Errand Nature Does Not Hurry… PV Bastille

Bastille had never been one to sleep much. His mum had always said that he was an awful baby, if not for his screaming then for the fact that he just never seemed to sleep; he could still remember asking her, quite slyly, if his ongoing penchant for staying up through the night made him an awful child, too. Sometimes his ears still rang subtly with the echoes of her long-distant, passionate shouting that no, she loved him, and where did he get the idea he could say such terrible things? Needless to say, he had learned his lesson there: Maman could not take a bloody joke, so help her Merlin. 

Hogwarts didn't seem to have made much of an impact on his sleep schedule; at most, now he couldn't slip down the hall to the library at any hour of the night. It was irritating, especially after he got fed up with trying to read in bed, but he found that after a few weeks he had adapted: now, he got his few hours of sleep at night, and would simply rise early to slip down to the Common Room to read or, if it was "morning" enough, head straight to the Library or Pitch. 

He was just coming back in from an early stop by the Pitch now, intent on swapping out his books and making for the Library; he supposed that he could be revising for class as opposed to perusing Hogwarts' supply of ancient fairytales, but, well... there was just so much more here than in the Estate's library, and he was bored of reading about potions. It wasn't like his marks needed it. He could do with some pleasure reading as well, and he was eager to start his newest find: a copy of Muggle folklore and tales. He hadn't even thought to check into the area before stumbling upon an edition in the Library, and it was like a whole new avenue had opened up. 

He dipped his head in a quick nod to the Fat Lady in greeting, whispering the password under his breath, and rolling his shoulders back as he waited. The Portrait swung open for him quietly, hushed at this early hour, and he set through briskly only to stop short abruptly when he nearly ran into another student on their way out. Startled, he took half a step back, one hand coming up automatically to steady the other Gryffindor on the off chance that he had tripped her, too. 

"Shi— Pardon," he said, catching himself just in time and fumbling a polite apology instead as he straightened. Tipping his head to the side, Bast let his pale stare flicker over the girl and quickly placed her as one of the other first years. He recognized her from class and around the Common Room, and could recall her face from the Sorting Ceremony, but he wasn't entirely sure if her name was Eve or Evelynn. Raking a hand through his messy curls, Bast offered her a half-smile and added, "You alright? Where you off to so early? Might want to grab a scarf and gloves; it's brisk out."

There was dew in his own hair, glistening from the early morning fog, and Bast had tucked his own red and gold scarf into his robes in the face of the chill. He wasn't even sure what possessed him to mention it to her — this Eve or maybe Evelynn — but perhaps his mother's etiquette lessons were finally paying off. Look, small talk and vague regard for another's well-being: Maman would be so proud. 

Stepping sideways out of the way, so as to stop blocking the Portrait hole, he added, "Eve, right?" At least if he was wrong, Eve passed for a nickname for Evelynn, so he could play it off.  He was pulling his own soft gloves off, slipping them into his cloak pockets, as he added as an afterthought, "'m Bast."

@Evelynn Decipio & 661 words.

Evelynn stopped dead in her tracks, weight shifting as she rocked forward on the balls of her feet to avoid the barreling form of the figure that had emerged from the hole in the wall. The snap of his hand as he raised it as though presuming to...what? steady her?...left her momentarily stunned. Reining in her indignation, she allowed her steel grey eyes to scan the newly arrived boy. The way he stumbled back a step as he uttered his apologetic greeting did not go amiss. Nor did the faint sheen of the dew that still clung to his dark and tousled hair, or the scarf of red and gold wrapped snug about his neck to tuck into his robes. With a quirk of her brow, Evelynn flickered her gaze back up to the face of her fellow Gryffindor.

Almost immediately, she identified it as belonging to Aurelius, one of her classmates. It was hard not to recognize him, really. He had become something of a permanent ─ albeit peripheral ─ fixture in her daily routine at Hogwarts. He was one of the few others who shared her affinity for late nights, early mornings, and tendency to remain at the edges of the Gryffindor common room, seemingly also preferring the company of books and studies to that of the more social of their feline kin. It was really only in that moment, however, that it occurred to her that they had never really spoken before.

"Yes..." She replied almost cautiously, "I'm fine..."

For whatever reason, he had sparked suspicion in her and she found herself having to swallow a gut reaction to reply with ’None of your business…’ when he had asked here where she was going. A moment passed as she deliberated answering. His question, coupled with the nonchalant brush of his hand through his hair, had seemed rather forward. And as he stepped to the side, she remained still, only her eyes following his movement.

But then he did something rather unexpected. He addressed her by her name. But not in the manner to which she had finally grown accustomed in England and again at Hogwarts -- by surname. No. He had said her first name.

She couldn't even really remember the last time anyone had called her by that. It was Decipio this, Miss Decipio that. And to her knowledge, no one referred to her by Eve. And she certainly wouldn't have been able to regurgitate his given name had he not just said it...Either he had a preexisting vested interest, or a propensity to recall minute detail. She wasn't particularly fond of either of those conclusions; and both of them warranted the effort to know him better.

“Evelynn, yes…” She finally elected to reply, with mixed confusion and surprise. But any rigidity that may have been in her tone previously began to wane, especially as he introduced himself. “Eve is all right, though,” she acknowledged with an incline of her chin, still trying to decide how she actually felt about him having called her that. Then, remembering her manners, “Aurelius, right? I’ve seen you in class before; and at the library as well a few times. It’s nice to meet you properly.”

Movement caught her attention, and her gaze dipped down just briefly enough to notice him removing and tucking away the gloves.

“I was heading out to the gardens to help Professor MacTavish with his herbs, if you must know,” she continued, finally deigning to satiate his curiosity. As she did so, certain syllables hinted at the nature of her Canadian heritage. “According to the prefects, they’re in need of harvesting. There are house points and chocolate frogs in it for those that help. But I’m sure you knew that already.”

In reality, she wasn’t sure if he did, in fact, know that; and in actuality, she suspected otherwise. But this seemed as good an opportunity as any to practice her flattery.

“Perhaps you’d like to join me?” She inquired, the hint of a smile curling the corners of her lips. “‘Many hands make light work,’ as my mother always said. And if it’s as cold as you say, I’d rather finish sooner than later, mn?”

Not particularly wishing to chance fate and the potential of actually being barreled over by the next student to come through the portal, Evelynn continued forward. As she did, she did a sort of smooth pivot around Aurelius such that even as she passed, she kept her front to him and her expectant gaze upon his face. Expecting him to follow ─ and not particularly minding if he didn't ─ she would turn at the last minute and make to hoist herself with a dancer's grace through the portal in the wall.

@Bastille Aurelius | Word Count: 793 | Total WC: 1,612

There was something in the way that she looked at him that was cautious and borderline suspicious — and, for that matter, impossible to miss. Bastille was used to the wary glares of classmates who could place his family name, and had caught the quickly adverted stares of a few Housemates. His dear old Death Eater daddy didn't exactly make him popular with the morally upright and upstandingly righteous, though most were polite enough to at least pretend not to be thinking it. Still, the suspicion that would always cling to him rankled on his nerves, and he felt a stab of vicious spite towards this girl before he could help it, though his cold stare remained impassive. 

Stop it, he chided himself, biting quickly on the inside of his cheek and schooling his temper before it could crackle and spark, She didn't even say anything. He had nearly run her over, after all; it was ridiculous to assume that her vaguely chilled regard had anything at all to do with his last name, if she even knew it. Maybe she was just an atrocious morning person. (Something he doubted, given the early hour and the number of times he'd seen her around in the mornings when he got up, but that was beside the point; maybe she couldn't sleep and she hated the morning. Maybe she hated the morning because she couldn't sleep.)

The point of the matter was that this girl more likely than not had zero ill will towards him, and he had no need to get defensive and irritable — even if, it would seem, she'd forgotten her manners and neglected to return his automatic pleasantry. Yes, I'm well too, thanks, he responded sarcastically in his head, and silently noted that, someway or another, his mother had brainwashed him so thoroughly that he not only noticed her slip but was borderline offended on an instinctive level. Bloody hell, Maman; he didn't need to feel any more like a ridiculous poncy git than he already did, and yet here he was. Perhaps it was too late for him after all. 

He stared back as she stared at him, silently trying to discern what that look was about when she spoke again and it occurred to him that he'd not only guessed wrong, but that he'd defaulted to her given name. A nasty habit, that; his mother had agonized over his complete lack of regard for proper address so many times that he could practically recite her lecturing from memory. You cannot simply declare yourself familiar, Bastille; it is Miss Michel, Bastille; no, Bastille, you cannot just decide to call others whatever you want— it is simply not proper— you don't get to assign your own nicknames to people, honestly, Bastille! 

Of course, it did not help that Bast seemed not to stand on ceremony even with regard to himself; he only ever introduced himself as Bast, with an utter failure to properly disclose his full name, let alone his surname. It drove his mother absolutely barmy, with the added hysteria that he would be a Lord Beaumont one day and that she truly hoped he would not continue to be so downright rude and improper when introducing himself on that day. But alas, he likely would; he had the tendency to shorten everyone's names, including his own, regardless of his attention for detail and eerie recall. 

In short: it did not matter that he now knew that she was Evelynn Decipio, for she would most likely always be "Eve" as far as he was concerned. Maman was probably turning in her sleep, struck with the sudden and inexplicable urge to chastise him. 

"Bastille Aurelius, yeah," he supplied with a crooked half-smile, in the sort of nearly sheepish tone that acknowledged that he had been a tad improper and vaguely impolite before by relying on Eve and Bast when it was, in fact, their first formal acquaintance. He did not go so far as to actually apologize for his lapse in formalities, however, and instead just bobbed a quick nod. "You as well."

He shifted his weight, intent on calling this a successful attempt at House bonding and good enough to merit escaping back up to his dorm room for that tome, when she spoke again. A belated response to his inquiry, he realized, and then smirked slightly at her phrasing: if he must know, indeed. The frosty apathy of his pale blue eyes eased slightly with the glimmer of amusement, and his mouth quirked a little higher when she concluded that he had already known that, she was sure.

What a little swot. 

"Well, my curiosity is hardly a must, but thanks for indulging me," he said with more of a full grin, lingering traces of something borderline teasing filtering through as he emphasized the word. He probably should have known about the Prefects' request, and therefore couldn't really fault her for that assumption, but that had never stopped Bast from taking the piss before. It was downright prattish, but at least he didn't actually mean any harm. "Had no idea, really. It's always so loud over by the Prefects."

He took half a step back, about to indicate that he not keep her any longer, when she made her offer. Her arched a brow at her, mildly surprised, and warred with the instinct to deny her just to escape any more prolonged social interaction. But, well: he really did need to get getter at befriending his own Housemates, and he was the one who had started it by making inane small talk. And it was technically a request for help, which would be utterly rude to reject, technically. Merlin. Well, he supposed he spend the morning gardening, then. 

He swallowed the urge to groan at the thought and instead shrugged, offering a light and casual, "Ah, sure." He watched her with curiosity as she moved, noting that not only did she not really wait for a response — confident or uncaring? he wasn't sure — but that she moved in a way that meant she never put her back to him. Bast wondered if she was just naturally suspicious, if she had been trained in dueling, or if she just had a strange penchant for maintaining eye contact. Personally, he had always kept his back to the wall out of innate wariness, far more comfortable with having sights on his surroundings. Vaguely amused to see it in her, he stepped after her a moment later and ducked back out of the Portrait. He drew up beside her with easy strides, silently thinking that she didn't need to worry about being on guard if he was at her side as opposed to a few steps behind, and shoved his hands back into his robe pockets at they walked. 

Bast was more than comfortable walking in silence, but the need to be aware of what the blazes he had even signed up for won out. "We're headed to the gardens, you said?"

@Evelynn Decipio & 1175 words.

Smug. There was no other way to describe how she felt as he acquiesced to her suggestion, and as the tell-tale sounds of his steps turning and moving to follow her, retreating back the way they had originally come, she downright nearly swaggered with her confidence. Perhaps it was the simple satisfaction of having had a successful interaction. Perhaps it was some obscure compensatory appeasement that while she yet remained dissatisfied with the product of her academic studies, she was still able to sway a peer. Perhaps it was simply an appreciation that it wasn't she that was having to do the catching up for once. Reason aside, the corners of Evelynn's lips pulled into an unmistakable smirk as she listened to Aurelius' hastened steps, remaining in place even as he caught up to walk beside her.

"The gardens, yes," she assured Bast as they headed out from the Gryffindor common room to make their way in that direction. "Did you really not know?"

She had heard him say that he had no idea, really about the Professor's request for help, but part of her didn't believe him. He seemed so…bookish. And surely if you're going to spend as much time as he did in the common room, wouldn't you at least want to pay attention to what was going on around you, if not participate, so that you knew -- at the very least -- what it was that you were choosing not to join?

"Honestly," she sighed, eyes panning off to the side to scan over the various pieces of artwork as they passed the plethora of framed portraitures and paintings. It didn't seem to matter how many times she walked those corridors; she always found it to be so fascinating just how alive they were. "You'd think you didn't care about supporting your own House. There are House Points to be won, you know."

She has already made mention of that back in the common room. And the chocolate frogs. But perhaps he hadn't heard her the first time, since he hadn't reacted in the manner that any sensible student would have. Her judgmental gaze lingered on him only for a moment before casting forward again as they began to descend a set of stairs. One…two…she began to count the stairs mentally in her head until… She effortlessly hopped the vanishing stair and continued down the staircase as though nothing were amiss.

"As far as what they told us, the Prefects that is, Professor MacTavish has a rather impressive herb garden, by all accounts. But he can't, or maybe just doesn't wish to, harvest and tend to it all on his own. He is asking for help to harvest and dry them," Evelynn continued rather matter-of-factly as though this were a perfectly normal chore. "I imagine Professor MacTavish will give us more details when we get there. Seems simple enough to me, though." And then, off-handedly added, "I wonder what he grows, though. Or what else we might find among the herbs. Are you much for gardening?"

At this early hour of the morning, their stroll through the castle was one that went relatively unimpeded. Not even Peeves showed himself to cast them with his perpetually conniving grin, or pull rugs from under their feet, and Evelynn's fluid strides carried her as swiftly as her height would allow.

By now, Evelynn had grown rather accustomed to the lay of the castle ─ or at least those portions of the castle that she traversed regularly for class and daily routine. It hadn't been so difficult of a task. She hadn't thought so, anyway. Even with the shifting stairwells, vanishing steps, and troublesome doorways, it was still, at its core, an exercise of memory and association. It was much like how she would learn a series of stanzas for a given piece of music, one group transitioning to the next.

@Bastille Aurelius | Word Count: 657 | Total WC: 2,269

She moved quite gracefully, he acknowledged as he watched her out of the corner of his eye. There was an air about her that was distinctly satisfied, almost smug, and he spent some time trying to inventory her movements and determine if it was simply how she moved in general or if she had something to be feeling superior about. Perhaps she was pureblood; he wasn't entirely familiar with her surname, but his mother had only been moderately diligent about his family education. That was: she informed her children about who their close friends were, detailed some of the Aurelius and Beaumont family history, and left it at that. Anything more detailed that would have the danger of becoming political, and Maman was a master at avoiding any and all topics that might touch upon the War. If Bast wasn't so convinced that his mum would have been a Hufflepuff at Hogwarts, he might even swear that she could have been a devious, conniving snake, sometimes. 

But maybe his judgment wasn't so great. He had thought that he was a devious, conniving snake for the entirety of his short life, after all. What did he know about the suitability of one's House?

His own stroll was leisurely and almost lazy, a slight slump curving his shoulders in a manner that said he was perfectly aware that he was breaking against tradition — you mustn't slouch, Bastille — and yet simply did not care. Confident, possibly; one might contrive it as arrogance, but Bast personally considered it a lack of regard for the world at large. He would see those prim and proper expectations and raise them with half-arsed defiance. 

"I really didn't know," he allowed with a quirk of an amused smirk, casting another side-ways glance at the slight girl as he spoke. Why would he have said so if he did know, he wanted to ask, but the truth was that he just might have anyway — just to tease her, a bit, or something. He wasn't sure what the urge was, but he would have happily unsold his own attentiveness to make some form of a point, even if he had known. "I don't hang out with Prefects too much."

He was not, after all, entirely social — and even less, one might say, "obedient." Bast didn't have a true opposition to authority, exactly; he just didn't really like to have any form of responsibility thrust upon him, certain that at some point or another he would mess it all up quite spectacularly. Hanging around the Prefects seemed to be a dangerous game; who knew if their craving for responsibility and swottiness and professor's Kneazle syndrome might rub off on him? And worse yet: what if they decided to offer him tasks, like they'd clearly deposited one on Eve? Besides, it was far too loud in the Common Room whenever the Prefects were gathered. 

Bast spared her the diatribe against socialization with the Prefects, however, and found himself laughing at the irony of her analysis. If only she knew. In fact, she might as well know; it wasn't like Bast had ever made much of an effort to hide the fact that he felt thoroughly out of place among the lions. 

"Well, I grew up supporting a different House," he commented mildly as he stepped over a missing step, his pale stare flickering briefly up towards the portraits as he spoke. Would they hear him, and know immediately who we was speaking of? Perhaps. They did seem eerily aware of things, quite good at calling students out and identifying their family names. Bast tried not to let it bother him as he directed his attention back to Eve and added, casually, "Always thought I'd be in Slytherin. Family tradition. It's weird, supporting lions."

He wondered, briefly and with no short amount of amusement, what swotty, confident Eve would have to say to that. She seemed like the sort to be very comfortable and downright pleased with her Gryffindor affliction, possibly prideful to the point of death when it came to her House. She certainly was pretty adamant about House Points, and while he was sure there could be a selfish motivation behind it (winning the Cup was good for their House, after all), he felt like she was more about the honor of it all, or something. Like she wanted to get Points and win because she was a roaring little lion. Bast was more interested in winning for winning's sake. 

"Hmm," he hummed idly as she chattered on about the task given to him, adopting that tone again, and Bast found himself smirking slightly. She sounded like she was reciting instructions to him verbatim, which was fairly entertaining, but he knew better than to laugh at her openly. Instead he just listened, and let out a scoffing laugh at her question. "Oh, no, not at all. I hate gardening, but I guess I don't have to have much of a penchant for it just to pick some herbs."

He narrowly prevented himself from saying "rip up some flowers," and was glad to have caught himself. He didn't think Eve would be particularly pleased with that description of their task, and it would be rude to abandon her to it now — or, for that matter, to so thoroughly put her off on his requested help that she banish him back to the Common Room. The false hope of aid he would have dashed then would have been worse than rejecting her outright, and the slight greater. Probably. Perhaps he'd write Maman and quiz her on which was held proper etiquette: disappointing at the offset, or somewhere in the middle? 

Grinning to himself in amusement, he looked back to Eve briefly as they stepped out onto the grounds and tugged his gloves back out of his pockets. It was brisk out in the morning, after all, and he found himself asking her mildly as he slipped them on. "Like gardening much, then?" He got weird mixed signals from her: she could easily be the type to love nature and gardening and whatnot, but he could also she her stomping imperiously over rose beds and commentating in that matter-of-fact tone on the evils of casual gardening. 

@Evelynn Decipio, 1047 words. Sorry for the delay!

So he really didn't know, Evelynn pondered, inclining her chin as she did so. Admittedly, she was a bit surprised by that. Even if the others hadn't had any desire to actually attend and participate, she had thought that everyone had at least known about Professor MacTavish's task. At least when she was in the common room to overhear it, the zealous promotion had been quite hard to miss. So much so that she remembered having to relocate herself to the library if she were to get a lick of work done that evening. An absent scan to across in Aurelius' direction made her catch his eye. More than that, she caught his smirk as he added the bit about not hanging out with Prefects. If the tone of the first affirmation hadn't quite been enough to elicit a response, this did.

"It's not like you have to be hanging out with them in order to overhear them," she retorted, straight up rolling her eyes and decisively avoiding his immediate glance.

He had hardly even had to try for her to feel ruffled. In fact, she couldn't even be certain he actually was trying. The thought of that made her internally bristle even more. She wrinkled her nose. She wanted to continue with a snippy tangent about him perhaps not being the sort to pay attention to his surroundings. But before she could say anything at all, he made a comment about the Hogwarts Houses. Or rather...one in particular. Grey eyes snapped in his direction -- her obstinate desire to avoid his gaze already forgotten -- when he admitted to having supported a different house. For that brief moment as he spoke about his misplaced expectations and family inclination, a hunger lurked in their depths. Albeit a seeker of many things, above all was knowledge.

Evelynn and Aurelius had known each other properly only a short time, and what she had observed and overheard from and of him were quite limited. So as much as it may have seemed unexciting, this little window into his inner workings was actually quite fascinating to her. While her exterior facade maintained an air of reservation, she found herself internally perplexed. It wasn't every day, she had found, that someone would actually admit to expecting to being placed in Slytherin. Granted, that house had come a long way in redeeming itself in the past two decades, from what she had heard, but she knew better than most that it wasn't so easy to wash a stain, and most students still spoke poorly of the serpent house. What was more, he almost seemed disappointed. Although perhaps that could be due to a failure to live up to expectations? She desperately wanted to inquire about it, but on the other hand, didn't want to give him any sort of satisfaction of having caught her attention in any capacity. So instead, she had overloaded him with the details of the task ahead. The one downside of long posts...aligning them to avoid multi-conversational strings can be hard

Much as Aurelius had with her, Evelynn spent portions of their trek through the castle contemplating his posture and gait as well. There was much that could be learned by simple observation. From the expression on a face, to the way one made their hair, to the style of dress they donned, to the choice of accessories to complement…Movement and tone were just as insightful. Of course, she tried not to make her study too obvious, keeping her peeks to those moments when her attention naturally arced in his direction. The turn of their course, an eye-catching suit of armor, a passing ghost, or a bleary-eyed student or three could each serve as a suitable scapegoat if need be. In those brief moments, however, she had found him to be interesting enough. She supposed.

Perhaps interesting wasn't quite the right word. Like most of the boys their age, he kept his shoulders hunched so that she couldn't quite tell how tall he actually was, and his ambling gait was sort of slow. Aggravatingly so. And then she realized that he had turned the tables on her without her even realizing. Suddenly, as much as she still -- for the moment -- instructed their direction, she had lost control of their pace. She had fully intended on making swift time to the greenhouses, and had set off from the common room with just such a pace, but his lazy strides could not be hastened. She could leave him behind, she supposed, but then she suspected he'd merely shrug his shoulders and find something else to do. And that seemed like a loss all unto itself. She didn't quite know why, since she had gotten up this morning with no expectation of any form of partner to complete this errand, but she was now quite determined to have him see it out through to the end. So she graciously -- with no small amount of difficulty -- held herself back to his pace. One that she was almost certain he was maintaining on purpose. Irrationally vexing. That was the right word for it.

When she finally finished regaling him with the details and he responded, she actually chuckled. It was a short-lived, airy sort of laugh. The type you almost breath through your nose. For once, she wasn't at all surprised by his reaction. Of course he wasn't one for gardening, else he would have known about this whole thing, and she wouldn't have had to invite him along. Which she still wasn't quite sure why she had, but never mind.

"Noo..." Evelynn actually agreed. "I'm not really one for gardening either, to be honest. Mom--" She stopped abruptly before correcting herself and continuing without thinking. "My mother would often ask me to pick fresh herbs for supper from our garden back home, though, so this is something I'm sort of used to. She says I've inherited her black thumb, and likes to rub it in that ever since I was born, she's actually been able to keep plants alive now. I can't seem to for the life of me. Or them. I don't mind though. I like them better when they're free to grow naturally anyway...."

The last portion of her sentence trailed off into gradual silence. The telltale warmth of a pink tinge crept its way slowly up her neck. In that moment, she was grateful that she had let her crimson locks hang loose to buffer her shoulders. Perhaps he wouldn't see the embarrassment she felt for having unintentionally overshared. She really needed to send her mother a letter, she decided. Clearly her home-sickness was getting to her if she couldn't even manage to maintain full composure in a civil conversation between loose acquaintances. She let the motion of Aurelius tugging on his gloves as they breeched the chill morning air of the grounds distract her.

"Are you cold?" Evelynn wondered mostly rhetorically, quirking a brow.

It was her turn to show a hint of amusement on her expression. She, herself without a scarf or gloves, seemed unphased, and in truth, she wasn't really bothered at all. It must have been at least a handful of degrees above freezing. Or close to it anyway. England had softened her up a little bit, perhaps, but she still never really found it too terribly cold until the temperature dropped below. And it wasn't nearly as humid here which didn't give the chill that same sinking to the bone feel.

"Where are you from, anyway? Did your parents also attend Hogwarts?" She asked it as casually as she could, trying to dress it absent inquisition. She hadn't quite been able to get his previous admission out of her head, though, and the curiosity was beginning to simmer. "Any siblings at all?"

She pestered Aurelius with a few other general questions relating to his family and upbringing and his reaction to his letter of acceptance, all the while guiding them to the greenhouses. Their conversation --if indeed he obliged her insatiable curiosity -- would be interrupted only to receive the specific details on exactly what it was they were to be doing.

@Bastille Aurelius | Word Count: 1,368 | Total WC: 3,637

Bastille was both relieved and mildly surprised when she let his comment on House Slytherin slide. He supposed he had expected a bit more huff and puff, possibly a diatribe on how one should support their House and the Hat was right and how Gryffindor was best, anyway. He wasn't sure why, exactly, but he could certainly picture Eve as being the type to stand on a chair and give such lectures. It was possible he was being a tad judgmental — a fault Maman had often pointed out, oft claiming that an impressive degree of empathy and intuition did not a mind reader make — but Bast would argue that he was not, technically, being judgmental. That would imply a degree of negativity. He was simply judging her character in a completely neutral light. 

Well, okay, maybe with a touch of sarcasm. Mostly out of amusement, though. He had nothing against know-it-all swots, given the amount of reading he did himself, and couldn't necessarily fault House loyalty. So, there. Totally innocent character analysis, nothing for Maman to be shifting about in her bed over. 

He was drawn out of his internal justifications by her lengthy spiel on their gardening task, and then distracted once more as she address yet another of his quick judgments. So, not a gardener then. That answer brought a quirk of a smile to his mouth in amusement, and somehow he found he liked that better than if she had been a big fan of gardening. Certainly, at the very least, it meant that she wouldn't be too excited about their task. She might even join him in whinging about it if it turned out to be dreadful. His gaze flickered to her at her quick correction — "mom" to "my mother," interesting — but he didn't speak or point it out as she went on, his half-smile growing into a crooked grin as she kept going. 

As she started to falter and realize she'd been rambling, Bast let out a breath of a laugh and provided, if only to prevent her from feeling too awkward, "Maman's absolutely atrocious in the garden. Shame, too, because she's so in love with it all. Seems convinced in she just keeps planting that she'll figure it out eventually, but she keeps killing the roses." Amusement traced his tone, and there was only something a little pointed about the fact that he referred to his mother as Maman. He always did, of course, and wasn't bothered to keep doing it publicly — and he wasn't one to judge when others were equally as informal. 

It was one of the few formalities that his mum had never been strict about, doing away with posh, pureblood culture entirely. Bast had always snarkily pointed out that it was only because she liked having her children call her mummy and Maman, but in truth he didn't mind her flouting tradition and rigid custom. After all, despite the fact that he had manners and knew how to use them, Bast tended to disgrace his upbringing for sport. It was a bit of a game. 

He glanced sideways at her at her question and noted both her lack of layers and her amusement. Snorting slightly, Bast gaze a lazy shrug and gave her a half-arsed grin, supplying mildly and without embarrassment, "Guess I'm still cold-blooded, after all." He didn't tend to run too cold, really, and didn't usually mind the temperature, but he also didn't care much for braving the elements just because. He'd take slightly too warm over slightly too cold, personally. Perhaps Maman had made him soft. 

As she started in on questions, segueing almost casually from the typical weather-related home town inquiry into his parents, he was borderline impressed. Perhaps she wasn't going to let his Slytherin quip go after all, and he was grudgingly willing to admit that she was, in fact, good. Sneaky, even. He bit back to urge to call her a Slytherin herself and instead just shrugged casually, trying not to tense up too much at the direction the conversation was taking. 

"Little ways out of London. Kent area. Maman went to Beauxbatons, actually, but immigrated to be with her cousin," he provided, offering a flickered of a grin in her direction, "We're pretty convinced she would have been a 'puff, family traditions be ar— er, forgotten. My father," and there, interestingly, was the direct contrast to how he referred to his mum, and he almost cringed at how obvious the difference was but kept speaking smoothly, "Attended Hogwarts, yes. Slytherin." 

He did not expand, but he also managed not to sound too terse, and instead shifted to his sister. "I have a younger sister, Versailles. She'll be at Hogwarts next year, too. Bit of a trouble maker, that one, so I can't say I'm looking forward to having to keep an eye out for her. How about you?" It was polite, after all, to lob her questions back at her — and he was relieved to try to steer her away from his family or, more specifically, his father. No need for any of that so early in the morning, in his opinion. 

He had turned to look at her, curious to gauge her reaction to having the attention flipped back onto her, but he paused and looked up as they were given their instructions. With a shrug he followed along with collecting their supplies, waiting until they had been sent back on out to another greenhouse to collect their bunches to toss out, casually, "I'm still curious, you know, so it's still your turn to spill." He shot her a half-way grin.

@Evelynn Decipio & 947 words.

As much as she wanted to, Evelynn hadn't quite been able to shrug off the embarrassment of her rambling. The breathy laughter that followed in the wake of her fading words surely didn't help. A pink warmth crept up her neck and coloured her nose, and she hoped it went unnoticed. Or at the very least that it would be misinterpreted to be as a result of the chill wind.

What self-pity she may have nursed in that moment slipped away quickly, however, as Aurelius spoke about his "Maman". Taken slightly aback, she shot him a side-long glance, listening to his response. Not only had he referred to her as "mum", effectively waving away any semblance of formality, he had done so using the French word. And he had done so with such nonchalance. Still, she'd learned something from that, and immediately started reflecting back on lessons from her earlier childhood.

Not only that, but he spoke about his mother as though he and Evelynn were actually have a normal conversation. For some reason, that felt...so...strange. Evelynn couldn't pinpoint as to why, exactly, she felt a touch unsettled by that prospect. It was a good thing, after all, wasn't it? Mom would have been so proud of her, and the redhead could almost feel the warm embrace and ruffle of her own hair as her mother gushed about the friends she was making. And see? Not all European schools were so bad. A slight frown had found its way onto Evelynn's lips at this, already feeling overly coddled and wanting to wriggle out of the figurative arms. Plus, she still couldn't quite shake the feeling that she was being set up for some sort of social trap.

Thus when her conversational partner had glanced her way and offered his cold-blooded jape, she had leered back with a, "Mn...", and immediately pictured scales instead of hair and a forked tongue slipping out between his carefree replies. And that was when she had decided to steer the conversation further down the family avenue.

She wasn't sure, but she thought she might have seen him tense. Any satisfaction she may have derived from that reaction was swept away by the casual shrug of his shoulders. Perhaps she had misjudged, she grudgingly acknowledged. Even still, although she had kept her gaze ahead and fixed on the destination, she had listened intently. Particularly as he seemed to ruffle her mane so easily, she thought it best to learn as much about him as she could.

"Beauxbatons…interesting…" Evelynn heard herself say, thoughtfully.

It wasn't the first time she had heard the name. She'd been very curious to know if there were other schools like Hogwarts, and had levied just such a question several times previously. But up until now, she hadn't known of anyone who'd had any direct relation to someone who had attended anywhere else. In Europe at least, she reflected, thinking back to the boat trek across the lake.

The comment of her likely being a puff drew a look of bemusement from Evelynn, however. She gave him another sidelong glance, quirking a brow, the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. For all his bemoaning about Slytherin and expression of snake references, she hadn't expected his mother to have the qualities of a Hufflepuff. She wondered how much of his mother's traits Aurelius had adopted. From all appearances, few. But she hardly knew him. Maybe there was more to him than that stupid cocky grin…Probably not.

At least his father attending Hogwarts as a Slytherin hadn't been a surprise. But two things stood out to Evelynn with that comment. The way Aurelius spoke about his mother, she might have expected him to refer to his father as Papa, but he didn't. Granted, his father wasn't likely French, so that excused that. But even Dad, or…was there a British equivalent? Like Mum to Mom? Somehow, that question had never occurred to her before. She mentally shook that train of questioning away to consider the other curiosity, which was that unlike his mother, he said very little about his father…

Evelynn didn't really have time to react to the rest of it, having to temporarily cut off all conversational reflection as they received the specific instructions from the Herbology Professor: harvest the herbs out in the gardens, bring them back to the greenhouse for preparation, tie the ends together and hang for drying. Seemed simple enough. As they left the greenhouse and approached the gardens, it was then that Evelynn pulled the gardening gloves from her pockets and pulled them on, rolling eyes as Aurelius pointedly expressed that it was her turn to "spill".

"Almost sounds like you just don't want me to have the chance to ask more questions," came a honeyed retort and growing smirk. She offered no glance in his direction this time, however, instead lowering herself to kneel at the edge of one of the garden beds to start on the task.

"I will admit, I'm a little jealous that you have a sister, though," she acknowledged with a shrug of a brow, deftly filtering through a rosemary bush to pinch the larger stalks off at the bases. "I don't have any siblings. Although that did mean Mom--" Since Aurelius had invited the informality, she didn't feel quite so insecure about dropping to a more casual address. "--was able to spend what time she did have with me. Which wasn't a lot, actually. She works long hours in her office and goes away on business trips a lot, so it was probably for the best anyway.

"She didn't go to Hogwarts, either," Evelynn continued, noting the maternal similarity, and purposefully redirecting away from the details of her mother's employment. "We live in a pretty small town. Windermere. Is Kent very large?" She wondered, not having heard of it before. "Anyway, we only moved here in the past few years from Canada. I think Mom would have been a Ravenclaw, though, if she had attended Hogwarts."

It was a bit painful for her to talk about her mother. Bitter sweet in a way. They hadn't parted on the best of terms, and things remained a bit tense between them. Evelynn missed her. Her silence spanned longer than she realized, enough for her to pluck a full bouquet of rosemary as her thoughts swirled around the end of summer interactions. Her lips felt dry. But that was just the crisp air, she told herself. Licking her lips, she shifted her position for a different herb section, angled just enough away from Aurelius -- or so she hoped -- that he wouldn't see her struggling to keep a neutral expression.

"How do you like term so far?" She asked, trying to steer the conversation down a different route entirely. She had wanted to jab back at him with some more questions about his family, but really didn't want the same questions turned around on her right now. "Transfiguration is trickier than I thought it'd be."

@Bastille Aurelius | Word Count: 1,175 | Total WC: 4,812