(Untitled)

[soapcarvedhands]

He's crazy, he's blond, he's shy, and he's totally at your disposal.

Come say hi to Harding!

(Which is to say, there's a tall, slender blond man picking his way through a plate of tea sandwiches--what? he'd liked them!--and sipping, quite appropriately, a mug of Darjeeling.)

Comments

[mago_sonriente]

Someone passes by, wizard's staff in one hand and a brass lock in the other. He's grinning at the lock more than most people would, though.

And now looking curiously at the sandwiches. He hasn't eaten all day.

[soapcarvedhands]

Harding, noticing the look, holds out his plate.

"Like one?" he asks. "I've got plenty."

[mago_sonriente]

He reaches for one after juggling the lock into a pocket before looking at the kid again.

"You sure?"

He gives a grin.

"You look like you're hungry enough for the lot.'

[soapcarvedhands]

"No, no," he says, smiling. "This is more than I will ever eat."

He's gotten pickier, over the years. Alas.

"They're good. Cucumber. And, um, other things."

[_to_the_bone]

"Hello again," says Jack, happily.

"Are you doing better?"

[soapcarvedhands]

"Much, thank you," he says with a smile. He gestures towards his plate. "Would you like a sandwich?"

There might be a lot wrong with Harding, but you can't say his mother didn't teach him to be polite.

[_to_the_bone]

"That sounds lovely."

Jack takes one, and also takes this as an invitation to sit.

"We didn't really get to talk properly."

[soapcarvedhands]

"No," he says agreeable. "But," and he waves his hands--they're long, remarkably graceful--"we have plenty of time to rectify that, yes?"

[a_poor_guardian]

The gentleman passing Harding has graying hair, crooked shoulders and, while he has never been precisely mad, he's certainly known crippling depression.

Archibald Craven nods courteously at the other man. It can't be a comfortable motion, given the position of his spine.

[soapcarvedhands]

Harding nods back, awkwardly.

As the man passes, he holds out his plate.

"Care for a sandwich?"

[OOC: OH MY GOD FANGIRL. Ahem. Yes. Z'end.]

[a_poor_guardian]

Harding appears to have eaten off of the plate already. The idea of sharing the plate with the other man does not appeal to Archibald.

"I've already had supper, thank you," replies Archibald, "but if you'd like to share a bottle of wine with me, or perhaps another pot of tea, I would be glad to join you."

[a_poor_guardian]

[ooc: *grins at you* I'm running for food. I'll be back in 10-15 minutes or so. PS, for future reference: Do you have AIM? I'm ravenboy1976.]

[puckishly]

There may or may not be a fairy in Harding's immediate vicinity.

However, his theft of one of Harding's sandwiches is pretty indisputable.

[soapcarvedhands]

"Oh dear," Harding says. "One of my sandwiches is gone. La! What a theft! Whatever shall I do?"

[puckishly]

Puck munches shiftily.

Thickly, "I do hope you shan't report me, at least. I am already rather better acquainted with the cells than I've any care to be."

[soapcarvedhands]

"Weeeellll," he says, a considering look on his face. "I suppose if you sit down properly, I can find it within myself to forgive you."