All hail the birthday boy!

[adelaideadams]

Week Name/Date/Time: 'Trick or Treat' / Sat, Nov 5 / 7:15 pm
Location: Claw CR
Open to: Jory
Currently involving: Adelaide

Comments

[adelaideadams]

Ah, sentimentality. A rare thing amongst boys of seventeen and seven, who often find when they express it to be strung up promptly by their (sometimes broken) shoelaces. Perhaps it was a very good thing for Jory and his health that he had not expressed such sentiments aloud to one so physically spontaneous and unpredictable as Adelaide, for if he had been hung upside-down, all the blood in his body would have been allowed to rush to his head in a very quick and uncomfortable fashion, resulting in migraines and possibly even future brain damage. No one would want that!

Addy pawed the muss of hair out of her face as the winds died down after her tornado of disaster concluded. “Yes, I’m sitting here,” she replied saucily to Jory’s own saucy inquiry, pursing her lips at him in that very familiar crooked manner which clearly says, ‘Haha, aren’t you funny.’ But she was also quite used to her episodes of klutziness. (In fact, the precise moment in her life when they became second nature to her was at about the age of eight and one half after she had broken her thirty-fifth teacup. She said to her mother, ‘Mummy, I do believe I shall be clumsy for life.’ Bright girl.) Thus, Adelaide could afford to be amused with herself as others at her mishaps, even if they did annoy her and get her into trouble. The Caretaker did not care for her, you might say.

“I know it won’t last long, and it’s no ticket to the Quidditch World Cup,” she continued apologetically, gesturing to the cake, “but that’d be my present.” You see, the Adams family was on the cusp of middle class and only just hanging on by the skin of their teeth, as the saying goes. But they rather liked where they were, in their very tall, narrow townhouse on Fleet Street that sagged against its neighbors, and their five square meters of grass that served as a front lawn. They certainly were not social climbers and never had been, content with life in the mainstream and scraping by on what they could manage. Adelaide’s father was a Muggle optometrist in a small private practice that really didn’t get much business, but the business he did have was loyal.

Still, Euros and Galleons were scarce, and thus homemade birthday presents were the answer.

“Made it without magic, I did,” Addy said, slouching back against the fluffy sofa cushions as her knees knocked together. “You’d be glad of that, though, knowing how I am with my wand.” A small snicker followed that admission, of course. Wand bungler! She spotted what looked to be a new Quidditch magazine on the other side of Jory’s lap and arched her brows, segwaying into new topics. “What else did you get, then? I bet loads of nice stuff, eh? The tower’s been all a-buzz this week with talk of birthdays.” She grinned.

Adelaide often wished Jory was on the team with her, for all his love of Quidditch and all the spying missions they used to do together. Fun memories, those. But she supposed where she was a bungler with a wand, he was a bit of a bungler with a broom. Not a complete disaster - just not… well, not up to snuff. He’d be a grand teammate though, and she figured if he just put in the time to train he would have made it. Only he lacked the focus for training. Jory and focus weren’t really meant to go in the same miniseries. Oh, well. He was as good as a teammate anyway, with as much encouragement as he put in. Her train of thought prompted her to slug him one good in the arm, affectionate-like.

He probably wouldn’t know where that came from though. Woops.

[jory_elecott]

((OMG, it's official, I love Adelaide to bits. XD))

Although he had no idea how lucky he was to be not suffering from a hung-upside-down sort of migraine, he was grateful for Addy, who was surprisingly and refreshingly un-confusing, despite her penchant for being somewhat... uh, confusing. But at least it was a consistent and (nearly) harmless confusion, which was more than he could say for some people. Girls, especially.

"Ah, who wants a ticket to the World Cup," he said vaguely, looking about for something he could transfigure into a knife or something; and being entirely honest, too, the England national team had just gone and broken his heart this year. "This is much better." And it was. He acknowledged her lack of wand skill with a chuckle, not about to come out and say that he was glad she hadn't used it. The thought would have still been the same, it still would've made him happy, but who knew, it could've tasted like mayonnaise, and he knew for a fact that mayonnaise was not what cakes were supposed to taste like.

"Uh, just a few--" He gestured to his gifts and then broke off, looking at her. "I know. Birthdays everyday, can hardly keep up." He poked through a little pile of gifts beside him, picking up the Quidditch book he'd been reading. "Er, book from Veronica, um... loads of stuff from my parents," he went on, sorting through a few more books and socks and uninteresting parent-type gifts. "Including a comb, from Mum," he said with a grin, showing Adelaide the comb in question. "Someone ought to tell her she isn't very subtle." Honestly, the woman had given birth to him, she of all people must've known that combs did absolutely nothing for neatening his hair. It was a condition.

But it wasn't an entirely useless gift, as exemplified by his next move, where he managed to transfigure it into a cake knife. Well, a very dull cake knife, but a cake knife nonetheless. "Oh, but, see what staying awake in Transfiguration will do for you?" he murmured, mostly to himself, as he was pretty sure Addy did stay awake in Transfiguration. He turned to her with the intention of confirming that he would not be eating this cake alone, but was punched in the arm instead.

"Ahh..." Jory trailed off, perplexed. Well, she didn't seem to be actively starting a fistfight or anything, so it must've been a bit more of an affectionate punch. So he nodded at her as if to say 'Well, that was a good one, wasn't it?' "Thank you," he said after a small pause.