[ Glancing over at the rest of the group, Charlie doesn't quite smile at the sight of his colleagues and Luna's sneaking their hands over to nab some of the food from the platters left out, but his expression does soften somewhat, and he hums in response to her comments.
Truthfully, Charlie could probably eat a lot more, and keep drinking. But he probably shouldn't. ]
I never had much of a sweet tooth... [ Not necessarily true, but true enough for now. He might change his mind if he got to see some baklava out on offer, the honey oozing from each slice, freshly-toasted pistachios poised on the cusp of tumbling off the glistening flakes of pastry.
...Maybe he does have more of a sweet tooth than he realized. ] Wouldn't mind a bit of a walk, though.
[ And as delicious as the food and the company is, the air in the bar is also getting a little tight and close and warm. She tips her head to glance towards the exit, and just like that, a decision is made. Luna seems to unfold back to her feet like malleable liquid, and then it's the amiable chaos of getting the bill paid: the pair of them digging through pockets and wallets to turn out the magical Grecian currencies, the lepta and foinix, squinting and trying to count them properly in the low light, laying them out for their bartender.
That eventually done, she shrugs into her light jacket, slings the satchel back over her shoulder, and they head outside. There's a brief moment where she confers with one of her colleagues — setting up a way to get in touch later, not exactly a curfew, but still a don't go too far and get eaten by that dragon — and then it's the pair of them spilling outdoors, Luna close on Charlie's heels.
The island air smells like the sea. It's a little chillier now that the sun's set and the wind cutting in off the water, even if it's balmy, so she finds herself burying her hands in her jacket pockets as they saunter along. She breathes deep, a contented sigh. ]
[ Charlie's worked with some people who are happy to just unearth a fistful of coins and leave them on the table whenever something needs to be paid for, blissfully unconcerned with correct amounts or the current conversion rates, but he was raised by Molly Weasley in the midst of a war and is currently employed in a career that is emotionally fulfilling at best, but hardly exactly lucrative.
He and Luna sort through the coins in his palm until they've acquired the correct amount to be passed over, and then he adds in an extra lepta just to be polite, before pocketing the rest and squaring his shoulders to barge his way through the crowd to make for the exit.
At some point, he reaches behind him to reach for Luna's hand, clasping warm fingers around her to make sure she's being towed in his wake and they don't get separated. Once they make it outside, he lets her go, shoving his hands in his pockets and trying not to focus on the lingering warmth in his palm. ]
Oh, we've some tents set up outside the city. [ Hardly the most glamorous of accommodations, but Charlie's happy enough with them. They don't let in the rain or the wind, and they're surprisingly spacious inside; he's slept in worse places. ] What about you lot?
[ Charlie's hand is delightfully warm and rough and scarred, and even as he (they) regretfully let go, her fingers curl into her palm in the absence. Luna's unsurprised to realise that his hands are callused, where hers hands are soft, haven't hardened yet from her current foray into life as a field academic. Her fingers are usually just ink-stained from her wildlife doodles and scribbling notes in her naturalist's journal, which is half-indecipherable even to her colleagues, little observation fragments mingled with reminders to herself: gills? — kappa familiaris — I think it likes the smell of mango — buy loaf of bread from market later. ]
We're not roughing it quite as you are. There's a bed-and-breakfast run by this formidable Greek witch, and she makes a wonderful breakfast. We must have taken up the last of her rooms so there wasn't any left for your lot, but I suppose you're used to tents. [ A beat, an idle curiosity as to how the rugged dragonologists live: ] Are they bigger on the inside than not, or are they regular tents?
[ He's not the tallest of his siblings — the indignity of having his baby brother tower over him by nearly six inches having long ago ceased to sting — Charlie is nonetheless one of the quickest on foot, having perfected the skill of striding with purpose and determination with the air of a Bludger on a mission that makes people leap out of his way. When he's not paying attention, he tends to slip into that way of walking no matter where he is, cheerfully barreling his way through an empty forest and the crowds of Diagon Alley alike.
With Luna at his side, the way he's walking is all he can pay attention to, since the path they're taking isn't particularly wide, and the way Luna has her hands in the pockets of her jacket makes her elbows poke out enough that they brush against him every other step.
He has a bizarre urge to offer her his arm or something equally ridiculous. She's the one of the two of them that has any idea where they're going. ]
Most of them are just regular tents, [ he admits, shrugging with his hands still jammed in the pockets of his jeans. ] Hermione's fixed mine up for me, though, don't tell the others. She's a real gem, that girl. I've told Ron if he ever fucks it up and they split that I'd marry her just to keep her in the family.
[ Luna was never an athlete, so she's having to half-scurry in order to keep up with him with little half-skipping strides, but she doesn't seem to mind. It's a steep and winding path along the edge of town, teetering at the top of the cliffs; there's always the sense that you might take the wrong step and plummet into the ocean below, but she's done this walk every morning and night, and so she's comfortable with it. She doesn't really know where she's leading them, except that it'll descend to the beach eventually and they've got a nice view and somewhere along the way, there might be a creperie, or her bed-and-breakfast, and they'll make up their minds as they go.
At Charlie's declaration, she snorts a laugh. ]
Only if I don't beat you to it. We have a sacred pact that if she ever had enough of boys and their nonsense, she should ring me up.
[ Is she joking? Maybe. It's hard to tell. The two girls hadn't gotten along at first, back in the day — Hermione's prim, straightlaced love of order versus Luna's affable chaos — but they'd clicked in the end. War and adversity had a way of searing away the surface and boiling everyone down to their essence, and you found out what really mattered. They'd finally understood each other, then. ]
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no subject
Truthfully, Charlie could probably eat a lot more, and keep drinking. But he probably shouldn't. ]
I never had much of a sweet tooth... [ Not necessarily true, but true enough for now. He might change his mind if he got to see some baklava out on offer, the honey oozing from each slice, freshly-toasted pistachios poised on the cusp of tumbling off the glistening flakes of pastry.
...Maybe he does have more of a sweet tooth than he realized. ] Wouldn't mind a bit of a walk, though.
no subject
[ And as delicious as the food and the company is, the air in the bar is also getting a little tight and close and warm. She tips her head to glance towards the exit, and just like that, a decision is made. Luna seems to unfold back to her feet like malleable liquid, and then it's the amiable chaos of getting the bill paid: the pair of them digging through pockets and wallets to turn out the magical Grecian currencies, the lepta and foinix, squinting and trying to count them properly in the low light, laying them out for their bartender.
That eventually done, she shrugs into her light jacket, slings the satchel back over her shoulder, and they head outside. There's a brief moment where she confers with one of her colleagues — setting up a way to get in touch later, not exactly a curfew, but still a don't go too far and get eaten by that dragon — and then it's the pair of them spilling outdoors, Luna close on Charlie's heels.
The island air smells like the sea. It's a little chillier now that the sun's set and the wind cutting in off the water, even if it's balmy, so she finds herself burying her hands in her jacket pockets as they saunter along. She breathes deep, a contented sigh. ]
Where are you all staying?
no subject
He and Luna sort through the coins in his palm until they've acquired the correct amount to be passed over, and then he adds in an extra lepta just to be polite, before pocketing the rest and squaring his shoulders to barge his way through the crowd to make for the exit.
At some point, he reaches behind him to reach for Luna's hand, clasping warm fingers around her to make sure she's being towed in his wake and they don't get separated. Once they make it outside, he lets her go, shoving his hands in his pockets and trying not to focus on the lingering warmth in his palm. ]
Oh, we've some tents set up outside the city. [ Hardly the most glamorous of accommodations, but Charlie's happy enough with them. They don't let in the rain or the wind, and they're surprisingly spacious inside; he's slept in worse places. ] What about you lot?
no subject
We're not roughing it quite as you are. There's a bed-and-breakfast run by this formidable Greek witch, and she makes a wonderful breakfast. We must have taken up the last of her rooms so there wasn't any left for your lot, but I suppose you're used to tents. [ A beat, an idle curiosity as to how the rugged dragonologists live: ] Are they bigger on the inside than not, or are they regular tents?
no subject
With Luna at his side, the way he's walking is all he can pay attention to, since the path they're taking isn't particularly wide, and the way Luna has her hands in the pockets of her jacket makes her elbows poke out enough that they brush against him every other step.
He has a bizarre urge to offer her his arm or something equally ridiculous. She's the one of the two of them that has any idea where they're going. ]
Most of them are just regular tents, [ he admits, shrugging with his hands still jammed in the pockets of his jeans. ] Hermione's fixed mine up for me, though, don't tell the others. She's a real gem, that girl. I've told Ron if he ever fucks it up and they split that I'd marry her just to keep her in the family.
no subject
At Charlie's declaration, she snorts a laugh. ]
Only if I don't beat you to it. We have a sacred pact that if she ever had enough of boys and their nonsense, she should ring me up.
[ Is she joking? Maybe. It's hard to tell. The two girls hadn't gotten along at first, back in the day — Hermione's prim, straightlaced love of order versus Luna's affable chaos — but they'd clicked in the end. War and adversity had a way of searing away the surface and boiling everyone down to their essence, and you found out what really mattered. They'd finally understood each other, then. ]