Owl/RP: Minerva Longbottom Who: Atlas and Minerva Where: His flat, her work? When: October 24, 2024 Summary: Atlas finally works up the nerve to ask her out on a proper date. Warning: none at the moment Status: Complete
Atlas had never thought of himself as the type to settle down with one girl and be perfectly happy about it. Then again, he never thought he'd meet someone like her. Since he first met her, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her, and when she cared for him after the last moon. . . He'd never felt about a woman like this before. When he thought about her he broke out into a smile, no matter what was going on around him. He always wanted to be around her.
They'd been seeing each other every few days since after the moon, going out for drinks, then finding somewhere a bit more. . . private. But Atlas felt it wasn't really enough. He wanted more. He wanted to pick her up and take her some place nice, or even just go for a walk in the park. . . he just wanted something a little more proper. A date. The word scared him. He hadn't been on a date in ages. Not a real one at least. He'd had women, sure. They'd gone out for drinks and then shagged after wards, but only once or twice, and there were never any strings.
He wanted strings with Minerva. But would she want the same? He'd already decided he was going to ask her on a real date, but still hadn't worked up the courage to actually do it. But sitting at his table that morning after breakfast, scanning over the Prophet, he made up his mind. Sighing, he went to his room for a quill and some parchment. He was going to do it. He had to do it, and it was now or never.
Minerva,
It's been a few days since I've seen you, and that's just not good enough for me. How would you feel about a date? A proper date? You know, with flowers and me picking you up, nice fancy restaurant, wine, champagne, all of that fancy proper shite?
Then maybe we could come back to my place, be a little less proper?
What do you say?
Yours, Atlas
Satisfied with his letter, Atlas passed the parchment off to Bartholomew. "I'd like a reply," he said. "But if she's busy, or doesn't look like she'll send one soon, don't worry about it."
He watched the owl fly off through the window, then went back to the couch where Oc was waiting to be scratched. "What do you think, Oc?" he asked the dog. "Think she'll say yes?" The dog barked excitedly and nuzzled his master's hand. "Yeah," Atlas said with a nod. "I hope so too."