Walt ran in, barking, scattering birds where he went. Eostre had gone for a walk to clear her head, left Tom with the girls and just gone walking. She'd have put on shoes if she'd known that Walt was going to bring her down here. Her hair was pulled back in a careless knot, her flowered skirts blowing around her legs.
"Oh, you bloody animal," she said, and then she looked up and stopped. Dead, in her tracks. It had been a very, very long time.
Czernobog turned, hearing the sound of a familiar voice. It sounded distant though, not in terms of location but in recognition. The woman resembled the Lady of the Dawn, but there were changes. Czernobog remained suspicious.
"Show me your wrist," He declared firmly, standing still and keeping an eye on the surrounding birds.
"Why is life never easy?" snapped Eostre, and holding up her left hand. She knew what he was looking for; the band of forget-me-nots had faded, over the years, ut they were still true against tan skin.
"I'm just making sure!" Czernobog snapped back, resorting to anger to express his confusion. He saw the tattoo and trudged back a few hesitant steps.
"Of course I'm not happy!" He looked around and scratched an itch on the top of his head. If this had been a comedy, it'd look like he was thinking. "And never call names. It makes you rude." He scolded her casually. He saw many birds around him and felt the weather. It was much different than Chicago.
Arthur's trips to the aviary were infrequent at best. Often times his only reason for approaching the area was to look for his wife, as she enjoyed the sight and company of the birds at times. In the midst of one such search, he saw, rather than Lyanna, an older man, unknown to Arthur but clearly deserving of some type of respect.
Arthur hesitated, his cursory check of the aviary bringing the man to his attention, and nodded a greeting. "Forgive me for intruding," he said. "But has a woman passed through here recently?"
Czernobog looked at the man and offered a simple shrug of his shoulders. "Nothing's passed through." He was being honest when he said it. "Except birds. And their shit. Lots of bird shit. I do not like this place." His declaration was low and decisive. If he knew where to go, he would have left. But the helpful part of him, the part that now knew that a woman, a woman this man was searching for, had gone missing, stopped him. "What is she like?" He asked, wondering if he could help find her.
Surprised and amused by the man's bitter words, Arthur determined to hesitate longer than he had intended at the door. "Like the wind," he answered, a hint of a smile on his lips. "Brown hair, gray eyes, with child though not for long yet. I'll find her, or more like she'll find me, eventually." Not being able to find Lyanna did not worry Arthur, not yet. In a few months, perhaps his feelings would change. Her melancholy mood from the previous day was the only reason he sought her out now.
"There are other places to rest and seek solace," Arthur remarked, wondering what kept the man in his place if not love of birds.
"I do not think I would want a woman who was like the wind," Czernobog admitted, his accent sounding more prominent than before. "She'd come and go too quickly. Besides, I've known women who were the wind. It's not too good." Czernobog's voice was quiet. He still didn't know who was around him.
He could tell though, that there was something distinctive about the man in front of him. He didn't seem like a pedestrian. He seemed larger somehow. "Who are you?"
Fred poked his head round the post and grinned at the growler. "Vinegar'll get that right out," he offered, only somewhat cheeky (being a Weasley, he couldn't avoid the attitude entirely). "That's what Mum always said anyways - vinegar on anything greasy or soupy, and that to me looks like it's both," he finished with a slight crease between his eyebrows. "You just got here, huh," he went on, seeing the consternated look the bald man had about him.
There was an apprehension surging through his body as he looked over the young boy. It was the feeling that came to him everytime he was around young people. They couldn't be trusted.
"Your mother sounds like a Slav. Vinegar, grease and soup, that's every recipe ever eaten by my people." He told him very seriously. "Yes, I've just arrived. I wish I did not, but I did." He wrinkled his nose and wore his frown.
It was hard to put an age on the man; on the surface he seemed only a little older than Arthur Weasley, but he had a weight to his words that usually only really old (or really imposing, ie: Snape) people used. If anything, he reminded Fred a little too forcibly of Mad-Eye Moody, except (obviously) with both eyes. And all of his nose, too.
"Mum's family was Irish once, I think, but we're just plain British now. Grease and soup sounds familiar, though; ever had haggis?" He pulled a face. "Anyway, nobody wants to be here when they first show up. But it kind of grows on you. Guess it depends on where you came from though; I came from the middle of a war, so I can't really complain."
First, before saying anything in regards to what the rather strange boy said, Czernobog narrowed his eyes and looked at him. "You talk a lot, you know this, yes?" He wasn't mean about it, but instead, sounded as though he was making a simple observation. "But you seem friendly. And quick, too." He wrinkled his nose. "Many boys your age are not smart."
He thought about it for a moment and recalled the Zorya's food. "Haggis is for the Greeks. It's not bad though, it's just for the Greeks." His ears opened and he turned very serious.
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"Oh, you bloody animal," she said, and then she looked up and stopped. Dead, in her tracks.
It had been a very, very long time.
"Oh, for the love of everything."
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"Show me your wrist," He declared firmly, standing still and keeping an eye on the surrounding birds.
Reply
"Are you happy now, you old coot?"
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"Of course I'm not happy!" He looked around and scratched an itch on the top of his head. If this had been a comedy, it'd look like he was thinking. "And never call names. It makes you rude." He scolded her casually. He saw many birds around him and felt the weather. It was much different than Chicago.
"Where the fuck am I?"
Reply
Arthur hesitated, his cursory check of the aviary bringing the man to his attention, and nodded a greeting. "Forgive me for intruding," he said. "But has a woman passed through here recently?"
Reply
Reply
"There are other places to rest and seek solace," Arthur remarked, wondering what kept the man in his place if not love of birds.
Reply
He could tell though, that there was something distinctive about the man in front of him. He didn't seem like a pedestrian. He seemed larger somehow. "Who are you?"
Reply
Reply
"Your mother sounds like a Slav. Vinegar, grease and soup, that's every recipe ever eaten by my people." He told him very seriously. "Yes, I've just arrived. I wish I did not, but I did." He wrinkled his nose and wore his frown.
Reply
"Mum's family was Irish once, I think, but we're just plain British now. Grease and soup sounds familiar, though; ever had haggis?" He pulled a face. "Anyway, nobody wants to be here when they first show up. But it kind of grows on you. Guess it depends on where you came from though; I came from the middle of a war, so I can't really complain."
Reply
He thought about it for a moment and recalled the Zorya's food. "Haggis is for the Greeks. It's not bad though, it's just for the Greeks." His ears opened and he turned very serious.
"A war? What war?"
Reply
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