The secret of individual teaching lies in the master's ability to pass on to his pupil his own techn
Tugging off her mask and hood, her hair tumbling free of the elastic band, Regan set the point of her epee against her shoe and looked to Percy triumphantly. "Like that?" she asked, having completed the sequence of practice motions and 'killed' the dummy with a lunge. She felt warm, encased in white leather and linen and darting along the track, but accomplished, and grinned as she tucked her mask under her arm.
She'd been mildly apprehensive about his offer of fencing practice, not sure her dance lessons would cover the athleticism needed for the sport, but he was patient, as always, and nothing she'd been guided through so far had proven particularly difficult. The weight of his undivided attention was no cause for complaint, either, and Regan let the mischief she felt dance in her eyes as Percy blinked before acknowledging her question.
"Make sure that you are pushing forward with both legs, not just reaching with your front. It's a rather explosive movement that will be easier to recover from if the result is not over-balanced," he replied from the side, pushing his glasses up his nose with a free hand. He wasn't used to being able to see the movement of leg and twisting torso, as he had only seen Regan in skirts or dresses up until this point.
The blatant divide of leg, shaping the calf up to the thigh was more distracting than it ought be.
Brow wrinkling slightly as she synthesized the information provided in Percy's critique, Regan nodded and set her mask aside, raising her tip and settling into the 'guard' position. She spared a moment to make sure her feet were in line, weight distributed evenly, her elbow behind the bell, then shoved forward toward the dummy with her back leg, feeling the leading foot land solidly as she extended her arm. It was sort of satisfying to watch the blade bend slightly as it impacted the padded surface of the 'body', and once she'd executed the series, she shifted smoothly back to guard, smiling to herself.
"You are correct, sir. It is easier to get back to settled that way... and I don't think it makes my range any less, it's just where my body is over my feet that changes a bit." Lowering her point again, she tipped her head at Percy, adding wryly, "Though I'm sure your reach is twice mine, between having longer legs and longer arms."
"Indeed. However, you are shorter, and have less to move around than I do. You'll find it is often the opponent who is quicker has the advantage, even over reach," Percy replied, echoing her previous lunge to demonstrate. His joints and muscles were warm from exercise; he felt loose and comfortable, something he did not come by often or with any amount of ease.
Regan was doing well, he thought, and was helped by her dance training. He didn't feel the sadistic need to make her run for hours, as his instructor had insisted, but the thought of frog leap drills brought one side of his mouth up in amusement. Perhaps another time.
It was a simple pleasure just to watch him move; he was lanky with enough grace to save him from gangliness, and it was obvious that Percy enjoyed his chosen sport. Regan herself was not possessed of quite enough limb to emulate the flowing motions of her example, but he seemed satisfied enough with her performance, and the lesson thus far had been genuinely fun. If she could only keep her focus from straying to the hip-length ginger plait that writhed with each twitch of Percy's head, she might have a chance of truly learning something.
"True. And I think..." She set her own epee aside, mirroring Percy's unarmed stance back at him, then advanced a pace, her own hand held out as if she still gripped a blade. "I'm always going to be in your range long before you're in mine... it means I have to advance to score a kill, but if I'm faster..." She pivoted her hand, the simple parry he'd shown her, and paused at the point where her imaginary epee would make it impossible for him to turn the motion back on her.
"If I were faster, once I was inside your blade, there'd be nothing to do short of a very large motion, in which case I'd kill you first, or trying to brute-overpower my blade... in which case I think I could still kill you first." Regan grinned up at him, flashing teeth at the unlikely idea of besting him at his own sport.
"Ahh, but when it comes to strength, I think you are no longer at an advantage," he returned, moving his lower arm enough to show the movement to push her epee out of the way enough that his reach would be again to his advantage. It wasn't a large movement, most made with the hand, wrist and arm weren't, but it would be enough to effectively bash a blade out of the way, and if one was quick enough, score the kill.
"Perhaps retreating would be the better strategy, but it would be sufficient if the point is made."
The way her brain worked was fascinating; he was challenged to keep pace at times. She grasped the concepts of fencing easily, and her knowledge of French made the instructions that much simpler. Percy didn't think that she would come to love the sport as he did, but she would be able to follow, if she desired. Coming more into her personal space, he pushed a spare bit of hair out of Regan's eyes, tucking it behind her ear.
Nose crinkling as her leap of logic was disproved, Regan edited her understanding to encompass the motion Percy had just demonstrated, repeating the memory-image of it in her mind before nodding. The sassy tease that had sprung instantly to the forefront in response to his nearly pun-like observation fizzled and faded from her consciousness as he straightened, moving the step nearer that brought them quite close indeed. Her breath caught as Percy's fingertips brushed her temple, the light graze of her ear evoking a sudden shiver.
They'd neither of them stirred the issue of their last meeting, thus far, but as his slim hand lingered the space of a heartbeat, Regan lifted her own to cradle Percy's palm lightly against her cheek, turning her eyes up to his. "Just as well, then, that I'd not thought of it," she murmured. "Retreating might be the wiser choice, but I've found myself rather fond of letting you catch me."
Rosy skin was soft under Percy's hand, and he found himself intensely focused on the delicate curve of chin into neck. The hour had been full of casual touching: correcting stances, hold, placement. It wasn't until now that he had become fully aware of Regan.
"I may have a fondness for catching you as well," he replied lightly, blue eyes summer bright. The gym, fortunately or unfortunately?, was open and full of others. He could feel the slight shift in awareness, the subtle tilt of hip and torso. He rubbed his thumb slowly over the curve of her cheek, watching as color followed the line of touch.
"How terribly fortuitous," came the whispered answer, eyelids fluttering as she tried to control the delicious shudder that was building. His hands had hardly left her since they'd arrived, moving her patiently through the steps of her lesson, but this was deliberate, more, and Regan wished fervently that there was not quite so much of an audience present.
Though his touch was the lightest of teases, Regan was as pinned by the focus of Percy's gaze as if he'd actually taken hold of her, and her heart pattered in the cornered-rabbit way she'd learned as familiar. There was none of the true anxiety she'd always known in the feeling, even from those who meant her no harm, and the simple rush of anticipatory excitement was a drugging thing. "An apt pause in instruction, perhaps, to allow for revision of what has been learned?" she suggested, not entirely sure the words had come out in order.
He deliberately kept himself placed at exactly the same distance away from Regan, too acutely aware of the open space, but more than willing to indulge her in her request.
Percy brushed his lips between her eyebrows, then lightly once, and again, on her mouth, holding her still with the lightest of touch on cheek and elbow. There were no hidden alcoves, here, or a mapcase to encourage further exploration.
Regan sighed contentedly at the electric thrum of contact, a fraction of the tension leaving her body for that moment of unadulterated happiness. The deeply sweet, perfect feeling she wished she could hoard for safekeeping defied explanation, and the smile it provoked was still present as Percy pulled away, ever the gentleman mindful of their audience. Snaking a hand over the padded white vest to the back of his neck, warm with their exercise, she tugged him nearer once more for her own kiss, harder, then released him and stood down.
"Elsewhere, Percy," she asked quietly, watching him from beneath her lashes, "once I've returned my gear. Please?"
"Mayhap," he replied, releasing Regan and stepping back. His mouth curved at the slight hint of pout in her lower lip.
Realizing at the twitch of smile that Percy wasn't quite hiding that he was twitting her, Regan poked her tongue out at him, turning with a swish of her hair to gather her mask and epee. "Mayhap," she echoed. "Mayhap you are not so fond of catching me as you profess, and I should not make it so easy for you."
He moved behind her so that when she stood, Regan's back was flush to Percy's front. His hand slipped to her waist, holding her against him while he spoke, voice low, in her ear.
"Mayhap you should return your gear, Regan. Sooner, rather than later. Hmm?"
Losing a gasp of surprise to find herself tucked neatly against the considerable height of Percy's form, his words a heated rush over her skin, Regan nodded slowly, her eyes falling closed. "Yes," she breathed, turning her head against his chest to look up, though she could not quite see his face.
Despite her pulse still rabbiting beneath her skin, she smiled, adding in a whisper, "And that was cheating."
He didn't reply, just hummed his agreement and pleasure at the sounds of her voice as he waited for her to disentangle herself. He himself had no gear to return, as he wore his own, and he was glad of the few minutes it took Regan to return hers, taking her out of his sight long enough for him to catch his thoughts into some semblance of order as he changed into what he considered casual clothes.
As he leaned against the door jamb at the exit of the salle, waiting for Regan to rejoin him, his fingers tapped restlessly against his thigh, burning from the contact of skin against skin.
It took but a moment to switch from the borrowed 'armor' to her own leggings, skirt, and top, and Regan soon found Percy lounging in wait, apparently lost in thought. She made her way to the door, eyes still bright with the sense-memory of a few minutes prior and the promise of more.
Stopping at his side, she slipped her hand into his, squeezing gently. "Thank you for sharing this... I enjoy seeing you, regardless, but I appreciate this invitation in particular."
He was pulled from his thought by the woman who occupied them, and he squeezed her hand in response.
"Did you enjoy yourself? I know it is a bit of an unconventional outing," he said, finally, wondering what in particular she appreciated. He was glad of her attire, as he was in jeans and a short sleeved button up, and she, thus far, had tended to delicate dresses.
"I did," she confirmed, swaying closer until she stood within an inch or so of leaning along his side. Apart from the giddy desire to kiss him again and not stop for quite some time, it was immensely pleasant just to be near Percy, and thus far he had not seemed to mind.
"Convention, in some situations, is over-valued. Everyone takes tea, whether alone or in company, but this is something of yours, and somewhat unexpected at that," Regan explained. It was a small honor to be shown something that was obviously important to him. "I cannot say that I am likely to practice extensively for myself, but I should like to come again if you wished it."
He did wish it, but not in the too near future, lest he drive himself towards madness.
"So, Miss Bole," Percy began, leading her around to the side of the building so they could Apparate to their destination. "Where is this elsewhere of which you speak? Hmm?" He moved her father into the shaded space, guiding her with his hand lightly on her lower back.
Regan considered this for a moment, assuming by the nature of the question that it would be a place of hers, rather than his. "Not Leeds," she answered carefully, "Gwen approves of you thus far, and I should greatly like to preserve that state of affairs..."
She'd not spent much time at Ivy's Run herself; none at all saving the few visits in recent weeks, but the idea was not an unpleasant one. The magnificent view from the cliffs sprang to mind as she glanced up to Percy, offering, "My estate, if you don't mind the jaunt to Brighton. It's empty, except the staff."
Percy nodded his agreement, thinking back to the conversation he'd had with his brother, and repressed a grin.
"An estate, is it? I think that may suffice," he teased, the grin coming out as he watched expressions flick across Regan's face. It was certainly safer than his tiny flat.
"To Brighton it is. I must rely on you, Regan, to get us there in one piece."
Lips twisting wryly at Percy's mild jibe, Regan pointed out, "My line is old, Percy, and retained all of its trappings to its present end. Were it still my home, I would have named it such."
Her nose crinkled as the implication of splinching spawned pictures behind her eyes, and she shook her head to dislodge them. "I think I should be rather less fond of your person in more than one piece, and I have never yet had difficulty with either the trip or the wards."
Fishing her wand from the central pocket of her jacket, she focused briefly on the parameters of her family's land, and deposited them neatly at the rise of the highest point overlooking the sea.
Taking a moment to reorient himself, Percy blinked at the light catching the tips of the waves. He was particularly fond of water, having growing up splashing in the Otter River, and taking more than one dunking in the Lake at Hogwarts gave him a healthy appreciation for its power.
"This is lovely," he said softly. It didn't have quite the same smell as the little beach he visited in Greece, but it was salt water all the same.
"I've always thought so," Regan agreed, the tang to the air evoking a stab of homesickness that mere location would never salve. "It's bitterly cold, even in summer, but it is beautiful."
Looking away over the expanse of lawn, her brother's workshop sitting idle and empty near the treeline with chickens scattered between it and the stable, she let herself imagine that chiding voice calling to her to be careful, that he was not going over after her if she fell. She'd always run back, then, to vie with his work for his attention until he gave up herded her indoors.
Clearing her head with a long blink, she nodded in the direction she'd turned. "The manor itself is that way, past the stable... but I thought we'd try the boathouse, unless you're averse to the idea."
"The boathouse it is," Percy said, watching the emotions flicker over her face. He decided not to ask about the building on which she had lingered. He followed where she led, asking questions, eyes constantly flickering to the ocean and the gulls bobbing on the waves.
"Did you spend much time here as a child?"
Regan shook her head as the query caught up to her, picking their way down the silty path in the cliffs to the little glassed-in gazebo on the dock. "Not really... It isn't somewhere I could be seen, unless someone was deliberately here with me, and that tended to make everyone nervous," she explained.
"I was more likely to go riding, to be outdoors; I never learnt to be much use on the boat, as I wasn't often invited." Another part of that story was that Tristan had seldom taken the small vessel out of mooring after their father was killed, but that was perhaps better left for another day.
The thought of Regan riding wasn't an unusual image; he imagined she had a good, comfortable seat. Horses didn't like him, overmuch. The last time he'd been near one, he'd nearly been trampled. Perhaps things had changed, but he wasn't likely to chance it.
It really was a lovely place, and he could see why her ancestors had claimed the spot as their own. Something about it made him miss the Burrow, and he made a note to owl and drop by when his mother wasn't being bombarded by visitors.
Unlocking the boathouse door, Regan motioned Percy inside, dropping the window-glass all the way around with a practiced motion, so that the sun-heated air might escape and afford them a breeze. She spun a little circle, arms outstretched, in her happiness to be near the sea she'd known all her life, returning with a smile to stand before her company.
"There," she murmured, pleased with herself, "No more audience... no distractions."
There was the slightest hint of amusement on Percy's face, from watching Regan twirl about. He almost expected to hear the twittering of birds in agreement to her obvious enjoyment of her environment.
"Hmmm, it does seem that way," he murmured, standing just in the entry of the boathouse.
Taking the step forward that put her into his personal space, Regan smiled up at Percy, the expression just a bit skewed.
"I'm not nearly so effective at cornering you, I think," she commented, laying her palms lightly against his chest. Letting her fingertips inch in a slow glide over the fabric of his tee, she twined her arms about his shoulders, almost too mesmerized by his proximity to finish her question. "D'you mind terribly, though, pretending?"
She had cornered him, rather efficiently. He knew her intentions, not only from her request, but from her tone and the fluttering pulse he could actually see at her collarbone. What was it about Regan that made most of the reason he clung to disappear?
"Mayhap."
Eyes sparking at the unhelpful nature of Percy's answer, Regan stretched up to her toes, brushing her lips across his once, twice, leaning lightly into the line of his body. She supposed there ought to be some internal warning over being alone with him, somewhere so empty, but she was far more pleased with the unlikelihood of interruption.
"Well, when you put it that way..."
Giggling, Regan tugged her 'quarry' in the direction of the wicker sofa. "I thought I might persuade you to my side, there..."
[SUMMARY: Percy and Regan go fencing, and make a trip to Ivy Run.]
She'd been mildly apprehensive about his offer of fencing practice, not sure her dance lessons would cover the athleticism needed for the sport, but he was patient, as always, and nothing she'd been guided through so far had proven particularly difficult. The weight of his undivided attention was no cause for complaint, either, and Regan let the mischief she felt dance in her eyes as Percy blinked before acknowledging her question.
"Make sure that you are pushing forward with both legs, not just reaching with your front. It's a rather explosive movement that will be easier to recover from if the result is not over-balanced," he replied from the side, pushing his glasses up his nose with a free hand. He wasn't used to being able to see the movement of leg and twisting torso, as he had only seen Regan in skirts or dresses up until this point.
The blatant divide of leg, shaping the calf up to the thigh was more distracting than it ought be.
Brow wrinkling slightly as she synthesized the information provided in Percy's critique, Regan nodded and set her mask aside, raising her tip and settling into the 'guard' position. She spared a moment to make sure her feet were in line, weight distributed evenly, her elbow behind the bell, then shoved forward toward the dummy with her back leg, feeling the leading foot land solidly as she extended her arm. It was sort of satisfying to watch the blade bend slightly as it impacted the padded surface of the 'body', and once she'd executed the series, she shifted smoothly back to guard, smiling to herself.
"You are correct, sir. It is easier to get back to settled that way... and I don't think it makes my range any less, it's just where my body is over my feet that changes a bit." Lowering her point again, she tipped her head at Percy, adding wryly, "Though I'm sure your reach is twice mine, between having longer legs and longer arms."
"Indeed. However, you are shorter, and have less to move around than I do. You'll find it is often the opponent who is quicker has the advantage, even over reach," Percy replied, echoing her previous lunge to demonstrate. His joints and muscles were warm from exercise; he felt loose and comfortable, something he did not come by often or with any amount of ease.
Regan was doing well, he thought, and was helped by her dance training. He didn't feel the sadistic need to make her run for hours, as his instructor had insisted, but the thought of frog leap drills brought one side of his mouth up in amusement. Perhaps another time.
It was a simple pleasure just to watch him move; he was lanky with enough grace to save him from gangliness, and it was obvious that Percy enjoyed his chosen sport. Regan herself was not possessed of quite enough limb to emulate the flowing motions of her example, but he seemed satisfied enough with her performance, and the lesson thus far had been genuinely fun. If she could only keep her focus from straying to the hip-length ginger plait that writhed with each twitch of Percy's head, she might have a chance of truly learning something.
"True. And I think..." She set her own epee aside, mirroring Percy's unarmed stance back at him, then advanced a pace, her own hand held out as if she still gripped a blade. "I'm always going to be in your range long before you're in mine... it means I have to advance to score a kill, but if I'm faster..." She pivoted her hand, the simple parry he'd shown her, and paused at the point where her imaginary epee would make it impossible for him to turn the motion back on her.
"If I were faster, once I was inside your blade, there'd be nothing to do short of a very large motion, in which case I'd kill you first, or trying to brute-overpower my blade... in which case I think I could still kill you first." Regan grinned up at him, flashing teeth at the unlikely idea of besting him at his own sport.
"Ahh, but when it comes to strength, I think you are no longer at an advantage," he returned, moving his lower arm enough to show the movement to push her epee out of the way enough that his reach would be again to his advantage. It wasn't a large movement, most made with the hand, wrist and arm weren't, but it would be enough to effectively bash a blade out of the way, and if one was quick enough, score the kill.
"Perhaps retreating would be the better strategy, but it would be sufficient if the point is made."
The way her brain worked was fascinating; he was challenged to keep pace at times. She grasped the concepts of fencing easily, and her knowledge of French made the instructions that much simpler. Percy didn't think that she would come to love the sport as he did, but she would be able to follow, if she desired. Coming more into her personal space, he pushed a spare bit of hair out of Regan's eyes, tucking it behind her ear.
Nose crinkling as her leap of logic was disproved, Regan edited her understanding to encompass the motion Percy had just demonstrated, repeating the memory-image of it in her mind before nodding. The sassy tease that had sprung instantly to the forefront in response to his nearly pun-like observation fizzled and faded from her consciousness as he straightened, moving the step nearer that brought them quite close indeed. Her breath caught as Percy's fingertips brushed her temple, the light graze of her ear evoking a sudden shiver.
They'd neither of them stirred the issue of their last meeting, thus far, but as his slim hand lingered the space of a heartbeat, Regan lifted her own to cradle Percy's palm lightly against her cheek, turning her eyes up to his. "Just as well, then, that I'd not thought of it," she murmured. "Retreating might be the wiser choice, but I've found myself rather fond of letting you catch me."
Rosy skin was soft under Percy's hand, and he found himself intensely focused on the delicate curve of chin into neck. The hour had been full of casual touching: correcting stances, hold, placement. It wasn't until now that he had become fully aware of Regan.
"I may have a fondness for catching you as well," he replied lightly, blue eyes summer bright. The gym, fortunately or unfortunately?, was open and full of others. He could feel the slight shift in awareness, the subtle tilt of hip and torso. He rubbed his thumb slowly over the curve of her cheek, watching as color followed the line of touch.
"How terribly fortuitous," came the whispered answer, eyelids fluttering as she tried to control the delicious shudder that was building. His hands had hardly left her since they'd arrived, moving her patiently through the steps of her lesson, but this was deliberate, more, and Regan wished fervently that there was not quite so much of an audience present.
Though his touch was the lightest of teases, Regan was as pinned by the focus of Percy's gaze as if he'd actually taken hold of her, and her heart pattered in the cornered-rabbit way she'd learned as familiar. There was none of the true anxiety she'd always known in the feeling, even from those who meant her no harm, and the simple rush of anticipatory excitement was a drugging thing. "An apt pause in instruction, perhaps, to allow for revision of what has been learned?" she suggested, not entirely sure the words had come out in order.
He deliberately kept himself placed at exactly the same distance away from Regan, too acutely aware of the open space, but more than willing to indulge her in her request.
Percy brushed his lips between her eyebrows, then lightly once, and again, on her mouth, holding her still with the lightest of touch on cheek and elbow. There were no hidden alcoves, here, or a mapcase to encourage further exploration.
Regan sighed contentedly at the electric thrum of contact, a fraction of the tension leaving her body for that moment of unadulterated happiness. The deeply sweet, perfect feeling she wished she could hoard for safekeeping defied explanation, and the smile it provoked was still present as Percy pulled away, ever the gentleman mindful of their audience. Snaking a hand over the padded white vest to the back of his neck, warm with their exercise, she tugged him nearer once more for her own kiss, harder, then released him and stood down.
"Elsewhere, Percy," she asked quietly, watching him from beneath her lashes, "once I've returned my gear. Please?"
"Mayhap," he replied, releasing Regan and stepping back. His mouth curved at the slight hint of pout in her lower lip.
Realizing at the twitch of smile that Percy wasn't quite hiding that he was twitting her, Regan poked her tongue out at him, turning with a swish of her hair to gather her mask and epee. "Mayhap," she echoed. "Mayhap you are not so fond of catching me as you profess, and I should not make it so easy for you."
He moved behind her so that when she stood, Regan's back was flush to Percy's front. His hand slipped to her waist, holding her against him while he spoke, voice low, in her ear.
"Mayhap you should return your gear, Regan. Sooner, rather than later. Hmm?"
Losing a gasp of surprise to find herself tucked neatly against the considerable height of Percy's form, his words a heated rush over her skin, Regan nodded slowly, her eyes falling closed. "Yes," she breathed, turning her head against his chest to look up, though she could not quite see his face.
Despite her pulse still rabbiting beneath her skin, she smiled, adding in a whisper, "And that was cheating."
He didn't reply, just hummed his agreement and pleasure at the sounds of her voice as he waited for her to disentangle herself. He himself had no gear to return, as he wore his own, and he was glad of the few minutes it took Regan to return hers, taking her out of his sight long enough for him to catch his thoughts into some semblance of order as he changed into what he considered casual clothes.
As he leaned against the door jamb at the exit of the salle, waiting for Regan to rejoin him, his fingers tapped restlessly against his thigh, burning from the contact of skin against skin.
It took but a moment to switch from the borrowed 'armor' to her own leggings, skirt, and top, and Regan soon found Percy lounging in wait, apparently lost in thought. She made her way to the door, eyes still bright with the sense-memory of a few minutes prior and the promise of more.
Stopping at his side, she slipped her hand into his, squeezing gently. "Thank you for sharing this... I enjoy seeing you, regardless, but I appreciate this invitation in particular."
He was pulled from his thought by the woman who occupied them, and he squeezed her hand in response.
"Did you enjoy yourself? I know it is a bit of an unconventional outing," he said, finally, wondering what in particular she appreciated. He was glad of her attire, as he was in jeans and a short sleeved button up, and she, thus far, had tended to delicate dresses.
"I did," she confirmed, swaying closer until she stood within an inch or so of leaning along his side. Apart from the giddy desire to kiss him again and not stop for quite some time, it was immensely pleasant just to be near Percy, and thus far he had not seemed to mind.
"Convention, in some situations, is over-valued. Everyone takes tea, whether alone or in company, but this is something of yours, and somewhat unexpected at that," Regan explained. It was a small honor to be shown something that was obviously important to him. "I cannot say that I am likely to practice extensively for myself, but I should like to come again if you wished it."
He did wish it, but not in the too near future, lest he drive himself towards madness.
"So, Miss Bole," Percy began, leading her around to the side of the building so they could Apparate to their destination. "Where is this elsewhere of which you speak? Hmm?" He moved her father into the shaded space, guiding her with his hand lightly on her lower back.
Regan considered this for a moment, assuming by the nature of the question that it would be a place of hers, rather than his. "Not Leeds," she answered carefully, "Gwen approves of you thus far, and I should greatly like to preserve that state of affairs..."
She'd not spent much time at Ivy's Run herself; none at all saving the few visits in recent weeks, but the idea was not an unpleasant one. The magnificent view from the cliffs sprang to mind as she glanced up to Percy, offering, "My estate, if you don't mind the jaunt to Brighton. It's empty, except the staff."
Percy nodded his agreement, thinking back to the conversation he'd had with his brother, and repressed a grin.
"An estate, is it? I think that may suffice," he teased, the grin coming out as he watched expressions flick across Regan's face. It was certainly safer than his tiny flat.
"To Brighton it is. I must rely on you, Regan, to get us there in one piece."
Lips twisting wryly at Percy's mild jibe, Regan pointed out, "My line is old, Percy, and retained all of its trappings to its present end. Were it still my home, I would have named it such."
Her nose crinkled as the implication of splinching spawned pictures behind her eyes, and she shook her head to dislodge them. "I think I should be rather less fond of your person in more than one piece, and I have never yet had difficulty with either the trip or the wards."
Fishing her wand from the central pocket of her jacket, she focused briefly on the parameters of her family's land, and deposited them neatly at the rise of the highest point overlooking the sea.
Taking a moment to reorient himself, Percy blinked at the light catching the tips of the waves. He was particularly fond of water, having growing up splashing in the Otter River, and taking more than one dunking in the Lake at Hogwarts gave him a healthy appreciation for its power.
"This is lovely," he said softly. It didn't have quite the same smell as the little beach he visited in Greece, but it was salt water all the same.
"I've always thought so," Regan agreed, the tang to the air evoking a stab of homesickness that mere location would never salve. "It's bitterly cold, even in summer, but it is beautiful."
Looking away over the expanse of lawn, her brother's workshop sitting idle and empty near the treeline with chickens scattered between it and the stable, she let herself imagine that chiding voice calling to her to be careful, that he was not going over after her if she fell. She'd always run back, then, to vie with his work for his attention until he gave up herded her indoors.
Clearing her head with a long blink, she nodded in the direction she'd turned. "The manor itself is that way, past the stable... but I thought we'd try the boathouse, unless you're averse to the idea."
"The boathouse it is," Percy said, watching the emotions flicker over her face. He decided not to ask about the building on which she had lingered. He followed where she led, asking questions, eyes constantly flickering to the ocean and the gulls bobbing on the waves.
"Did you spend much time here as a child?"
Regan shook her head as the query caught up to her, picking their way down the silty path in the cliffs to the little glassed-in gazebo on the dock. "Not really... It isn't somewhere I could be seen, unless someone was deliberately here with me, and that tended to make everyone nervous," she explained.
"I was more likely to go riding, to be outdoors; I never learnt to be much use on the boat, as I wasn't often invited." Another part of that story was that Tristan had seldom taken the small vessel out of mooring after their father was killed, but that was perhaps better left for another day.
The thought of Regan riding wasn't an unusual image; he imagined she had a good, comfortable seat. Horses didn't like him, overmuch. The last time he'd been near one, he'd nearly been trampled. Perhaps things had changed, but he wasn't likely to chance it.
It really was a lovely place, and he could see why her ancestors had claimed the spot as their own. Something about it made him miss the Burrow, and he made a note to owl and drop by when his mother wasn't being bombarded by visitors.
Unlocking the boathouse door, Regan motioned Percy inside, dropping the window-glass all the way around with a practiced motion, so that the sun-heated air might escape and afford them a breeze. She spun a little circle, arms outstretched, in her happiness to be near the sea she'd known all her life, returning with a smile to stand before her company.
"There," she murmured, pleased with herself, "No more audience... no distractions."
There was the slightest hint of amusement on Percy's face, from watching Regan twirl about. He almost expected to hear the twittering of birds in agreement to her obvious enjoyment of her environment.
"Hmmm, it does seem that way," he murmured, standing just in the entry of the boathouse.
Taking the step forward that put her into his personal space, Regan smiled up at Percy, the expression just a bit skewed.
"I'm not nearly so effective at cornering you, I think," she commented, laying her palms lightly against his chest. Letting her fingertips inch in a slow glide over the fabric of his tee, she twined her arms about his shoulders, almost too mesmerized by his proximity to finish her question. "D'you mind terribly, though, pretending?"
She had cornered him, rather efficiently. He knew her intentions, not only from her request, but from her tone and the fluttering pulse he could actually see at her collarbone. What was it about Regan that made most of the reason he clung to disappear?
"Mayhap."
Eyes sparking at the unhelpful nature of Percy's answer, Regan stretched up to her toes, brushing her lips across his once, twice, leaning lightly into the line of his body. She supposed there ought to be some internal warning over being alone with him, somewhere so empty, but she was far more pleased with the unlikelihood of interruption.
"Well, when you put it that way..."
Giggling, Regan tugged her 'quarry' in the direction of the wicker sofa. "I thought I might persuade you to my side, there..."
[SUMMARY: Percy and Regan go fencing, and make a trip to Ivy Run.]