(1941-07-03) Pecked to Death
Details for Pecked to Death
Summary: While in the Mysticked District, Violet finds Anson in the park. Chatter ensues.
Date: 3 July 1941
Location: Merlin Square, Mysticked District
Related: After For the Love of Brunch

Anson Abbott is sitting in the very center of Merlin Square, basking in the sunlight in a broad patch of grass. He's unusually still, usually vibrating with energy. Apart from the colored ball that he tosses into the air and snags, again and again, he is perfectly still. His golden eyes are fixed on the ball — or at least, facing that direction. It's hard to tell what he's actually staring at.
His hair is an iridescent cobalt, tufted in a pattern that closely resembles feathers. Every now and then, involuntarily, his head moves backwards and forwards again, chin jabbing at the empty air. Stretched out before him on the grass is an entire collection of Sixth-Year text books. His left hand occasionally jabs out to turn a page in one, then another. He doesn't seem to have the attention span to focus on a particular subject for very long.

After breakfast with two schoolmates, Violet let Oscar and Erica go on to the Quidditch shop. She's not an avid fan, really, and a girl and boy don't need another mucking about. For all her absence of boy craziness, Violet at least knows that much. She couldn't help but grin as she left the pair, because they seemed sort of flirty, in her dire lack of such experience. In no real hurry to hunt down her mother, the young witch has a skip around the perimeter of Merlin Square, her eyes directed up and flitting around to take in everything she can. Coming into town is a treat and quite different from the banks of her beloved Loch Ness.

It's her second circuit before she looks toward the center of the space, and her skipping slows first, then stops. There's isn't too much that's terribly unusual about the wizarding world if one was born into it, but blue hair… that's fairly new. After a moment of peering she identifies the young wizard, and veers her path toward him. "Abbot?" At least she's managed to drop the 'Mister' part of the name, but is still making her way toward comfort with 'Anson'.

Toss. Catch. Snap a book shut. Looking up, Anson's golden eyes seem to fix on Violet, and his features — otherwise perfectly normal — light into an easy smile. "It's Anson, Vi. Come and sit, huh?" He pats the grass beside him with his left hand. And then, perhaps remembering that he looks a bit…odd, he says "It's alright. I'm not contagious anymore, we don't think." A blink of his overlarge eyes.

"I'm just enjoying the sunlight, trying to get used to this." He gestures to his eyes. "And studying. Er. Well, trying to study." He picks a book at random, flipping a tome on Defense Against the Dark Arts toward a random page. "Working on my Protego Charm technique, apparently," he says with a self-effacing laugh.

The familiar greeting from the older boy brings Violet's smile back, absolutely delighted to have been remembered but it falters and then falls into a look of open concern. "Contagious?" She's heard about the malady going around, but didn't associate it with him. Her mother even thinks it's been a bit over-reacted to, hence her bringing Violet out with her for the day, as if defiantly poo-poohing all the fuss. Violet folds to sit on the grass near to Anson, apparently unconcerned herself about contagions, blue eyes still fixed on him.

"The blue suits you," she notes, "But doesn't the sun hurt your eyes? D'ya need a hat? I'm sure we could find one…" She lets the thought trail off, raising one hand but stopping it in the air to ask tentatively, "May I…?" as she nods toward his crowning blue glory.

Anson hesitates for a moment, then ducks his head toward Violet, making it an easy reach to be petted. "It's weird. It doesn't really hurt my eyes, but.. It's like the world has a thousand new colors that I never knew about." He blinks his eyes slowly, then peers at Violet. His head, unconsciously, draws toward the touch. More like a cat than a peacock, though he does seem to be preening at the compliment.

"I turned into a peacock," he tells Violet, a little sheepishly. "I thought I'd be a lion or a bear or something brave, but.. I was a peacock." The sheepishness turns into real embarassment. "I can't understand it. I.." He trails off abruptly. "I'm sorry, Vi. It's like I can't filter what I say sometimes."

Her touch is delicate, something of a light pat that turns into more of a smoothing. With her attention on the blue plume, Violet doesn't notice the golden eyes settled on her. Her smile returns slowly, and after a moment she withdraws her hand, letting it fall into her lap, her Sunday Best robes tucked modestly around her knees. "Ya've never been t'the zoo an' seen the peacocks then, have ya?" she asks. "Oh, they're lovely, all pretty an' regal, but ya don't want t'get on the bad side of one. We went t'London Zoo…" her head tilts as she pauses to think, "Two summers past, I think it were. Da must've looked at one the wrong way, it fair lit out for him an' nearly chased him all the way across the park." She grins at the memory of the big Game Keeper run off by a bird, her tone turning amused to match.

Anson blinks at the notion, straightening his head after a moment. "..No, I've never really paid them any attention before now," he admits. "That's.. that's good to know. Everyone's been making fun of me." Well, not everyone. Just everyone that matters. He considers Violet again, then smiles. "You're rather smart, you know that?" His cheeks dimple winningly. "But aren't you scared of the Big Bad Werewolf and all that?" He doesn't sound scared. In fact, the boy sounds amused at the idea. "I heard all the Hit Wizards kept missing it with their Stunning Spells."

"If they make fun of a peacock, they must be numpties," Violet says with 15 year old assurance. "I never would. Don't fancy gettin' pecked t'death, it'd be a terrible thing." She doesn't sound like she's just saying that to placate him, and even shudders lightly at the very thought of death by pecking. His mention of intelligence has her blushing and brushing it off easily, "I just fancy animals, is all." Brows lift questioningly, "Werewolf? Psht, there's no werewolves in London. Likely some big hairy dog or summat." She doesn't sound worried either, perhaps because she's sitting next to Anson and has every faith in his ability to fend off whatever might come. And, it's not likely they'd see the beast anyway, with the major effects of the sickness wearing off in a day.

"Pecked to death. Heh. I did take a few bites out of someone." There is a savage satisfaction to the words, and his gold eyes glint as he smiles at Violet, rather too broadly for the topic. He reaches over to pat Violet's shoulder lightly, perhaps unconscious of the way the younger girl seems to look up to him. "Don't worry, though. I wouldn't peck at you. You go out of your way not to deserve it." He reaches up to run a hand through his own hair. "It's so sensitive. My hair. It feels amazing." He grins suddenly. "I wouldn't mind if they don't find a cure, you know? I'm getting used to this."

There's a giggle, and a bold, "Good on ya." Violet doesn't imagine for a second it was a 'peck to death' situation, so she can be a bit flippant. "An' I do appreciate that, very kind a'ya. I'd say ya made quite the peacock, it must've been somethin' t'see." This time, when she looks at him she turns bodily, to a full on stare, taking in his hair and eyes completely. "Th' blue is quite a bit like yer eyes were," she notes finally. "I think that's why it suits ya so."

Flattery is ever the way to Anson Abbott's heart. His smile warms considerably as he studies Violet back, resting on his elbow, his textbooks quite forgotten. "I made a magnificent peacock," he agrees. "It would've been better if someone hadn't maimed one of my wings.." The venom is back in his voice, though quickly swallowed. He changes the subject — maybe. "Hey. I know you're Pure-Blood like me, but you don't know where I could find a Muggle cricket bat, do you?"

Violet's eyes flick to the boy's arms, unconsciously checking for evidence of him having been hurt in animal form and if it held over to his return to human. "Well, that's not a very nice thing t'have done at all," she commiserates. She dislikes it even more having happened to him in an animal form, because she does love animals so. If she has further questions, she lets them go as the topic turns, catching the tone of his voice and feeling vaguely put out by it herself. Her head shakes in the negative, curls swaying with the motion. "Not here in town, but Da might know. He likes Muggle sports like that. Shall I ask him, an' send an owl with the answer?" she offers helpfully.

Anson touches his right bicep, nodding slightly. "The doctors knit my skin back together. It went down and down into the muscle." He closes his eyes for just a moment, then shrugs. "If you don't mind asking your da, that'd actually be.. rather helpful. I've no idea where to go in the Muggle world." He smiles crookedly. "I could use a Bludger bat just as well, but I'd really rather it be a Muggle one." His voice is quite cheerful again, mouth quirked in mischief, golden eyes fixed on Violet. "Will you be back in London over the summer?"

There's a sympathetic squinch of Violet's face at the description of the wound. "Ow." Quick to change emotions, her frown lightens at once. "I don't mind a bit. Da loves havin' th'chance t'bring out his knowledge of Muggles." Although sometimes it's a bit faulty. "Were ya wantin' t'learn t'play then? He likes t'go to a match now and again, an' I'm sure he wouldn't mind some company if ya ever wanted." She seems to have no trouble offering her father out for loan, confident that he wouldn't mind it in the least that she was doing so. She reaches out and plucks a blade of grass as she answers Anson's question. "I expect so. Mum likes t'come in for shopping in town, an' when there isn't too much to do at the loch I like t'come along. Especially to th'market," she adds, nodding in the vague direction of Carkitt Market. "There's always somethin' interestin' there." She rounds the question on him easily, "An' yerself? I'll bet yer goin' t'quidditch camp, too, everyone is."

Of course he's going to Quidditch camp. He is, after all, the self-proclaimed God of Quidditch. Anson smiles his most winning smile and says, "Well, sure, I would enjoy learning to play, but I've other reasons for wanting the bat." His golden eyes glint again as he shifts his head, catching the sunlight, and he runs a hand through his blue hair. "I'll be staying in London all summer, I think. My father doesn't mind me leaving behind Godric's Hollow, and really, I'm not that useful to him up there." He says it without malice. "And Mother says she'll help me get a small flat. Nothing very fancy, but it'll be nice." A pause. "You should come visit when you're in town. And come watch us play. If you aren't too busy." His smile grows a touch wider. "There's going to be some real excitement this year."

"Stay in town?" Violet asks, obviously surprised and again with a touch of concern. "But th'bombs are still fallin'." Granted, the blitz has ended, so it isn't a daily thing, but it's still a few times a week that the alarms sound. "Ye'll be stayin' here an' not out in London, yeah? Da says it's safer here in our place, at least by a bit. He'd never let Mum visit so often if it wasn't." She seems to completely miss the suggestion of visiting, or writes it off as him just being that nice sort of boy that would invite anyone to come by, and doesn't even ask what other uses a cricket bat would have if not for playing cricket. Apparently the information she's received about the war and it's effect on London has been on the dire side.

"Yeah, Muggle London still gets hit pretty often. And it's a bit hairy, heading over to Charing Cross and out to the clubs down in Piccadilly. But, you know. We're British." Anson lifts his chin, offering up a dashing pose. Definitely one that he practices in the mirror, but his golden eyes add a touch of class to it that he's usually lacking. "We can't let ourselves be scared, can we? Besides." And his face falls a bit. "Until they fix my face, I won't be going out into Muggle London without a disguise, and that is quite a bit of work."

A touch of admiration sparks in Violet's eyes as Anson speaks of going to clubs out in Muggle London. She's never dreamed of such freedom in town. It lessens not a bit with his confidence and bit of swagger. "Keep calm an' carry on," she chimes in readily. "Nowt bowed nor broken, that's what Da says." When he seems a bit discouraged again, she dares to reach over and, with one index finger, lightly poke his ribs. "A wee cap an' dark glasses," she says. "Mind, yeh'd have t'keep them on an' that might not be so much fun in a club." She imagines them to be dark, smokey places, full of forbidden drinks and raucous music and dancing, oh the dancing!

Anson squirms under the poke and, immediately, returns it with one of his own. "We'll thump them again and again," Anson agrees. "Heart of oak and all that. Sometimes I think about joining the Muggle military, if the war's still on. Think what a Wizard could do." He's really just showing away now, isn't he? But he senses Violet's unvoiced desire, and adds "You should find a friend you can stay with for the night, Vi, and we'll all go out. I'll wear my dark glasses and my cap, just as you say, and we'll tour Piccadilly. It's magnificent, how deeply these Muggles live during the war. They really listen to their Prime Minister."

Violet giggles again, her hands swatting lightly at his with the poke back. "If th' Ministry would let ya do anything," she points out with unusual rationality. A mix of emotions jumble on her face at the suggestion she stay in town for a night to go gallivanting with the upperclassmen. "I could never," she says, a bit sadly. "I'm nowt of age yet, an' Mum'd give me a right skelping if she found out I did summat like that." Ever the optimist, she brightens a bit. "But yeh'll tell me th'tales when ya do, aye?" She may not be much of a rule breaker, but she does love a good story.

"I'll tell you all about it. And about the cricket bat. And about all the other terribly irresponsible things I do." Anson smiles hugely, letting his hand drop to the grass. "I may even need your help with a few things. If you don't mind bending the rules just a little." His eyes blink shut, then open again, fixing on Violet. "If we can't get you out at night, then at least we can get you into some mischief here in the Mystick District." And then, with an innocent butter-wouldn't-melt expression, "Just don't forget that cricket bat."

A drifting voice calls across the green, "Violet!" The girl glances toward it, then laughs. "Mum knows whenever I'm even thinkin' of mischief." She pops up to her feet, hastily brushing her robes off and looking down at the blue-haired, golden eyed boy with a hit of daring dancing in her eyes. "Aye, won't forget. First thing I'll ask Da when I find him at home." Before she goes, that daring comes to fore in a reach of her hand to lightly pet the boy's feathery hair. She grins and turns to scamper off, looking back once to give Anson another wave before she's having to explain to her mother who that unique looking young wizard is.

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