Arcturus Black (arcturusfirst) wrote in onewaythreads, @ 2017-07-22 16:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | arcturus black, jyn erso |
Who: Arcturus Black and OPEN (soft tag Cassian and/or Jyn but open to all!)
What: Arcturus is unimpressed with the idea of a curfew
When: Friday night
Where: Outside an Everdale tavern
Arcturus had not decided what the worst part of this situation was. Perhaps it was the annoying muggles. Perhaps it was their awful machines which were likely to kill him sooner or later. Or perhaps it was the fact that he didn’t know how long it would take his father to find him here. Papa would find him. Arcturus was absolutely certain of it, he had to be, because the thought of going home was what made all of this bearable. It wasn’t so bad, if it was all temporary. Besides, he was fourteen years old, almost grown, and he wasn’t about to act like a scared little boy and let the muggles get the better of him. The boarding-house in Everdale wasn’t what he was used to, but it allowed him to avoid both modern technology and well-meaning outsiders asking if he shouldn’t be in school and where his parents were. The latter question struck him as particularly ridiculous, under the circumstances.
If he had to be stuck here, he was going to enjoy what he could. There didn’t appear to be a magical government, and given their mode of arrival, magic was hardly a secret, so he didn’t need to fear getting into trouble for playing his usual tricks. Baiting muggles was good fun, he and his friends did it often enough at home, and Arcturus never resorted to anything terrible. Not like his brother. A muggle man had insulted Cygnus once, when Arcturus had been tagging along with him and his friends, and while the curses they used hadn’t looked physically painful, Arcturus wondered if the fellow had ever recovered his wits afterward. Convincing a muggle that his limbs were disappearing was rather cruel.
He’d said so, at the time, and Cygnus had laughed at him in front of the others and called him an infant, so then he’d kept quiet.
Arcturus’ preferred tricks were more subtle. Slowly shrinking a carried bag or basket, causing a hat or bundle of papers to keep blowing away, or brief and surprising transfigurations. He wouldn’t transfigure a person unless he had a good reason, and tonight, so far, he hadn’t. He’d gone for a drink in the local tavern in the early evening. Asked for butterbeer, got some old-fashioned small-beer stuff that wasn’t entirely terrible, and sat by the fire a while. Then came the announcement that closing time would be early – absurdly early – because of a curfew. Arcturus was used to curfews at school. He was used to schedules, and having to sneak out if he wanted to go anywhere at night, but this was different. Arcturus’ teachers had the right to tell him what to do, even when he disliked the fact, but muggles? They didn’t. Especially not over some bit of muggle violence which had happened very far away from here.
Arcturus left the tavern as it was closing, but he didn’t go back to his lodgings. Instead, he decided to race about on his broomstick, just high enough to startle passers-by, but not to plough into them. The broom was the newest 1849 model, faster than anything else back home, even if not in Preya. Whenever a muggle came too close, he grinned and called out to them to watch where they were going.