The Bear and Barnacle

He’s not sure what possessed him, other than the thought that it would be amusing and funny. It’s certainly not that he’s bothered at all by Holmes and his pipes. In fact, quite the contrary, he’s even joined in on occasion. But after all, it was April Fools Day, and he just simply couldn’t sit idly by and not play a single prank. Unfortunately, being a bit old and moderately distracted at times, he simply forgot to remove the charm after April the first came and went. And it is very likely, until he is in the same room with Holmes when he takes out his pipe, that he will continue to forget that as soon as flame touches the tobacco in said pipe, it dissolves into an endless stream of multi-colored and rather large bubbles.

With a sigh, Albus regards the surprisingly crowded shore. Well, it's not surprising with the current weather, but it is surprising for the time of year, as is the heat itself. It's entirely too hot for any of his robes, so he has instead resorted to wearing the tie-die t-shirt and khaki shorts he had bought on a whim shortly after arriving.

Trudging through the sand and rocks along the shore, he continues his hunt for shells and interesting stones, adding them as he finds them to the large canvas bag slung over his shoulder. He hasn't a care in the world, and though part of him itches to solve the mysteries of this place, he can push that urge down and just enjoy it for now. He smiles as Fawkes lands nearby, regarding him (and all the other people) with a tilted head, before rising again to the sky to continue making lazy circles over their heads, much to the delight of a small group of children.

All in all, retirement is going well.

Albus carefully sets down his half-drunk mug of hot tea on the one, rather precarious, clean edge of table he can find, and sits in the armchair beside it. He reaches for his yarn basket, pulling it toward him, and pulls out his current project by the needles. Noticing a tangle in the yarn, his long fingers slide into the strand, only to have it vanish, no - not vanish, explode is more accurate - into a fine dusting of glitter over his basket of yarn, and himself. A protesting noise comes from behind him, and he glances around to see Fawkes shaking a bit of glitter off his beak. Albus turns back to his now-empty needles, looking slightly perplexed. He sets them down on top of the basket, and then carefully, slowly, he reaches one long finger down to touch a wound ball of blue yarn.

*Poof* - Blue glitter cloud, settling.

He sighs, glancing at Fawkes again. "I suppose that puts an end to that plan for this afternoon, doesn't it?" He pushes the knitting basket back under the table with his shoe, and picks up his tea-cup, sipping at the remaining drink. A look of careful consideration is on his face, and as he sips he pulls the basket back out with his heel. Fawkes tilts his head at him, as he slowly, again, reaches down and pokes, this time, the red yarn.

*Poof* - Red glitter.

He pushes the basket back again, drains the remainder of his cup, and stands, setting the empty cup back on the table. "Well, no use sitting about doing nothing," he tells Fawkes, heading toward the front door. "Shall we see if anyone at the Pub has a similar oddity to discuss?" He pulls open the door, and completly without thinking pulls his multi-colored scarf from the hook by the door. And just as he flings it over his shoulder, sure enough, *poof* again and a shower of multi-colored gliter sprinkles him. "Oh, really now!" he exclaims, heading out the door with Fawkes flying right behind him.

Dumbledore chuckles, eyes twinkling, when he sees the picutures. Some are certainly more interesting than others.

"I'm afraid mine is rather a mundane story, after all!" he says. "When in Rome, and all that. I found clothes, and the bicycle, secondhand shortly after arriving. While I could spend my time in robes, I thought to blend in a bit more. And I really am a bit old to be walking everywhere. Well, certainly I could apparate, but it seems a bit silly. And I find I actually enjoy the bicycle immensely."

Fire is so many things,Albus mused, sitting outside in the sun, it is destruction and devastation, but it is also renewal and rebirth…fascinating that the same thing can be so ugly and also so very beautiful. He had wandered off on this contemplation after reading the article about the recent fire in Margate. It had led him to thinking of past battles with fire, and more tender moments as well.

Most recently, he had been recalling the last time he saw Fawkes burst into bright orange flame. “About time” he had muttered, before turning from his headmasters desk to watch the pile of ash as it shifted and baby-Fawkes poked a small chirping head out. With smiling eyes, he had coaxed the phoenix out of the ash as he always did, chuckling as the tiny bird preened against his hand. “Don’t worry, you’ll be lush and full again in no time.”

He thought, sitting here in the warmth of the mid-day, that he could almost hear the sound of soft phoenix song. Ah, if only! Albus thought. Then the song changed to a gentle keening. He blinked and turned his head around, to see a bright orange and red bird had landed beside him and was regarding him, head tilted, eyes blinking slowly.

“Fawkes?”

He pulled himself out of what felt like the best, most restful nap he’d ever had. In fact, he was a bit reluctant to wake, but something told his brain his work was done, and that the dream he was in could conclude itself. The boy…no, the man, had already succeeded. The world would be righted at last.

He blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the sunlight streaking through the clouds overhead, and looked around. A beach. Well, there were certainly worse places to find oneself than the shore of England.

He knew very well he ought to be dead. Remembered dying quite clearly – a face, a flash of green light. And yet here he was, and quite sure he was living despite it all. He felt better than he had in years, in fact, as if a great burden had been lifted. Well, it had, he reasoned with himself. And his nose itched. He idly reached up with his right hand and then paused, eyes crinkling in amusement as a perfectly whole, un-cursed hand presented itself.

On a beach, seemingly whole and healthy, and with not a care in the world for once. He looked around again, and seeing buildings in the distance, began walking toward them. Being not-dead and waking from a long nap left one exceedingly thirsty. He looked at the signs above windows as he walked, finally seeing what was unmistakably a pub. Adjusting his hat and lifting the hem of his robes slightly, he stepped up and in the door.