(Untitled)

[alsoagreengrass]

Never mind the imperfect timing, this is what happens when Scorpius gets an idea in his head.

He has a letter in hand, written in a shaky script, unlike his usual perfect penmanship, that betrays his nerves. He re-reads it one last time before loosening his white-knuckled grip on it and asks Bar to deliver it for him.

Comments

[pullsneedles]

There's another boy outside, though he's working in the garden. He's met Scorpius before but that was once three years ago for him, not to mention while he was still working his way through a difficult time.

(Really, has he ever stopped working his way through a difficult time since then?)

He seems content, working among the flowers. He even looks to be singing to himself. Those attentive ones aware of technology, however, will be able to spy the walkman attached to his trousers and the headphones on his ears.

When he sees Scorpius walk by, he waves with a garden glove clad hand.

[alsoagreengrass]

Scorpius may be a bit distracted by his thoughts, but, juggling the Quaffle from one hand to the other, he returns the wave.

(After a quick look around to make sure he was the one being waved at, that is.)

[pullsneedles]

He takes a moment to tug the headphones down so they're sitting on his neck, the music still playing.

"Hi," he calls. "Whacha doin'?"

[alsoagreengrass]

"Er."

Scorpius looks down at the Quaffle in hand and shrugs, taking a few steps nearer to the garden.

"Just, messing about. What are you planting?"