[ Most of Charlie's life isn't exactly exciting — once you get past the excitement of the dragons, that is — because taking care of any animal means learning to adhere to routine, and routine becomes, by default, routine. Just because he's shoveling dragon dung instead of horse dung doesn't mean he doesn't spend an hour every morning and every evening cleaning up shit.
He doesn't mind so much, really, since living a predictable life isn't the worst thing that's happened to him lately, not by a long shot.
That doesn't mean he isn't thrilled to jump on the chance to head south to investigate rumors that are swirling around of dragon sightings from Greece to Turkey. Dragons haven't been found anywhere near the Agean sea for centuries, but with the way Muggles have been spreading and encroaching on the natural habitat of creatures both magical and not, it's not outside the realm of possibility that a dragon might have snuck its way down far enough to be spotted around the Mediterranean in an attempt to avoid the press of humanity forcing it from its home.
To say he's surprised to come back to their temporary barracks after a fruitless afternoon of hiking to find a little pigmy owl waiting for him, puffed up and cross when he admits he doesn't have treats to hand, would be an understatement. Especially when he unfolds the note and reads it, the little sketch of a crescent moon more than enough to tell him exactly who it's from.
I'll be there with bells on. -CW
He doesn't show up with bells on, in the end. What he does do is show up with four other dragonologists, all of them sweaty and vaguely singed, their spirits high from the excitement of finally being out of freezing cold Romania on a wild goose chase (wild dragon chase), feeling like kids on a school holiday allowed to skive off when all their work's been done.
The bar isn't difficult to find, especially with their local guide to help translate for them, and the moment they pass through the doors, Charlie finds himself looking around for a mass of white-blonde hair, searching for the witch who invited him, eager to see a familiar face. ]
Luna! [ He breaks away from the men he came in with, half-shouting something in Romanian over his shoulder at the one who swiped at his shoulder as he left, and makes a bee-line to where she's sitting so he can hug her like they're old friends and not only tangentially acquainted, going so far as to buss a friendly kiss to her cheek. ] You're looking well. How's your trip going?
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He doesn't mind so much, really, since living a predictable life isn't the worst thing that's happened to him lately, not by a long shot.
That doesn't mean he isn't thrilled to jump on the chance to head south to investigate rumors that are swirling around of dragon sightings from Greece to Turkey. Dragons haven't been found anywhere near the Agean sea for centuries, but with the way Muggles have been spreading and encroaching on the natural habitat of creatures both magical and not, it's not outside the realm of possibility that a dragon might have snuck its way down far enough to be spotted around the Mediterranean in an attempt to avoid the press of humanity forcing it from its home.
To say he's surprised to come back to their temporary barracks after a fruitless afternoon of hiking to find a little pigmy owl waiting for him, puffed up and cross when he admits he doesn't have treats to hand, would be an understatement. Especially when he unfolds the note and reads it, the little sketch of a crescent moon more than enough to tell him exactly who it's from.
I'll be there with bells on. -CW
He doesn't show up with bells on, in the end. What he does do is show up with four other dragonologists, all of them sweaty and vaguely singed, their spirits high from the excitement of finally being out of freezing cold Romania on a wild goose chase (wild dragon chase), feeling like kids on a school holiday allowed to skive off when all their work's been done.
The bar isn't difficult to find, especially with their local guide to help translate for them, and the moment they pass through the doors, Charlie finds himself looking around for a mass of white-blonde hair, searching for the witch who invited him, eager to see a familiar face. ]
Luna! [ He breaks away from the men he came in with, half-shouting something in Romanian over his shoulder at the one who swiped at his shoulder as he left, and makes a bee-line to where she's sitting so he can hug her like they're old friends and not only tangentially acquainted, going so far as to buss a friendly kiss to her cheek. ] You're looking well. How's your trip going?