tampered | Log | ongoing

Log | ongoing

When; November 29th, 6:15ish in the PM
Rating; General? IDK will change if necessary
Characters; Luna Lovegood and Severus Snape [lol double letter initials]
Summary; Time-taking shenanigans, Luna and Severus style~
Log;

Pudding was not, by construction, a difficult product. Milk, butter, salt, cornstarch, vanilla extract, and sugar along with a pot and a bowl did the trick easily enough, and Luna had always been fond of the concoction. There was something reliable about pudding, not complicated but quite satisfying, available in a very wide variety of flavors, and colors as well. Having made vanilla and butterscotch earlier in the day, the blond Ravenclaw spent the middle hours of about noon to three at the zoo, and the hours of three to six at the library, returning to the cabin only to decide that she had once again over compensated for the amount of pudding made. Now, to Luna, this was not a problem, and really more than 'too much' it was just a matter of 'this much' and it so it was with 'that much' that she set about moving it in a portable container, a circular thing that made the white stuff look lavender--which only increased the appeal, really, as far as the maker was concerned.

By this point, it was with thoughtful routine that Luna made her way to the potions shop run by one, Severus Snape. Making more than the cabin had need of often--once a week to be precise--led to these visits, in which Luna would drop off the pudding or puddings of the day, ask the once professor how he was, and then be on her way. She did quite like to be on her way. It was, after all, much nicer than being off of it.

Stepping into the shop, pudding container in one hand, other pushing the door open, she paused at the front, smiling just slightly. It was not a happy smile, but it was not false either, just a sort of there, which suited the surprisingly sane girl rather well. Not bothering to say anything, she closed the door behind her with a tap of her foot, comfortable enough to silently place the container down at the counter, peering around as if she had never been there before.

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Severus was still closing the shop in Regulus' stead - something he didn't mind, though lately he'd been showing up later and later, tired of being out at all much less out and dealing with retail. He's been so distracted of late he hardly notices the time, or day - usually he remembers when Luna is going to flit in and out, so that he isn't surprised to see her when he looks up from his book, like he is now.

He blinks a bit, shaking his mind out of the reverie he let himself fall into as he read.

"Miss Lovegood," he acknowledges, greeting quiet and mild as always.

"Professor," she inclines her head just a bit, lips curving upward a degree or two more. She wasn't sure whether or not to expect him here, as it could at any time be one of the staff, but Luna is not partial to one or the other, and as she pushes the container forward--just a touch, as always--she looks up at the ceiling. It's a short glance before her gaze falls back onto the tired looking man.

"How are you?" she asks after a few seconds of comfortable quiet, voice soft as usual, and vaguely unreadable, as usual.

"I am fine," he says, as he always does. As usual, it's a lie, but it's an easy lie he almost believes, these days. He doesn't mind Luna - he didn't even at Hogwarts. Her capture had always weighed on him and twisted his insides as if he'd swallowed broken glass. In a way, he's grateful she's here. It's a respite.

And so, he takes her pudding. As he always does. Because even though he doesn't really like pudding, he doesn't dislike Luna Lovegood, and can find no reason even in his dark heart to reject her on the harmless matter.

"Fine," she echoes, but not as some people might, with skepticism or sarcasm, not with anything particularly telling in fact, mostly just to serve as an acknowledgment of his response. Hands folding in front of her she stares directly at him still, because she has no reason to look away. That he is not well liked is no secret to anyone, it would seem, and that he is a man of privacy is also not a guess, but these things come into the picture for the blond girl no more than eye color or choice of footwear--or lack thereof.

"It isn't much," she nods at the pudding, never bringing too much, just enough for Regulus and Severus, and really just Regulus if the younger wizard happens to like it more than expected. The way she qualifies its amount has a swaying way about it, so often that soft middle ground that she walks of 'just how it is' and 'as it should be'. Again pudding is not complicated, and she is of the mind that giving it is a similarly simple matter.

It is the passing of hands that is perhaps a bit more delicate and she doesn't mind.

"Is it very busy?" she asks because she is honestly curious, because she likes to know what is going on despite her generally spacey behavior, because she is not around enough to already know one way or the other. A single day out of seven, however regularly, is not enough to know anything, really.

"Not very," he says, watching her a bit like one might watch a particularly fanciful fish in a tank. Sometimes she just floats in and out, like a gently blown leaf. Sometimes she speaks a little more. She interests him because he can't predict her - and he can predict most people, after all. He wonders if it's because she's honest.

"It's Saturday, after all. We'll be closed tomorrow."

Potions aren't high on the list of immediate after-holiday shopping, though he imagines it'll pick up nearing Christmas. People gift each other with the oddest things.

Edited 2008-11-30 06:02 (UTC)

"I rather like Saturdays," she murmurs, and it's true as are all of the things that leave Luna's mouth, at least to her. She is also, it can be noted, fond of the other six days in the week, but they are not the day that falls under mention, and so she keeps it to liking the day between Friday and Sunday.

"I spent last Saturday at the zoo, looking for a Safisarp," she nearly sighs, lips thinning as she purses them together, thoughtful. "Sadly, Safisarps are rare, even in this place, though the unicorns were nice to look at, and the blibbering humdingers as well. I suspect it is because the Safisarp prefers a more natural habitat, and could certainly escape any cage constructed to hold it." All this, she says with a lilting tone, a soft turn of her head, a subtle angle of a smile, and then she shrugs, a gesture that it might go unnoticed, though if this is because she is slight or the movement is, well, that is debatable at best.

"You haven't seen one by any chance, in your time here so far, professor?"

Luna is full of questions, which should come as no surprise, but they are all such soft queries that it may very well seem like every question is the first. It is, quite possibly, one of the greater advantages of being genuinely interested in everything one speaks of, and then some.

Severus has to think about that for a moment. First, he has to consider what a Safisarp might be. Upon deciding he has no idea whatsoever, he has to consider if he's seen anything that he's failed to make heads or tails of that might be a Safisarp.

.. And he actually thinks of a few things.

"I'm not certain," he says, finally. Because it's true. And then: "What is their natural habitat?"

"It is widely known to enjoy deeper patches of forest, and most typically spotted in winter, which is probably what made me think of them, the constant cold," she nods, half to herself, and half to anyone else, but not specified. Pressing a thumb in thought to her lips, she looks as if she is considering something as easily mapped out as a mathematics problem, rather than the whereabouts of the elusive Safisarp, whose existence is extremely arguable.

But if anyone, Luna will be the first to say that many things are arguable, but that doesn't mean that one has to argue them.

Somehow, it makes perfect sense that if a Safisarp would be in the City, it would be in the wilds of the forest, where most things unusual and un-contained are, aside from the Underground. It's where he sends the Winchester boy to hunt, after all.

He's talking before he really realizes the implications: "That is unsurprising, considering the things that lie in the forest here. Though I do not suggest you go there on your own, it can be dangerous, moreso than the Forbidden Forest."

... Because now it lends itself to her going with someone. And he just stares vaguely, wondering.

"Oh, well I had thought to pass through the forest on my way back," she admits, but with no indication that his words have made her reconsider, just more of a 'so that you know' kind of thing.

Danger is a bit of a curious word where Luna is concerned. On the one hand, she knows what it is, has witnessed and experienced it, up close and personal as they like to say. On the other hand, this is Luna Lovegood and just as some people will say the sea is blue-green and not green-blue, she is liable to believing danger is only as dangerous as one allows it to be. Just as the night can be very illuminating, so can the day be dark at its edges. Danger can be dangerous, and danger can be less dangerous than you first expect it to be. There are so many degrees of separation for every little thing in the world.

"I think you would appreciate the Safisarp, professor," her words spiral out at the edge of her smile. A bit of a lead? Maybe. An obligation? Never, not from her at least.

It is a very honest creature, Luna recalls.

Honest creatures, Severus knows, are not incapable of luring prey, no matter what. And oddly enough, that is somewhat how he feels - he is being lured away from his shop (which is closing now anyway) and into the forest in search of ... something. And hadn't he been meaning to get out of the flat for something other than work? Yes, he had. But he'd thought perhaps just a walk.

... Which is exactly what this would be.

"Do you." It's not patronizing, but it's not really a question, either - vague and almost airy, though in a way not like Luna's. He's still appraising her, half lost in thought.

It's not quite a question but it does warrant some sort of response and while Luna has never fallen into the category of predictable, she does know how to continue a conversation, in her own way.

"Supposing you ever saw one, yes," she replies directly, eyes wide for no specific reason. That's actually just the way that they always are, situated evenly against pale skin that is what might be considered ghost-like, and in that sense, barely there in more senses than one.

She doesn't mind.

The vague staring continues for a moment, and then he leans forward on one elbow, hand covering his face and squeezing the bridge of his nose. He's getting an awful lot of headaches lately, but he knows why.

Fresh air will probably go him good.

"You shouldn't go wandering about the forest on your own," he remarks, not looking up. A suppressed sigh, and he straightens, picking up the pudding container - violet, how tactfully not house related - and sticking it away for preservation in the back room. When he returns, he has a coat on.

Apparently they are going to go look for Safisarp.

She notices of course, the hand to his face, a look that might spell something similar to troublesome or troubled or somewhere in between. Words are not always necessary, and this is one such case as she tilts her head up at the potions master, a soft look and yet inquisitive all the same, a tranquil balance of interest and respect for private thoughts. With her usual smile, she walks forward, pausing with the door open for the man behind her, remembering that according to some, the Safisarp has healing qualities in its shell, which it sheds regularly. For any given reason, she doesn't mention this in spite of the fact that this might garner a sharper eye from Severus. Perhaps it simply doesn't seem that important right way. In the cool of the early evening, she adjusts her scarf, a pleasantly celery hue, noting idly in the back of her mind that the stars are unexpectedly visible here tonight. Maybe they are even viewable in the forest.

Maybe, maybe not. He does a lot of healing and sells a lot of healing - but even in magic, there are some things that simply are, with no cure-all, no fix-it button. Some things like his unpleasant nature.

He doesn't mind the cold as much as he used to (when I was alive), but he crosses his arms anyway, a habit he now chooses to engage in. He doesn't speak, because he is not a conversationalist by far, and he's not really sure what he's doing, anyway. Well, of course, he knows he's looking for a Safisarp, but why? It's not Luna - not quite, anyway. It's something unfixed and a bit broken inside him that left him vulnerable to barely-there suggestion. Strange.

Edited 2008-11-30 10:09 (UTC)

If asked, and it's unlikely anyone ever would, Luna would answer promptly that she does not find Severus Snape unpleasant, but that he seems to find himself in that way. Her steps are light and steady, hands outside of her pockets, fingertips gently resting just against the cloth of the bottom of her coat.

Perhaps it will snow soon, she thinks to herself with a curious look to the sky again.

She isn't certain either as to why the older man has decided to join her, because there is something not entirely covered by responsibility alone. It could be many things, as usual, she knows, but it is enough that he is walking beside her for her not to wonder overly. It is his business and while Luna does overstep boundaries of comfort by saying things other people might not, this has never truly been the result of something so small as being nosey. It is her preference to understand people as they might not prefer to be understood, but not always to share that understanding. There is, Luna will agree, a time and a place. If her ideas of time and place are a bit different than the usual person's, she makes no note.

The forest border is not far and they are not the slowest of walkers, however relaxed this silence may be and when it does come into sight, she doesn't look at Snape, just continuing onward. He seems to have decided this is a walk he could do with as easily as without. Words like 'shall we' are excessive when the answer is so obviously we shall, for one reason or the next.

The forest is strange, and sometimes changes. He's aware of the collection of people who live there - the children's cabin's closest neighbor being a man he thinks is named Logan, and there used to be a number of strange somewhat sentient citizens lurking in the trees, though he thinks, like Ophelia, they are gone now.

"Not much is frightened of humans here," he mentions, quiet, like the atmosphere about them.

"But humans are frightened," she says, not so much to him but to his words. She keeps her eyes sharp, though one couldn't necessarily tell from the look of her, watching for any sign of the Safisarp, or perhaps a shell along the way. They aren't quite deep into the forest, not at all really, and so she does not expect to see one but continue looking for that very reason. Expect the unexpected, and so on.

"Humans are prone to that sort of thing."

And oddly - or naturally - enough, neither of them seem to be the least bit afraid. At least, Severus is not, and he can't detect much from Luna. And she's an honest creature, after all. He thinks perhaps if she was frightened, she'd present it. But he thinks she might be sensible enough to know that fear changes nothing.

The leaves and needles above them rustle - something moving, curious and lazy, neither scared nor stalking. He looks up, mild.

She too glances up, mouth parting in a sort of 'oh look' way but without the words. A Safisarp? But no...something else that shimmers in the brush above them but doesn't decide to make its shape entirely known. For a few seconds she stands still, staring up to see if it will come out further. When it doesn't she gives the tiniest of shrugs and starts walking again, hands behind her, threaded at her lower back.

"But the forest is so quiet," she says. "I should think I would have more to fear if it was more like the City proper, loud and uneven...maybe..." and she trails off, reaching one hand out to the bark of a tree as she passes. It is cold but she likes the feel of wood and earth under her fingertips.

Walking with Severus, she does wonder a bit, about how he holds himself, about how he does not hold himself, but it is only wondering and as much of her wondering does, eventually, it wanders elsewhere, and back again.

He makes only some non-committal noise in response; he wouldn't know about Cities and noise. He lives in a flat so warded no sound and no people ever get in with express permission. At home, he lived in a tiny house filled with books, when he was not at Hogwarts. People and their nuances largely escape his sympathetic understanding; it's far easier and far more satisfying to simply write them all off as idiots. And so he does. Frequently.

As they go deeper, light vanishes, the trees too thick above them to let the stars seep in. After a moment he pauses, and points his wand at some space on the leaf-covered ground before them. He murmurs a spell - odd, perhaps, that the things he concocts from old, so-called dark magic need finesse and gentle handling, versus the clear and specific shouts of things taught at school. Before them a plant blooms, green tendrils curling up and sprouting red nameless fruit, the entire thing casting a soft glow. A lure, perhaps, as well as illumination.

She casts a look in his direction, not particularly telling, because when is Luna Lovegood's look very telling of anything? But it is cast nonetheless, faint smile there, soft glimmer of thought in the irises, distant shine of curiosity before she directs it to the source of light, kneeling to pick it up, held unnecessarily between both of her hands.

"Thank you," she says and it may just be for the illumination given without being asked or prompted. Or it could be for coming with her at all, because she is aware, to a degree, how very much he did not have to go along at all. Perhaps, neither of those, perhaps, she is thanking him for something else, something less immediate and concrete, something based on an intuition of person that remains uniquely hers, whether she knows it or not.

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