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Clearly there was something up with these two. First she outs his lies, now this tension. Alfie wondered if it was a friendly rivalry or something more. That question was a bear he needed to poke at some point, but not right now.
As to the flogiston (or whatever it was) definition-- well who knows? It sounded likely enough, though what did Alfie know? "I think those are an English thing," he offered somewhat dismissively. He considered that might be a good thing to say from now on any time he was lost.
The Welsh stuff on the other hand was interesting. He felt a swell of pride as Jeremy (he didn't have to think of him as 'amateur liar' anymore-- though he probably still would) confirmed the abundance of Welsh magic that Alfie had hoped for. Perhaps his grandmother's stories hadn't been so far off after all. As far as Alfie knew, it could all be true. However, for now he needed to concentrate on these names so he could remember them for later. Helga Huffle-whatsit. Of course. We all know that-- not. (He'd better find a way to look that up before someone quizzed him. He could hardly use the English excuse on her.) And Dilys Derwent-- lush1 first name to be sure-- though Derwent, well-- Alfie decided she sounded impressive enough, even if he'd never heard of any Derwents in Holyhead. He now had a hospital to look up too. St. Mungo? Wizards have saints too, apparently. Alfie's taid2 would be pleased to hear it. Alfie was reaching the limit to the number of names he could remember, though. He'd have to find a private moment as soon as possible to write all this stuff down.
He quickly formulated a reply that would be appreciative yet not give away any traces of ignorance. Perhaps a condescending compliment "Fair play3--" it began, but Alfie didn't get further, yielding to Snarky Girl/Jo's unimpressed interruption.
He might have taken exception to the contempt leveled at 'healer' given his own mother's profession had the words 'Holyhead Harpies' not been the next out of her lips. Alfie choked. He would have done a spit take had he been drinking, but even without one the sudden change in his expression would not have gone unnoticed. He paled and began to take on a slight greenish hue (literally) as a million thoughts of appearing ignorant and an imposter flooded his mind.
"I know this!" he blurted, "I live in Holyhead!" which was to say he knew he should know this if he were the wizard he pretended to be. "I mean--" What did he mean? Jo's words were still ringing in his ears. 'World Cup' 'Welsh National team' 'Gwenog Jones' Did wizards have football? Rugby? How would that even work? The memory of a poster he'd seen in Diagon Alley with people in sporty uniforms flying about on brooms flitted through his mind.
"Jones was a character, alright," he said heartily, regaining his composure. His earlier celadon hue faded almost as quickly as it had come. "That was the anti-English one, right?" he improvised. He figured if you were talking Welsh sports then slagging off the English seemed the obvious guess for an offensive shirt. "Or was it the one with the c-word4? You know, that isn't a swear word for us, right? Even my grandad says it."
Alfie had not noticed the presence of @Alejandros Espinosa which was a shame, given Alfie's mysterious father. How many Spanish metamorphmagi could there be after all?
--------------------------------
As to the flogiston (or whatever it was) definition-- well who knows? It sounded likely enough, though what did Alfie know? "I think those are an English thing," he offered somewhat dismissively. He considered that might be a good thing to say from now on any time he was lost.
The Welsh stuff on the other hand was interesting. He felt a swell of pride as Jeremy (he didn't have to think of him as 'amateur liar' anymore-- though he probably still would) confirmed the abundance of Welsh magic that Alfie had hoped for. Perhaps his grandmother's stories hadn't been so far off after all. As far as Alfie knew, it could all be true. However, for now he needed to concentrate on these names so he could remember them for later. Helga Huffle-whatsit. Of course. We all know that-- not. (He'd better find a way to look that up before someone quizzed him. He could hardly use the English excuse on her.) And Dilys Derwent-- lush1 first name to be sure-- though Derwent, well-- Alfie decided she sounded impressive enough, even if he'd never heard of any Derwents in Holyhead. He now had a hospital to look up too. St. Mungo? Wizards have saints too, apparently. Alfie's taid2 would be pleased to hear it. Alfie was reaching the limit to the number of names he could remember, though. He'd have to find a private moment as soon as possible to write all this stuff down.
He quickly formulated a reply that would be appreciative yet not give away any traces of ignorance. Perhaps a condescending compliment "Fair play3--" it began, but Alfie didn't get further, yielding to Snarky Girl/Jo's unimpressed interruption.
He might have taken exception to the contempt leveled at 'healer' given his own mother's profession had the words 'Holyhead Harpies' not been the next out of her lips. Alfie choked. He would have done a spit take had he been drinking, but even without one the sudden change in his expression would not have gone unnoticed. He paled and began to take on a slight greenish hue (literally) as a million thoughts of appearing ignorant and an imposter flooded his mind.
"I know this!" he blurted, "I live in Holyhead!" which was to say he knew he should know this if he were the wizard he pretended to be. "I mean--" What did he mean? Jo's words were still ringing in his ears. 'World Cup' 'Welsh National team' 'Gwenog Jones' Did wizards have football? Rugby? How would that even work? The memory of a poster he'd seen in Diagon Alley with people in sporty uniforms flying about on brooms flitted through his mind.
"Jones was a character, alright," he said heartily, regaining his composure. His earlier celadon hue faded almost as quickly as it had come. "That was the anti-English one, right?" he improvised. He figured if you were talking Welsh sports then slagging off the English seemed the obvious guess for an offensive shirt. "Or was it the one with the c-word4? You know, that isn't a swear word for us, right? Even my grandad says it."
Alfie had not noticed the presence of @Alejandros Espinosa which was a shame, given Alfie's mysterious father. How many Spanish metamorphmagi could there be after all?
--------------------------------
Welsh words and English colloqualisms used in Wales:
Reducio
- 1Lush*******In Welsh English, lush means lovely, nice, gorgeous, or really great.
- 2Taid*******(like Eng. "tide") In north Wales Taid is grandfather and is used both in Welsh and English. The south Wales equivalent is tadcu or dadcu.
- 3Fair play***UK expression of approval. Can be used generally, or more specifically to acknowledge or concede that something was well done or reasonable.
- 4C-word*****In northern Wales c*nt’ with an 'o' is used colloquially as a term of endearment rather than a misogynistic insult. Used among peers of any gender, but more commonly among men. Has given rise to euphenisms for various creatures, most notably jellyfish as cont y môr (c-word of the sea).
Last edited by Alfie Owen on 15 Sep 2026, 22:46, edited 6 times in total.
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"I'm Jo Byrne," Jo told Alfie. "Middle name redacted."
“Middle name Elisa,” Jeremy butted in, for no good reason other than because Jo was annoying him. Yes, he knew her middle name. He knew it because her mum had yelled it at her back at her house, when they had experimented with drawing runes. Pretty much every moment of those few minutes were burned into his brain, and he wouldn’t forget any second of it, and especially not the moment when they realized they weren’t alone and her mum’s voice had rang out, freezing them in their tracks. He never would have thought anything good would have come out of that, and he didn’t know why Jo was redacting it when it was a perfectly normal name (maybe it was a spy thing), but she was, and so he felt the need to ruin it.
Miraculously, Jo seemed to be buying his explanation about Phlogistons. (see Henry? THIS was lying). Or at least, she must not know what they were either, if they even existed, because she didn’t say anything against it. Realizing THAT made Jeremy feel a lot better.
But soon things were going out of control. Before Jeremy could stop her, Jo just started spouting off her own facts! First of all, she questioned his choice of facts, which had been very well chosen for 100% customer satisfaction. But, to be honest, he’d THOUGHT to talk about the Holyhead Harpies, except he couldn’t remember any of their names. Jo not only knew one of their names, she knew an interesting fact about them. That was one more fact that Jeremy wouldn’t be able to tell. Even worse, what if people DID think her fact was more interesting? This whole thing was supposed to get Jeremy into Ravenclaw, and instead it was just gonna get JO into Ravenclaw instead. He would drop out of school if that happened. He’d go to Durmstrang, like his room-mate Declan.
“Hey this is MY fact booth! Get your own fact booth, I brought this table here myself!” Jeremy huffed.
To make things worse, Alfie barely reacted to Jeremy’s fact, but was so excited by Jo’s fact he nearly choked! Well, he looked a little sick, actually. Hm. Maybe he ‘liked’ one of the players or something. Jeremy didn’t really get it but he had seen boys his age look a bit sick like that before, sometimes at the Harpies themselves. Well, Jer didn't care who Alfie 'liked', what he cared about was that Alfie seemed a lot more interested in Jo’s fact than his, and Jeremy couldn’t have that. And it only got worse than that, as Alfie began to speak about swear words and Welsh culture.
“Now look what you did, EVERYONE’s giving facts!” he said miserably. Didn’t they know this was a very important day for Jeremy? He had had one of his best ideas ever, and everybody was ruining it. This was his one shot at breaking out of the mold he’d been put in since he was little.
By the time Jo began to challenge him on phlogistons, Jeremy jumped at the chance to get rid of her. On the one hand, if she looked up phlogistons she might find out there WAS no such thing, at least not as Jeremy described it. On the other hand, that would take time, and by the time she came back he’d hopefully have given enough facts that he could just be gone. He knew this kinda thing happened all the time. A shop is there one day, gone tomorrow, before anybody catches wind of what they were selling. He held his head up proudly and did his best to meet her eyes.
“Sure, go check it. I think there’s a dictionary there, but good luck finding it, I think that library was organized by a troll.” It was true. He could never find anything he was looking for. Hopefully that would work in his favor.
But Alfie was still here, and he needed to fix this all before it got way too out of hand. Luckily there was one more person…lurking in the background. Aha! A customer! This was his chance to get things right back on track. With some desperation Jeremy called out to the slightly older-looking boy, doing his best to turn on the charm, and remember all the manners his parents had drilled into his reluctant head. (@Alejandros Espinosa)
“Hi! You there! Boy! Welcome to my booth, I’m Jeremy Slater, what’s your name? It's a lovely day we're having isn't it? Please, would you like to learn? I can give you a fact about most anything if you write something down on this parchment here. C’mere!”
The boy was not going to get away that easy.
@Josephine Byrne @Alfie Owen
“Middle name Elisa,” Jeremy butted in, for no good reason other than because Jo was annoying him. Yes, he knew her middle name. He knew it because her mum had yelled it at her back at her house, when they had experimented with drawing runes. Pretty much every moment of those few minutes were burned into his brain, and he wouldn’t forget any second of it, and especially not the moment when they realized they weren’t alone and her mum’s voice had rang out, freezing them in their tracks. He never would have thought anything good would have come out of that, and he didn’t know why Jo was redacting it when it was a perfectly normal name (maybe it was a spy thing), but she was, and so he felt the need to ruin it.
Miraculously, Jo seemed to be buying his explanation about Phlogistons. (see Henry? THIS was lying). Or at least, she must not know what they were either, if they even existed, because she didn’t say anything against it. Realizing THAT made Jeremy feel a lot better.
But soon things were going out of control. Before Jeremy could stop her, Jo just started spouting off her own facts! First of all, she questioned his choice of facts, which had been very well chosen for 100% customer satisfaction. But, to be honest, he’d THOUGHT to talk about the Holyhead Harpies, except he couldn’t remember any of their names. Jo not only knew one of their names, she knew an interesting fact about them. That was one more fact that Jeremy wouldn’t be able to tell. Even worse, what if people DID think her fact was more interesting? This whole thing was supposed to get Jeremy into Ravenclaw, and instead it was just gonna get JO into Ravenclaw instead. He would drop out of school if that happened. He’d go to Durmstrang, like his room-mate Declan.
“Hey this is MY fact booth! Get your own fact booth, I brought this table here myself!” Jeremy huffed.
To make things worse, Alfie barely reacted to Jeremy’s fact, but was so excited by Jo’s fact he nearly choked! Well, he looked a little sick, actually. Hm. Maybe he ‘liked’ one of the players or something. Jeremy didn’t really get it but he had seen boys his age look a bit sick like that before, sometimes at the Harpies themselves. Well, Jer didn't care who Alfie 'liked', what he cared about was that Alfie seemed a lot more interested in Jo’s fact than his, and Jeremy couldn’t have that. And it only got worse than that, as Alfie began to speak about swear words and Welsh culture.
“Now look what you did, EVERYONE’s giving facts!” he said miserably. Didn’t they know this was a very important day for Jeremy? He had had one of his best ideas ever, and everybody was ruining it. This was his one shot at breaking out of the mold he’d been put in since he was little.
By the time Jo began to challenge him on phlogistons, Jeremy jumped at the chance to get rid of her. On the one hand, if she looked up phlogistons she might find out there WAS no such thing, at least not as Jeremy described it. On the other hand, that would take time, and by the time she came back he’d hopefully have given enough facts that he could just be gone. He knew this kinda thing happened all the time. A shop is there one day, gone tomorrow, before anybody catches wind of what they were selling. He held his head up proudly and did his best to meet her eyes.
“Sure, go check it. I think there’s a dictionary there, but good luck finding it, I think that library was organized by a troll.” It was true. He could never find anything he was looking for. Hopefully that would work in his favor.
But Alfie was still here, and he needed to fix this all before it got way too out of hand. Luckily there was one more person…lurking in the background. Aha! A customer! This was his chance to get things right back on track. With some desperation Jeremy called out to the slightly older-looking boy, doing his best to turn on the charm, and remember all the manners his parents had drilled into his reluctant head. (@Alejandros Espinosa)
“Hi! You there! Boy! Welcome to my booth, I’m Jeremy Slater, what’s your name? It's a lovely day we're having isn't it? Please, would you like to learn? I can give you a fact about most anything if you write something down on this parchment here. C’mere!”
The boy was not going to get away that easy.
@Josephine Byrne @Alfie Owen
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| date August xx, 2026 | Campgrounds, Hogwarts | morning, after breakfast time | |
@Jeremy Slater @Fawkes Chaos
| outfit blue t-shirt, school pants, hair tied up | "dialogue" | thoughts colors | |
𝕽obin swung his head back and forth and shot his gaze across the crowded grass clearing—busy, more like. Students did not stick around in places they did not need to, they did not form an inconvenient "crowd". They were walking around though, and it made the campgrounds seem busier than it actually was, since most of the kids were either back to their cabins already or chatting away while in the process of getting back to more comfortable spaces. Not to say there aren't any energetic souls on their way to somewhere screaming adventure, but either way the clearing was, according to Robin's recent observations, just a tunnel everyone goes through to get to another spot.
The Ravenclaw boy was no exception. Yes, he did specifically come here to look for a certain feline, but he also planned to retreat to his room after that menace is found. The grass underneath his shoes is a mandatory path separating him from the comfort of his bed . . . fine, the awkward interactions don't make his cabin that much better than public space. Robin admits this in his mind with a hint of irritation. Not even private space feels private anymore. Ugh.
Right at the peak of his mental complaints was when he spotted a shadow dart past with impressive speed and delicacy, that's Meursault alright. Robin had only spent a few days more than a month with the so-called "bewitched midnight stalker", but he already worked out many of the tomcat's strange behaviors. One of such is disappearing from his sight and reappearing somewhere "curious". A new book Robin should read, a small item he couldn't find for a whole week, a loose piece of floorboard that reveals a couple of scandalous letters . . . anything remotely interesting, to simplify it. Robin picked up his pace to keep up with Meursault, finally spotting the cat staying in one place rather than prancing about. The boy looked more closely at the table his companion stopped in front of, raising one eyebrow slightly after reading the sign that promised a fact and coffee. I myself am more of a tea person, but I wonder what that boy can tell me? Robin observed the small group gathering around the stand. It seemed like there was some sort of conflict, and even though the situation was quite chaotic, it was obvious that the boy one or two years younger than him was the "vendor".
Robin tried not to brush anyone's shoulders when he squeezed into their midst. There was one recognizable face, Ravenclaw's dueling captain Fawkes Chaos, but she and Robin aren't familiar enough to greet each other. If he remembered correctly, they might not have talked at all, despite being in the same year. There were quite a few people Robin never even saw in hallways or the library, some young enough to be incoming first years, others maybe from international schools. "Excuse me, I—" he cut himself short as he bent down to grab his cat, one hand on the chest and the other near his hind legs. "My cat got in here. Sorry for interrupting your . . . uh, debate?" Referring to the argument he heard from more than ten paces away, though he didn't quite catch the specifics. The boy then moved Meursault to one arm and put most of the tom's weight on his shoulder, using his free hand to write a simple word on one of the blank parchment pieces laying in a stack. "I got a common one for you," he said as he pushed it towards the boy. The parchment indeed hosted a simple word with only four letters: "cats".
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"Oi!" Jo did have a cup of coffee in hand and could've conceivably done a spit-take had she been drinking the moment Jeremy decided to out her middle name to Alfie. Sadly, she'd been too intent on jabbering on about Gwenog Jones, so the most she did was slosh some of the hot liquid over her palm. She grimaced. "That's not even right," she muttered mutinously. "It's Elise, with an 'e'." For which she was grateful. Elisa would've added a whole new syllable and that would've been too many syllables for two names.
Well, the joke was on Jeremy. She didn't really care who knew her middle name, even if it was stupid. They were about to have classes together for seven years. Surely, at some point someone would find out. Still, she was gratified to see how much her giving Alfie facts had riled him up. Served him right. He should get better facts if he didn't want her to jump in (and learn her name properly). She grinned at him--a wide, innocent grin with a bat of her eyelashes. "I was just making conversation." He could hardly forbid her from doing that.
She was slightly less pleased by Alfie announcing he'd known her fact. While the boy was possibly the most Welsh person Jo had ever met (judging only by the fact that he'd interjected in Welsh at least twice since Jo had known him), she'd had no way of knowing he was from Holyhead. It made sense that the boy blindspot when it came to the Harpies would not apply to someone for whom they were the home team, so she shouldn't be too terribly disappointed. And yet... there had been something a little (or a lot) off about his reaction, though.
He'd gotten the incident wrong, for one. Whatever shirts he was thinking of, Jo had never heard of them, and she was well-versed in Gwenog Jones' various transgressions. But it also felt like his excitement had come on a delay, with his initial reaction more in line with an unpleasant surprise. Gwenog Jones was a character, it was true, but not the kind of character that would normally cause someone to pale at the mere mention. Even if she had once apparently wore a shirt with the c-word (not altogether unlikely, but Jo had never heard of that), Alfie had not seemed quite so discomfitted with the word itself. Either Alfie was Gwenog Jones' most devoted fan, with knowledge of all manner of obscure facts and ready to faint at the mere mention of her, or he was full of crap. Jo's money was on the latter.
(She also thought he had caught an unnaturally greenish tint on his skin, but she dismissed it as a trick of the light.)
"No," She narrowed her eyes at him. "It was the time in the quarter-final with Brazil." She didn't elaborate further, wanting to see if he would. Any Jones fan worth their salt would know about her infamous feud with the Brazilian manager.
Her attention was so focused on the Welsh boy's face that she was almost confused when Jeremy started going on about potential librarian trolls. "Oh, right," she said, "I'll go in a second, gotta finish this." She swirled the liquid in her mug. Giving Jeremy a hard time (or indeed facts about cats, or whatever that quiet boy lurking around them wanted to ask about) had suddenly become much less interesting than than their cabin-mate. She even managed to ignore the fact that there was an actual cat within pettable distance.
Well, the joke was on Jeremy. She didn't really care who knew her middle name, even if it was stupid. They were about to have classes together for seven years. Surely, at some point someone would find out. Still, she was gratified to see how much her giving Alfie facts had riled him up. Served him right. He should get better facts if he didn't want her to jump in (and learn her name properly). She grinned at him--a wide, innocent grin with a bat of her eyelashes. "I was just making conversation." He could hardly forbid her from doing that.
She was slightly less pleased by Alfie announcing he'd known her fact. While the boy was possibly the most Welsh person Jo had ever met (judging only by the fact that he'd interjected in Welsh at least twice since Jo had known him), she'd had no way of knowing he was from Holyhead. It made sense that the boy blindspot when it came to the Harpies would not apply to someone for whom they were the home team, so she shouldn't be too terribly disappointed. And yet... there had been something a little (or a lot) off about his reaction, though.
He'd gotten the incident wrong, for one. Whatever shirts he was thinking of, Jo had never heard of them, and she was well-versed in Gwenog Jones' various transgressions. But it also felt like his excitement had come on a delay, with his initial reaction more in line with an unpleasant surprise. Gwenog Jones was a character, it was true, but not the kind of character that would normally cause someone to pale at the mere mention. Even if she had once apparently wore a shirt with the c-word (not altogether unlikely, but Jo had never heard of that), Alfie had not seemed quite so discomfitted with the word itself. Either Alfie was Gwenog Jones' most devoted fan, with knowledge of all manner of obscure facts and ready to faint at the mere mention of her, or he was full of crap. Jo's money was on the latter.
(She also thought he had caught an unnaturally greenish tint on his skin, but she dismissed it as a trick of the light.)
"No," She narrowed her eyes at him. "It was the time in the quarter-final with Brazil." She didn't elaborate further, wanting to see if he would. Any Jones fan worth their salt would know about her infamous feud with the Brazilian manager.
Her attention was so focused on the Welsh boy's face that she was almost confused when Jeremy started going on about potential librarian trolls. "Oh, right," she said, "I'll go in a second, gotta finish this." She swirled the liquid in her mug. Giving Jeremy a hard time (or indeed facts about cats, or whatever that quiet boy lurking around them wanted to ask about) had suddenly become much less interesting than than their cabin-mate. She even managed to ignore the fact that there was an actual cat within pettable distance.
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The smugness Alfie had felt just moments before, faded when Jo corrected his 'fact'. He'd over played his hand and now she was calling his bluff. Her blue eyes narrowed as they met his own.
'Busted', Alfie thought. He didn't panic though. When it came to lying, this was not his first rodeo.
"Was it really?" he asked, affecting a bemused expression before giving a slight shake of the head and a nonchalant shrug. "Must have been thinking of another time. Guess I won't be winning pub trivia anytime soon with that memory," he added with an easy smile.
Alfie held her gaze, his face an affable mask. He had experience staying calm and not fidgeting in cases like this. He could stare down most anyone without showing a trace of fear or guilt. It was always the other person who broke first and looked away, sometimes with a befuddled expression or slight shake of the head. Now that Alfie thought about it though, he wondered if this had been due to his superior bluffing skills or if, unbeknownst to him, he'd been morphing his face slightly and creeping them out.
Alfie looked away. Plan B was changing the subject.
"Sorry there, Jer!" he said affiably. "Didn't mean to moider1 on and highjack your fact-thingy. I'll leave you to it, then."
And with a cheerful, "Tara2 all!" Alfie made a quick exit.
--------------------------------
'Busted', Alfie thought. He didn't panic though. When it came to lying, this was not his first rodeo.
"Was it really?" he asked, affecting a bemused expression before giving a slight shake of the head and a nonchalant shrug. "Must have been thinking of another time. Guess I won't be winning pub trivia anytime soon with that memory," he added with an easy smile.
Alfie held her gaze, his face an affable mask. He had experience staying calm and not fidgeting in cases like this. He could stare down most anyone without showing a trace of fear or guilt. It was always the other person who broke first and looked away, sometimes with a befuddled expression or slight shake of the head. Now that Alfie thought about it though, he wondered if this had been due to his superior bluffing skills or if, unbeknownst to him, he'd been morphing his face slightly and creeping them out.
Alfie looked away. Plan B was changing the subject.
"Sorry there, Jer!" he said affiably. "Didn't mean to moider1 on and highjack your fact-thingy. I'll leave you to it, then."
And with a cheerful, "Tara2 all!" Alfie made a quick exit.
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English colloqualisms used in Wales:
Reducio
- 1Moider to talk aimlessly, to ramble. Alternately it can mean to pester or bother, or even (take note Jo) to talk crap. Highly localized dialect term. Virtually unknown in south England. High recognition in pockets of Ireland, but mostly used by an older generation.
- 2Tara Northern English and North Wales informal good-bye.
Last edited by Alfie Owen on 28 Aug 2026, 05:08, edited 1 time in total.
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Credit to Marigold Wesley
@Jeremy Slater | @Josephine Byrne | @Alfie Owen | @Robin Lockett
His hopes of escape were dashed and distracted by a combination of things, not just the fact booth kid catching him. First, he realized that the boy in front of him, busy discussing some fact or other, had changed. Or he thought he had. People went green-ish sometimes, when ill and nauseous, but this shade had a quality to it that reminded Alejandros of his own time staring into a mirror with dismay. He didn't know if he was right or if he even wanted to be. It froze him, though, as he stared and then looked intently away. Did the boy realize? Did it scare him, that someone might notice?
And then the fact booth kid -- Jeremy, he said -- locked eyes with him, and Ros might not know all of what he said, but he got the gist. "My name is Alejandros Espinosa," he answered, because what's your name was an easy enough phrase to catch. Well, so much for backing away slowly. Jeremy seemed sort of upset, though, and maybe participating would make him less upset. Wide-eyed and a little shaky-legged, like a deer in headlights, he stepped up. Quill and parchment. All he had to do was write something and then nod along to whatever Jeremy said, and hope the girl didn't say anything to him because she kind of seemed to be at the center of all this tension.
He hadn't thought of a category of fact to ask for and now his mind was worryingly blank. The arrival of a very cute black cat gave him an idea, but then he realized that was exactly what the boy in glasses who had come after the cat would choose, and it was his cat. His cat fact. Mierda. Shit He had nothing. Okay, maybe not nothing...
The best his panicked brain could come up with was football, scrawled in looping, neat letters. He did remember to spell it the English way. El Mundial The World Cup had been a big part of the first half of his summer and become a frequent circler in his thoughts, dribbles and kicks behind his eyelids in many of his good dreams, but he still only knew as much about it as Rina or the announcers had said. Alejandros pushed the paper toward Jeremy, gave him a tight-lipped smile, and stepped back. The green-ish boy was leaving in a hurry when he looked over his shoulder, and maybe he was right because how many times had he made that sort of exit when he could feel himself losing control?
He shouldn't stare. Swallowing visibly, he looked back to the cat, who was definitely the piece of this situation he was least stressed by. "I like your cat," he told the boy, since it must also be rude to stare wordlessly at a cat. His voice sounded small, at least to his ears; his father told him he spoke too quietly a lot of the time.
Aislin Darragh (PC) • Bridget Collins (1st gen PC) • Phyllis Stanwood (1st gen iNPC)