He wasn’t quite sure why he was being so nice to her. She, after all, had been the one to threaten him first, and if he was as mean as everyone said he was, Cliff would have knocked the stick from her hand and disappeared into the woods, wand be damned. Instead he was trying to rid himself of her. Perhaps she’d be willing to give him his wand back so he could be on his way; the probably-murderer was just going to slow him down. He didn’t need her help necessarily, but she had already made a good point about where the weakness in the barrier might be - someone who lived in Irvingly was surely going to know more about it than someone who just visited. If he could get his wand back, he’d take this new information and force Algernon out to investigate with him. (The poor kid was probably angry at him for slipping out the door early this morning without saying goodbye to him.)
Shuffling his feet at her question, Cliff tossed her a confused look; he hadn’t mumbled yet she was tossing him a look as if he’d grown a second head. A frown settled across his lips as his eyebrows knitted together. “My sister says I give the best pig-a-backs around.” He deadpanned, as if it was the most honest thing he’d said to her yet. Her favorite was when he’d take her around on a broom, where she’d cling to his back like a koala and squeal with delight, egging him on to go faster and faster until the forest around them was a blur; it wasn’t the safest thing in the world but neither of them had died yet.
Silence settled around them and Cliff shrugged. At least she hadn’t laughed at his suggestion or mocked him - he hated it when people laughed in his face, especially at his not-so-bright ideas. The stranger reached out to scratch at the dog’s belly, who then squirmed in his arms. He tightened his grip on him and pulled him closer to his chest before gently tapping his nose. His eyes shifted toward her as she finally seemed to give in to his idea, causing him to scratch the dog behind his ears for a few more seconds. Before he bent down to gently put him on his feet, Cliff nuzzled his face into his fur and murmured an apology for hitting him with a spell - he’d only been protecting himself and it wasn’t personal.
Clifford set the dog down before he moved to stand in front of the woman as she stepped onto a log, ignoring her words of finding the horse or doing anything stupid. His own eyes narrowed to match her own, his lips pursing together in a thin line. He’d already said he wouldn’t, although now, as he slightly bent down for her to crawl onto his back, he wished he would have made her promise not to murder him. Turning his attention back toward their citation, Cliff hitched his arms under her legs to give her support once he felt her weight against his back. She was much heavier - and taller - than his eight year old sister, but he managed to straighten his back and take a few steps without any issue.
“Clifford Hillicker.” He waited for the undoubtedly snort that would sound from her. People always laughed at the ridiculous nature of his name, and it didn’t help if they knew Heathcliff was his brother - mum sure did have an agenda when she was naming them. It was a true shame she didn’t go all the way by naming his little sister Hillary. While he hadn’t been readily willing to give her his name - now she could tell the constable where he’d been or at least smirk that he was her victim when she saw his name in the paper when they discovered his murdered body in the woods - even he wasn’t daft enough to lie about it. He’d done that a few times and it never went over well.
Cliff tilted his head. “And your name?” He hummed. There were quite a few he could call her, but none of them seemed outwardly appropriate.
Shuffling his feet at her question, Cliff tossed her a confused look; he hadn’t mumbled yet she was tossing him a look as if he’d grown a second head. A frown settled across his lips as his eyebrows knitted together. “My sister says I give the best pig-a-backs around.” He deadpanned, as if it was the most honest thing he’d said to her yet. Her favorite was when he’d take her around on a broom, where she’d cling to his back like a koala and squeal with delight, egging him on to go faster and faster until the forest around them was a blur; it wasn’t the safest thing in the world but neither of them had died yet.
Silence settled around them and Cliff shrugged. At least she hadn’t laughed at his suggestion or mocked him - he hated it when people laughed in his face, especially at his not-so-bright ideas. The stranger reached out to scratch at the dog’s belly, who then squirmed in his arms. He tightened his grip on him and pulled him closer to his chest before gently tapping his nose. His eyes shifted toward her as she finally seemed to give in to his idea, causing him to scratch the dog behind his ears for a few more seconds. Before he bent down to gently put him on his feet, Cliff nuzzled his face into his fur and murmured an apology for hitting him with a spell - he’d only been protecting himself and it wasn’t personal.
Clifford set the dog down before he moved to stand in front of the woman as she stepped onto a log, ignoring her words of finding the horse or doing anything stupid. His own eyes narrowed to match her own, his lips pursing together in a thin line. He’d already said he wouldn’t, although now, as he slightly bent down for her to crawl onto his back, he wished he would have made her promise not to murder him. Turning his attention back toward their citation, Cliff hitched his arms under her legs to give her support once he felt her weight against his back. She was much heavier - and taller - than his eight year old sister, but he managed to straighten his back and take a few steps without any issue.
“Clifford Hillicker.” He waited for the undoubtedly snort that would sound from her. People always laughed at the ridiculous nature of his name, and it didn’t help if they knew Heathcliff was his brother - mum sure did have an agenda when she was naming them. It was a true shame she didn’t go all the way by naming his little sister Hillary. While he hadn’t been readily willing to give her his name - now she could tell the constable where he’d been or at least smirk that he was her victim when she saw his name in the paper when they discovered his murdered body in the woods - even he wasn’t daft enough to lie about it. He’d done that a few times and it never went over well.
Cliff tilted his head. “And your name?” He hummed. There were quite a few he could call her, but none of them seemed outwardly appropriate.
[Please feel free to hit Cliff at your leisure; he probably deserves it.]
![[Image: UcvylhE.png]](https://i.imgur.com/UcvylhE.png)