Adrift & Docked PV Finished

Interacting with @Archer Duncan

Roleplaying as Maximilien de Fostoncy [x]
English | French

"…wow." Madame Duncan really was a lady that consistently brought him surprises, and Maxi was now without a shadow of doubt that those snobby purebloods in his grandfather's circle barely knew her, and their knowledge were probably mere hearsay. An explorer. An Animagus. A great mother. "That's so cool." He commented, earnestly. "And a falcon? I mean, observing the world up there through a falcon’s eyes must be even more spectacular than what we commonly see when flying on a broom." He spent a minute trying to picture that feeling, eyes hooded, imgaining the wind soaring and himself zooming. And Maxi certainly agreed with Archer - who didn't wish to have the ability to actually turn into an animal and experience life in its own particular way? "Yeah. Me as well."

He gasped at the interior of the shop, which was in an exquisite yet extensive vintage taste, then abruptly held his breath still and tried to calm his awed expression, as if fearing the brudque breath might break the goddess' ionic chiton in an oil painting or the twinkling stars decorated on a delicate crown into pieces. All he could do was to quietly nod at Archer's appreciation of it like a museum, his dark grey gaze lingering on the objects under dimmed, ancient lights. Maxi's eyes followed Archer's somewhat enchanting voice, from the said dress to the knife, and let his mind liberally chose its own way to take. "Sonder." He repeated gently after his junior, the English word echoing softly in his throat. "Sonder."

He chewed on the word, simple enough but thought-provoking, letting the hundreds of thousands of years slipping through his fingertips, leaving a bittersweet aftertaste. The owners of these items had once led a life, either merry or sorrowful, embedding their own marks into the world, all one and the only. They had gazed at the same starry night as they did, measured the same land with their feet, listened to the same old tales and hummed the same lullabys. They loved. They hated. They lived. What was exactly history? Why was the time forever flowing forward, like the forever singing stream, never looking behind? And that bright moon hanging high up there in the dark blue night, who by the riverside did first see the moon rise? When did the moon first see a man by riverside? There was probably no answer as of now, and maybe never would be, even for the wizards, who already possessed remarkable magical abilities. Not a single being wasn't tiny in the torrent of time. And yet…

"Those lives...your grandmother's, or the one of any people here, or those whose legacies aren't in this shop, all have its meaning to exist. Some might still be missed by their offspring, and some might already be lost in the vast ocean of time, some loved, some hated, but..." He took a deep breath, voice so low that almost seemed to be mumbling. "They know that they matter. And so do we. That's what really make life marvels."

He watched Archer toying with a locket, the latter seemed to have received much satification after rubbing the artefact, and Maxi was temporarily lost in thought. "...eh?" He was brought back to reality when the boy proposed a question, and rubbing his chin, Maxi carefully reflected. Anything of his would be in an antique shop like this? He pictured his wand and books and robes being displayed behind the glass or hanging from the ceiling, then a smile escaped his lips, as if amused by his own self. "Well...my quills, a few scripts of poems of stories that I wrote, and maybe my broom." He said, thoughtfully chewed his lower lip. "Even if I had to inherit the family business and my rest of life is inundated with wine - the wine bottles left must be of stylish looking instead of engraving the tedious family coat of arms."

And then he chuckled. "Did you realise it? This question is like, how you wish to be remembered." Maxi scanned the room, then whispered. "I wonder if these people really had a choice of selecting which of their possessions would be displayed here."

The shop owner was still nowhere to be seen. Maybe they would suddenly pop out their head from somewhere behind a shaky old wooden closet, blow a friendly whistle to notify them of their existence before stepping out from a back door ajar, or maybe they just weren’t around at all, leaving this spectacle to those who understood the true beauty of it, only making occasional visits once in a blue moon. For now, it was just two teenage boys, together in this small, antique shop, witnessing the complete human (or nonhuman, who knows?) record of the profound history.

Reducio

Sorry it still took a while there's an unexpected exam in a few days and I've been a bit busy

Archer's grin was not one that took the time to spread steadily. After all, it did not have an ounce of patience when blessed by such good company. He knew they were merely words, and perhaps it would be foolish to dwell on them for too long, but they were words like a song only Archer could hear, a song he had ached in waiting for someone to put into tune. On this earth, looking towards the fickle, ever-changing moon every cloudless night and imagining Selene's presence every cloudy one: there was something so small in that which made Archer feel so meaningful in his own existence. Like stars in the night sky, barely visible, but each so unique, so different, each with a specific solar system that none other could replicate, each a crucial contributor holding their Milky Way in one piece. And the way they tell stories, great tales of heroes, form together constellations in the most spectacular manner... They know that they matter. And so do we. That's what really make life marvels.

Setting down the locket despite his reluctance as the owner of the shop was nowhere to be seen, Archer turned his full attention to Maxi, the sole other presence not decades year old in the room. He nodded along as his upperclassman described the items to summarise his life, a smile cracking at the mention of breaking tedious family traditions, set to reply with something witty that had just come to mind. Yet Archer was caught off-guard at the Frenchman's observation, one that begged a question he had never before pondered: how did he, Archer, wish to be remembered?

“I did...

“I should think I want to be remembered as some grand explorer who lived up to my mother’s name,’ Archer, always eager to answer, took a step back, pausing in thought as the reality of his response toyed at his head. ‘But really I satisfy with some nameless author, jotting down notes on a certain type of albatross that I hope would one day be beneficial to society. I want to be remembered not by my name but by what I have produced.” If he was to merely be remembered as a ghost writer, would he have been a ghost to everyone he knew, everyone he loved? A paradox, but one simply answered for the mountain child. “We obsess over our legacies, so excuse me for obsessing over the present. You’ve said, Maxi, they knew they matter, and knowing is enough. I love the life I lead, and is it too much of a foreign thought for those who always strive higher to say that is enough? I am out of words for description, but I just do not wish to be remembered, at least not in the sense where a follower of mine sculpts a great colossal.

“But that is how us humans are, isn't it?’ He continued his commentary with a sigh, one more of wonder than dejection. “We carve our names into stone and etch our accomplishments into wood, if only to say we’ve bee at this certain tourist attraction. We go to the moon - in fact we race each other in that act - just to plant a flag there, just for bragging rights. It’s sick, almost, how we think the world is ours to mark, but it works, for despite being relatively unexposed to Muggle culture, I too know of Neil Armstrong. Somehow, the things we thought were most valuable are becoming the least.’ His voice took on a hopeful tone almost tinged with admiration as he ended, “Which is what makes this shop so wonderful. We remember these people for the lives they had, not the headlines they made. For the little things, but the important things. I want to live on in here someday, for this is not a graveyard but a celebration of life.”

Growing up, Archer had been as much of an integrated entity with the Boreal wind as the leaves it stirred up. Long before his birth had his parents given up on the glorious path towards convention numbers, more a game of fame or a play of wealth than anything, certainly no signature of the true expression or discovery in Papa's novels or Maman's expeditions. In an odd sense, he did pity them but rather admired them, their stubbornness only something a race as determined as mankind could muster.

“Sorry, I hope I'm making sense.” he muttered, having been lost in thought. “Anyway… And you? How do you want to be remembered?” A poet, perhaps, but then again they come in more forms than Archer could count. A poet, one who both held the word-scribing pen and emotion-spilling heart, each hand with perfect, untrained dexterity.

@Lindsey Springhall as Maxi de Fostoncy

Interacting with @Archer Duncan

Roleplaying as Maximilien de Fostoncy [x]
English | French

“A grand explorer…” He echoed, nodding at the youngster’s eager response. “…or a nameless author.” Maxi tilted his head and let his dark grey gaze fell on Archer, that soft brown hair under the dim light glowing gently. That was quite a contrast, he thought, the fame and glory compared to the decades of dedication in obscurity. Yes. Knowing that one had once lived was enough. Why always sought for the recognition of the society? Why always strived for something that you were already content with not having? He let his mind wander, from Archer’s words to his own life, and to others’ stories he knew, those paths they had once taken. For purebloods like them, legacies were important, but your own heart carried equal - maybe even more - significance. Being a nameless person behind the scene but lived out a life of their own wasn’t utter failure like what the stick-in-the-mud would say. “…I can. I can understand.” He murmured softly, switching to his junior’s native tongue, trying not to cut in abruptly.

He nodded at Archer’s words. Human beings were always so restless, trapped in constant rat races and rarely stopped to take a break and reconsider the meaning of their existence. The youngster talked about the voyage to the moon, and about Neil Armstrong, a muggle person whose name was completely unfamiliar to him. Maxi was silent during the period, letting the words, so earnest and so truthful, flood letter by letter into the depth of his heart. Archer’s words sounded sufficient enough for him, and all he did was to let a smile climb up his lips, and nods take over his moves. “After all, we lived for our own selves. And those who really cared.”

He chewed on his bottom lip tentatively, eyes lingered, his heart at peace. Time was a fine thing, he thought, all other irrelevant matters being washed away and only the core was left. He turned, and his eyes were soon caught by a poster stuck on the wall behind, letters shining bright even in the dimness, courtesy of some kind of magic. “Oh… did you see that?” Maxi pointed at his discovery, light sparkling in the dark grey hues. He must say that he was exceptionally delighted when he saw it, as it certainly sounded appealing - and romantic - to take an artefact from here then drop one of your own things to be stored and put on display. How totally unacquainted people crossed their paths in this shop, transcending time and space. How the click of clock was, temporarily, set amazingly still.

He thought Archer might choose the piece of jewellery he seemed to be rather fond of, yet Maxi wasn’t sure what to take with him. He was seeking for that connection, he knew it, before he could settle his mind, and determine that it was the thing that would resonate. Nevertheless, he wasn’t worried, neither did impatience grasped him. Maybe eventually he would spot something and press his finger on the artefact, feel the cold texture on his skin, transmitting all the way from the tip of his forefinger to his toe, before he had to take his way out of this museum of wonder.

“Me?” He reflected for a few seconds, then flashed a somewhat hasty smile. “I know I wanted to be remembered as someone who writes. Poems, fantasies, adventures, stories specifically for children - like, someone that will bring others pleasure through my built up world of words and structure. And even better, help them think deep, if possible.” Maxi felt his cheeks heated up slightly when he confessed what lay deep in his heart to Archer. It wasn’t that he had never talked about it to others before - most people around just assumed that he would pursue a career in writing, and those who had read his works or seen him composing didn’t even bother to ask. But it felt strangely solemn to say it out loud here, in this mysterious, dimmed room of ancient history. Something that wouldn’t be approved by his family.

He let out a few distressed chuckles. “We’ve talked about legacies at some point…and unfortunately, inheritance is something I have to consider. Indeed, blood is thicker than water, but…” He stopped for a second before proceeding, seriousness glimmering in his eyes. “A trade-off, or just off to chase my dream. I don’t know yet, but I know I will eventually find a way out, and be remembered as how I want. Maybe I would never become a big name, nevertheless, I wish to be included in the cause that I want to devote myself into wholeheartedly, whatever it is.”

It was when his glance took him to a pair of silver cuff links set on the corner of a glassed display case next to a set of ancient swords and spears. The cuff links were delicately carved in the shape of a quill and an ink well, and Maxi stepped thither, carefully opening the doors and gently taking the gadgets out. He had them in his palms, holding upward, and gazed into the silver surface of these little things. He might have found them. His passion. His heart.

OOC EDIT: I accidentally used the wrong hex code for French language and wasn’t aware of it until rereading the thread. To keep aligned with Archer’s post where some dialogues of Maxi’s have been copied, I’m saying that he had switched to English for them as it’s (one of) Archer’s mother tongue and it’s his way of showing his understanding. (Those words were meant for Archer anyway.) The rest codes have been fixed.

“…I can. I can understand.”

Understanding was all he asked for. He felt a warmness in his heart blessed by this boy who had granted Archer the privilege of talking to him as if he was his mirror reflection. Maxi comprehended him, not just every word he had spoken but how they all fit together to paint the stupendous picture of mankind, how each individual was strung together into this staggering species on a little blue dot. And perhaps, he could allow himself to fancy that Maxi was just another part of the puzzle piece building the picture of humanity, and they happened to be right next to each other, fitting perfectly.

“After all, we lived for our own selves. And those who really cared.”

Yes, yes, yes. Archer was certain he was one of those who really cared. And he just so happened to have been standing next to someone else who cared the same.

Wide eyed as Maxi spoke of poems and fantasies and adventure and stories for children - like him. Oh to be lost in the whimsy again, to open a book just to plunge down the rabbit hole with Alice again, or fly to Wonderland with Peter Pan, or get twisted away into the Land of Oz. And to think this new friend before him would be the one to craft yet another new, entrancing world, the romantic side of him could swoon on the idea. Softly and hesitantly, Archer requested, “Maxi, can you draft up something for me?” His eyes then lit up even brighter than before in his childlike wonder, “Or something even better! What if we make something together? I think that would be absolutely magical.” To be a creator of this fanciful world of his childhood dreams and to breathe a beautiful life into it: he could not think of anything else to ask for.

Eyes drifting to the poster Maxi had so eagerly pointed at, Archer felt a flutter in his heart. The bright letters loudly proclaimed an even brighter notion: an invitation to leave a glimpse into one’s own life behind with an object taken. How beautiful an idea, that each of them had a legacy to be shared and admired, that they were each part of this anthropological chain connecting the very ends of the universe itself. He could be part of something, not the school cliques he had soon grown tired of but humanity in of itself. This shop froze time, and a part of him in its glorious amber with everyone else. Hands racing to his pockets as he sought for what he could offer a collection so sublime and larger than life, the young boy came up with nothing. Suddenly feeling very insignificant in the grand passing of time he frowned and said, “I don’t have anything to leave though. I suppose I don’t have a legacy yet…. Do you?”

Smiling, though this time not without some tightness around the edges, he considered what the elder boy, and, inevitably, the one faced with life more choices all too soon had said on chasing dreams. With matching seriousness entering his voice, Archer nodded at Maxi’s words as he agreed, “Yes. To pour one’s life into something you love: that’s a career I find extremely admirable. I really hope we’ll both grow into what you described.” Chasing those faraway dreams brimming with books and romance and flowers instead of yielding to the suffocatingly Sisyphean society, what an honourable thing to yearn for.

Following Maxi’s eyes curiously as they scanned over a pair of cufflinks rather than the impressive set of ancient weapons beside it, inquisitiveness set themselves in his own gaze as the upperclassman picked up the two small pieces of metal. Only when Archer leaned in to peer at them closer did he notice the intricately carved detail of a quill and inkwell. Despite their size, they must have held a meaning much grander for the boy held them with such tender passion and his onlooking companion. “These are beautiful, aren't they? And meaningful too.” In world where people rarely seemed to stop and care, those symbols could have meant the world. After all, everyone wanted to leave their stories and share their lives. And those tales were meant to be beautiful ever since people began telling them.

@Lindsey Springhall as Maximilien de Fostoncy

Interacting with @Archer Duncan

Roleplaying as Maximilien de Fostoncy [x]
English | French

He thought he probably wouldn’t know if time had stilled and the clock stopped ticking. When trapped in the grander swirl of history, one would easily lost themselves - in a good way, thankfully - and Maxi sighed, wistfully and contentedly, allowing himself to full-heartedly indulge once in the moment. This was one of the few times he had realised that history wasn’t just folktales and legends. It was appreciable. Touchable, even. Like a little insect sealed in an amber.

He heard Archer’s voice, gentle yet a bit hesitant, and Maxi turned to properly face his upperclassman with a similar tender expression. Make something together. Craft a magical, enchanting world. His dark grey gaze met the sparkles in those dark hazel eyes, which, in return, lit up the depth of his irises. “Oh yes!” He agreed, eagerly. “It certainly will be. Oh Archer - ” Why was that he was suddenly acquiring the enthusiasm of a child? It was useless to ponder, nevertheless - he would simply let the emotion warm through his veins, throwing his calm, collected presentation aside, revealing the scalding, throbbing heart underneath. A future. A future for himself. A future of sweet, endearing dreams. And what was better than discovering that Archer had a similar interest? “We should definitely work something out together. With joint efforts we’ll no doubt make it. Just imagine…” His eyes would speak for him instead, the dark grey hue sketching the contours of his wonderland. Words would probably be faint and wispy. Only hearts could tell.

A legacy to leave and be put on display let his thoughts fly, and only when Archer started searching for his stuffs did he remember to mimic. A few vain attempts of fumbling over his pocket, he shook his head, disappointed. “Me neither.” He really hadn’t brought any significative gadgets with him when he slipped out of the Château. “Well…it’s summoning us to revisit in the future. When we have fulfilled our dreams.” He mumbled, thoughtfully. Maybe one day when he’d lived up to his own dreams, and Archer did his, they would step into this shop together just like today, and find their own place within time.

“They definitely are.” He agreed, nodding rather solemnly. To be able to record - scribbling with your pen, streaming in your thoughts into the ink - the beautiful, delicate, and fleeting moments in life was the most wonderful gift granted to beings. “I sure will cherish them.” He said softly, in the odour of history, the light dust and tranquility left behind after experiencing all those ebbs and flows bringing out a tender smile.

“Perfect then!” Archer cried, clapping his hands together in a childlike manner he rarely felt since having started Hogwarts. “Well, Maxi… maybe we could write something about ourselves? Maybe we go to some faraway realm where there are all sorts of brave heroes to meet and terrible monsters to fight! Like in There and Back Again! Oh I love fantasy, don’t you? I just feel like it has endless opportunities, and to think we could be in those worlds… Wow, that feels absolutely unbelievable. You know I think I could have a bow and arrow, maybe be an elf, it’s fitting with my name, don’t you think?” Archer let himself ramble quite a few things rather quickly, trying for his words not to be too unintelligible as he fumbled over himself in his delightful enthusiasm.

In truth Archer rarely wrote, not as he used to. Once brimming with wild, outlandish ideas, such imaginations now were often pushed to the back of his mind in favour for almost scientifically styled journals. While one might call it tedious, each page filled with a mess of times and seemingly mundane observations, each word was written with as much passion as anything. Yet he would acknowledge it was different from the romantic fiction he used to gobble up like a starving raccoon, for it was not an escape, merely a record. But this, oh this was going to be so absolutely perfect. They were kindred spirits, as the poets would call it.

“Yes, and I will most definitely revisit here someday. I feel like I must now!” Archer agreed at Maxi’s solemn nod, feeling as if this very small moment was very grand all of a sudden. All that they had done today only reinforced in him that his story mattered, that their lives were so important despite seeming so minuscule in the grand scale of things, and they would be preserved forever, for generations onwards to look upon them like they had the artefacts today. Indeed, they may have merely been teenagers - more accurately Archer was not even considered one, but they too had a place in this ever flowing world. Looking at him with anticipation etched into his gaze, he said, voice obviously excited, having had no idea there was so much to explore in a city he once thought he had been as familiar as could be with, “Do you want to go that café you mentioned now? Maybe we could come up with an idea there.”

@Lindsey Springhall as Maximilien de Fostoncy

Interacting with @Archer Duncan

Roleplaying as Maximilien de Fostoncy [x]
English | French

There and Back Again made him feel slightly puzzled, the certain book under the adventure/fantasy genre not actually in his reading list. A local British publication, maybe, and despite that the name had definitely piqued his interest, Maxi didn’t cut in. He fondly smiled as Archer’s ramblings went on, heart already soaring high and overlooking the unknown land of heroes, villains, and mystic creatures. Oh, and Archer would be trekking through the woods (possibly? or boating down a river?), equipped with bow and arrows, maybe even elf-like…He couldn’t help but grin. “Then I’ll be a bard.” Maxi considered thoughtfully. “So that I can write your deeds into fine poems and sing them along with music.” His dark grey eyes sparkled with expectation. “Oh! And I need a lute. Or lyre. Dulcimer works too…Gosh, there are so many things to write about. Or, to dream of.” He had realised at this point he probably wouldn’t live without his daydreams and wild imaginations. It started as a way to temporarily escape, mostly, but until now it had already been part of his life and even sort of a label on him. Maxi didn’t mind it. What are human beings without the ability to dream? Flobberworms?

An idea suddenly popped up, the inspiration he usually had fuelling the book aspiration. “I think I’ll ask my mother if she’s willing to illustrate for us. She paints excellently.” He grinned. Mélanie would definitely be interested. The bond between them was mutual, her blood running in his own veins. Deep down, they were the same. Drawn by the allure of the wild. Wallowing in the enchantment of the unknown.

He held his breath, taking a final brooding scan of the room. The amber of history, embedded in between echoes of footsteps on the ancient streets of Lyon, patiently awaited the discovery of the keen-eyed. His lips curled into a smile as Maxi nodded, slowly yet decisively. “We surely will.” He didn’t know why, but it weighed like a promise of a lifetime. Maybe their revisit would only come years later, when they both stepped into maturity and left adolescence behind, and when they were pursuing their own respective dreams, but Maxi already felt that he - and Archer - could and would stick to their words. It was confidence granted by the fragrance of time.

“Willingly.” He smiled, quickly drawing up a map of the area as he turned and pushed the door open. Sliding out into the dimmed streets, he’d wait for Archer to follow, heading further into the alley, relaxedly dip himself into the familiar frosty chill. He would venture left at the first crossing, until stopping in front of a small wooden door. Above it, large, scattered letters reading “Joyeux”¹ cut from a piece of wood hung, the name of the café written in rounded curves. “Here we go.” He would whisper to his companion, tone wishful, the warm aroma of roasted coffee beans worming into his nostrils.

Maxi put his hand on the doorknob and turned the door open; the bells tied to the doorframe merrily danced in the breeze, announcing the customers’ arrival. The interior of the café² was mostly decorated in a warm brownish colour, with wooden floors, stone inlaid walls, dark brown ceilings, and similar wooden tables, chairs, and counter. “Cozy” would be the best word to describe Joyeux, as the scent of hot coffee, freshly baked bread, and sweetness of cakes warmed up the space. The main types of coffee and food served as well as the brewing process were written on the board opposite the door, and artistic lights hung from the ceiling, glowing in a warm yellow colour.

There were quite a few guests in the café, sipping coffee and chatting. A guy around twenty-two or twenty-three with sandy blond hair was making a cup of coffee behind the counter, while a brunette in her late twenties was busy scribbling something down on a menu on the other side. Upon hearing their entrance, they both looked up, smiles wide on their faces³.

He was a frequent visitor here. “Hi, Marcel. Good day, Romy.” Maxi would greet the pair. Marcel chirped a “Hello!” and Romy merrily waved at them. “With a friend?” She took notice of Archer, smiling at them.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I’ll take a look at the menu.” Maxi leaned over and took one from the top of the counter, passed it over to Archer, and picked up another one himself. He was an avid enthusiast of attempting new dishes, and thus he unfortunately became the subject that the two tried their most recent inventive coffee flavour on from time to time. “Romy and Marcel are cousins.” He turned and explained to Archer, in case he was wondering. “They own the café.”

“We aim to use minimal magic and maximal love.” Romy winked at them, when Marcel cut in. “There are also magically made-and-flavoured drinks and desserts if you want to try them out, Maxi. I recently came up with -” His cousin elbowed him. Maxi laughed. “Don’t.” He told Archer. “You never know what potion ingredients were crushed and put in.”

“I’ll have a cup of Mochaccino. And a fruit tart.” He might as well have a bit of a snack to go with the coffee. Putting his menu down, Maxi grinned at Archer. “Please help yourself. My treat today - no worries, they give me excellent discounts.”

1. Joyeux: French for “Joy”.
2. The interior of the Café is mostly based on this one in Lyon.
3. Romy and Marcel are NPCs, and feel free to godmode them. They are both friendly, easygoing, and witty. Maxi is good friends with them.

As they fawned over the potentials for their dream of writing fiction Archer could envision every scene as Maxi added his part to their story. A bard, writing his deeds into poems and singing them to him; Archer himself was terrible at music but with the frequent times his mother played for him the art form was as familiar as anything else. Eagerly agreeing as he offered his mother’s artistic skills to accompany their fiction the images lined with pencil and coloured with watercolour he had seen so many times in the children’s fiction he adored would float back even without having to close his eyelids. Mortal moments frozen in immortal time, just like the final scans they both took of the room.

Following Maxi through alleyways that were museum exhibits in of themselves into where scattered letters marked the café known as “Joyeux”. Welcomed by the nutty and unmistakable scent of coffee accompanied by the chiming of bells Archer stepped into the café following Maxi, feeling as if he had entered another world as the earth-toned interior was laid out before him. Sensing undertones of bread and cakes in his nose his gaze were drawn in all directions of the room, and there was no doubt it was only his vision that was satisfied with the sensory experience.

Eyes flitting across the coffee shop as he took everything in, surrounding them were groups of laughing people sitting on high chairs or comfortable sofas. When the pair working behind the counter looked up and grinned, Archer felt the warm feeling of welcomeness spread like hot cocoa up his chest. Though he was no frequent visitor like Maxi Romy’s merry wave still put the heating to shame — this was as if living out how the scenes had always played out in those Muggle motion pictures, except in a surreal, dreamscape of reality. He knew he would stay here forever if he could in this romantic world of poetry with Maxi.

“Hello! Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Archer said, wide smile matching theirs as he nodded to them, introducing himself in the standard manner though with less stiff formality in his voice, “Archer Duncan.” Scanning across the menu with pleasantries done nothing in particular caught his attention, they were merely the treats he would expect from a café, though Maxi’s next comment roused definite interest in him. “That’s wonderful! This place looks lovely.” Since he was young Archer had always been raised not to be boxed into expectations, for he had been told his potential was as far as the sky stretched — even further, as Maman would add with an only half-jesting smile, if he decided to travel to the moon and beyond. The thought of owning a café had never crossed his mind before but suddenly that seemed more surreal than any creature in the wizarding world could ever be.

Minimal magic and maximal love sounded like something Archer wold not mind trying. Considering how similar his parents’ careers were to their counterparts and the fact of not even living in a magical community wizardry had always merely been an addition to young Duncan’s life rather than a lifestyle. Just as anything else one could study it not only made for usefulness but another subject to talk about over the dinner table. Love, however, was something not even the acclaimed Amortentia could imitate properly without warping the profound emotion into lust. The catchphrase might have seemed trite to some but with the combined playful wink of one of the cousins Archer eased into their company, letting go of the decorum he had been taught as the atmosphere relaxed under softly burning candles.

“color=midnightblue]I want to try that actually,[/color]” Archer piqued up eagerly, tugging on Maxi’s arm as he tried to return Romy’s wink. “Embodying the spirit of my mother,” he laughed as he leaned back in his chair with a carefree smile, “I want to try something new, even if it has oh whatever random ingredients you put in there.” If he could scale the mountains climbed or cross treacherous streams the least of his worries would be innovative culinary. Feeling so closely connected to his mother despite her presence only embodied in the chain hung protectively above his chest he could almost hear the encouragements for him to step out of his comfort zone.

Today was a day of unexpected miracles, the beautiful indescribable quality of serendipity. Usually his Christmas retreat in the countryside of the city never made for trips to see its more urban side — though having truly grew up on the mountains, his definition of such would vary wildly from an Edinburgh child. There was so much charm in the rows of pastel coloured houses, intervaled here and there by trimmed hedges or flower gardens. Not to mention each story that must have existed with its own life in the buildings, of course. Already Lyon had become such an experience. Why not enhance it with another one?

@Lindsey Springhall as Maximilien de Fostoncy

Interacting with @Archer Duncan

Roleplaying as Maximilien de Fostoncy [x]
English | French

“Thank you!” Romy always seemed radiant when she smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Archer.” She tapped her pencil on the counter and chuckled when Archer attempted to return her wink—and most importantly, when he volunteered to try Marcel’s creations. Maxi’s smile went wider and gave a thumbs-up to his companion. “Woahhh, that’s the spirit.” He grinned. It seemed like the adventurous vigour was running in Archer’s veins, and Maxi had always found this kind of connection between family members unparalleled.

Marcel jauntily clapped twice, obviously flattered and delighted. “Absolutely. I assure you that this one will be great.” Maxi managed to switch into a straight face. “You’d better keep your promise.” It was only about a few seconds before he couldn’t feign the sternness and laughed. “Kidding, kidding. I know you are an honest person.”

After their orders were placed and the cousins set out to work, Maxi scanned the room, much contented to find that his favourite spot was still available. He nodded at Archer and led him approximately ten steps to the right of the counter, and drew out the chair at a small table against the slightly frosted windows, yet it was perfectly warmed up like the rest of the room being embedded in the the cozy corner. Maxi nestled in the seat, letting out a soft, beatific sigh. Happiness was as simple as a cup of hot coffee.

Romy and Marcel never let people down. Maxi’s Mochaccino and fruit tart were served, and so did Marcel’s special order for Archer—a cup of unknown coffee and a cake of unknown flavour brought to them in a tray. Maxi attentively gazed at the whipped cream and cocoa powder on top of it, then slowly stirred the mixture, feeling the familiar warmth of the liquid permeating the air. He stopped and sniffed, before taking a small sip. First-class as ever.

With curiosity, he looked at Archer’s treats. The coffee (he doubted if it could still be referred to as coffee, who knew what Marcel stirred in and which spell he used to modify it) and the cake (same as that coffee. what’s in the mix?) were of a matching peculiar colour, somehow iridescent from Maxi’s angle, but the next second when he blinked it was gone. “How does Marcel’s Magical Mug taste today?” He leaned over, squinting at the liquid. “I hope it is as successful as what he claims. And the cake?”

OOC: I left the exact description of Marcel’s creations vague so that you may write about the food & drink you’d like Archer to taste—feel like it will be better this way! Hope you enjoy the magnificent M.M.M.~ (•̀ᴗ• ) ̑̑ (or unfortunately not despite Marcel’s brags. it’s up to you!)

Offering Marcel and Romy smiles and gratitude as his order was brought to an excited Archer, he shared a look with Maxi as the elder boy sipped at his drink, before the younger decided to have his as well.

Surprisingly bright in colour as a direct contrast to coffee’s usual neutral browns, blacks, and whites, Archer blinked with bewilderment at the exotic assortment of green entertained with purple, the drink he knew barely visible from his angle. Topped with latte art — though rather than the usual flower theirs had a delicate flour de lis — the entire cup was presented as pristinely intricate, although oddly eccentric. Giving Maxi and the cousins curious glances he raised the cup first to his nose as he inhaled a whiff of it expecting the familiar earthly scent. Instead, it smelt almost like herbs though with a sweet vanilla undertone.

Hesitantly taking a first sip and before he could properly savour the flavour, decided to, as he had said, fully embrace the spirit of his adventurous mother and downed a gulp of the coffee. The almost tea-like green proved itself to be matcha while the pink seemed to be something he was tasting for the first time, sweet and starchy in a manner that reminded him of sweet potato. Creating a three-way synthesis between the bitter coffee, fragment matcha, and what he would learn to be taro upon asking Marcel, they were a blend of flavours he never thought would fit together yet did. Looking up at Maxi with a content grin he chirped, “I’ve never had a combination like this but it tastes wonderful and I’m glad I tried it.” Ending with a mischievous wink he said, “If they put any potions in it they are yet to settle on me at least.”

As eager to discuss his ideas with the boy as he was to try the dessert next Archer began, “So,” leaning in over the innovative cup of coffee, as one fork-held hand prepared to dig into the cake — it too of peculiar colour, “About that story we were working on…”

@Lindsey Springhall as Maximilien de Fostoncy

OOC: I hope this was a nice way to end it! Apologies, kind of got carried away with the food description lol.