| Details for Have You Ever Tried Toe Socks? |
| Summary: | After enjoying some alone time sketching at dusk, Silas is interrupted by, and has a pleasant conversation with, a rather odd Ravenclaw girl. |
| Date: | 14 October, 1938 |
| Location: | Entry Courtyard, Hogwarts |
| Related: | — |
| Characters |
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Entry Courtyard
A path leads from the Gates through to the huge bridge that travels across the lake towards the Hogwarts entry hall from here. The otherwise green hill isn't very steep, however, almost like it was designed for long walks and for the carriages. Another, steeper and well-trodden, path leads down to the lake shore and the groundskeeper's cabin, in a roundabout way to the west, while the lake itself is visible over cliffs hundreds of feet tall to the South.
Across the bridge and just outside the entry hall is the courtyard itself, a large rectangular area with roofed walkways along the outside, with benches to sit and arched open-air windows to give a view over the lake. Inside these walkways is a central open square just outside the doors to the castle, with a couple of larger benches to give students a place to sit.
It's Monday evening, and the last of the day's classes have come and gone. Having already dealt with one interrogation last night by a fellow Slytherin, Silas has opted to find a peice of dirt not far off on the grounds where he can sit, draw, and relax in relative peace before curfew forces him indoors. It's still early enough that the light outside is fair, although dusk is perhaps thirty or fourty minutes away.
Silas himself is sitting under the shade of a large oak, his satchel next to him. A wooden board of some sort serves to hold the parchment he's currently drawing on. A bit of charcoal is in his hand, his index finger, ring finger, and thumb thoroughly smudged black as he focuses on his work. Beside him, a medium-sized ferret is in a life-or-death struggle with her favorite sock… the bulk of which seams to have devoured her upper half.
A slight breeze carries a jaunty, whistled tune as a young brunette woman comes down the path nearest the tree, now and then stopping to chatter amicably but quietly to the young barn owl perched on her lifted wrist. She coos at the bird, haphazard braid loosely holding her dark hair into a manageable plait. "Now, Goodfellow. Be a good boy, and I'll give you a special treat when you return." The owl tilts his head, studying his mistress… but takes flight a moment later with a shiny envelope clamped tightly in his beak.
"They really are magnificent, aren't they?" Musidora comments in a light and clear almost contralto voice as she watches her pet's silhouette grow smaller and smaller. Once he's gone, she turns to Silas.. or more aptly she probably caught the movements of his little friend from the corner of her eye, and seems to have no qualms about wandering over. "Does she make a habit of nabbing socks?"
The hand that previously held the owl throws one end of her House scarf over her shoulder, revealing the badge of Ravenclaw that decorates her robes; as if the colors of the scarf didn't give it away. "I had a pair of socks that were designed to fit on your toes once but I couldn't stand them. Have you ever had toe socks?"
There is a silent moment as Silas turns his head to study the newcomer for a moment, placing her. Lovegood, yes. He knows her. A half-smile crosses his face as she addresses him, and his pet, "Adelaide? Yes… and just about any other trinket, scrap or otherwise pilferable product she can get her paws and mouth on, to be honest. It's one of her charms." He slowly lowers the wood and parchment, making a point of setting the charcoal inside a small wooden box he has next to him. Next comes out a black cloth, which he uses on the hand covered in soot. "As to… 'toe socks'? I can't say that I ever have. Not particularly a fan of socks in general. I've always found leggings to be far more economical in the long run… and they are far to heavy for her to drag away."
Musidora's expression shifts from mild curiosity and a polite expression, lips curving into a warm smile and she lowers her voice as if sharing a private joke, a motion of her hand adjusting her robes so that she can take a seat next to him. Close enough that the scent of ink and mint co-mingle against a backdrop of parchment. "I don't care for them either. I'd much rather run about and feel the grass between my toes." She attempts to peek over at the artwork as a free hand fishes through the pockets inside her robes until there's a rustle, and she pulls what appear to be a few tiny and very edible oat circles, offering them out to the little one. Palms are clean even if her knuckles are smudged. "My father likes me to send him my Potion ideas. Do you plan to become a professional artist?"
The white ferret seems to have an almost preternatural knowledge of the sudden appearance of available food. Her epic struggle ceases immediately as she backs out of the sock, moves closer to the offered treat, and snatches it away. She then immediately bounces away, jaws tight against the treat, as she scurries behind Silas to eat it, as series of contented chuckles coming from her.
The statement about socks actually shifts Silas' half-grin into a full one, and he actually motions to the grass beside himself, and invitation, "I can't deny that particular temptation myself, if I'm going to be truthful here." But then the question, and a frown, "It is just a hobby," he defers, actually moving to roll his work up, despite it being a rather realistic take on the landscape before him, "not a career. After all, there is the family coffers to consider."
In an attempt to derail that particular line of inquiry, he offers a distraction, "You may wish to be careful, however. Adelaide has your scent now, and she knows you're a source of goodies. You may one day find her pilfering your own stores…"
She listens intently but just gives him a wispy smile at the warning; blue-green eyes, though, they seem just a little sharper than her tone. "I keep snacks stashed anywhere I can. I find that certain times of day or night it can ward off most things bent on making havoc, visible or not." Musidora glances around… before sneakily slipping off her shoes and socks to reveal rather pretty feet and pedicured toenails, not one of which bears a matching color. The dark gray socks are folded with an almost compulsive neatness before she drapes them across the shoes. "I don't think we've ever been properly introduced. I'm Musidora, though…" she turns her face and tilts her head, studying him like Goodfellow had done her, smirk tugging at full lips, "I gather you figured out the Lovegood part."
Silas offers a deep chuckle at the last bit there, "Of course I did, Musidora, We've been in the same year for six years, and you can be certain I've been reminded by my mother at every possible opportunity the names of every eligible pure-blooded female on campus. You may call me Silas, however, since this is our first time officially meeting." He proffers his left hand, since it's still clean, "A pleasure."
"I still like to be polite, when someone earns it." The smirk is full blown now, however, hand taken, shaken and released.. though she blushes slightly as a few bits of grass fall afterwards. "The last name calling thing seems to be reserved for people who aren't familiar, or friends. Therefore, you can call me Musidora.. or Muse. Just never Dora." There's a momentary look of fierceness that furrows her brow and darkens her eyes, "I'll make a potion so potent you'll never be able to separate your eyebrows."
Beat. Then, she shrugs with a mischievous smile now ghosting her mouth, "Or would I? You seem a nice boy, Silas. I think we could be friends."
Silas actually chuck;es at that last statement, "You almost make that a challenge. I think I could pull off a singular brow for a time." He then nods, "You're honest and to the point, which I appreciate. No dithering. Rules for engagement right up front."
The black cloth comes out again to finish the cleanup of his right hand, "I think we could, at that. So tell me, what brings you out here tonight?"
"Other than sending Goodfellow off with a few potion ideas to my father, just being out of doors, really," Musidora admits with an easy smile as she shrugs again and tilts her face to the sky with a deep inhale. "Besides, I don't often have many ulterior motives if at all. Sometimes I just get stifled in the castle and need fresh air."
There's a long, companionable pause before her tone adopts a quotatious, lilting quality, "'Soon, however, they too began to pale before a splendour in the east, and the advent of the dawn declared itself in the newborn blue of heaven,'" Musidora trails off with another sigh, though this one is perhaps a little less dreamy than the last. "I believe Haggard is talking about dusk, you know. My favorite time of day. But! Since it /is/ getting late I think I should start thinking about heading in."
Slowly and with reluctant fingers she tugs on her socks and replaces the slightly scuffed black shoes. "At least you didn't ask me for girl advice."
There's a slight tilt to his head as Silas takes in the quote. He smiles, and notes, "Never heard of him. I'm assuming a Muggle author?" There's no malice behind the question, just honest lack of knowledge.
As she gets up, he chuckles yet again, "That is something you'll likely never get from me. No need for the advise on my part. Makes like much simpler."
With a shrug and a tilt of her head, Muse rolls onto her feet, careful to dust off the excess bits of grass and leaves and whatever else might be clinging to her robes. "Muggle, yes. I feel as if some of their authors are quite literature-ally brilliant." It's not delivered in the way one does when attempting to excuse their choice, merely the style of explanation. "Try not to stay out too late, Silas. If the snorkacks don't get you, Pringle surely will," her tone darkens again. But, with a renewed whistle, Musidora takes herself back up the path to the castle, pausing only briefly to turn and offer him a wave and a smile.