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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A poltergeist, though he's more obnoxious than anything else. And a ghost who's nearly headless. Nearly, mind you; he's got his head attached by about this much skin.

[She holds her thumb and forefinger apart by what looks like half a centimetre, grinning all the while. It sounds ridiculous, of course. Whether he chooses to believe her is up to him, but the whole truth of why she hangs around with ghosts - why she's taught by one, why she has a ghoul up in the attic - is too much for a new acquaintance.

Ginny leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and she raises her brows at Will.]

And, well, sure. Kids are too curious for their own good―Merlin knows I was. Am. [She chuckles.] There's this place near my school called the Shrieking Shack. Supposedly it's the most haunted dwelling in Britain and that even ghosts won't go near it. I'd never heard anything there, though, shrieking or otherwise but people still won't go near it.

[He utters a short laugh, looking almost impressed. It's not clear whether he believes her or not, primarily because he's not sure whether he ought to believe her; there's no reason not to, but it sounds rather absurd, similar to something he'd make up just to see how someone else would react.

He shrugs.]

If I'm not mistaken, the entire point of poltergeists is to be obnoxious, so that hardly comes as a surprise. I can't say the lives of the dead interest me, though. [He says lives as if he doesn't consider it to be that at all.]

[Truth be told, more than half the reason she's telling him really is to see how he'd react. People tend to not expect the truth around here and sometimes telling it is the best way to have someone disbelieve you entirely. But really, Nearly-Headless Nick's story is actually absurd beyond measure. The poor man's still upset about it.

Still, the redhead allows herself to look rather pleased and then it's replaced by something more thoughtful.]

So I expect no one's told you about the dead here.

[He murmurs a vague noise of acknowledgement, turning back towards the sea. After Amy had sent him the guide, he'd spent the evening looking over it and memorising what had seemed important. Death, of course, had been something that had been mentioned. Apparently those that died here weren't able to return to their own worlds, but they were resurrected, as were those who'd been killed in their world. It was nonsensical and ridiculous, and he didn't like it, but he could hardly argue against whatever natural (or unnatural, as the case may be) rules governed this world.

Beyond that, though, the concept of death didn't bother him. Privately, he'd admit that there was a reason as to why Gabriel and various other Shadowhunters didn't expect him to live past nineteen, and that realisation -- both that others believed it, and his own awareness of the reason for it -- had never bothered him quite as much as he imagined it ought to.]

They were mentioned in the guide. The afterlife still doesn't interest me; we live, we die, that's all that matters. People in your world might become ghosts, but the people in mine don't. What happens here hardly matters in that respect, the only difference being that I would quite like to leave here at some point so I'd rather not find myself in mortal peril too soon.

Becoming a ghost is a choice in my world, Will. [The defense is soft, but firm.] But very few people choose it. I wouldn't.

[Ginny follows his gaze out to the water, her chin resting in her hand and as the other traces a fingertip along the wall's edge to draw focus away from the urge to take her wand from her hair. It's a comfort thing. But thinking of the war brings a tightness to her throat; she accepted the idea that she may die in the battle long before her future was revealed to her here, by Harry. She knows she'll lose family and friends. She knows she'll wish they chose to stay tethered to the earth for the first few days of mourning, but that's not an afterlife she'd want for them.

When the City gave them Fred with icy skin and a silent heart, it broke hers, but she clung to the stolen time they had. Even in magic, death is death and it shouldn't be tampered with in the way the City does. But she won't lie and say she hates the rules in that regard, either. Maybe it's selfish. But she is also a sister who loves her brother.]

We'd all like to leave here, but speaking from personal experience? Getting caught up in mortal peril in the City isn't always avoidable. I've managed to stay alive and keep my heartbeat―and I've certainly come damn close to losing it, too―but I know people who haven't been as lucky. [Pause.] If you'd call what the City does luck at all.

[And then, riding on the heels of a sigh,]

I've seen the dead leave here, too, though. That's the odd thing.

[He doesn't respond immediately, preferring instead to focus his attention on the horizon. He couldn't imagine why anyone would want to become a ghost. Those that lived longer than you would only die eventually.

Rocking back on his heels, he spun to face her with a grin.]

If that's the case, then I need not make any changes to how I live my life.

[This response shouldn't surprise her, but it does, and it elicits a burst of laughter from the witch. Ginny raises her hand from the wall and prods him lightly in the chest, her ruminative air tucked away and replaced by vague amusement.]

Full of daring, nerve, and chivalry, are you?

[To quote the Sorting Hat, of course.]

[A look of genuine surprise crosses his features and he looks down at her, apparently not entirely sure as to how he ought to respond to the poke. After simply blinking at her for a moment, he shakes his head.]

Chivalry's perhaps going a bit far; I have very little honour, almost no humility, and I doubt whether many would describe me as being both gracious and courteous to the fairer sex. My fear of God is also lacking somewhat. If you really wanted, though, I could pretend to be Sir Galahad -- although I'm without a steed and any semblance of purity.

[Aha. So he can be surprised. Ginny's grin widens a fraction and she gives him one more prod for good measure before dropping her hand away and settling back onto the wall. She cocks her head at him, wondering after this particular response to something she'd said in jest.]

Oi, now. What's all this? Where'd that ego of yours go?

'A maiden knight to me is given, such hope, I know no fear; I yearn to breathe the airs of Heaven that often meet me here.' [He hops back onto the wall next to her, turning abruptly away and walking down it, arms outstretched even though his balance is fine without the action. He doesn't imagine she'll be familiar with the poetry of Tennyson, but he continues regardless.] 'This mortal armour that I wear, this weight and size, this heart and eyes, are touched, turned to finest air.'

[He stops and turns back, grinning at her and shrugging loosely.] It retreated into the confines of honesty. I wouldn't want you getting your hopes up too much in case you ever fancy being a damsel in distress.

Oh, Merlin's beard. He knows poetry, too? I don't know if I can take it.

[Ginny affects the most ridiculous, breathless voice when she says this, and goes as far as swooning almost bonelessly over the wall, a hand pressed to her heart. She can be quite the little actress when she needs or wants to be (see: garroting gas and Ron failing spectacularly at Quidditch), and right now, it fits. She holds that successfully for maybe five seconds before dissolving into laughter, and she rocks back up into a sit with a swing of her legs, grinning widely back.]

I don't fancy being a damsel in distress at all. It doesn't suit me, just like I'm not so sure being a knight suits you. [Her eyes rove his frame once, and she adds,] I can't imagine you in armour.

[Will watches her display of theatrics with amusement. There's a distinct difference in the way that people here respond to him -- people from the future, as discomforting as it was to think of. When she finishes, he announces airily:] If I didn't know any better, Miss Weasley, I'd say you were taking the piss.

And armour gets in the way; it's only convenient if you're not planning on moving at all.

Mr Herondale, I'm shocked! Me, taking the piss? Never.

[But the cheeky wink she sends his way says Always.

She gets her kicks where and when she can, after all. You never know when times in the City are going to throw you for another loop, and the summer's not over yet. It's a shame she associates the season with less favourable things nowadays - that wasn't always the case - but that's how it is.

She raises an eyebrow.]

Speaking from experience?

I've never worn armour. [He glances up at the sky for a moment, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips.] Not in a fight, at any rate. It occurred to me once that they might be good hiding places when an entire household is looking for you, but― [He presses his lips together and feigns a look of thought.] It turns out they're not, actually, especially if your balance isn't as great as it ought to be for one reason or another, and people tend to notice if they move when they were previously entirely stationary.

[Ginny snorts in laughter, leaning back again until she's lying along the wall, arms and legs outstretched. And then she talks to the sky, but directs her words at him.]

I've hidden in armour before. What was your reason, then?

Jessamine would have been upset with me about something, undoubtedly claiming that I was being ridiculous and preventing her from checking her reflection for the twentieth time that day, or perhaps I pointed out that the precise shade of whatever she was wearing didn't complement her quite as much as she'd like to think. I imagine Sophie wanted my guts for garters for traipsing mud around, or I might have offended her by attempting to speak civilly; I've never quite been able to work out which upsets her more.

I suppose I might have commented that Charlotte was doing a fine job of being our governess, particularly for one so small. [A beat.] Or I insulted her husband. He has a habit of setting himself on fire and not noticing, along with inventing objects that do the exact opposite of what they're supposed to.

[He scowls briefly, remembering the events at De Quincey's, and how the room had been set on fire instead of signalling to the Shadowhunters outside that help would be appreciated.]

I was fairly certain he blinded me recently, and she still defends him.

[He pauses again -- for longer, this time -- before continuing in a more dismissive, offhand manner.]

I can't remember. There may have been any number of reasons. Sadly, it's not unusual for me to find that I'd be safer outside than I'd be inside.

[The first few reasons make sense to her. In fact, she smiles as she hears them because it's not too terrible at all. She's hidden in suits of armour for similar reasons... as well as avoiding detentions by being caught out after curfew. But there's something about his tone that has her smile fading, her brows knitting, and though she remains lying along the wall, she's listening intently.

It's the last thing that has her rolling back up to sit so she can look at him. Blinded? Ginny remains silent for a few moments, then simply states,]

They sound terrible.

[He shoots her a sharp look, somewhat surprised by her reaction; he hadn't imagined she'd take it quite as seriously as it seemed she had. But then, he supposes, she doesn't know him enough to assume he deserved it or that he was embellishing facts.

He lifts his chin, regarding her before continuing quite cheerfully as if he hadn't heard her.]

I'd always imagined Jem would come to my aid should the women of the house decide to gang up against me, but it turned out he was of the opinion I utterly deserved it and left me to it. Henry, of course, hadn't realised anything unusual had occurred.

[Family - or living, for that matter - situations less cheerful than her own usually earn something solemn from the youngest Weasley. True enough she doesn't know what he'll say next, whether it's the truth or an elaborate version of it, but still.

She inclines her head a fraction as he continues, lip caught between her teeth. Why does she always manage to find people in the City that leave her with more questions than answers? She's the same way, she knows, but rarely to the extent as the others. Some days, she wishes she could carry on a conversation without feeling like she's speaking in code, through a filter, around an invisible elephant in a room.]

Siblings?

[He stiffens at her question. In retrospect, he realises that it was probably a logical assumption to make, but he still hadn't expected it. His thoughts briefly travel to his sister and it takes him longer than he'd have liked to reply, longer than he'd have liked to grin at Ginny.]

No. None of them would wish to be related to me. Jessamine, I'm certain, would prefer to sell all her fineries than be related to someone that 'behaves like a lunatic'. [He lowers his voice so that he's speaking in a conspiratorial and admittedly rather loud whisper.] She says it's because I'm Welsh.

Sophie. [He laughs.] She's a maid, and I know for a fact that she'd rather throw me out on the streets than do anything else; I don't know how she'd react if it transpired we were siblings. I imagine her opinion coincides with Jessamine's, although she's never outwardly said as much. She's said plenty more, of course. Charlotte gave her express permission for her to treat me as she wished.

[He sighs dramatically and finally turns his attention back to Ginny.] Perhaps you were right: they are terrible. I can't think what I've done to deserve living with them. Of course, I've nothing like your abundance of brothers.

[For some strange reason, this all bears a vague resemblance to her family's status among the other pureblooded families. The Welsh thing must be a joke, of course, but there's something that feels somewhat familiar. It's a brief, passing thought that doesn't earn more than a few seconds' consideration, because the rest reminds her of what she's heard of Harry's relatives. Those Dursleys.

Muggles are no different from Wizarding folk, but sometimes, despite the war and all she fights for, it doesn't feel that way. The remark about her brothers earns Will a fleeting smile, and she shrugs.]

You're not the only one. I can't imagine what it must be like without the whole lot of them, even Percy, and he's an absolute tosser, but...

[She pauses, takes a breath because Percy is not the topic at hand here, then asks,]

Erm. So why live with them at all?

Charlotte would say it's because we are family in so much as it matters, but she has a tendency to be absolutely maudlin. [He shrugs; elaborating on Shadowhunters isn't something he has any great interest in, but it holds greater appeal than touching on the subject of his family.] Jessamine, Jem, Tessa and I are all under eighteen, Charlotte and Henry are our guardians, in essence. It's somewhere to live and whilst I suppose I could find somewhere else to live if I really wished, at present, I pay nothing for my keep.

[That would all change, of course, when he turned eighteen, but he was trying to avoid thinking about it.]

It hardly matters, though. Do you always take such discussions so seriously?

[Ginny nods, though there's still that crease between her brows that means she's still thinking about it. This isn't the whole story, or at least, it isn't enough for her. But the mention of guardians - again, those bloody Dursleys - has her drawing the conclusion that maybe Will doesn't have parents. She's always known she's lucky to have the family she does, so happy, and full, and whole (at least for now); so though she understands it isn't the norm, it still troubles her that not everyone has that.

The question has her blinking at him, thrown for a moment, and then she actually blushes, a tinge of colour washing across her cheeks and the tips of her ears. The redhead shrugs again, glancing up and away, and she speaks her thoughts.]

I take family seriously, I suppose. It's the one thing I know I'll always have, because we don't have much of anything else but each other. [She pauses, because she doesn't like elaborating on how poor her family is, then presses on.] I expect it sounds a bit silly, but that's the best way I can put it.

[He watches her as she answers him, a look of slight satisfaction gracing his features as she blushes; he's never particularly understood why people find the stories of other people's lives so fascinating, and he hopes that perhaps now, she'll live it well alone.

Nevertheless, when she does speak, he simply blinks at her for a short moment, as if he's not entirely sure what to make of her comment, and then he laughs. He can't quite help the mocking tone that enters his voice when he replies, and he jumps back down off the wall, frowning.]

Are you truly that naive? You don't know that you'll always have anything.

[He'd always thought that he'd be able to live happily-ever-after (as it were) with his family, and then he'd opened that box and it'd all changed. And then, foolishly, he'd thought that perhaps he'd be okay at the Institute, but that had faded quickly; it wasn't as if Jem was going to live a long and fulfilling life, and he'd have to leave the Institute as soon as he turned eighteen.]

[That comment cuts her sharp and deep, regardless of if he meant it to or not. The rational part of Ginny tells her that he couldn't possibly know the details of her war, how fragile her family's lives are at this point, how she knows her family's happiness is fleeting because they'll lose one of their own soon. No. She won't always have them, not the way she wants them. But it's something she'd rather not think about at all.

Her smile crumples in an instant, the colour on her cheeks deepening in a flush that only speaks of irritation. The other half of her doesn't care that he doesn't know. Her right hand reaches up to snatch her wand from her hair, but the moment it's resting in her palm, she realises what she's doing and shoves it back into her belt, playing off the reflexive movement as if she'd meant to undo her hair all along.

Overreacting. That's what you're doing, Weasley. She shoves her loose hair behind her ears and releases a breath, and all this takes place in the span of maybe ten seconds. It's remarkable how much control she has over her temper nowadays―that wasn't at all the case when she first arrived in the City. Now, in a voice as even as she can manage it,]

You don't know my family. We've gone through a load of shite together and we're still together. I know that isn't always the case. I'm just speaking from experience, Will.

[Pause. Then in a cooler tone,]

Though I'm sorry you feel that way. It must be awful going through life with that sort of perspective.