Adrift & Docked PV Finished

All dialogue in French.

Christmas had always been Archer Theodore Duncan's favourite holiday. Not only was it aesthetically pleasing, particularly a "White Christmas" as the lyrics go, his life on Scotland's misty isle would come to a halt, the small family of three would pack their bags, and they would leave for the especially picturesque Lyon, France, Maman's birthplace, though it had no sentimental value considering they never visited the François mansion, an era of Marguerite's life Archer knew she would rather leave behind her. However, today, the usual mellow afternoon hot chocolate sipping and reading by the fireplace would be replaced with, and much to Archer's delight and excitement, the book signing of a young yet eminent poet.

Despite his parent's prior insistence that he ought to be accompanied at the juvenile age of just five days into being twelve and barely, if not at all, a teenager, they eventually relented and allowed the "preteen", as they had said, to venture out alone, considering that the bookshop was a locale they visited often on such trips and that it was only fair distance away, only a twenty-something minute walk at the most. With a scarf thrown over his neck at a precarious angle that threatened to make it fall of or being blown away and snagged onto a random tree branch, his satchel slung over his shoulder as it always was, his prized book of the poet's work tucked into his arms, his fingers clutching at the spine as if the frigid drafts was to blow it, too, away, he cracked open the door to be greeted by the fresh, though crisp, winter air.

Having grown up on such a removed location as the Isle of Skye, it was rare the Scottish lad was privileged enough to appreciate the suburban beauty of house after house in clean rows, decorated with drops of schoolyards and shops. Lyon, in all her historical elegance, was truly magnificent without being at all ostentatious and unlike the streets of Paris, it was, at least the wizarding area, less densely populated, a fact incredibly pleasant to the crowd-disliking Archer. It was almost difficult to imagine the town without the gentle grazing of snow, like powdered sugar or icing on a cake, and in truth Archer sometimes wondered if it would be even more beauteous when adorned with blossoms or greenery.

Yet such petty thoughts were immediately pushed away as he entered the whimsy of the cluttered bookstore, the aroma of antique ink on fresh parchment - an antithesis he particularly enjoyed - momentarily overwhelming all other threads of thought. Chairs were placed in a circle around the centre, left open for the poet to present her work. The design was much more comforting than the usual rows he was accustomed to, an almost round table - well, minus the table - or an orbit of planets around the poet who acted as their glorious sun and brought life to their earths with her words. Dark hazel eyes quickly scanned the gathering crowd as Archer moved to take a seat, opposite to a boy several years older than him that he, at least for now, would not truly acknowledge as all eyes in the room were drawn to the radiating poet.

It occurred to him that despite his near reverence for the woman, he had never seen him, whether in person or in the form of a photograph. She carried an aura of sophistication with her despite her thirty-something years of age, which he imagined would be tedious for anyone to attempt to replicate, as she walked around, making interaction with everyone present, as she introduced her most recent work, owning the audience just as Maman did whenever she presented her research papers and although the two women were incredibly different, one, who had devoted her life to the arts, and another who had devoted her life the sciences, Archer seemed to draw a comforting similarity between the two.

Therefore, he was slightly disappointed as the poet paused to allow the audience to share their thoughts due to loss of hearing her charming, capturing, absolutely alluring voice, but was, at the same time, eager to hear what others thought. Hands went up, some more tentative, some, such as the boy sitting opposite to him, very much enthusiastic. Archer himself considered to put his hand up as well, but eventually considered against as a sudden uneasiness to speak in front of the assembled audience - none of which he knew, for that matter, and with sudden regret he wished that his parents, or at least one of them, as indeed, present with him - grappled at his stomach. As the boy, now avidly waving his hands, got called on, Archer turned his full attention to him, half in hopes of dispelling his thoughts, but mainly because he was intrigued by what this young - though admittedly older than him and probably much more experienced - would offer to the table.

He continued for two minutes, delivering a hearty speech, receiving smiles and nods from the audience and the poet herself. As he finished all Archer could offer was applause from the bottom of his heart, since, regrettably, he could not discuss the language with him right this instant. As he noticed his collected grey eyes scan the room and eventually land on Archer, much to his surprise, he simply offered a polite smile and nothing more. Quickly placing the chance interaction to the back of his mind, his heart sagged a little as the poet moved pass reader thoughts and into signing, which he somehow managed to snag a spot close to the front of the line - agility pays off, after all. Offering several quick words of praise and gratitude to the poet, he hefted the copy in his hands, nodded, smiled, and turned to leave.

Yet he was surprised, and slightly bewildered at that, when the boy he had sat across from prior had caught up to Archer just as he was exiting. He stopped to greet him and shook hands as he extended his with a warm "hello". 'My name is Maximilien de Fostoncy - but please, just address me as Maxi.' Archer nodded at that. He had never been acquainted with the de Fostoncys but then again his pureblood circle in France was limited as his family as suffering from a generally distasteful reputation despite the loveliness of the country. 'Archer Theodore Duncan, pleased to make yor acquaintance' he said, introducing himself with his full name as he always did, even though the drop of "Duncan" might evoke unpleasant commentary. He carried his name steady as he always did, for truthfully they had done nothing wrong and considering this was an intellectual atmosphere there was chance the boy might put whatever gossip aside and focus on his father's literary works instead. 'Feel free to address me as whatever you deem appropriate.'

His awkwardness shone through though, as it always seems to be with such interactions and heat flushed at his cheeks. 'Er, I mean, it’s no big deal, really. I just wanted to thank you for your applause.' Archer smiled, 'In all honesty your delivery was incredibly intriguing and you deserved all of the recognition you received. I agree with your opinions and hope we could further discuss on your impressive analysis.'

@Lindsey Springhall as Maximillien de Fonstoncy

Interacting with @Archer Duncan

Roleplaying as Maximilien de Fostoncy [x]
English | French

Maxi waited patiently (and anxiously) for a reply, maintaining that polite smile and only relaxing a little when the boy willingly took his hand for a shake. He seemed to understand Maxi perfectly, not just turning away as if the elder boy was acting weird, and Maxi felt relieved. The similarily polite boy then went on, presenting his full name - oh. Maxi's eyes widened a little when he heard the last name Duncan, following the vintage yet extremely fine Archer Theodore.

While this was the first Archer he had ever met until now, the Duncan name wasn't at all unfamiliar. While he wasn't really an enthusiast of gossips like his grandfather, Maxi did recollect a few from the de Fostoncy "family chats", as what Louis would often use to describe their afternoon tea and dinner session. Since ages ago Louis had passed on the family wine business to his son - Maxi doubted if his father had actually started to take on trades while he was still in school - he had abundant time to soak himself into the vast sea of rumours. Oh, and spread them or even start a few, potentially. And so gossips of fellow purebloods would hop in and quickly occupy their dinner table; Louis was the avid speaker, and the rest of family - namely Maxi and his parents - would listen quietly, none of whom finding much interest in and paying much attention to them. Yet Maxi did occasionally pay attention, when the stories involved points intriguing to him. Whether it involved magical beings, or romance plots, or stuffs that he thought had been totally misinterpreted by the circle of gossip old wizards (aka his grandfather's friends), he might temporarily get out from his daydream and focus. Louis would be exceptionally gleeful whenever those grey eyes were locked on him, and naturally he would share more - which led the stories to go even wilder.

Back to the Duncans. They were, undoubtedly, under the category of "intriguing", or Maxi would probably had already left the name behind somewhere. Actually, the name was just brought up a few days ago, as Louis was apparently short of new gossips and had to bring up an old one. His memory of it was revived when that somewhat familiar family name appeared. "Mademoiselle Marguerite François, a decent young lady as she was, was stolen away from us by an infamous Englishman...What's his name again? Dunn? Oh yeah, Duncan. He corrupted her mind...a huge loss it was, to the François." He said, winking as if he was exactly there when Mister Duncan was performing the crime. "We all know her - and her family, don't we Vincent? What a nice clan, pity that such an unpleasant thing happened to their daughter." His father wasn't paying attention at all, and only raised up his head from the plate and nodded courteously when his name was mentioned.

Maxi winced secretly behind the napkin. Gosh. What Louis had been doing was really embarrassing, even if it was in their own household. He couldn't determine how much of this rumour was true, but seriously speaking - it couldn't be, could it? Corrupting one's mind sounded a powerful sort of magic, and he doubted if one could continuously perform such spell over so many years - Louis had never said that Mrs. Duncan escaped from the control and sued a divorce. Most importantly, why couldn't it be - uh, love?

These mediocre people could never properly understand the concept of love.

And now, totally unexpectedly, a Duncan kid stood in front him, fluent in French, rosy and well-mannered and loved Maxi's speech. It was hard to think that his father stole his mother in such a notorious way. Maxi lowered his head a litte, reflecting on what to say. He couldn't just act as if he had no knowledge of the Duncan name - he wasn't really a fan of lying to people aside from his grandfather, and his widened eyes had probably sold him already - and yet, he didn't want Archer to know that he knew. A little bit tongue-twisting, he just wasn't really sure how much Archer knew about his father's reputation in the district. Would he mess everything up if he had told him, while the boy was completely innocent of the unpleasant rumour？Or, if Archer happened to know the infamous story, would he change his friendly attitude towards Maxi? Ah, how could he properly -

"Monsieur Dun - er, Archer." If you couldn't make up your mind on what to say, a charming smile was always the best option. "It's a pleasure indeed to make your acquaintance. I'm so glad to eventually find someone that share the same views as I do." He chuckled. "Most of my classmates aren't really interested in poetry, and I'm always the one dominating the talk - it's boring, you know, and most of the time they are not listening."

Poetry should have been their premier topic, but truth to be told, part of Maxi was actually dying of curiosity. What was really happening between the Duncans? His peculiar view was the reality instead of most people's ideas, wasn't it?

It wouldn't have been Maxi if he didn't act as what his heart had told him. "Surely I had heard your name somewhere before...though I haven't really seen you around in wizarding Lyon. On a trip?" He asked rather casually, though his tone was polite and refined as usual. This sounded like...a lot better than just presenting the rumour spread in the Lyon pureblood circle, wasn't it?

Don't blame him for trailing off from the original topic. It's surely all Louis' fault.

'Monsieur Dun - er, Archer,' Maximillian, or Maxi, Archer supposed, said, pronouncing his first name with an accent that caused the "r" to roll back into a subtle "h" sound and the "ch" falling into a "sh". Returning his smile, given to brush off the slip in words (although referring to his peers by Mister or Miss was a habit Archer shared with him), Archer's lips quirked up politely, though perhaps also at his hasty correction. Purebloods were often raised in an environment with rules far too strict, but Archer himself had picked up the habit of attending press conferences at the side of his parents, whether in relation to a new publication of a novel or the discovery of a new magical area in the middle of nowhere Scotland. 'It's a pleasure indeed to make your acquaintance. I'm so glad to eventually find someone that share the same views as I do, ' his newfound associate said, receiving an agreeing nod from the Scottish lad. And with a chuckle, he admitted, 'Most of my classmates aren't really interested in poetry, and I'm always the one dominating the talk - it's boring, you know, and most of the time they are not listening.'

As his upperclassman (from Beauxbatons, Maman's former school, he guessed), finished, Archer picked up the idea, 'I am regretful to say that I am obliged to concur.' Although, all too long ago, when he was barely nine, he had met a young lady he could not quite remember pass a haze of pureblood (or rather, part-Veela, if he recalled accurately) sophistication, with a delicately curled fringe and eyes of some notable colour his mind could not quite paint onto his retina. He had seen her in the halls of Hogwarts or the common room of snakes (though that must have just been a student with similar features, for at the time of conversation, she had seemed nothing like a Slytherin and identified herself as almost anything but. Of course, at the time of conversation, Archer had been the exact same, carrying an ambition that brewed deep in his heart which he would still not recognise), yet they had never struck up another proper conversation, which was quite the shame. Certainly, there were other students he was acquainted with who appear to share similar interest, yet he would only say for now that he had no interest in discussing anything, his loves even less, with such individuals.

Yet Maxi's following words were, put in this way, of more interest. His tone was unchanging, still evidently in the midst of a casual conversation yet carrying the refined pureblood manner, yet the slight pause and dip in his words caught Archer's attention as he said, 'Surely I had heard your name somewhere before...though I haven't really seen you around in wizarding Lyon. On a trip?' Pausing, in thought as to where his name might have been implanted into conversation, Archer finally responded with the answer of highest likelihood, 'My father is an author with numerous works published. Undoubtably, they have been translated into French.' Then nodding at his question, Archer replied, 'But yes, indeed.' Cocking a curious brow at the foreign student, he inquired, 'And you? I do not recall being exposed to the de Fostoncy name, unfortunately.'

@Lindsey Springhall as Maxi

Interacting with @Archer Duncan

Roleplaying as Maximilien de Fostoncy [x]
English | French

Maxi gazed at Archer’s features for a few seconds as the night wore on and light faded, before lowering his eyes politely. “Oh…” Unfortunately, it wasn't from the shelves where Maxi had learned the Duncan name. This fact came as a total surprise - Maxi thought he was already in possession of every possible knowledge of the Duncans because Louis would never miss one, but surely the author thing was either carelessly or purposely left out by the elders of society. Did they think that a writing career was, merely, a whimsy, and not worth mentioning? Or was it because that Mr Duncan would instead be presented as a respectable figure and their finely-spun rumour would be spoiled? Maxi was no telepathist, and he had no idea. Indeed, he was totally unaware of what his grandfather and father would think of his writing passion, and yet he knew that as the only child and sole heir it would result in deprecation, no matter how it was generally considered in the pureblood circle.

But anyway. Archer sounded proud of his lineage, and that hinted at fallacy in those notorious rumours. It was a good news to him - strange it might sound, but Maxi did get pleasure out of “defeating” his grandfather, albeit the old wizard had zero idea of it. “I’m sure that I’ve seen them on shelves.” He reassured, despite he had certainly somehow missed them if there really were, and yet Maxi had no intention at all to make Archer feel downcast. “Although, apologetically, I have to admit that I haven’t had the opportunity to properly read them, but I would love to.” That was a truthful comment, and one may easily seize the eagerness and genuineness in those locally accented words. “It must be so cool, to have a close member of family dedicated in the publishing field. My family’s…um, not so keen on literature. And they certainly do not understand me.” Another message with much sincerity. Generally speaking, Maxi did not open up much towards strangers, but Archer…this boy seemed different. Thoughtful. Responding. Similar.

It was very understandable that Archer had nevet heard about his family, considering that their association only come from the younger boy's maternal side. Anyway, Maxi thought that his grandfather - along with other local gossipy Lyoners - might not come as very agreeable to Mademoiselle Marguerite, and she perhaps shared little information about them to her son. Scarce was felt by Maxi when Archer expressed that he had no knowledge about the de Fostoncy lineage, but - Maxi thought bitterly - if someone dared to claim so in front of Louis and Vincent (especially Louis, actually Maxi didn't think that there's anything in this world that his father really cared about apart from wine), they'd surely regard this personnage as uneducated and barbaric. Unrealistic people, they were. The sun didn't exist solely for them, and they did not own the world.

“Oh, we are locals.” He told Archer, lightheartedly. “We own a vineyard and do wine business.” A majority of their business partners were pubs and restaurants in France. Vincent has been considering to expand the business with more commercial partners outside France using relations established by their other operation, as some of their products were shipped and transported to fellow elite pureblood families ranging from Western Europe to exotic locations like Asia, Africa or Oceania who ordered directly from them. But those were way too detailed, and Maxi was pretty sure that Archer would have no interest in them. When he presented his family to Archer however, Maxi did find a strange feeling overwhelming him. Was that…pride? Pride in the place he’d been striving to leave one day? Or a sense of belonging? In a clan that seldom showed more strictness and obligations than love and affections? Again he was in bewilderment, and Maxi fluttered his eyelashes to draw himself back to the current conversation. “No alcohol for youngsters, though!”

“I suppose you don't go to Beauxbatons? You don't look like a typical Durmstrang student though...” The image of the muscular and offensive opponents he had confronted during broom racing and chess combat (sorry for the stereotypes but Maxi hadn't properly met many Durmstrang students and his knowledge of them was very limited) flashed acrossed his brain, and Maxi slightly shook his head. “Let me take a guess. Hogwarts?”

Maxi would then press his lips together and wait patiently for Archer introducing his school. No matter the reply he got from him was positive or negative, he would nod approvingly, and went on. “My great aunt married an Englishman, and their offsprings - well, some of their offsprings go to Hogwarts.” He corrected himself with preciseness. “A few still chose to pursue their study in Beauxbatons.”

“Oh, forgot to mention that I'm a fifth year. Getting old.” He laughed. “And this just struck me - if you don’t feel like standing here still, we can stroll along the street.” He offered. “Or alternatively, there’s a nice café I know over there - ” Maxi gestured. “And we can sit down and chat. My treat.” He smiled. “Or we can just be here. It’s up to you - just, er, local hospitality?”

Ears picking up on the soft “Oh” Maxi had uttered, his mind decided to ignore the sudden pivot in tone as the heir recollected himself. With Maxi’s mention of interest in reading Papa’s works, Archer piqued up with recommendations, ‘I would implore you to read Train Wrecked. I would not spoil it for you but it is Papa’s debut, meant as a-’ Pausing as the French word refused to surface in his enlivened mind, he simply said the word in an accent and hoped for the best, ‘-parody-’ (coming close enough to the French “parodie”) ‘of the Muggle work Anna Karenina, my first introduction to the novel, shedding new light on and sometimes blatantly disagreeing with the themes in the original text. Of course, it also challenges what drove Miss. Karenina to the tragic ending we know of.’ Sharing a glance with Maxi, now in his element, literary discussion perfect as the Scottish mountians, he continued, ‘And passion, I feel as if we both share an abundance of that trait.’ Unless Maximillien pressed further in his interest, Archer would keep his explanation of the material to such, ending with, ‘This piece is quite old in comparison, so I am unsure if it is still available in stock, especially in a foreign country, but it is regrettable that it is subject to disremembering.’

Aristotle himself had been known to have said, "What is a friend? A single soul dwelling in two bodies." So this?- this was his friend, for he was unlike Arianna, not yet another pure-blood heir pushed together by families, but rather a boy who might have not been encouraged to find himself in Archer's company. He was the one rare as the shooting star under the polluted sky. And he barely knew him, but was that not the cherry on top? It was the sheer serendipity, it was the girl lost at his front gate, it was the "phantom" dancing alone below a full moon, it was the random local Beauxbatons student.... Magic could have been Lumoses or Expecto Patronums, or Felix Felici that made even the most abstract find their forms, but all the same, Frappuccino were coffees despite not tasting a bit good. Magic was caused by humans down here on earth and not just the simple frivolous wand-waving of a twelve-year-old. No, the magic Archer believed he had just dabbled in was the invisible yet omnipotent lines, burning in their fiery gold, that connected each soul, some more than others. Some were with Archer the moment he found his spark, namely Maman and Papa. Others were a treasure awaiting off the map of the scavenger hunt, making each side-adventure much more rewarding and imploring Archer to take all the more risks. After all, to unlock the grand chest one had many keys. He had been presented with, closest in reach, the ones who just barely Alohomora'ed the lock. Some did it much better.

But yes- getting off track with the metaphorical allusions in his mind and having just realised, the Duncan boy turned his attention back to Maxi's words. Right, perhaps the Françios family had been acquainted with the De Fostoncys, but then again, the distinction between the Duncans and Françoises had been made and made clear, a fateful line drawn from head to toe, severing the present eager adventurer from the past proper debutante. Although knowing Maximillien since the Scot’s introduction to the society would have most certainly been a pleasure, Archer was glad that he was born himself and not some blue blooded “Henri”. However the Frenchman might have experienced towards his family, all Archer ever felt was love and love was the greatest privilege he could have asked for. ‘-No alcohol for youngsters!’ That though, he did agree with. The closest he had ever come to alcohol was the, unbeknownst to him, having-no-resemblance-to-beer Butterbeer, and to be fair he had thought it distasteful.

Tipping his head in affirmation to Maximillien’s guess on his school, Archer confirmed, ‘Indeed, I am studying at Hogwarts.’ After receiving an approving nod back from the boy, he cocked his head as he said curiously, ‘I must say… as young boys we dream of being knights or princes in castles as much as girls do ladies and princesses. The architectural designs of our schools seem to almost fulfil them, no?’ There was something about speaking in his mother’s native tongue, perhaps being his association of the French language with Maman, that made his river of thoughts flow out his mouth in the way they flowed so freely in his mind. Unlike each calculated step of dictionary-based, non-colloquial, and very much refined formal English, Maman’s language represented her influence on Archer’s life similarly, spontaneous freedom living up to French’s renowned romance. But no- excuses were not to be made today! This elder boy was different.

So lips quirking upwards in a smile at Maximillien's playful jest, all he first said was, ‘Do not discredit yourself, being acquainted with an upperclassman such as yourself is an honour in itself.’ Archer then replied with identification of his own age, saying, ‘I must say I am a mere first year.’ A wistful expression creeping up onto his face, he continued, youthful zest barely contained under a polite demeanour, ‘However, I find that to be favourable; there is still so much ahead of me.’ Maman had found her debut around the corner early and Archer, though with a very much different definition of the word, was determined to do the same. The Scottish wizard had been provided with a myriad of opportunities at such a juvenile age and, grateful for each, he would put them to good use. Smiling once more in return at Maxi’s offer of a stroll, Archer, the isolated little mountain boy, said with a nod, ‘Having never been one too exposed to urban, or for that matter even suburban life, I would gladly welcome a stroll along the street.’ Glancing around them and out the shop window, he continued, ‘I must admit, it offers a stark contrast to what I am accustomed to, but akin to my mother, I am an explorer, and Christmas is most certainly the highlight of my year.

‘Please, monsieur¹, lead the way.’

1: Sir

@Lindsey Springhall as Maxi, apologies for the delay! Travel and stuff messed some of my schedule up.

Interacting with @Archer Duncan

Roleplaying as Maximilien de Fostoncy [x]
English | French

Train Wrecked sounded like a title appealing enough. He listened with much curiosity and concentration, smiling a bit when Archer struggled to pronounce the French word. It seemed that Archer’s father’s work was a parody of a muggle novel named Anna Karenina, Maxi pursed his lips in slight hesitation as he had no idea what the novel said. For centuries the de Fostoncy family had the least of intention to associate with the non-magical people, closing themselves down in the selected native pureblood circle, and naturally Maxi was deprived of this kind of knowledge. Although he had had a few glimpses of muggle literature while briefly staying his great-aunt’s household some years ago, whose son stepped into marriage with a muggle-born lady, he was sure that Anna Karenina wasn’t among the ones that he could remember.

“My knowledge of the muggle works is rather limited…” He mumbled, lowering his eyes. “But it does sound intriguing.” Pity that most of the authors’ earlier works, despite being finely crafted, were the fastest to run out of stock after a few years and thus fade from the mainstream market. “Nah, I’ll ask my British cousins if they may help find one in their local bookstore. I can manage English reading, even if it’s not as easy as doing it in my native tongue. Er…and Anna Karenina. I’ll see if I can manage to get a copy, to grasp a better understanding of both works.” To say that it was a reply to Archer, this might be more of a promise to himself, as both plans had to be executed without being noticed by his grandfather, who, one, wouldn’t want to find him associating with a Duncan, and two, loathed the muggles and underestimated their creations. A tough task to be done during the holidays, and maybe he would save it when the school year started and he was officially away from home.

Oh, Hogwarts, indeed. Maxi rubbed his chin, when recollections of the grandeurs of the wizarding school on the other side of the channel flooded into his head, humming the legends and adventures in a low tone. The mention of knights and princes almost immediately visualised, first the strange armoured knight who rushed into the bustling ballroom, and then his own transformation into a real-life black Knight chess piece during the Hexwizard task. That was…ages ago. Strangely speaking, the knight thing he had “fulfilled” were in Hogwarts, instead of his own school.

The scattering of these images danced around, causing a sudden burst of nostalgia - oh right. He weren’t alone during those events, nor would he have them by his side now, having slowly drifted apart after all these days. So Hogwarts, despite the prejudice he might have against it as a proud Frenchmen, Maxi had to admit that it did bring him strong emotions whenever it was mentioned, positive ones or not. “You have a point.” He told Archer, gently, nodding. “Hogwarts has left me some great memories. And quite a few of them are associated with knights, I think.”

He chuckled when Archer made a decent reply to his jest, delighted to find that it did work and bring smiles to both of their cheeks. “Indeed.” He said approvingly. There were so many things ahead waiting for first years to discover, okay, maybe poke their nose into them, and overall speaking, troublesome it might be at times, Maxi had learnt that everything would eventually turn out as okay - and maybe even his own future. He still hadn’t lost hope. There had to be a way. “You still have a good six years to enjoy yourself - gosh, that does sound a lot.” He laughed, with slight awe in his words. He wouldn’t have six years to squander anymore, nor properly utilise them. “So make good use of them.” Maxi concluded, encouragement in his voice.

He half-teasingly bowed to Archer and made a “follow me” gesture, then leading the way along the main street. Having grown up in the community, Maxi was no stranger to this district, having wandered around either with his father or secretly sneaked out like now, despite that the Château de Fostoncy was indeed at quite a distance from the most flourishing centre to keep their grand vineyard. “Lyon is a great place.” He answered as he strolled through the streets, dark grey eyes carelessly fell on the robes on display in shop windows and dessert carts under ancient dim lamps and holiday-themed Christmas lights. “There are a good deal of surprises that lie within. You never know what will pop up next when you turn around a corner. But, er, I guess living in the countryside also has its own charm? Like, a life of Arcadian simplicity?”

When they had walked past another two shops, Maxi would tip his head towards Archer, as he couldn’t hold back his curiosity any longer. “You have spoken of Madame Duncan…she must be an extraordinary lady.” He said softly. “I am very intrigued to hear that she is an explorer.” If Archer was keen enough, he might detect admiration in those words, yet Maxi wasn’t sure how to propose the thing lingering in his mind. It was just…all he could say was that Mélanie de Fostoncy certainly wasn’t as fortunate as Marguerite Duncan, the latter sounded like she had been able to do what she had her heart on - and Maxi thought he might have caught a little glimpse of why she had made her way out of the obsolete social circle.

Reducio

I’m super sorry for how long this took life has been quite busy lately! And definitely no worries. I’ll try to squeeze more time out from now.

Following Maxi outside at his gesture, Archer eased into the spontaneous local tour. Lyon was a great place, indeed. Despite how Maman's negative experiences with her family had squandered the city's perfect reputation for Archer, the Duncans had looked past history. After all, it was composed of much more than two grumpy old grandparents. Who could deny that someone like Maxi only added to the historical city's undeniable charm? Following his upperclassman and guide-for-the-day's eyes as they gazed over storefront displays, each shop seemed to be an adventure within themselves, as much an exploration as the untamed mountains of Scotland.

Arcadian simplicity, he had said. Archer smiled at the phrase. The Isle of Skye was his utopia, his own pastoralistic fields where the nymphs and satyrs of his imagination came to splendorous life and roamed without knowing bounds. He was blessed that this Arcadia was his sweet home. Simplicity, however was far from what the countryside was, plentiful with the monotonous urban cacophony replaced by birdsong. Though now exposed to said urban cacophony, he could hardly describe it as monotonous. Acquainted with the quaint shops of Lyon, even if only from the outside, it would truly feel magical even with its wizarding population. 'I must agree, though more ubranised living is also eye opening.'

Nodding proudly in response to Maxi - his mother was extraordinary, after all. 'Shall I regale you with tales of her exploits, Monsieur de Fostoncy?' He proposed, an amused smile tugging at his lips. Maxi would have quite the selection to choose from, a book of faerie tales awaiting to be opened, detailing stories from Russia's perpetually ice-capped mountains to the spread open plains of Mongolia. Although Archer could ramble for hours on Maman's achievements, no biography of her life would be complete without her most significant leap of faith, a jump not only geological but foreign to the life she knew. Suffice it to say, Archer was glad that he had not grown up in a suffocating pure blood household.

Just as he finished, hazel eyes halted on a vintage store that seemed as old and odd as the peculiars in its window. Archer's footsteps paused with his gaze, leaning in closer to examine the various oddities. A plethora of vintage rarities were piled up in the display window, each obscure item, a token frozen in time, beckoning the Scots- and Frenchman to enter and join in their array. Scanning over the half paint-chipped statue of a marble Venus and somehow still intact hand-made wind charms held together solely by the undying love of a long passed grandfather. Like the unwavering relentlessness of his beloved mountains, works of man refused to suffer the inconvenience of erosion, even if they would only be kept as relics for some street side shop located on the edges of Lyon. Tugging on his upperclassman's sleeve, he pointed towards the door, bells clinging in the winter wind. 'You would not mind a detour, would you?'

@Lindsey Springhall, apologise for the wait, now that school isn’t as busy anymore my replies would probably be faster.

Interacting with @Archer Duncan

Roleplaying as Maximilien de Fostoncy [x]
English | French

Huddling slightly under his coat as a cold breeze stroke his cheeks, Maxi shoved his hands into the pockets, almost immediately feeling warmth inflowing in his veins. He took a slow breath, inhaling the chilly air, and thoughtfully watched the vapour he breathed out condensing into a small cluster of white. Oh yes, this was Lyon. Urban. Historical. Mysterious. Enchanting. Untimely he thought of the idea written in water he once had: flee from the Château, and to somewhere out of his family’s reach - oh, hopefully with mother, or Madame as she was addressed in household - making his grandfather and maybe father fret and alarmed. He doubted if he, despite being impulsive and childishly stubborn from time to time, could really make up his mind at the crossroads of life, to leave all this charm and fineness and history and…lineage behind, or irresolution and vacillation would strike. That was…

Never ponder when you wonder. Maxi slightly shook his head and lowered his eyes to the ground, dark gaze lingering on the marble staircase of a store nearby, chasing away the irrelevant thoughts and refocusing on the hilly site of east-central France. He could see that his attempt of conversation had succeeded, as Archer’s eyes were practically beaming with pride when he curiously inquired for more detailed adventures of Madame Duncan; which, correspondingly, brought smile to his own lips. “That would be my pleasure.” He said, softly, yet careful and genuine enough not to let the words drown in the urban bustling. And then he smiled, wider. “- Monsieur Duncan. I am more than willing to be an attentive listener.”

He was soon drawn by Archer’s evident interest in the quaint shop they had just come across, dark grey gaze landing on the pure marble statues and exquisite handicrafts. The ferreous art lamp dimmed in ballads of the past; antique vase appealing in its simplicity, silk-made flowers blooming - Maxi let out a small squeak of awe and admiration. Archer tugged his sleeve, politely inquiring if he wanted a visit, and - oh, why would he oppose that? “Oh, of course not.” He beamed, and took his way in strides towards the door, where bells rang in the westerly wind. Maxi pushed the heavy wooden door open, and made a gesture to his junior while holding it. “Haven’t been here before, I have to say. But -” He would follow Archer’s footsteps into the store, and again squeaked with suppressed excitement. “this is awesome.” He whispered, and started to admire the interior.

Reducio

Absolutely no worries! My schedule should be getting better too this month, I believe!

Pursing his lips in thought as Archer recalled the adventures he had been on with his mother, one surfaced with particular clarity. ‘Oh, there’s the first time I found out my mother is an Animagus.’ It was years ago, wasn’t it? ‘We were in the mountains and she had instructed to wait for her while she scouted ahead. I had envisioned sitting there with nothing to do for some time, yet it came as such a pleasant shock when I discovered she was actually referring to her ability to turn into a falcon.’ Archer’s tone turned wishful as he mused, ‘I hope I could achieve such powers one day.’ His contemplations however, were forced to give way to a childish excitement when Maxi gestured him inside.

Vintage shops, no matter how many Archer visits, would always leave him wide eyed and gaping in awe. Stepping into the store, he was greeted with the tinkling of quaint painted bells, adorned with pastel-coloured roses. While it boasted no Einstein’s brain or Merlin’s wand, the assemblage of items was as much an array as in any collector’s showcase. ‘This shop is almost like a museum is it not?’ He whispered, wary not to disturb to striking yet still cacophony of colours and sounds. ‘Imagine if you were that old lady who owned that dress or that young man with the set of knives,' he proposed as they passed rows of hangers and sets of glass showcases. ‘In English, there is a word “sonder”. It is the sudden realisation that the people whom these items once belonged to lived a life as vivid and complicated as ours.' Archer somehow found this very easy yet very difficult to believe at the same time. ‘I heard my paternal grandmother used to collect tea cups. I wonder if they are on sale somewhere and if two young boys are admiring them and thinking about the life she might have lead just as we are right now. '

He trailed a delicate finger over the precious artefacts, highly valued not only because of their price, but more importantly, the stories behind each piece of scruffy furniture and unkempt clothing. Reaching a table ornamented with jewellery, Archer halted, gaze resting over a particularly eye-catching teardrop locket. Not being made out of precious material, it seemed to be out of place amongst the grand display of silvers and platinums, yet it was exactly its simplicity that caught Archer’s attention. His fingers toyed with it and finding the clasp, flipped the locket open to find, much to his disappointment, a fogged piece of glass. Turning the charm over in his curiosity, he squinted at the words on the back: “rub twice anti-clockwise to see the person on your mind.” Following the instructions, Archer beamed as it worked perfectly.

The piece of jewellery clutched tightly in his left hand, while the other sought for galleons in his pocket, he looked up towards the Frenchman to ask, ‘Do you think anything of yours would be in an antique shop when our time has passed, Maximilien?

@Lindsey Springhall as Maxi de Fostoncy