Avalon hadn't missed that little exchange, nor the way his friend prickled upon the entry of Alex. Yet, he didn't think it was the girl that made him on edge. When all the world passed by without you, you learned very fast to pick up on little things that many often ignored, and Phillip he swore he could have broke with a hammer just to help him finish shattering.

With his bag over his shoulder, his hands free now from the smoke, and their bodies clear from the rest Avalon slid his arm around the back of Kinsey's slim midsection and gave him a squeeze. I'm not the one being bothered, his actions said for him, and his dry mouth let loose a little sigh. The hug was short lived, but he kept close to Phillip as they ducked between passages. He was careful not to hit Phillip with the head of his guitar, and with both of the straps from his bag and the instrument crossing his chest he rather felt akin to one of these poor soldiered bastards walking the halls at night.

Phillip often talked for the both of them, letting words flow like little rivers that carried their conversation. Hell, half the time the boy even was pretty good at answering for Avalon, but the Ravenclaw wondered if he would actually need his book today. And half way through the hall he slipped it from his bag to open it on a page he saved for Kinsey, one that still had a few scribbles of words from their last time talking and quickly drew a few figures that looked rather important.

 He slid the boy the book, keeping his eyes forward. There was a little stick figure sketch of Theo being tugged around on a leash clearly held by Alex, but it certainly wasn't his best.

Phillip was fuming, positively raging when he opened the door with a loud bang, bouncing off the wall loudly. "That bloody minger" he muttered when he heard Avalon fall into step with him. It wasn't like he had anything with Whitman, it was just that he was such a bloody arse all the bloody time and he knew he wasn't supposed to react like that to his proximity to Alex... They were friends, but most importantly he had no bloody business with anything Harpy related. Not really...

He leaned into Roth's half hug, his nostrils flaring, like some bloody scowler itching to bash someone's skull in, and truth be told he was aching to feel his fist connect with someone's kipper. He was mad at 'imself mostly, because he was a darn shed head and he'd ruined everything with his stupid brain. He was awoken from his angsty manpain, when he found himself with Avalon's notebook in his hands and the second he set eyes on the drawing he snorted so hard his nose actually hurt. "Ow" he managed to make out between bursts of hysteric laughs. "Oh, mate ye've no idea" he hummed.

"I work at this shop on Diagon" he started, back to his muttering as he passed the notebook back to Avalon. "Basically, a shop boy... Rick slaves me around, and I get a roof over me head when I ain't here" he chuckled, remembering how he had basically forced himself in Rick's life. "Hmmm" he stopped to search for his words. "'S complicated" he said grimly, not willing to go into the story of how Margaret had ruined his life and then basically dumped him in the hands of the state as soon as she found 'erself a sorry sod to keep her well stocked on booze and other crap. "But, yeh anyway. Carstairs is basically apprenticing for Rick, so we've been seeing a lot of each other during last summer" he explained, trying to ease into what was coming next. "And we went for a drink after work during the winter break, and we both got dead 'ammered. And, well, one thing led to another... and, let's just say it was a bloody awkward morning after" he said, adding a nervous smile. He turned to look at Avalon, serious and half-worried. "And I think I'm starting to... ye know" he looked away, a stupid blush taking over his kite. "I think I want more" he muttered, barely audible.

"So... that's wha' tha' was" he finished, awkwardly shrugging with his hands in his pockets.

Avalon listened, very closely to the confession Phillip made, and realized that he truly wasn't missing a second layer. Kinsey, spoke the truth, and he spoke of it from his heart. There wasn't a single trace of him trying to mask his true feelings, nor was there a sign of any false truth. He was heartbroken, and it made Avalon's heart ache for his friend.

Being a Ravenclaw was sometimes a curse, and against his better judgement he started to calculate ways to get back at the both of them. Was Theo even serious about Alex? Did he see the way it upset Phillip? Certainly he wouldn't mean to do this on purpose? Theo made little snide comments about his own handicap, but Avalon never really took them to heart--nor very seriously. People were not that big of jerks right?

With a glance to Phillip, and his nostrils flared, his eyes down,  his defensive closed in state, Avalon suddenly hated Theo Whitman.

"Now wouldn't be a good time to mention that I have a whole bottle of Jameson stuffed away in my trunk, would it?" He scribbled on the book, "We could plot secret revenge and drink until it doesn't hurt anymore?" He handed the book back to Phillip, and kept close.

"Narr, mate" he chuckled softly. "Wouldn't rob ye of yer whiskey. I still have 'bout a case from the last smuggle" he grinned with his entire kite. "Been savin' 'em for when times get rough, ye know?" he winked. After all Valentine's was coming, and what better opportunity to get everyone dead leathered. "But the revenge, heh, I'm 'aving that" he smiled bitterly.

"Nah, dude" he shook his head, getting his blond tuft out of his eyes. "'S not like that" he sighed like some silly payseg with a serious affliction. Which, he kinda was at the moment. "Shite" he muttered, kicking a wall with his boot. Mature. "'S not Whitman, not really. I mean he's a mingey dick, don't get me wrong" he scoffed, then gritted his newtons, not really sure wha' he wanted from the bloke either. "But he—he's close to her, ye know?" he muttered, obviously ladgered seeing as his blush was in full force. 'Not like that, ye know, but just close?" Phillip' knacker was obviously cabbaged, seeing as he wasn't able to actually create coherent sentences tonight. "Broads, man" he huffed. "Before ye can even get yer head out o' the biscuits, they've taken over yer life" he laughed darkly.

"I need to get over this" he finally said dead serious. "'M sure this is just, ye know, me brain confusing itself with me junior. Suppose it's true tha blokes can only think with one member at the time" he dead-panned, turning to look at Avalon before bursting into laugh. As he finally calmed down he took a deep breath and messed Roth's hair with a big grin. "Narr, mate, I just wanna find a sharabang to crash on, and—Jeeze, can't believe I'm saying this. But I could do with a fine brew with a dash o' milk. And I could grab me six-string and we could jam some'it?" he half-asked raising an eyebrow.

"But the revenge, heh, I'm 'aving that"

Avalon gave him a look, the sort that questioned his entire existence but also offered the other boy a smirk that spoke of a hidden little wicked intent behind ocean colored eyes. Very few took the time to get in the mind of Roth, find ways through his little maze of memories, and an artists view. Most took his paintings as nothing more than a joke, paint scribbled on canvas in search of a proper home, but they were of life and war, death and destruction--topics that he didn't know first hand, but sometimes felt as though he belonged to. He was born on Beltane, and brought into the world with the fires that burned on the hillsides of the green pastures.

"Broads, man...Before ye can even get yer head out o' the biscuits, they've taken over yer life"

At this Avalon held his book to his chest, protecting the hundred different sketches of Evelyn Grimlish he did on a regular basis. The sort of careful way he thought about her when he couldn't think of anything else anymore. He hid them because he didn't want to seem like a creepy stalker, but by now she had to know what he was doing when he stared between her and the pages.

"Narr, mate, I just wanna find a sharabang to crash on, and—Jeeze, can't believe I'm saying this. But I could do with a fine brew with a dash o' milk. And I could grab me six-string and we could jam some'it?"

Milk?!

Avalon was horrified at the notion, as he could hear his father's protest instantly, and quickly flipped open his sketch book to jot down the only thing that ever went in coffee at the Roth household. Pushing the book back at Phillip he ignored the ruffle to his already (always) messy hair, and presented him the sketch.

With a little bit of laughter, hoping that Phillip would get the double meaning of the cat before he turned the book around to jot,

"Meet me in my common room in five."

Phillip skenned his eyes at Avalon's sketch as his eyebrows kept raising higher and higher, eventually setting on making a confused face at it. "Why would ye ever put booze in a cuppa, mate?" Phillip may have drunk alcohol with more regularity than water, but you did not ruin a perfect cuppa'tea with alcohol. Milk? Yes. Lemon? Maybe. Sugar? Definitely. But not booze. Kinsey was not 'aving such a shobby excuse for a brew.

"Yer common room. Right.." Phillip dead-panned with a skeptical expression on his face. "Because Carstairs would definitely not be there, ey?" he asked slowly, hoping to get his message across. If there was any place he would not like to be caught in, it was the Ravie common room, or anywhere near the Ravie tower at the moment. Tha' could get awkward pretty bloody fast. Not to mention he'd have to be pretty shed-headed to step anywhere near her territory. At least at the moment. He'd just make a pure wanker of himself—the state he was in.

"How bout the kitchen? 'M sure we can get some'it to eat too?" he asked with a big grin. Food was always a brill idea.