feigns | ► 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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[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.

Spare me your pity.

[He doesn't bother snapping at her, or even turning back round to face her. Instead, the utterance is quite flat and lacking in any discernable emotion.

Awful. He doesn't think of it like that anymore -- he tries to avoid thinking about what his life had been before, and as such, he tends not to entertain terms like 'awful' when contemplating it all. The only time he ever gives it much thought is his birthdays, when he writes the letters he destroys almost immediately after and even then, he's aware that as much of what he writes is fiction as it is reality.

He remains quiet for a little longer, thinking. Then, quite suddenly, he spins back round, speaking as if the previous few minutes hadn't occurred at all.]

You know, I've not spent any time in any of the taverns here. I think I'd be quite disappointed with myself if I were to wake up tomorrow and find I'd missed out on that opportunity entirely.

Don't tell me what to do.

[The retort is just as flat, but not enough to curb the edge framing her words. Every conversation seems to follow this pattern of casual banter interspersed with butting tempers, and it's more Ginny's penchant to rise to barbs than anything else―that much she knows. Nine times out of ten, she cannot stop herself. She's not sure why she bothers. Maybe because she so strongly dislikes it when things are kept from her, maybe because she's too curious and too stubborn for her own good. Maybe because she loathes people treating her like a child.

Whatever the case, she hops down off the wall and sweeps her flaming hair back with a gesture worthy of Fleur Delacour and rests a hand on the handle of her wand to make certain it's still in place. She meets his gaze with relative ease, despite her shorter stature, and remarks.]

Go ahead, then. I work at a bar so it isn't a sight I'd hate to miss out on. Don't get lost, now. The City might leave without you.

[It's a lie -- he has no intention of going to a tavern at all. He'd said it because he'd doubted that Ginny would want to accompany him, and he's glad to be proven correct. He's done it more often than not in London -- said that he's done one thing when he's done something else entirely, choosing instead to walk down to the docks or explore the various sights and sounds he must have seen a thousand times or more, and no-one seemed any the wiser. There were occasions when he thought that Jem might suspect that he doesn't get up to half of what he claims to, but Jem doesn't question him on the matter and they continue as normal.

He's not bothered by the fact that his conversations with Ginny seem to dissolve into arguments of some description; most of his conversations have a habit of doing as much, be it the result of him seeing how far he can push the other person or not, and he doesn't have a great deal of -- or any -- interest in 'making friends'.

He acknowledges her response with a slight tilt of his head.]

I'll do what I like.

Edited 2011-06-20 12:38 (UTC)

[Ginny shoots him a look, one that holds a number of different expressions, all of them difficult to discern from the other. This conversation is over, that much is clear. And whether what she's heard from him about his life back home is true or not is hard to say, but the former implies a measure of trust between them that Ginny doubts exists. Silently, she admonishes herself that she gives up stories of things close to her heart too easily, and maybe it is naivety on her part, some girlish optimism she often cannot afford to have, that has her doing so. Not everyone is a friend, not immediately, and the youngest Weasley knows that better than most people. Her history at home and in the City is testimony to that. And yet, she still tries.

Gryffindor persistence, after all.

She gives Will a final once over, lips pursed in mild irritation, and then she shrugs.]

Fine, then.

[She inclines her own head in a minute gesture, the movement stiff, and then she turns and heads the other way, resting the palm of her hand on the wall and leaping over it to the other side with an ease born of training for Quidditch and a warfront. The redheaded witch walks as far as she thinks is safest, and as soon as she's fairly certain Will isn't looking, she Disapparates with a sharp crack snapping through the salty air.

It could easily be mistaken for gunfire in this place. But Ginny needs to get home, needs to get to her broom to fly and unwind the tension, and disappearing on the spot is faster than walking.]

Edited 2011-06-20 12:58 (UTC)

► two → video/action。

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