when: lunchtimeÂ
where: the great hall
open to students
once, when he was very young, jasper talkalot had lost his family in diagon alley. he was certain they were right behind him (as they had all been looking into the window at quality quidditch supplies a moment ago), but, by the time he actually decided to check, there was no one there. he had panicked for a moment, started walking off into the street, before he remembered an errant tidbit that he had learned a few weeks prior: most people lost in the woods often made things worse for themselves by journeying deeper into the unknown. this was not the woods, he knew, but he figured that it was still best to stay put, sitting down on the sidewalk and waiting for his mother to notice he was missing.Â
thankfully, it hadnât taken long.Â
that day, as a panicked lucinda talkalot saw her eldest child sitting in the middle of a busy street staring off into the clouds, she couldnât help but ask, âwhere is your head, jasper? what in the world is going on in your mind?â
he had started to say something about the woods, something about survival tips, but one of his siblings had interjected with a huff, âitâs just jasper, mom. you know how he is. he always has his head in the clouds.â
in the years since, he had thought of that moment often. and while he hadnât appreciated the tone of voice being used, he had thought the descriptor rather apt. jasper was a simple man. he was hardly ever thinking about anything other than a few nebulous and flighty topics. his current preoccupations were quidditch (in which his head was literally in the clouds), on occasion, the object of his affections (which, in his view, was about as close to heaven and, thus, the clouds, as he was about to get) and his family (he admitted this one didnât really quite fit the cloud metaphor.
nevertheless, it was, thus, unsurprising that, during their lunch break in the great hall, jasper had his head in the clouds again. when he finally grounded himself long enough to be aware of the world around him, his companion was looking at him like they expected him to say something. after trying to recall what they wanted from him and failing miserably, he took a bite from his sandwich, nonplussed.
âyes,â he said firmly, though he was not quite sure about what exactly he was agreeing to.Â
âtell me this, thoughââ he changed the topic, âis it a cauldron full of hot strong love that goes like this,â he hummed a few bars, âor is it magic magic man?â
âYes,â Viv repeated, staring at him as if heâd grown a new headâ-which she supposed might actually be a good thing in his case, seeing as he clearly wasnât using his current one. âI ask you where Natalia is and you say yes. Arenât you supposed to be good with words?â Rolling her eyesââfucking useless, honestlyâat least as frustrating as Opal was, she was capable of intelligenceââshe nonetheless listened to his humming. âFirst of all, weâre not seventy, so weird playlist youâve got going on here, but itâs Magic Magic Man â- canât believe you would disrespect Celestina that way, though, good grief, Talkalot.â Viv had no particular affection for Celestina Warbeckâs discography, but Celestina was a musical icon and Quentin Nightingale had nothing on her and Viv would not stand for the disrespect.Â
stormborns
prguitarman
discoholicmusic
gummygunk
tangentwithtanner
annaxmalina
theartofmadeline
