Miss Chang nodded along idly, but it was quite obvious to Ford that she wasn't really listening. He chewed his lower lip for a second, feeling terribly awkward and wondering whether he ought to say something else and hope that he eventually struck upon something that interested her or whether he ought to wait for her to say something instead. He hadn't really known what to say in the first place, and it occurred to him now that his compliment (if that was even what it was — he hadn't given it much thought before he'd said it) had been rather ham-fisted. Maybe better to wait for her to say something, then. In the meantime, he could try to figure out what to do with this cigarette.
He'd seen Cash smoke often enough that he should have known this, but when Miss Chang lit hers the wave of her wand looked different, and now he didn't know which to do. Was it just a spell to make a spark or was there something else to lighting a cigarette? It couldn't have been hard, because people smoked all the time, and people younger than him, and people who'd barely even gone to Hogwarts. He was certainly overthinking this. Ford put the cigarette to his lips as he'd seen her done, turned a little away from her in case he did it wrong and she was inclined to notice, and lit the end with a wave of his wand. It flashed too bright and then nearly went out before he remembered he had to inhale to keep it going. Not off to an auspicious start.
The smoke burned his lungs. He knew coughing would have been a fatal flaw at this juncture, so he didn't, but he felt his eyes sting. The cloud of smoke he exhaled through his nose felt as ungraceful as he did: too big, too fast, reeking with inexperience. Why hadn't Cash ever pressured him into learning how to smoke?
Miss Chang still hadn't said anything, and by now Ford was beginning to wonder if she ever would. Maybe waiting for her to speak next had been a mistake, but he didn't think he could backtrack on it now. Anything he could think to say only sounded more stilted after the lengthy pause that had preceded it. But one of them had to say something, because surely they were not just going to stand here smoking cigarettes in perfect silence? Ford took a drink, because that was better than trying the cigarette again, and prayed for a distraction. Someone could walk by right in front of them and fall and break their arm, ideally — that would give them something to talk about which he couldn't possibly mess up.
He had just been on the verge of making another terrible blunder — perhaps something along the lines of remarking on the fullness of the moon above them, or asking if she wanted to dance after this — when she finally said something. It ought to have been a relief, but she seemed so uncomfortable that it left him just as much on edge as her silence had. He was no less convinced that he was committing grievous social errors and that she was terribly unimpressed by him. "No," he allowed. He moved the cigarette towards his mouth and just stopped himself from chewing on the end of it as he might have nibbled on the edge of his quill when he was writing essays in his fifth year of Hogwarts. "You made the comparison first, saying it was like work," he pointed out. "I thought usually ladies only said unflattering things about themselves when they were hoping for compliments in return." He wasn't sure whether this last sentence would be seen as witty conversation and social commentary (what he was hoping for) or just odd. After a beat, he added with a beseeching look, "I did say you were much prettier."
He'd seen Cash smoke often enough that he should have known this, but when Miss Chang lit hers the wave of her wand looked different, and now he didn't know which to do. Was it just a spell to make a spark or was there something else to lighting a cigarette? It couldn't have been hard, because people smoked all the time, and people younger than him, and people who'd barely even gone to Hogwarts. He was certainly overthinking this. Ford put the cigarette to his lips as he'd seen her done, turned a little away from her in case he did it wrong and she was inclined to notice, and lit the end with a wave of his wand. It flashed too bright and then nearly went out before he remembered he had to inhale to keep it going. Not off to an auspicious start.
The smoke burned his lungs. He knew coughing would have been a fatal flaw at this juncture, so he didn't, but he felt his eyes sting. The cloud of smoke he exhaled through his nose felt as ungraceful as he did: too big, too fast, reeking with inexperience. Why hadn't Cash ever pressured him into learning how to smoke?
Miss Chang still hadn't said anything, and by now Ford was beginning to wonder if she ever would. Maybe waiting for her to speak next had been a mistake, but he didn't think he could backtrack on it now. Anything he could think to say only sounded more stilted after the lengthy pause that had preceded it. But one of them had to say something, because surely they were not just going to stand here smoking cigarettes in perfect silence? Ford took a drink, because that was better than trying the cigarette again, and prayed for a distraction. Someone could walk by right in front of them and fall and break their arm, ideally — that would give them something to talk about which he couldn't possibly mess up.
He had just been on the verge of making another terrible blunder — perhaps something along the lines of remarking on the fullness of the moon above them, or asking if she wanted to dance after this — when she finally said something. It ought to have been a relief, but she seemed so uncomfortable that it left him just as much on edge as her silence had. He was no less convinced that he was committing grievous social errors and that she was terribly unimpressed by him. "No," he allowed. He moved the cigarette towards his mouth and just stopped himself from chewing on the end of it as he might have nibbled on the edge of his quill when he was writing essays in his fifth year of Hogwarts. "You made the comparison first, saying it was like work," he pointed out. "I thought usually ladies only said unflattering things about themselves when they were hoping for compliments in return." He wasn't sure whether this last sentence would be seen as witty conversation and social commentary (what he was hoping for) or just odd. After a beat, he added with a beseeching look, "I did say you were much prettier."
Set by Lady!