#verse: 02.

[volot]

›   ❝  @skyfault​  : "Heyyyyyy Volo -- what does [expletive] mean?" (he might've seen it scratched into a cave wall)   ┇  plane i s2g  ( affectionate )

the barely-attentive, idle ‘hm?’ that leaves his lips isn’t fast enough. the progression from harmless question to surprising exclamation is quicker than he can prepare for. for all his composure and posturing, volo gathers a moment to pause; not because someone teru’s age swearing is scandalizing, no, but because this was hardly the question he’d anticipated. his hand stalls amidst his current charcoal rubbings, then begins again. does he care for teru swearing? no. is he curious on where the boy picked it up from? maybe a little, but not enough to go digging for an answer; he can name enough names across jubilife who pepper their language with foul articles as if it were a holiday, and then with some of the carving he’s bore witness to... well, it leaves plenty of guesses to the imagination. 

“well! i never pictured you as the ornery type, my sky-fallen friend. who could have guessed you held such a colorful vocabulary?” it’s not a moment that lasts, with his tone full of teasing bite; volo’s quick to wave the pretense of jest off. “i’m only pulling your leg, of course; if you must know... well, hmm,” 

his gaze flickers left, then right, in an utterly impish display, smile twisting into something awful and coy. with a wave of his fingers, he beckons the other close, keeping his voice low. as if this were some grand secret that held the glue to the universe, the finger raised near his lips signaling that it be kept hush-hush. with one hand shielding the bridge between his mouth and teru’s ear, his words run free, soft-spoken and slid beneath the table.

“now,” he begins when he pulls away, knowledge fully imparted; a finger risen to accentuate his point, the edges speckled with charcoal. “i wouldn’t use that lightly, if i were you. i can’t say most people would appreciate it! and... to tell you the truth,” his body leans forward again, conspirational, as if the runes in the walls will tattle once more. “word has it captain cyllene has a wicked hand; i can’t imagine you’d take well to the taste of soap in your mouth.”

[licnbcrn]

@beeutifulmuses finally gets that starter I promised ages ago

She was positively kicking herself for not figuring this out sooner. Much sooner. Merlin, she could be so bloody daft -- how long had she been ignoring Severus’ SNAPE’S ramblings about the subject? How long had she been listening to the other three hooligans he shared a dormitory with call him MOONY? For Agrippa’s sake -- she always made sure to grab Remus chocolate from astronomy every full moon because he always missed class. 

She was an idiot. There was no way around it.

And all she wanted to do was let Remus know that she was here for him -- it made no difference what he was. what mattered was who he was. And he was Remus, one of her closest mates and fellow prefect. And he was kind and brilliant and stronger and braver than anyone she knew. 

“Hey. Rem -- can I speak to you for a moment?” Her voice was kept down to a whisper -- the last thing she needed was Madam Pince storming over to scream at her for being loud.

[volot]

@vcstspace​​ | from here!

“why, it seems you have me all figured out! quite the eye you have on you.” he says with a laugh, hollow but full of enough pep to seem sincere. “i wouldn’t be a member of the guild without the right connections, would i?”

not that he cares for the title, by any stretch of the means. but it offers him opportunity, and that’s something he will reap. irida, in the same vein, offers him an opportunity now: one that keeps the usual mischievous grin playing on his lips, quirked at the edges. his voice is kept low when he speaks next, as if they were trading confidential information that could wage war between the clans.

“you’ve come to the right man either way; he’s an old craftsman who has been in the business far before our recent rise in interest.” the rise of sales, and their prices, have been steadily going upward with their arrival. good for business, bad for irida’s predicament of keeping it lowkey. “though i say that not without reassurance -- for how much lower the cost comes to be, the quality is well above anything the general stores have been supplying recently. you have my word on that.”

fingers pull on the brim of his cap, fighting against the sunlight, simper still in tow.

“what do you say, young miss? are you interested?”

[volot]

@hclloffcme [ akari ] ┇ starter call!

how he managed to walk softly, toe-first, onto the balmy sandscape is a mystery, one surely lost between the weight of irrelevancy and time. but what mattered was that he’d managed, taking no account for personal space nor how she might startle when he speaks just over her shoulder.

“my! with a stare that intense, you look as though you’ll make land appear out on the horizon, my sky-fallen friend.” 

[volot]

›   ❝  @wrmhld​ “"It's a little damaged from when I got all knocked around by the stuff that slapped me here, but, um - you should try pinning your bangs off your face, y'know?" The hairclip she holds out is small, water-damaged, scuffed up: it's clearly been through it (and yet, she holds it out anyways - memento of another home and time not seeming to matter). The decoration is perhaps childish, or maybe feminine, but she doesn't care; a battered, paint-scraped star set into a flower now missing a few rhinestones. "I'm sure this'd look cool in your hair, too! It's a little beat up, though.“” ┇ unprompted.

isn’t this something?

he’s bent to match kana’s height, hands together as though receiving an offering; the clips handled with glass-like care between them. he blinks once, twice, the modicum of surprise that’s written itself into his expression a stroke genuine, if only for a fleeting moment. gifts don’t necessarily come easy nor often, despite his profession -- so he ponders the contents bestowed upon him, moving it to one hand so that a finger may trace it. gently, frustratingly so, as though it might shatter had he pressed with a fraction of pressure. hm.

parting with a memento from back home, was she? a kind gesture, no doubt, but a sign of given trust. useful means, when in the wrong hands. but his hands are always right. 

so he smiles, effortlessly so and practiced, the soft and cold kind that can match the silver of his tongue. his laugh is short and gentle, falling from his teeth.

“let me share with you a saying, my young friend,” how true is the warmth that he laces into his words? a finger wags in her direction, as though it’ll wave away all her anxieties. “’a rare find will remain so against the tides of time; priceless artifacts will forever be priceless.’ a good merchant knows the value of the items he’s given,” the clip is twirled between his fingers once, held between his forefinger and thumb as he presents it with a wink. “and because you’ve given this to me, it’s worth more than any ruin’s treasure trove! no damage will change that. thank you, truly.” his voice has turned fond. “i’ll take good care of it. so, then...”

no harm in humoring her, he supposes. his eyes flit upward, despite seeing himself like this nigh-impossible; the hat is removed from his head, fingers carding through his bangs. the light against his hidden eye is harsh, but he manages with a squint as he hums thoughtfully to himself, the clips secured a moment later.

“well,” he grins now, laughter shaking his shoulders. “how do i look?”

[licnbcrn]

@alcnextcgether

James groaned as he forced himself to sit up.  Was he alright?  Well, the ringing in his ears, the blurry vision, and the pain in his head probably said ‘no.’  But, there was no way he was going to admit to that as he stared up at Lily.  Rubbing his hand along the back of his head, James picked up his glasses from where they’d fallen next to him on the quidditch pitch and put them on.  That at least solved the blurry vision problem.

“Yeah,” he said.  “Completely fine.  Tip top shape, even.  More than ready to get back on the broom and win the game,” he continued, forcing himself to his feet.  A wave of dizziness and nausea hit him then, and James knelt back down.  “On second thought, probably should hit the hospital wing first.”

Lily was there to catch the stubborn arse as he stumbled, before he knelt back down, looking rather ill. She’d seen what happened, clear as day, being on reserves for this game -- Slytherin beater MacNair had lined up his shot, and sent a bludger straight for James’ head. Bloody brute was lucky he hadn’t killed James, or she’d have knocked him right off his broom. 

“I’m most certainly taking you to the hospital wing.” She said, ignoring the relief she felt that James was at least talking, and moving (somewhat). She ducked under his arm, slinging it over her shoulders, arm around his waist as she helped him to stand. She was sure his friends were already making their way down to the pitch. 

“Come on, you. They’ve got Davies in for the rest of the game -- let’s get you patched up.” 

[licnbcrn]

@lvncher liked something for a starter! 

“Oi, Lynch!” Lily’s voice carried across the courtyard, turning from her friends (who were currently half bickering, half going on about how in love with each other they were) towards the hufflepuff He was a decent enough person, she supposed, but his skills on the pitch were what she admired. As Gryffindor’s seeker, she wasn’t exactly awful, but she recognized greater talent when she saw it. But still -- 

-- “Can’t wait to play you on the pitch next week. Still time for you to call off sick, you know.” 

[licnbcrn]

@lehadlik answered

It’s just so beautiful, James might cry. He takes a solid five minutes to himself, just examining every detail he can, taking in the shape of her, admiring her curves and edges and the way her face holds so many secret expressions that he’d want to someday tease out of her.

Once he’s done that, he pens a quick response, nothing as poetic and symbolic of anything that he’d actually felt when he received the photo, of course.

To: Lily

You look smoking hot. Why don’t you come by and show me the real thing?

Love, James

When she’d sent the picture, she knew full well what she had been doing. Obviously. She’d, however, hoped for a response that was a little more -- tit-for-tat, so to speak. Head duties were absolutely rubbish tonight, and she was bored out of her mind making next month’s schedule. What’s the point of having a boyfriend if he didn’t play along and entertain her?

To: James

Really, Potter? That’s all you’ve got for me? Next time I’ll send it to someone who will reciprocate my efforts. Sirius has pretty good taste, after all. 

Love, Lily.