(1938-11-07) Tea for Two
Details for Tea for Two
Summary: Augustin and Eibhlin talk in the courtyard.
Date: 1938-11-07
Location: Entry Courtyard

Afternoon. Classes are over for the day, at least for most, with dinner yet to come. While the weather is getting cooler quickly while the sun is out its not too very cold to be out and about. Taking advantage of the relatively mild weather is Eibhlin, the redhead having found a seat on one of the benches along the edge of the courtyard. The satchel that can often be seen slung over her shoulder settled on the seat beside her for now. A bit of black fabric in one hand, her fingers slowly work at pushing, and pulling a needle through to form the delicate stitches.

Along comes Gus with a satchel of his own slung over his shoulder. He seems actually to be looking for her, and approaches purposefully. His hair appears to have been recently combed, his hands are clean, and his robes are actually tidy. He stops in front of her and smiles. "Hello, Shine," he says. "May I join you?"

Eibhlin wasn't expecting anyone, and focused as she is on her needlework the sound of her name has her blinking up. The distraction finds a finger in the way of her needle however. "Ow," the fabric dropped to her lap though thankfully the needle itself is still attached to the thread and still in her other hand, though the pricked finger moves quickly to her mouth. Blue eyes focusing on the boy however she offers a soft smile, "Hi.."

"Oh, dear," Gus says. He immediately sits next to her and holds his hand out. "I knick myself all the time with my carving tools, let me see."

"It'll be fine," Eibhlin assures him. The needle is set into the fabric. which is then folded in half to hopefully keep it from going anywhere as she shifts to hold her hand out to him, a tiny red dot showing where the point pressed into her index finger. "See."

Gus gently takes her hand if she lets him, and carefully inspects the tiny needle prick. "Yeah, it's not too bad," he agrees. Then he lifts his eyes to catch her gaze. She's very close. With a soft, teasing sort of smile he says, "Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

Eibhlin doesn't protest him taking her hand, simply shakes her head at his assessment of it. "Its fine," she repeats about her finger. A pin prick is not the end of the world. It wasn't the first time it happened and it certainly won't be the last.

Well, Gus looks slightly disappointed by that, and lets her hand go with one final pat. "It's about tea-time," he says. "And I have some in a thermos. Would you like any?"

"I do appreciate your concern though," Eibhlin adds taking her hand back to secure the needle by weaving it through the fabric before turning to tuck the whole thing into her bag. "That sounds great," she agrees to the offered tea.

"You're not going to show it to me?" Gus asks her, nodding at the embroidery that she's packing away. "Aww." He quickly retrieves the thermos of tea from his bag, a couple of glazed tin cups, a paper bag with six lumps of sugar, and a tiny jar of creamer. "Still piping hot," he says as he sets all of this up between them on the bench. Then he pulls out two light, fluffy croisants with flaky, buttery crusts - just the very thing to go with the tea. "One lump or two?" he asks. "Or three?"

"It doesn't even look like anything yet," she notes turning back to the spread he's pulling out of his own pack. "Something tells me you had this planned," Eibhlin comments, not that she's complaining by any means. "Just one please."

"Well, I wanted some, thought maybe you might want some, too, took a chance, and here we are." Gus grins at her, pours her a cup of the piping hot liquid, puts in one lump of sugar in the tea, and hovers the creamer, raising his eyebrows to silently ask if she wants that, too. He'll pour or not depending on her response. "We always have croissants at home," he comments. "I like them better than cucumber sandwiches."

"I'm not complaining," Eibhlin replies, a slight nod to the offer of cream. She is Irish after all, and proper Irish tea is served with plenty of milk. "I've never really liked cucumber sandwiches either," she admits, "So these are perfect."

Now that tea is situated for her, he takes a sip of his own after adding cream and two lumps of sugar. "Ah, that's the stuff," he says approvingly. "Shall we call each other by our first names?" he suggests, raising his eyebrows a bit and flashing her a charming little grin.

Picking up the cup he's fixed for her Eibhlin replies, "Thank you Augustin," testing out the suggestion of first names before taking a small sip. Drink taken she wraps both hands around the cup, it is after all a bit chilly out.

"You're welcome, Eibhlin," Gus replies. "Feel free to call me Gus if you want," he says. "Most of my friends do." He has a bite of his croissant and then asks, "Eibhlin, would you like to go on a picnic with me this Saturday?" He pauses, blushes a little bit. "Like a date, you know."

"Gus then," she corrects her self with a smile to him. About to say something else she's presented with the question of a date. Pressing her lips together she allows herself a moment of thought before speaking again. "Are you sure Rousseau?" she asks in return, "I mean…"

"You mean…?" Gus prompts. He blinks innocently at her.

Eibhlin shakes her head. "I mean you just broke up with Lillian." And what will people think? That and she knows how families like his perceive witches like her, but she's not about to point that out.

Gus runs a hand through his hair and looks a bit uncomfortable. "Yeah, I did," he says. "And it was sad. But how long is one supposed to wait, when they're sixteen?" he asks. "I mean…" he shrugs.

Eibhlin might not have said yes yet, but neither has she said no. "I don't know," she admits only to tilt her head as he takes his turn to trail off. Blue eyes watching in silence, waiting, perhaps even encouraging him to finish the thought.

He sighs. "She was… she was distant," he says quietly. "For weeks. I knew it was over a long time before I would admit it, even to myself." He shrugs. "She was just too busy for me, and I didn't think that was fair." He looks at her. "Was that wrong?"

Eibhlin shakes her head, "No," she replies, "I don't suppose it was." A sip of tea and she turns her head to look out over the lake that stretches behind them.

Augustin watches her look at the scenery. He takes the opportunity to drink in the sight of her, and because he's a sixteen-year-old boy, he does ogle her chest a bit, too. And the blush rises in his cheeks. He looks away again, takes a few deep breaths, and a steadying sip of tea. "You're… you're /really/ pretty," he says. "I'd like to kiss you." He pauses. "But I know you're shy, so…" he clears his throat. "I'll just — just sit here."

Eibhlin blinks as she looks back to him. It takes a moment to register the exact words, but as they are a dusting of crimson touches her cheeks. "Thank you?" What does a girl say to that? "Look Rousseau," she starts, but hesitates looking down to the steaming liquid in her cup. She can't say no, but is still uncertain of giving a definitive yes. "A picnic sounds nice," she settles, lifting her eyes for his response though her face is still down turned.

"Back to Rousseau?" he asks softly, ducking his head and turning it to try to meet her gaze more levelly. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No," Eibhlin assures quickly with a shake of her head. "No, just habit I suppose," she speaks to the her usage of this surname.

Gus frowns and thinks quietly for a minute while he finishes off his croissant. "Something is bothering you," he says. "At least, I think it is. Would you tell me what it is?" he pleads. "Did you hear a rumor or… or do you not think I'm handsome? Does my breath smell? What?"

Eibhlin shakes her head, "Its nothing, really," she assures. "No rumors, aside from us." That one has been mentioned. A quiet laugh as he goes on to ask about his breath. "Its fine, and you're plenty handsome," she adds, one hand leaving her cup to rest reassuringly against his.

"Well… I still think you're holding something back," Augustin says, but he shrugs it off. "I suppose it lends weight to your feminine mystique." He grins at her and turns his hand over, trying to twine their fingers together. "Thank you," he says happily. "So… you read, and you embroider. Do you dance?" he asks. "Or play any instruments? Or sing?"

Eibhlin gives a slight shake of her head, a hint of laughter playing in the subtle smile. A shake if her head follows in answer to his questions as their fingers link. "No."

"No?" he asks, positively aghast. "Hmm…" Then he stands, still holding her hand, and bows to her at the waist. "M'lady, may I have this dance?" he asks, gently tugging her up and toward him. "Basic waltz, ever so simple," he promises. "Just follow my lead."

Eibhlin blinks. "What?" she questions his reaction to the answer that she does none of the above. "I don't know," she hesitates, though she does stand with his prompting, leaving the tea cup on the bench. "It might be simple for you."

Augustin grins down at her. "I promise this will be relatively painless," he says. "Now, put your hand here," he guides her, placing her left hand on his shoulder. He clasps her right hand in his left hand, and puts his own right hand on her back, cupping her shoulder-blade. "Stand straight, close together," he says, and inches closer to her, though he doesn't pull her flush against him. "So far so good?"

Eibhlin lets him place them both in preparation for this dance lesson he's decided upon. The redhead nods once. So far so good. Standing however is generally not the problem. "Now what?" she inquires, looking up to him.

"Now we move," Gus says quietly. "I'll step forward with my left foot, you'll step back with your right. Basically, whatever my legs are doing, your legs should mirror." He nods. "The waltz has a one-two-three rhythm. You'll see what I mean in a moment. One," he says, slowly stepping forward. If that's successful, he'll then step diagonally with his right foot, step together, back with his right, diagonally with his left, and step together again, all the while counting off, and moving slowly enough for her to follow easily.

Step one is the easy part. Eibhlin knows exactly where that's going with his directions. Even step two isn't terrible. Its the ones that come after that where it starts to fall apart with a misplaced step.

Augustin takes it all in stride, harhar, and chuckles. "It's alright," he says. "I learned this standing on my mother's feet. If you want, we could try that?" Being a boy, his feet are quite a lot larger than hers. "You stand on my feet, I'll move through a few steps, and then you can try on your own feet."

Eibhlin sighs, disappointed in herself it might seem. Tilting her head she looks up at him, "Really?" not quite convinced from the sound of it. As if she didn't feel silly enough as it were. Simple he says.

"Really," Gus says and smiles. He wiggles his feet a little bit. "Hop on," he invites.

"No, I can do this," Eibhlin replies with a shake of her head, trying to convince herself of that as well. It may take her stepping on his toes and getting hers in the way of his more than a few times however.

"You absolutely can," he agrees. "If /I/ can learn it, anyone can." Ever-so-patiently, Gus walks them through the simple box step again, counting off as they go. "One, two, three. One, two, three," he counts. When she steps on his toes, he might wince, and dismiss it again with a laugh.

Eibhlin trips over her own feet at least once, wincing certainly when she manages to slip her toes beneath his. She follows his count in her head, lips barely moving now and again in the silent count. Eyes focused more on the space between them and her feet.

As it turns out, Gus has a pleasant light tenor, which she'll find out when he starts humming a waltz as they practice the dance moves. His voice is just that - pleasant, not extraordinarily good, nor particularly bad. Now instead of counting, since he's humming, he'll nod for the one, two, threes. "See, that was good!" he encourages when they manage to get through a complete box step without stepping on one another.

One whole set, and a half when his encouragement causes her to glance up. A glance which takes her attention off where she's going and ends rhythm they almost had going as she catches one foot on the other. "I told you I was terrible at this."

"No, you're doing fine," Gus laughs. "For a beginner, anyway." He squeezes her hand gently. "No one's perfect the first time." He keeps going, humming away, leading her through the steps, slowly and carefully. "And now you can say, the next time a handsome bloke asks you, that you do know how to dance."

"I'd hardly call this knowing how," Eibhlin disagrees. "I know three steps," which she can barely get through twice without making some sort of mistake if one were to ask her. As she pays less attention to the steps however they start to come easier.

"Just follow my lead," Gus advises. "Don't think too much about what you're supposed to do next — I'll show you that. Just concentrate on moving with me." Somewhere in there his voice drops a bit, into an intimate murmur. He goes back to humming and nodding in time, and tries to catch her gaze with his own.

Eibhlin nods, "Right," she agrees on that, but therein is her downfall - over thinking. She's trying though, that's what they say counts, and she is getting better. Slightly. Falling in and out of the rhythm he's set.

"Daaaa, daaa, daaa, da-da-da, daa, daaaa, da-da, da-daaaa," Gus sings, grinning down at her. "Say, Eibhlin, what do you want to do in life?" he asks as they dance.

"I-," Eibhlin starts, caught off guard by the question, her steps in the dance faltering once again. "I guess I'm still trying to figure that out," she replies.

"Any inkling?" Gus asks. "An idea or two percolating in the back of your mind?" He shrugs. "I've got two paths, the way I see it - making wine, or making art. The first is expected of me, the second is what I really /want/." He sighs. "How does one make the choice between familial obligation and destiny?"

"Ideas, yes," Eibhlin replies, but she's not exactly sharing just yet either. "From what I hear," she goes on as he gives his thoughts on his own future, "Making wine is something of an art, but honestly I don't know much of either," she admits. As for the other choice, "I can't say Gus, that's not something I've ever had to deal with."

"You can confide in me," Augustin says, moving her easily through the next box step. He doesn't say much about wine or any of that, now, instead focused on trying to draw her out, get her to open up. "I promise I won't laugh."

"I've thought about the Department of Mysteries," Eibhlin admits like some childhood dream that's so unlikely its almost silly to think. "Or curse-breaking?" she shrugs. "Probably see about becoming an interpreter for the ministry," she adds sounding as if the last is the most likely and logical of those listed.

"I've heard they research all sorts of things there," Augustin says of the Department of Mysteries. He pulls her just a /bit/ closer to him. "Like… oh, time, and… love." His eyes drop to her lips, linger there for a few moments. "Aren't there a couple of second-years with curses on them?" he asks her, scrunching up his face thoughtfully. "Those unfortunate Harper girls. Have you asked either of them about their curse? Maybe you'll be able to do something about it."

"So I've heard," Eibhlin replies to his remark on the department's studies, a silent smile touching her lips as she looks back up at him and missteps. "Maybe?" she's not so certain about the second-years mentioned. "Name sounds vaguely familiar.." but then she's generally too lost on her books to know much of what might be going on with a pair of second-years.

"One of them is in my House," he says. "Cheerful little blonde thing. Lucille, I think is her name." He is every-so-slightly picking up the pace, one-two-three, and his hand drifts down her back to rest just beneath her shoulder-blade. "Rather shocking to think of her dying of some nasty curse," he says. "Poor little thing." Then he shakes his head.

Eibhlin frowns slightly at that mention, her footing still not quite in sync with his. She doesn't seem to notice the shift of his hand, or at least doesn't mind. "It is a little sad," but then not knowing the girl could make a difference.

"I think the other one is a Ravenclaw," Gus says. "Or maybe a Gryffindor. Not completely certain." He doesn't much concern himself with second years, either." His hand drifts an inch lower, and he smiles down at her.

Eibhlin ahhs, nodding slightly, "I'm not sure either." She's quiet for a moment before asking, "So what kind of art exactly?" He'd mentioned art versus wine-making earlier in conversation.

"Sculpture," Augustin says. "I'm rather fascinated by carving wood, at the moment." His hand slides down another inch, almost at her waist, now. The waltzing is coming more and more smoothly. "I want to try to sell something, soon. I have a rather nice piece coming along now - a pony."

Smoother, but there's still a few missteps and a few more near-misses. "Oh?" Eibhlin questions, "You did mention wanting to sell something the other day." When he gave her one of said carvings. "from what I've seen they are good. I'm sure you could."

"You think so?" Gus asks hopefully. "Just… /where/ could I sell them, I wonder?" Lightly, his hand starts travelling slowly up and down her back, a languorous sort of petting that stays well within the bounds of propriety - waist to shoulder-blades and back again. "To whom? For how much?"

Eibhlin nods, "I think so," she repeats. "There was this little shop at home that always had things like that. I don't know .." she trails off there. "I'm sure you'll figure something out."

"Tell me about your home," Augustin entreats, giving her his earnest face and tilting his head to one side a little bit.

"You don't really want to hear about that," Eibhlin replies with a shake of her head. "I mean there's really not that much to tell."

"I /do/ want to hear," Gus says, pulling her a bit closer. "What's your family like?"

Eibhlin shrugs lightly, "Its just me and my mom back in Derry," she explains. "She's great, but she doesn't really understand what its like here all the time."

"I have two sisters," Gus tells her. "Francine's older, Lizette's younger. Francie and Liz." He smiles, thinking of them. "Liz wants to be Queen, when she grows up," he says with a laugh. "What does your mum do?"

Eibhlin laughs just a bit at the mention of his sister wanting to be Queen. "Well, that's a very lofty goal," she comments before going on to answer his question. "She runs the farm. My grandparents left it to her, she has hands that help out of course," she replies. No single woman could keep an entire farm running on their own after all.

"What do you grow?" Augustin asks curiously. Growing things is something he does know a bit about, after all. And they keep talking and dancing until eventually they remember the tea, which has had time to grow quite cold.

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