May 12th, 1891 — Padmore Park

*date and location are both flexible on this; if you want it changed just let me know ^^

The novelty of an all-magical town hadn't quite worn off yet, even if Bellamy was feeling a little exasperated with the rest of England. They'd just been here so long already — it was coming up on two years, which was longer than Bell could ever remember staying anywhere. Even when they'd been living with family in America for a few years, they'd bounced around from cousin to cousin, in a few different cities up and down the east coast. England was so small by comparison. How was he supposed to spend the rest of his life here? How did anyone manage it, without running out of things to do or people to talk to?

Hogsmeade was at least mildly interesting, though. Or it could be, when they were in the throes of a magical catastrophe of some kind or having some sort of celebration. Neither seemed to be the case today, which was disappointing. He ought to plan out his errand trips better, to have a higher chance of coinciding with something interesting... although he supposed it might be hard to figure out when he needed to be here for catastrophes, since they weren't planned in advance. Maybe there was a gadget that could help with that, somehow... like a rememberall, except instead of coloring when you'd forgotten something it could color when you were nearing something exciting or dangerous. Then he could pop over to Hogsmeade, check his pockets, and leave if it wasn't going to be an exciting day.

Of course, a catastrophe-detector wouldn't have alerted him to this: someone had just walked by and momentarily taken his breath away.

"Stop right there," Bellamy said, his tone implying that if they dared continue on it might cause the world to end. "Take... two steps backwards," he continued. That ought to be exactly the right spot for their hair to catch the sunlight the way it had just a moment ago, he thought.

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OOC: Open to any adult-ish character (like 15+ years old)

  

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Alistair had experienced a bit of a tough day so had taken respite in Padmore Park. He had fed the ducks and been having a lovely afternoon to himself. He was lost in his own head like usual when a voice disrupted the flow of his thoughts. Two steps back? He did as bid, confusion clear on his voice. "Is... everything all right?" He asked shyly, running a nervous hand through his hair.

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"Oh, you ruined it," Bellamy said with a melodramatic pout. Two steps back, but then he'd punctuated it by running a hand through his hair, and now it was falling differently than it had been a moment ago and it didn't catch the sunlight in the same way at all. He was a little annoyed; surely the other man ought to have known what he was talking about when he'd asked him to stop and step back? As though someone could have looked like that and not had any idea of it whatsoever! Was he being intentionally obstructionist?

"Stand still," he instructed, then took a step closer to try and put the man's hair back in the proper place.

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Ruined what? Alistair was confused and getting quite anxious. "I didn't mean to," he said apologetically though he had no idea what he even had to apologize about. The man looked to be about his age but Alistair was certain that he had never seen him before in his life. He stood still when he was instructed to, his hands falling to his sides.

Alistairs eyes widened in surprise as the man began fussing with his hair. He was used to people wanting to touch his curls but this was a little too much. "Excuse me, sir," he managed to squeeze out. "But I do not believe I know you for you to be ... so familiar with me." Being assertive had taken a lot out of him so he didn't do much else to actually stop what was going on.

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Bellamy's brow lowered slightly in confusion. He didn't really see how the degree of their acquaintance was relevant, but the way that the other man had said sir implied he thought it was quite important. But familiar wasn't the right word, and probably if Bellamy had been familiar with him he wouldn't have seen the way the sun hit his hair in that moment in the first place. It was always harder to recognize the beauty in things when you saw them too often. But if it would make the other fellow feel better, he supposed he didn't mind.

"Oh. Well, I'm Bell," he said by way of introduction, as he tried to balance one of the man's curls just where it had been a moment ago. As soon as he moved his hand away it fell, bouncing down to rest squarely in the center of the other man's face. "But nevermind," he said with a frown. "This isn't working, anyway."

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Bell. Was it a last name? Was he a relation to the family of Ambrose Bell? Was it a first name? A nickname? Alistair did not have the confidence to insist on a proper introduction. "I'm Alistair Darrow," he said, instinctively staying still despite himself as the man seemed to be trying to get his curls to fall in some specific way.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the man seemed to lose interest in his curls. "I'm sorry. There is no taming them," he said even though he had nothing to actually be sorry for. He brushed the stray curls out of his face. They fell a little past his shoulders so he usually had them tied back with a neat little ribbon but he hadn't bothered today. Curiosity got the better of him. What were you trying to do?"

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Bellamy had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at that statement. "I wasn't trying to tame them," he said, as though this were some sort of bad joke that he would rather have ignored, but felt obliged to respond to. "I was trying to put them back how they were a minute ago, when you walked through here." He didn't bother to explain any more than that. For one thing, he thought why was rather obvious, and for another, it hardly mattered now when the image of it was already slipping from his mind. Even if he'd had some magical way of making the curls stay exactly where they were a second ago, he wouldn't have been able to reconstruct it now. He'd always been better at painting than sculpting, anyway.

"Darrow's a rubbish name," he commented bluntly. "It sounds like barrow which is too morbid for someone with your complexion. Alistair's nice, though," he added approvingly, almost as an afterthought.

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Well, there was nothing to be done about that. Though now he was going to be forever self-conscious about the way he looked when walking. As if he wasn't self-conscious about 99% of himself already. His brow furrowed as the man said his surname was rubbish. Whoever this Bell was, he was kind of mean, Alistair thought.

"Thank you, my father gave it to me," he said without thinking. "You are right though, I never thought of myself as particularly morbid."

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"No, you don't look it," Bell agreed readily. He put a good deal of stock into how people looked, despite his own ability to alter his appearance whenever he pleased. He was likely to make judgements about people quickly based on assumptions he'd made from nothing more than their appearance. Alistair Darrow looked like he might get lost in a candy shop, Bellamy thought; not one to go talking about barrows and graves and things. Darrow sounded a little like farrow, too, and Bell wasn't entirely sure what that one meant but he thought it had something to do with pigs, which was a little closer to the right look for Alistair Darrow. He could've grown up on a farm with little pet piglets, probably.

"Do you walk through here often at this time of day?" he asked, putting one hand over his eyes so that he could glance up at the sun, as though marking down its precise location in the sky.

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Alistair was a little bashful for some reason when Bell said that he didn't look morbid. Well, that was somewhat nice. Sometimes his days were morbid due to his line of work but he did try not to personally be so. "I pass through here to head home from work so sometimes. It depends on my shift that day," Alistair informed the man, wondering why he wanted to know.

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Sometimes was no answer at all, as far as Bellamy was concerned. He frowned in mild annoyance and nearly said something along the lines of specificity, Alistair, if you please, but had the sense that the other fellow might find that a little grating, and if he did he might not answer at all.

"Well, when are you going to do it next?" he asked. "Friday, next week, or what?"

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This gentleman was starting to freak him out a little which had his nervous tic of biting his lip coming forth. He could not help but answer when a question was being asked of him. "I have a similar shift schedule on Friday, yes," he said, wondering if he should go a different way home that way. But why should he change his routine just because this man was intent on knowing it? He wasn't the weird one here. Right? Alistair suddenly wasn't sure.

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A similar shift or the same shift? Again, Bellamy wished for greater specificity, but that didn't seem to be Alistair Darrow's strongest suite. He supposed he'd have to make do with this, since it was the best option he had now that the other man's hair was all wrecked from his own fiddling with it and then from Bell's attempts to intervene.

"I'll see you Friday, then," he announced, mollified, and turned to leave.

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"Um? Yes. See you Friday," said Alistair, a little perturbed. This had to be the weirdest thing to ever happen to him. And he had a cousin that had once technically come back from the dead so that was kind of saying something.

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