treadingdawn | contact//messaging//¿por qué hacer eso?

[Click.]

[Is this for real?]

[Why yes. Yes it is.]

Hello. Um, this is Caspian--

[BEEEEEEEEEEEP. Sultry woman's voice:]

Hola. Caspian del buzón de voz está roto. Esta es su refrigerador.
Por favor, hable muy despacio y voy a mantener su mensaje a mi mismo con un imán!
Gracias.

[BEEP. End automated message.]

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Action for Narnia crew, anytime, anywhere, or pre-arranged with anyone else.

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From:

suncolors.livejournal.com

Luna is not afraid of much of anything. This includes clocks stopping and strange smells in the air and so on. The air is cold but she has once again not worn her shoes. Where is the snow? She would dearly like to feel it beneath her bare feet. Of course Regulus Black recently charmed her shoes, so they are likely to be right behind her, soon enough, but they aren't quite yet. She has wandered a bit far out of the City proper and upon seeing a house she tilts her head but doesn't go toward it until she notices the horse outside of it.

"Oh hello," she says, approaching with a soft tone, pace measured quietly, as always with her until she is right in front of the so-far friendly horse whose name she does not know yet. Lifting the palm of her hand to his nose, she is a bit gratified, even as Luna, when he pushes against it, nuzzling as much as horses do. Does he think she has food? Unfortunately she doesn't...oh but he is a very nice horse.

From:

treadingdawn.livejournal.com

And she is so much smaller than he is yet Destrier has no problem bowing his head for that nuzzling. It's when he bows his big massive head that the head with ridiculously nice hair is revealed on the other side. Foolish Caspian for not even seeing this girl approach the house. Then again she seems to have an ethereal way about her, not just in appearance but in her manner. It doesn't seem like any ordinary young lady would traverse out in the dark, especially during these times, barefoot at that. So for now, Caspian says nothing. He watches the way the stallion wuffles about Luna, his maned neck the only thing between her and himself. He is perplexed. And how rude of him to not say hello.

From:

suncolors.livejournal.com

For her part, Luna does not notice Caspian, at all.

Destrier is commanding all her attention as she reaches high to stroke through his mane. She's not wearing enough clothes for the cold either but that's very her as well--pants that stop mid-shin which are sort of like long shorts at that, and a light knit sweater over a similarly light shirt. People might think she's a bit mad, even those who know her. She doesn't mind.

"Hello," she says.

To the horse.

From:

treadingdawn.livejournal.com

Caspian has no idea that he is dealing with someone who also believes in talking to non-Talking Horses, so he returns the greeting.

"Hello. Aren't you cold," he asks of Luna, craning his head around the big horsey one to look at her.

From:

suncolors.livejournal.com

Turning her head so that she may meet his gaze, she peers at him in utter silence for a while, still petting Destrier--to whom she has yet to be introduced.

"Oh. Hello to you as well," she smiles, but no more than she already was, which might make it a bit difficult to differentiate. As if in reply to his question however, her feet shift a bit, toes flexing experimentally--nope, still good. But she doesn't speak to that topic yet. Hello first. Everything else next, and Luna has never been in any particular hurry with...well, anything.

From:

treadingdawn.livejournal.com

To you as well... hey! Caspian blinks twice at her gaze then comes around to her side, hand on Destrier's mane as well.

"This is Destrier, and I am Caspian," he introduces both horse and himself. It begs an unspoken question though, which is, um, who are you. He looks down to her feet, up over her shorts and blouse. Really now. Caspian shrugs his own coat off and offers it to Luna. "Perhaps you might want this."

From:

suncolors.livejournal.com

Her smile widens a bit at this, but fractionally so, and it's dark out, but she's so pale, it's probably visible anyway.

"I'm Luna," she replies, but shakes her head at the offer of his coat. "It's quite alright actually," she says, not at all insistent, but her tone seldom changes very much as it is. "Pleasure to meet you, Destrier," she bows her forehead briefly to the end of the horse's nose before looking up again at the other person. "And you, King Caspian."

Oh Luna may be in her own world but she picks up on these things. She saw that challenge posted in the square, has heard of this person...and how many Caspians can there be in this place? Well, actually not a fair question at all, but she is relatively sure she has the right person pegged.

From:

treadingdawn.livejournal.com

"Good evening to you, Luna," says the polite Telmarine because he has no idea who this young lady is, though now he is beginning to recognize something... special about her demeanor. "Are you sure," he continues about the coat even as he's putting it back over his own shoulders. It is cold out for a Caspian.

A King Caspian. He blinks again and tilts his head at the pale young lady.

"Please... just Caspian will do," he says to her, nodding. It feels strange to have others not of Narnia addressing him by that title, strangely good and flattering, but strange all the same.

From:

suncolors.livejournal.com

"I'm sure," she nods slowly, finally letting her focus move from centering on Destrier to the young royal. "Caspian." She tests his name on air like an oil to a canvas, and she looks at him as if clearly for the first time, which it actually is.

"He is very beautiful," she tilts her head toward the horse but then turns over her shoulder as well. "Oh, there you are."

Here come her shoes. They are mismatched, not that anyone who knows Luna would be too surprised by that, or the fact that they are following her at a slightly delayed pace--apparently.

From:

treadingdawn.livejournal.com

"Yes..."

That's his name, do test it out, and hopefully not in a way that means to enchant him or curse his family line. Destrier shakes his head slowly to toss the forelocks of his mane about. Yes, he is a beautiful horse isn't he? Don't deny it. Caspian pats the big black horse's neck again, noting the attitude on display. Don't flatter yourself, old friend, he thinks silently then nods to Luna.

"Destrier has been my horse since boyhood," oh here we go! No wait, the shoes arrive just in time to stop the brunette. So he stares. He stares at the shoes that move on their own. They seem a bit slow. Off-pace. The shoes, they walk. "Won't you put them on..." asks Caspian, maintaining a calm composure, "at least to keep your toes warm."

From:

suncolors.livejournal.com

If Luna is aware at all of his shock or surprise or whatever at her mobile footwear, she makes no show of it, only shaking her head at the brunette this time, that same soft upward curve of her mouth there.

"No, I don't think I will," she says. "But it is ever so nice of them to join me on my walks. I do take them quite often," she continues, as if the shoes might actually take offense at so much exercise. The shoes, they walk, yes, but they stop right beside the blond girl, as if sensing Caspian's slight unrest.

"You have had him most of your life then," she turns back to Destrier. "True friends," she notes with a murmur, stroking a hand through the horse's mane again.

From:

treadingdawn.livejournal.com

"Oh..." he sounds, as if this is an adequate answer, which it really isn't, but what do you say to walking shoes and the person who seemingly chaperones their movement? That's right, nothing.

Just as Caspian is about to ask her question, like what are you doing out here alone? Are you visiting? Do you know Lucy? She has to remark on that. Come to think of it, he has had Destrier for almost half his lifetime. That isn't saying much when one is only seventeen years old, but it is a long time for a young person.

"A long time, yes." It occurs to him again that she is a strange sort and most of all strangely intuitive. "Were you looking for something, out here? Do you need help," asks the Telmarine.

From:

suncolors.livejournal.com

"We all need help, now and again," she answers, vaguely, yet specifically all at once, turning toward him. If he asked what she was doing alone, she would tell him she was walking and if he asked her if she was visiting or knew Lucy she would say she knew of Lucy but was not, in fact, visiting at all, that she was just passing by. That is how it usually is for her, here, and at home. If you see Luna Lovegood, she is usually in your peripheral vision, often mistaken for not being there when she is and vice versa. How much of this is her own doing and just the general air around her that her mother likely had, is up for debate but no one ever does. How do you properly debate a conundrum after all?

"But I was only looking for the snow," she adds with a tilt of her head, as if this makes perfectly plain sense, and to be fair, it does...to her, anyway.

From:

treadingdawn.livejournal.com

Now there's a truth, and even though it comes at such an odd time from this odd person Caspian nods in understanding. Yes, that's very true, and it's also a bit more figurative than what he meant, but it's a truth all the same. He is better equipped to comment on the snow. Caspian gestures to the dark landscape in the walkable distance, the forest compared to the little road leading from their home to the other ones dotting the area till it becomes denser and more urban in the opposite direction.

"There isn't any here or there. I have heard that it is a bit strange for this time of year, to not have December's snow. I'm sorry I cannot help you find it, Luna," he offers an apologetic smile.

From:

suncolors.livejournal.com

"That's alright," she tells him, and means it, taking a step toward him now, hand resting lightly on her shoulder bag, which is too small to be a shoulder bag really, but not quite a purse either. "You don't need to apologize. Actually..." she pauses. "Thank you," another pause, glancing back over at Destrier.

Then her shoes move again, walking over to the porch steps, where they climb once, and stop. Luna pays them no perceivable mind.

"What are you doing out here?" she asks, because she knows most people dislike the cold as it is, and she thinks that Caspian does not look altogether too comfortable.

From:

treadingdawn.livejournal.com

Thank you, he wonders curiously, finding her all too polite and likable in that politeness even when she seems she may be just as lofty the next second. So he nods anyway, accepting that then gesturing to the steps where the shoes have stopped. Queer little things they are. And then there's also the railing or the bench. They are good places to sit.

"Will you have a seat at least," Caspian asks, all too trusting and inviting Luna within the wards. She seems harmless, but most of all, he trusts the horse's judgment. Animals have a sense for these things. As for her question, he answers almost too quickly. "I am watching my horse, keeping him company."

From:

suncolors.livejournal.com

No thank-you this time, but she smiles again, the sort of smile when one closes one's eyes every so briefly because it's the sort of smile that causes this. Then she moves over to sit between Caspian and her shoes, which may come as no little amount of relief to the Telmarine, or may not. That he trusts her is both a surprise and not a surprise. People don't tend to have trouble trusting her, but understanding, that's the thing of it.

"There are stables," she says, quite sure he knows this. "But I suppose with all of the...strangeness going about, it's better to have him nearby." This she deduces for herself and then, "Professor Snape could extend the wards around your house, if you asked him." She leans forward, heels digging against the step, looking at the sky before turning her gaze entirely to Caspian himself.

From:

treadingdawn.livejournal.com

He has always been a trusting sort. But really it is half Destrier's doing who appears slightly saddened to have lost Luna's attention to That Guy. Oh well, live to snort and wuffle another day. The horse busies him self with a little grazing. This is a bad habit by the way, it puts patches in the otherwise lovely and leveled grass. Ahem. Caspian looks to Luna again now that she is so close to him. He doesn't seem to mind, hands clasped between his knees. The night's chill isn't so comfortable, but he prefers to be out here alone, or rather with his horse, or rather with his horse and Luna, than inside.

"Yes and I could not leave a true friend alone," he says to her, smiling still. When she mentions Snape that almost brings a bit more sense to the situation at hand. It would explain the shoes. "You know Severus Snape? I mean, Professor Snape, and he could do that. I shall have to ask him in the morning, although I don't think Destrier plans to walk around this late," he laughs quietly.

From:

suncolors.livejournal.com

"Though it would be nice for him to have the option," she looks at Destrier, watching him graze. The not quite level spots in the lawn add character, Caspian, don't worry. Or something. "Professor Snape taught at the school I go to, Hogwarts," she clarifies, being a bit more straightforward than Luna tends to be usually. This is probably a fortunate thing, as first meetings with her even in her forthcoming ways can leave one confused, as if once standing on land only to look down and find air.

"But," she rests her chin on her knees, pulled up close to her now. "A charm might work just as well. You are not exactly in the midst of many people here."

From:

treadingdawn.livejournal.com

"You're right, it would be nice for him," he nods in agreement with her, although he isn't so fond of the patches of grass. Susan wouldn't be either, right? That horse better know better, and after this city ordeal is over it's back to the stables with you. He turns his attention to Destrier for a moment then draws it back to Luna.

"I know some of the people from there, including Professor Snape himself, and one Professor Lupin, but they have no spoken of any charms," Caspian explains, tilting his head. "What does a charm do?"

From:

suncolors.livejournal.com

"A charm, or a spell, defensive," she ponders aloud before answering, "Well, my shoes, for example." To demonstrate, perhaps, or to terrify--either or--they move down the step, to the flat ground where they sit, motionless. "Charms do a few things, a lot of things. That is one of them." She points at the footwear pleasantly as if she pointed at something far less bizarre. "There are protective spells though, they can...hide...what you want hidden, and so on," she waves a hand airily, standing up again to go pay Destrier some more attention, toes flexing against the cold earth.

"Or, even," she turns back, smiling. "Wards for the stables." It's just a thought and she treats it as such. The night is very dark around them and with a casual care, she opens her small bag, pulling out a flower that gives off its own light. She has held onto it since her unexpected walk with the potions master. A soft yet vivid light spreads out from the petals, a glow all about it, but nothing garish. All is lovely in the palms of her cupped hands, and then just one as she uses the free one to pet Destrier.

From:

treadingdawn.livejournal.com

He looks to the shoes, the ones that walk on their own accord. So strange, that... but they aren't giant trees and that's all that really matters to Caspian. He does wonder how that might help Destrier though, Destrier who can already walk. It occurs to him now that magic might allow him to talk, at the same time he doesn't think he would like to hear what the steed has to say. For now Destrier cranes his head again, lips nuzzling against Luna's hair, velvety nose looking to be petted. Insufferable horse.

Wards for the stables is an idea, but that place is communal property and one never knows when someone might use it for not so good purposes. Caspian considers a charm of some sort on Destrier himself.

"Would a charm work for a horse..." he asks Luna, lifting his gaze to her standing form, which doesn't need to travel far because she is very much shorter than he. However his words lose their direction and his attention its focus when he sees the glowing flower. "What is that...?"

From:

suncolors.livejournal.com

"It might, though I suppose you might not like a charm placed on you?" she asks Destrier more than she answers Caspian but makes up for it by, with an affectionate pat to Destrier, wandering back over to the porch steps. Standing in front of the seated Caspian she is still not that much taller, and only in such proximity, but she holds the glowing plant out to him. It has not gone out since her walk with Severus. Changing hands should not do anything to it to cause that.

"A flower of sorts," she says and then, "I never did ask what sort."

Is it poisonous? Not likely, as she's just fine as you can see, as are her shoes, and also, she happens to be one of the few students here that Severus Snape does not loathe deeply, and it's not terribly probable that he would seek to get rid of one such student, as they are already so few. Actually, she might be the only one, but it's hard to say with the unreadable professor. On face value, it is simply pretty, and light, and a bit warm, which might be nice to those who find the still oncoming winter cold.

From:

treadingdawn.livejournal.com

"Perhaps not, unless it was only for good luck," to which Destrier replies with a snort and a hoof beat. He doesn't need good luck, thank you. If Caspian only knew what this horse was thinking, he would surely bring up that time he dragged him by the stirrup or the whole trotting back to home base incident or you know if he knew, the whole abandoning Lucy in the woods, but who wouldn't after seeing Aslan maul a soldier?

Now he just stares at Luna, Luna and the glowing flower. He wonders if he can touch it without burning his hands because she is from that wizarding school and he is only human. A Son of Adam. After a thoughtful moment Caspian takes the flower into his hands.

"It's a beautiful flower of sorts," the Telmarine smiles. This is why he is outside, because for various reasons he does not feel his manner is welcome inside tonight. Perhaps the word isn't 'welcome' but more like merely 'tolerated' for the time being. He can't shake the feeling off and he doesn't know why he has it. The warmth in his hands soothes the feeling of illness in his stomach. Just a little.

From:

suncolors.livejournal.com

Never one for a great array of facial expressions, her current one does not fluctuate that much, but she watches Caspian with the carefulness of a person who studies the fractures of ice beneath feet, to predict just where it will first completely split open. It's a total form of focus and yet, somehow, not overbearing, but this is perhaps a charm of her own, something of her father's airiness and her mother's goodness, and other things--some of them, her own.

"You are unhappy," she comes to the conclusion at last, but does not ask why. It isn't a judgment, just something she finally notices, finally digests, and when she sits down again beside him, she is looking up at the sky. "I'm unhappy too sometimes, very sad...but it always passes."

All things pass. All things return.

"You can keep it," she offers, still not looking over, but smiling as if she might have more to say but feels no need to actually say it.