Gabe has duty to snuggle (inyrbasemnt) wrote in from_the_ashes, @ 2010-06-18 13:32:00 |
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Entry tags: | char: gabe, char: william |
WHO: Gabe and William
WHERE: The library
WHAT: Conversing. One on one. Hey, this is a big step for them.
WHEN: 24th December. Shortly after William intellectually broke up with Gabe by owl.
Gabe's windowledge was hot owl real-estate.
A big, belligerent great grey owl had broken one of the panes of glass in his window waking him up that morning - sure, the glass was pretty old, even if thick, but Gabe had been out cold, his sleeping patterns always completely fucked by the crazy demands of Christmas wakefulness. He'd been woken up more by the snow swirling in through the broken pane. Fucking Scotland, man.
Reading the letter the owl had brought had taken the whole morning. Well, no, reading it had taken about half an hour, including twenty minutes of just plain waking-up. Understanding it, cross-referencing it, and decyphering the marginal notes had taken another hour. And since then, Gabe had been trying to figure out how the fuck he was supposed to explain this to William via Nate.
Hey, William had started it. Gabe had perpetuated it. You could argue they were contributing substantially to Nate's education in both warding and potions theory. Or you could argue that using a student as an intermediary when you didn't know how to face one of your co-workers was pretty childish. It was just... easier.
Except when Gabe got word from an old penpal about the specific application of spatial wards to a biological field. He could try to explain this to Nate but, intelligent as the kid was (and he was), they'd probably still be here at Epiphany. Not to mention that there were a few elements of this that he probably shouldn't, as a student, however old, be exposed to. Gabe could just send his associate's letter up to William, but it would need an accompanying annotation, and he was only halfway through thinking about that when he realised that he could take four hours to write the damn thing, or he could go up and have a twenty-minute conversation.
Once, it wouldn't even have required thought. He'd have been up there already. Now, he was still sitting there thinking about it when there was another flutter of wings on his windowsill. Much better behaved - didn't even peck at the glass - and when Gabe got the window open again (maybe he'd been a bit overzealous - or oversleepy - with the mending charm) he saw that was because it was one of the school owls. Which was a bit bizarre now, in the break, when surely all of them had time to actually go and deliver a message in pers--
Oh.
It wasn't like Gabe was new at getting mail from William Beckett. There was a period they were quasi-regular, if anonymous, correspondents. But the long words in this one (Gabe raised an eyebrow at 'munificent', hesitated, then went for the dictionary) and circuitous phrasing weren't sharp and pointed. This was... polite. Distancing. Telling Gabe to be about his business.
Fuck that.
Gabe threw on a hoodie, grabbed his pile of information, and was halfway up the stairs from the dungeons when he realised that the book he'd been consulting and had just closed around the letters and picked up was, strictly speaking, considered dark magic and on the British Ministry watchlist. The urge to go back dragged at his feet, making him stumble over the top step, but Gabe pushed forward, flashed a cheery grin at a group of troubled-looking Hufflepuffs, and continued on up to the library.
Under the circumstances - all the extended circumstances - opening up as he strode into the library with, "Breaking up with me by owl? Ravenclaws are cold," was really not the best idea. Or even a good idea. But that only caught up with him halfway through the second sentence, and at the point there was no use flinching. So Gabe just smiled - blithe but restrained - and continued with, "Got some info. Figured I might as well pass it on and then you and your new study-buddy can mull it over."
He's not asking who it is. See him not asking? Yep, not asking. He's just going to lean nonchalantly against the counter, keep the spine of his black-magic book turned away from the unwholesomely clever librarian and not ask.