries.

Instead, she asks with absolute sincerity,]

Who's Billy Bones?

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action; ...literally just got off the plane from japan ;___;