► five → video/action。

[feigns]

[Will is in Xanadu, and currently lazing about beneath a tree, an apple in hand — green, for the record, rather than gold. He looks, it has to be said, exceptionally comfortable and contented.

He's also full of complete and utter crap.]

When I awoke this morning, I had the strongest urge to travel to the north, perhaps to the coast, or at least to a cliff. There, I imagined I would face a dragon with a hundred heads, and an array of beautiful, young women, dancing and singing.

Alas, nothing went quite as I expected — although I dare say that viewed from the right angle and considering his temper, the gentleman — in as much as he can be considered as such; I consider the description to be erring on the side of exceptional kindness — I happened upon could very well be viewed as in the same mould. Of course, perhaps if I hadn’t got lost it would have been a different story entirely — he might have still been sleeping. And I’d hardly describe the women, pretty as they were, as nymphs.

But then, as I recall, disappointment did nothing but await him, either. [A beat, and Will eyes the apple in his hand for a moment.] Or a sense of futility, at any rate. Fortunately, I suppose, Athena’s yet to make any claim on the apples, and I can continue feeling both like Hercules and Eurystheus.

—I suppose it’s a curse, and I can’t say I have any intention of complaining. I could have felt a burning desire to clean stables.

(ooc: anyone’s free to assume that Will nicked the apples from them, or come across him in the park or. anything.)

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[7thborn.livejournal.com]

[Ginny's having a grand time flying along through Xanadu on her broom; she simply intends to keep drifting along with her toes of her shoes skimming the treetops, but her communicator slips from her pocket when she avoids a branch. She circles back sharply, dropping into a steep dive to catch the damn thing, and though she doesn't like Seeking nearly as much as Chasing, she's not half bad at it. She pulls up slowly, looking at her device with mild irritation, then glances around to see if there is anyone around to see her, and—oh.

She knows that one.]

Having a picnic?

[bitesvampires.livejournal.com]

[He glances up with a start at the voice, recognising it immediately. He doesn't respond though, not at first, his expression instead shifting quickly into wide-eyed, silent surprise. After a moment, though, he seems to remember himself, and he redirects his attention to the apples.]

I haven't got a large enough spread of food, for that — some pastries would be good, and some wine, and I'd need a blanket to sit on and a bit of company, and then, I think, there'd possibly be a need for ice cream.

[He pauses, as if considering.] I don't believe I've ever arranged a successful picnic, so I could be mistaken, of course.

[He glances back at her, gaze resting not-so-subtly on the broom (he hates being taken by surprise, and being utterly taken aback by what's in front of him—) and he frowns for a moment.]

I suppose it makes a change to walking.

[7thborn.livejournal.com]

Well, it sounds like you know what ought to go into a successful picnic. Then again, I don't believe I've ever had one, so I could be wrong.

[She grins, partially to show she's teasing and partially to ease what she knows is a rather awkward situation. She usually likes to keep the broomstick flying relatively secret unless someone wants to learn. True enough many of her friends know she wants to do this for a living, but springing it on someone like this isn't exactly ideal. Ginny catches the shift in his gaze, gently bringing the broom back down so that she's barely hovering above the grass, and his comment earns a sheepish shrug.]

Walking's slower.

[bitesvampires.livejournal.com]

Walking was never intended to be very fast.

[He watches her guide the broom and he can't deny that he's impressed — inwardly, at least. He imagines his expression reflects it to some degree, but it's not something he's entirely sure of how to comment on — so he doesn't; instead, he shoots her a look of mock horror.]

You've never been on a picnic. Why, Miss Weasley, I'm both shocked and disappointed. [A pause, and he shrugs.] Knowing and doing are two very different things, although I suppose I could always blame it on the company rather than the food. I suspect it's more accurate, anyhow.

[7thborn.livejournal.com]

[Right, so the plan for the moment is to ignore how the witch is a walking—rather, flying—cliché. Good. She can tell he's thinking about it (but what about it, she isn't sure), but they're not going to talk about it now, are they? No? Excellent. Ginny dismounts the broom and swings it over her shoulder, back on solid ground and looking for all the world like she meant to come along and sweep leaves off Xanadu's grass. Those sodding devices, she thinks, shoving hers into her pocket; it's like they're meant to create unplanned encounters.

She raises an eyebrow.]

So what brings you to Xanadu if not an unsuccessful picnic?

[bitesvampires.livejournal.com]

[His lips quirk into a slight smirk at her movements — it's comical, he thinks, even if she doesn't appreciate it.]

I fancied a stroll, and it was on the way. [It was pretty, he'd give it that much. For as much as he spoke of loving London, liking the manner in which it was, for all intents and purposes, a very dirty city, he'd never been entirely certain whether he'd come to that opinion as a result of claiming as such — a lie turning into reality, as it were. It was easy to enjoy the countryside and to admire its beauty; London didn't have much of that. There was Hyde Park, of course, a vast expanse of greenery around which houses and shops had sprouted, but there wasn't a great deal to admire — and naturally, he'd claimed he liked that.

But he'd always, always preferred the countryside, be it out of nostalgia or a genuine appreciation for it.]

You must have missed my tale of adventure and daring devilry as I freed these apples from captivity.

[7thborn.livejournal.com]

[It's part of the reason Ginny takes the time to fly through Xanadu or the forest or the beach. The first two more out of nostalgia than anything else, a girl whose childhood was spent in an orchard and the hills around Ottery St Catchpole and then the mountains around Hogwarts. London was only ever a place to visit and she's never fancied living in the heart of it, though it's always a sort of adventure to explore. The City's the same way for her, even if she lives in an apartment building; spending time in a cabin in the forest with her brothers is the highlight of it all. It's quieter, calmer, more like home.

She raises both eyebrows at Will, curious and vaguely amused.]

I must have, yeah. Do I get to hear it, then, or it is some secret thing I've got to imagine on my own?

[bitesvampires.livejournal.com]

[He sits up and crosses his legs, regarding her for a moment before dropping the apple in his hands.]

I don't suppose you're familiar with Hercules? It was simply that I woke up feeling rather like him this morning — perhaps not physically, but in aim and purpose.

[7thborn.livejournal.com]

[She cocks her head a fraction, turning the handle of her broom in hand as it rests on her shoulder, thinking. The name sounds familiar. Perhaps Hermione mentioned it once, or perhaps even Binns, but she isn't sure in what context because... goblins. Maybe Charlie? Was there a dragon? She shrugs instead, guessing.]

Did he go on some daring adventure for... apples?

[bitesvampires.livejournal.com]

Something like that. He had to accomplish twelve labours in penance for killing his songs. One of the tasks was to steal the apples of the Hesperides. [He eyes her for a moment.] Nymphs. Supposedly, the apples grant immortality, but Hercules didn't get to eat them. He obtained them before being told to return them.

[He pauses for a moment.] Of course, before he managed to get them, he had to fight a hundred-headed dragon and bear the weight of the world on his shoulders.

[7thborn.livejournal.com]

I don't think a hundred-headed dragon could actually survive in the wild. I mean, I reckon it'd go after itself for a bit, wouldn't it.

[It's an absent-minded thought and she supposes Charlie could articulate it even better, but she doesn't know Greek mythology and she does know 'mythological' creatures. Ginny looks considering for a moment, biting down on her bottom lip, and then she shrugs.]

Apples that grant immortality, though, I suppose that could exist. That's a normal apple, I suppose? But with the way the City handles death, I expect immortal ones aren't really necessary.

[They'd be Dark magic, anyway. And bollocks, she hadn't meant to bring up City death at all, since... Fred.]

[bitesvampires.livejournal.com]

You really are quite serious, aren't you? Do you ever believe in the fantastical? [He pauses for a moment, scrutinising her briefly. He's fairly certain she's never mentioned dragons, but her response seems to imply that there's a possibility they exist in her world — or at the very least, that she's given thought to their existence. In what is quite possibly one of the more exceptionally boring ways.] The fantasy of fairy tales and children's stories and myths. I can't imagine anything more dull than ruthlessly applying logic to every little thing. [A beat.] Besides, if it lives, it has sentience and intelligence. If it has intelligence, it'll feel the pain the rest of its body feels, even if every head is operated by separate brains; if it goes after itself, I dare
say it'll learn pretty quick that it oughtn't.

—Unless, I suppose, it's capable of being masochistic, but I can't help but think that feelings of sadism and masochism are restricted somewhat to humans. Do you think dragons have their very own Marquis de Sade? It might explain a lot.

[He falls silent for a moment, attention shifting back to the apples. He'd heard about the City's approach to death, and it's not something he wants to dwell on. He'd wondered briefly what it'd mean for Jem if he ever happened to arrive here, before deciding that it wasn't his place to wonder at all.] What should I say — I have immortal longings in me? I'm afraid I'm not quite Cleopatra. No, I think I prefer Samuel Butler's view: to himself everyone is an immortal. He may know that he is going to die, but he can never know that he is dead. I don't need apples for that.