Arcturus Black (arcturusfirst) wrote in onewaythreads, @ 2017-08-06 23:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | antonin dolohov, arcturus black |
Who: Arcturus Black and Antonin Dolohov
What: Two wizards in search of chocolate
When: After their network conversation
Where: Everdale-Summerbridge carriage ride
If today was proof of anything, it was that muggle technology could cloud one’s judgement disastrously. Arcturus didn’t believe that the misunderstanding was entirely his fault. Mr Volkov shouldn’t have asked him if he minded travelling with a mudblood. After that, how was he supposed to know which story was true? But he had judged wrongly, and so, all things considered, it was decent of the older wizard not to have insisted on telling his father and demanding that he was punished for it. It wouldn’t have been unreasonable of him. Wizards had probably been challenged to duels for less insulting comments the ones he had made, and Arcturus’ father might not care about most of the questionable things he did but he was extremely particular about good manners around other pureblood wizards. Rudeness made the family look bad, and so there were few worse crimes in Licorus Black’s eyes.
Arcturus was honestly grateful, therefore, to have been given something of a second chance after his terrible first impression. It wasn’t solely about staying out of trouble, either. Arcturus had lived in magical communities his entire life, and there seemed to be so few wizards in Preya. Those that there were – well, Mr Volkov was a foreign wizard too, he supposed, but it was different. He’d lived in Britain. He understood what it was like. It was close to meeting someone else from home. Arcturus couldn’t guess why the man wanted chocolate, of all things, but he did, and so Arcturus was going to make sure he got it. Carriage rides were still a novelty to him, and so he couldn’t help but feel pleased as he arranged for one to meet them near the Everdale Welcome Centre. When that was done, he flew ahead on his broomstick, easily outpacing the rest of the Everdale traffic, such as it was.
Spotting a figure on the ground whom he presumed had to be the Russian wizard, he landed a short distance away and approached on foot, his broomstick tucked under his arm. Contrary to what many unlucky muggles of Preya might have been led to believe, swooping down on someone at high speed because you wanted to speak with or look at them wasn’t acceptable in nineteenth-century London. The hem of his over-robe trailed on the ground a little as he walked, and beneath it he was dressed in clothes from home, from his own time, with shirt and tie and part of a waistcoat trimmed in Slytherin green visible. Arcturus wasn’t making any special effort with his appearance. He dressed much this way every day, and considered the modern muggle clothes worn by many others to be an embarrassment to them, or worse.
‘Mr Volkov?’ he enquired as he drew nearer. ‘I’m Arcturus Black. How do you do?’