bartemius crouch • outliers
The person next to him is drunkenly giggling. Barty, with increasing irksomeness, ignores them.
The situation as of current: he’s tolerating the proceedings, his composure hasn’t quite yet worn thin, and he also has little intention of waiting until it does. Fleetingly, he contemplates the fact that he has better things to be doing than, a) pretending to be drunk, or
b) acting sober and having to take care of people.
Ultimately he decides to deposit his barely touched glass of firewhiskey on the side of a table, meandering away from the crowded space while subverting the attention of more adventurously drunk friends. It’s the lack of another option that finds him at the foot of the stairs, climbing his way up with some optimism for more civilized company at the top- or no company at all. More importantly he does not anticipate the book thrown at him- it collides with his shoulder before he react, there’s a brief moment of fumbling before he catches it.
Surveying the thing in his hands… “What is this?”
Indistinctly, Barty is aware of the unfiltered revulsion in his tone. On a whim he flips to the thirty-seventh page. No.
The book goes precariously on a banister- more desirable than leaving it on a carpeted step or throwing it away to bounce downstairs- and Barty pauses for long enough to see it doesn’t topple before he forgets about the whole thing and makes his way up to Lucius.
“Looking for anything in particular?” He stops next to the other, giving the shelf a passing glance.
"At this point? tolerability. My standards have lowered considerably from when I began my perusal." Attention not precisely given, incremental amounts doled out too small to be of service though Lucius' head does tip slightly with aural recognition even if his gaze doesn't make a similar trip. Hardly a greeting per se in the satisfactory sense, but tantamount to one if you were at all versed in the chapter and verse of Lucius' expressions.
His finger hooked in the spine of another tome and slide it free from it's place; dexterous one handed handling for the opening and cursory leafing through of a few stiff pages. A modicum of improvement if the way he lingers on it is any indication. Between one page's turn and the next he looked up at Barty, picked out the details with the laconic arch of an eyebrow and then he was back to the task obviously at hand, re-examining each title on well-worn leather, weighing each book in hand and studying it for whatever made it worth acquisition.
"You're looking clear eyed and unaffected by the proceedings." Proceedings was putting it mildly, of course. Circus would have summed up the entertainments rather neatly; decorations, food, fighting ( the noisy melange of anecdotes exchanged, jokes told, challenges issued, the rattle and hum of a dozen competitions on going from dice thrown to the isolated detonations of Exploding Snap ). Lucius is frowning, still, at his selection, nails absently drumming at the bottle he isn’t drinking anyway, plucking the swirls of red smoke and yellow fire like chords on some divine sitar. The whiskey is weak and cloudy and full of promise, but it gives a pleasant buzz all the same.
"Are you an anomaly re: drinking or just very good at holding your liquor?"
turnnoffyourmind
titsay
dailybridgerton
snowghoul
andulkaphoto
annaxmalina
discoholicmusic
ellievsbear
2087
prguitarman
