[ The dashing dragonologists bring a tumult of lively noise with them into the bar, bantering in Romanian, already ordering a round of drinks, the two groups merging like two waves colliding.
All of the naturalists are outdoorsy types, but at the heart of it, their job is to take notes on habitat, sneak photographs of rare creatures, and draw detailed sketches, all striving not to get involved at all. Meanwhile, the dragonologists have a reputation as adventurers, rough and rowdy and intriguing, their line of work more dangerous. Luna can already see the way a couple of the girls and one of the lads perk up, craning for their attention. And so their jaws drop when Charlie carries himself right across the room and presses a scratchy kiss to Luna's cheek.
The quiet, dreamy newbie knows one of them? How in Merlin's name had that happened?
She couldn't really say, herself. They'd been ships passing in the night back in England, carrying on a conversation just long enough for him to give her some tips on travel, then one brief gettogether with the two of them and Ginny before he flew out again after the weekend. Seeing him again, she seems to brighten like a small star. ]
Oh, it's been wonderful. No hippocampi so far, but we'll befriend them yet.
[ She finds herself looking at him, drinking in the details. As an only child, she finds his family clan fascinating — she might know Ginny and Ron best, but there's the echo of all those other Weasleys in the angles of Charlie's face, the familiar constellation of those freckles, although starker on his face from all his time outdoors.
"Loony" Lovegood, on the other hand, older and now kitted for the outdoors, is dressed a bit more sensibly than her reputation might have entailed. No strange hats or dangling earrings this time (they might be seized by stray animals, she had been somberly informed), and her flyaway hair has been scraped into some semblance of a braid, although it's already coming apart. But she hasn't left behind all of her vibrant affectations: there are pink heart-shaped sunglasses tucked into the outside pocket of her light jacket, a piece of cork hanging around her throat as a necklace, and a series of colourful enamel pins attached to her hardy leather satchel.
Her gaze drifts to his own outfit, and the absence of what was promised. There's a smudge of soot on his cheek. She licks her finger, reaches out and unthinkingly swipes it from his skin. ]
No bells? I thought it might be a dragon thing. Perhaps they like the sound of them. [ There's a crinkle at the corner of her eyes, a half-smile. ]
no subject
All of the naturalists are outdoorsy types, but at the heart of it, their job is to take notes on habitat, sneak photographs of rare creatures, and draw detailed sketches, all striving not to get involved at all. Meanwhile, the dragonologists have a reputation as adventurers, rough and rowdy and intriguing, their line of work more dangerous. Luna can already see the way a couple of the girls and one of the lads perk up, craning for their attention. And so their jaws drop when Charlie carries himself right across the room and presses a scratchy kiss to Luna's cheek.
The quiet, dreamy newbie knows one of them? How in Merlin's name had that happened?
She couldn't really say, herself. They'd been ships passing in the night back in England, carrying on a conversation just long enough for him to give her some tips on travel, then one brief gettogether with the two of them and Ginny before he flew out again after the weekend. Seeing him again, she seems to brighten like a small star. ]
Oh, it's been wonderful. No hippocampi so far, but we'll befriend them yet.
[ She finds herself looking at him, drinking in the details. As an only child, she finds his family clan fascinating — she might know Ginny and Ron best, but there's the echo of all those other Weasleys in the angles of Charlie's face, the familiar constellation of those freckles, although starker on his face from all his time outdoors.
"Loony" Lovegood, on the other hand, older and now kitted for the outdoors, is dressed a bit more sensibly than her reputation might have entailed. No strange hats or dangling earrings this time (they might be seized by stray animals, she had been somberly informed), and her flyaway hair has been scraped into some semblance of a braid, although it's already coming apart. But she hasn't left behind all of her vibrant affectations: there are pink heart-shaped sunglasses tucked into the outside pocket of her light jacket, a piece of cork hanging around her throat as a necklace, and a series of colourful enamel pins attached to her hardy leather satchel.
Her gaze drifts to his own outfit, and the absence of what was promised. There's a smudge of soot on his cheek. She licks her finger, reaches out and unthinkingly swipes it from his skin. ]
No bells? I thought it might be a dragon thing. Perhaps they like the sound of them. [ There's a crinkle at the corner of her eyes, a half-smile. ]