A bit past lunch time


A bit of sun was peeking through the clouds, pale attempt of springtime splendour that made the grounds appear greener and the damp air of the highlands somehow hospitable. Warm as it was, Virgil had to rub warmth into his hands as he wandered by the school greenhouses.

There were seven altogether and he looked into the fogged up panes of each, passing them one by one until pausing at one of the less frequented sides. A stack of crates - full of what he hoped were non-lethal greenery - seemed promising. It was quiet anyway, and that was what drew him here now.

A waiting silence. Nature's inherent state of calm suspense before the arrival of man. Castle and courtyard were brimming with people, a contrast.

The prefect leaned against one of the crates and reached into his pockets to retrieve an unlit cigarette. A gillyweed joint was tucked right next to it but after being caught last month[1] he had no intention of triggering Donovan's hound nose. He charmed a small flame on the tip of his wand to light up and then breathed in deeply. Better.

Virgil left the cigarette to rest between his lips, swinging his camera sling off his shoulder to mindlessly fondle the device instead. They had plenty of photos for the yearbook by now. He hadn't been by all the booths yet but the constant chatter in the Great Hall had been tiring.

And he was nervous. Spotting level four's section with the zoom lens was easy enough.... approaching it less so. Virgil had let Ariadne and then Gracie know that he would be going off for a quick smoke. Had to work his nerve up. It had been simpler at the panel last month, a do-or-die impulse.

He put the camera aside and swallowed another breath of white smoke. Crack. A rustling noise preceded the sound. The Slytherin frowned, tired eyes searching about the greenhouses and flowering trees. Another crack, of twigs being trodden underfoot. Shit. Why did he come out here alone?

Virgil quickly slipped off the crate, hiding his cigarette behind his back rather uselessly to face the imminent intrusion.

1.	21st March - Not as Hard, Hard, Hard as it Seems

“Oh, crap, sorry…!”

It was no good. Being back at Hogwarts was lovely and all, but he was still mightily on edge from the bother in February, and then the sour ending to his visit in late March. Here he was a month later, fielding questions at the Being Division table, but he still felt like he wasn’t entirely welcome.
“Anything good?” He had asked Ariadne, pleased to see her face pass by.
“Nah…” She had replied with a frown, “Not yet, I’ll keep looking.”
“Uh, don’t suppose there’s somewhere good to…” Ceph had made the momentary gesture of smoking, and Ariadne had perked up considerably to provide suggestion.

He had accidentally cornered Virgil Carstairs at the end of the greenhouses where Ariadne had described. Had Cepheus thought more suspiciously of his niece, he might have realised her suggestion and manner of delivery might have been mischievous, but he was rather more hoping not to put his foot in his mouth with Virgil like last time. The Slytherin had been very gracious to pardon him.

“Used to be somewhere between three and four,” Cepheus explained, gesturing the way he had come, “But I see it’s rather grown over now.” Virgil might make out he wasn’t smoking, but Cepheus had been in those shoes. He’d been the skinny shortarse stealing the odd smoke from his mates, hanging out with the to be ‘cool’. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Cepheus gestured to the space at the end of the row of greenhouses, and the crates. He slid a cigarette out as he asked, assuming there to be no problem, and lit it with his wand. No need for a Muggle lighter when one was on the turf of one of the most magical places in Britain. There was still something a bit naughty about it, even in his thirties. All they needed now was McGonagall to come round the corner and he’d be transported back to being 17.

The Being Division Head did his best job of trying not to make his visual study of Virgil obvious. But since there were two of them, and there was only so much interest one could pay to a cigarette, his glancing was obvious soon enough. He was a pretty young man, truth be told. He had to stop thinking like that. Virgil was the same age as Ariadne. Truth be told, if they’d met outside of Hogwarts, Cepheus might have pegged Virgil as up to early twenties, but that didn’t make it right. He was meant to be setting a good example as a visitor and recruiter. Instead he was down the side of a greenhouse smoking with a good looking young wizard about to take his NEWTS.

“You been taking photos for the Yearbook again?” Ceph asked, doing his utmost best to steer clear of any subject topic involving blood.

He thought for a second that he must be dreaming - but Virgil knew dreamscapes too well to believe that. His frame stood still in a kind of shock while his eyes, abruptly roused from their stupor, followed Cepheus Gamp in the way a moon is faithful to its orbit. There was something surreal about seeing him here surrounded by glass and dirt, and trees of spring. Distant from their last encounter in the Library.

It felt delicious.

             "You don’t mind, do you?"

Virgil shook his head silently, bringing himself out of his admiration to at last affect some casual movement. The hidden smoke no longer needed to be hidden; he drew his arm back around and touched the cigarette to lips whilst watching the older wizard light his own. God. Heaven must be a bit like watching Cepheus draw in that first sweet breath.

He leaned on the crate he'd been sitting on earlier, heart beating wildly in his chest. It was like he swallowed a bee hive, any time Gamp looked at him. Shit. Alone, they were alone. What should he say?? What did men like Cepheus want to hear? This would be so much easier if he could jus... just---

No. That wouldn't be good. And he didn't really want to read the mind beneath those locks of black.

            "You been taking photos for the Yearbook again?"

"Oh." Virgil glanced at his camera and then back at Cepheus, grateful for the reference and for something to discuss. "Yes! Yes I... I was going to come by your stall later for that, actually. We don't use all of them in the yearbook but-" he shrugged and tapped his cigarette,"- I like to take photos of people."

A flush of colour crept up his neck, his thoughts drifting guiltily to the many pictures he had taken at the panel - and has since examined with great felicity.

"Have you discovered new recruits?" he changed the subject politely even while making a mental note to ask Cepheus for a photograph later. "Any of my classmates intrigued by the welfare of giants and house-elves?"

“… I was going to come by your stall later for that…"
“Oh right?” Cepheus replied politely, raising both eyebrows and giving Virgil his attention, cigarette poised between thumb and forefingers away from his face.
“… I like to take photos of people.”

Cepheus could feel his foot rushing up towards his mouth so he shoved his smoke back in it and nodded to Virgil instead. He was glad when the Slytherin posed a return question.
“Fewer than who were intrigued about sleeping with them.” Cepheus admitted bluntly, and raked his left hand fingers through his mane of black hair. “I am sure it’s just because there are flashier employers around. I didn’t even consider it when I was leaving Hogwarts.” He shrugged, “Wanted to join Gringotts and get a proper job.” Ceph shook his head, “It’s not a proper job to move money around, it’s a job to keep rich people happy. It may make the world go round, but it doesn’t make it a better place.” He shrugged. “No, I imagine we’ll get some enquiries after the event, or towards the end of the day. No point reeling people in with bait, you have to actually care. Besides, your professors are pretty good at pointing suitable candidates in our direction.”

Cepheus flicked a little ash away from them both and fixed Virgil with a genuine smile.
“Not able to persuade you to come up to four than nine am I?”

There was nowhere to look but the grassy earth when Cepheus told him that there were far more students interested in sleeping with beings than genuinely helping them. It reminded Virgil of how he must have come off at the panel - some impudent, inquisitive creature with more hormones than tact. Not too inaccurate. That mane of hair was sinful.

But then their conversation turned to Gringotts. The Slytherin dragged his gaze back up, tracing the length of the older man's slender frame to carefully level his focus on what was being said about proper jobs.

It may make the world go round, but it doesn’t make it a better place.

How was this person even slightly related to Mortimer Gamp? How did beautiful things grow out of ugliness like that? Virgil realised that he was staring and that his cigarette had nearly died; he quickly took a puff to distract from his obvious blush as Cepheus smiled.

             "Not able to persuade you to come up to four than nine am I?"

Blonde eyebrows rose at the suggestion and Virgil choked on a bit of smoke. He thumped his chest, coughing: his eyes stung. "I don't, ah, believe I have a temperament for level four. Can hardly seem to get along with our own species these days..." he answered, all the while thinking about the conflict of interest if he did choose four.

"But that isn't to say I don't admire what yo-- what your division does. I know it's... too easy to mistreat others when you don't see them as human. Or as having humanlike feelings. People are selfish like that." Virgil looked away to gingerly try his cigarette again. Perhaps he was selfish like that. "Proper jobs are overrated anyway. The earth goes around on its own accord, regardless."

He breathed out a wisp of smoke before glancing at Cepheus, genuinely curious now. "You're happy, then? That you left all those galleons behind for a chance to fix the world?"

Cepheus hadn’t meant to verbalise his frustrations about the career fair to poor Virgil. It was a bit uncharacteristic of him to moan (in that sense anyhow), least of all to a relative stranger. Odd, that. Virgil didn’t feel like a complete stranger. More like a periphery friend of sorts, and this was only the second time of conversing.

He supposed it was to do with Ariadne. She had given a positive review of Virgil in between times. Then again, the other wizard had a beauty that kept drawing Ceph’s eye back to him. Virgil had an unconventionally handsome face, and Cepheus couldn’t help but perceive him to be older than his years. Much as Ariadne was grown up, Virgil seemed older still, perhaps more well-read, and that was leading Ceph’s perception astray. Or perhaps it had been the discussion over fucking the cold bodies of vampires… in any manner, it was happy circumstance to encounter each other again, even if one might consider it strange it wasn’t in Ariadne’s presence.

“It does.” Cepheus agreed to Virgil’s observation that the earth did not resist turning despite the actions of those placed upon her. He had watched the younger man with interest as he explained his reasonings for choosing nine over four. He had sleepy eyes, peaceful, almost as if he were disinterested, or waiting for the other party to fall into an intellectual trap before they woke. He had to stop staring.

“Fix one small corner, yes.” Gamp nodded, “I couldn’t have stayed at Gringotts. Wasn’t all it cracked up to be,” as he spoke he gestured with his hands, trying to normalise the conversation and stop looking at Virgil like he was someone older. He did it by lapsing into more professional veins of conversation topic, softened in his vocabulary so he did not appear to be talking over Virgil’s head (if it were possible).

“There was the rather bigger issue that our government had been taken over and corrupted for at least two years leading to gross moral and ethical violations. I didn’t care what I did, more that I could. But they were crying out for anyone to come and help clear house. Rather different market now.” He drew at his cigarette, realising he was burning it through faster than he intended. “Or maybe not too dissimilar.” Cepheus shrugged and looked to Virgil, referencing recent events. “No, you’ll be great on Nine, sorry, I shouldn’t have phrased it like that.”

Aaand there was the foot.

“Did I see your father here?” Cepheus asked, deflecting, “saw something not that long ago there… Rapunzel. Very good, you not making a family business then?” Cepheus asked, mostly oblivious to the inner workings of the place, other than Edgar Carstairs being the public face of it. He wasn’t evading the foot.

It was strange to speak to someone who didn't try to impose their own moral view on him - Virgil was used to having his logic picked apart, his perspective contradicted. He had half-expected Cepheus to disagree on the selfishness of humanity but there was no resistance to that statement. The older wizard perhaps knew that it was true or at least a subjective truth.

Either way it was difficult to look at Cepheus directly, too easy to stare at the lips that caressed a fortunate cigarette. And those quietly observant eyes; not at all like Virgil's. They observed without a searching and judgemental edge.

          "No, you’ll be great on Nine, sorry, I shouldn’t have phrased it like that."

Virgil laughed, smoke escaping him as he ducked his head and tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind his ear. He still woke some nights fearing he would find himself in the black dungeon... now, however, in the light of day and confronted by Cepheus' unusual beauty, the prefect realised that he could laugh about the awkwardness of mentioning it.

He was in the present and he was alive, wasn't he?

The question that came next did very nearly make him wish he wasn't, though. Edgar happened to be at the fair to lure in theatre lovers. That didn't prove to be a problem. Rapunzel did.

"Um, yes, you probably did see Edgar. Recruiting for his youth troupe." Virgil swallowed and tasted dry tobacco, pulling himself up on to the crate to sit properly. "Did you really like Rapunzel? It was bloody difficult, I had to take potions for my hair because the wig would fall off in rehearsal."

He reached into his hair as he spoke and tousled it irritably. The production, a short musical, had only gone on for a couple of weeks. His father had cast him as the lead and he'd sung in falsetto the entire time. It was not unusual for Virgil to play feminine roles; he had done it to varying extents, growing up in theatre.

The fact that Cepheus had seen him onstage...

"I like acting," the Slytherin spoke in a hoarser voice now and willed himself not to blush as he examined his nails. "But I don't know about heading the theatre. My father will be around for a while." He glanced up, hesitant. "Do you go often? To Stardust, I mean."

“Did you really like Rapunzel?"
“Mmhm.”
“It was bloody difficult, I had to take potions for my hair-”

Cepheus was staring at Virgil, mostly because he’d not realised Rapunzel had been played by Virgil. His lips were apart, and his cigarette burned unheeded between thumb and forefinger. It was as if someone had hit pause on his body. Virgil Carstairs had just dropped the fact he’d played an extraordinarily long-haired witch in the lead role of the play Ceph had seen, as if it were entirely the most normal thing a young man could do.

“Do you go often? To Stardust, I mean.” Virgil asked, innocently enough.

“Now and again,” Cepheus replied truthfully, his hands began to move again as if he had been released from a bind, “when I have the time. If I can persuade my sister, or someone to come along.”

Maybe more often if I know you’re performing, now.

Gamp gave a bashful shrug at the fact he might attend alone. “That was you?” He asked, “you were Rapunzel?” Cepheus blinked several times, and finished his cigarette, stubbing it out on one of the crates, still wearing a surprised expression.

“You were ruddy good. I hadn’t remembered… realised,” the older wizard admitted. His mind’s eye was trying to take him back there to the night he’d gone, snickering at the occasional jokes in the stall, thumbing a programme as he gazed up at the lit stage enjoying an hour or two of complete escapism. Watching theatre, or if he ventured out with Muggles, cinema, was a good way to switch off and forget the world existed.

“How long did you keep the hair?” He asked, gesturing to his own as if the question required any illustration at all.

Virgil had suspected the older wizard did not recognise his onstage persona - the power of tumbling golden locks, thick make-up, a different cadence - but his attempt to slip it into conversation as a non-event failed catastrophically. He stared at Cepheus like the man had just yanked a duvet off the snug and safe cocoon of his morning bed nest. It was so much easier to shift attention to somebody else when you had to antagonise rather than befriend them!

          "That was you? You were Rapunzel?"

UUUUGGH what was Gamp thinking looking at him like that, what did he make of this information?? Nice? Bad? Slightly eccentric? Bright blue eyes narrowed slightly at that innocent face, unable to pick apart the surprise from any other indication of opinion. Virgil's cheeks burned. "It- it was, yes..." he mumbled.

Ah, but Cepheus thought he had performed well! Didn't help the blushing though it settled the prefect's nerves instantly. He swallowed a gulp of smoke and tried to look as if this didn't make him awfully happy (or awful and happy). It was futile, as Virgil constantly gave the impression of a smug or preening cat.

"Bit over two weeks," he answered smartly and sat a little straight to bring his lanky legs up onto the crate. "It was murder to take care of but the potion was acrid, tasted like how Minister Glass looks -" a rich drawl relaxed into his voice while he leaned forward conspiratorially, "- and I wouldn't drink it twice. Had to walk around London with the braid looped around my neck."

Virgil was smiling without meaning to, cigarette burning away between his long fingers and forgetting for a moment that he was addressing the most Ethereal person on this good earth. He touched his neck as he remembered how the hair had rested like a decadent noose against chalky skin.

"I, um, I star in something every summer." Virgil's chattiness eased off and he hoped to God he wasn't being an overeager brat, bragging about his petty talent. "We're going to do Peter Pan this year. You should come watch. If you want. If you have the time. I know you must be busy with..."

He nodded his head in the vague direction of the castle, flipping his hair gently as he did so. "Ministry work. More important things, that is."

“… like how Minister Glass looks…” Cepheus couldn’t stifle the laugh that came naturally to this description of their new government leader. Edwin Glass was nowhere near any of Ceph’s ‘types’ past being the right gender. The thought of a potion that tasted as bad as he looked tickled him.

“… you should come watch…"
“Mm!” Cepheus made noise in agreement, lips not parting as he saw the visual cues of Virgil continuing his sentence, and he did not want to interrupt the younger man.

“I’d love to.” Gamp asserted, giving an easy smile to Virgil, “and I do get time off, I’m not on duty all the time, even if it might seem it what with appearing here on weekends of late.” He shrugged, still smiling, having trouble removing his eyes from Virgil. It was something he’d have probably found his way to seeing one way or the other. Someone could normally be persuaded to go, or he’d have gone to escape from life for a balmy London evening.

“Will you be Pan?” Cepheus asked, his pleasant smile growing a little into mischief, corners of his eyes creasing. He lowered his voice, “or Wendy?”

No sooner as he said it, he chuckled, and batted a hand in the air between them to dismiss what was gentle teasing.

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t mean that in a negative way - just that you must be a versatile performer. Well, I’ve seen.” He gestured with both hands towards Virgil in a loose shrug and gave a sincere nod. “I’ve never tried, the arts were always something you went to see for entertainment and social reasons in our family, or pursued as a sideline for personal betterment. I play the piano pretty well, but never for a proper audience. Must be nerve-wracking to remember all the lines and gestures before hundreds, never mind hair. Respect to you.” Had Cepheus held a drink he might have toasted Carstairs, but instead he gave him a slightly awkward little nod of approval between the greenhouses.

He felt his insides twist at the sound of laughter, at knowing he had somehow been responsible for kindling it. Virgil watched the expression play across the older wizard's features like a pleasant breeze disturbing the water. Oh, God. He was truly and utterly cursed. This was a tremendous mistake. All he wanted was to hear it again.

But it was equally satisfying to acknowledge the happy intention to attend a Stardust performances. And this made it twice as difficult to stop oneself from looking like an overeager schoolboy.

Virgil only smiled before glancing away to idly examine the view of the greenhouses, unable to hold the attentive gaze in his direction. He tried to think about the peeking bright green of trees growing into verdancy as they crowded and framed clear structures. The greater, wooden limbs of the outdoors reaching out to touch leaner sticks or shoots beyond fogged up glass.

Certainly not thinking about how Ceph's eyes took on a youthful light in their mischief.  “Will you be Pan? or Wendy?”

Pale blonde eyebrows rose, colour creeping into Virgil's cheeks even at the dismissal of teasing. He felt a little thrilled at the lower tone of voice - and embarrassed in a way he wouldn't have been if somebody else had made the same remark.

"Peter. Bit of a graduation joke. The boy who never grew up," he cleared his throat and stubbed his cigarette out on the crate he had commandeered as a chair. "And um, thank you. You get used to it, being onstage." Virgil looked back at Cepheus and rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. "Even if it's still... exciting every time. It's expected in my family. I do a bit of everything; music, acting, make-up."

He took the compliment as a genuine one because acting, it turned out, was terrible when you could accidentally tune in to the thoughts of every single audience member at once.

Contrary to popular belief, people did not turn off their brains to absorb entertainment.

"What do you play on the piano? Classical?" the prefect reached for his camera, fondling it on his lap for lack of anything better to do with his hands. "If you play well you should always perform to an audience," Virgil added with a touch of his usual acuity, "Art is a selfish and self-indulgent thing until it is shared."

“We never grow up, not in our heads anyhow.” Cepheus shrugged, but nodded approvingly of Virgil’s expectations, content to let him continue on. Cepheus had forgotten about manning his post back in the Great Hall. If anything, this was taking him back to his late teens as a student. How different it probably was now for Virgil and Ariadne in comparison to when he, Orion and even Andie were here. Studies in peacetime. Not that he thought to belittle it, just that it must provide different challenges and considerations.

“… selfish and self-indulgent thing…”
“Is it?” Cepheus asked, not in challenge, but mild surprise. “I always feel it’s selfish to subject someone to it for your own pleasure, especially if it’s poorly executed.” He shrugged, “But maybe that’s my lack of self-confidence. And yes, classical, baroque when I was learning notation, technique.” As he spoke, Cepheus gestured with both hands, fingers splayed as he thought about playing. “These days I indulge in letting my mind and ears wander. I’d like to improvise, but I’ve not the individual flair. Maybe if I devoted study to it… but too easily distracted by the challenges of professional life.”

Ceph’s gaze had drifted away from Virgil, momentarily lost in his thoughts of what if. “Last I played for anyone was accompany carols with my fa… so when’s it on, sorry?” His posture changed, tension returning, remembering where he was, who he was talking to. He switched the subject back abruptly, and both hands slid into his pockets, seeking something to fiddle with in distraction as his eyes returned to Virgil, hoping to keep them both on pleasant topics.

          “Is it? I always feel it’s selfish to subject someone to it for your own pleasure, especially if it’s poorly executed.”

It seemed quite impossible, at least to Virgil, that the other wizard was liable of poor execution. He could dash those sweet fingers aimlessly across ivory and it would still be something singular to watch. Art didn't have to be good, it had only to provoke genuine emotion.

Virgil sniffed and turned his nose up at this response, only half-serious, "If you play well I said-" he repeated himself before adding in a more begrudging tone: "- but regardless, it isn't at all selfish if someone requests it at least."

And the Slytherin would undoubtedly demand it, if he could, of Cepheus. Now he only watched as kind, dreamy eyes wandered elsewhere - glazing over the reality of the verdant greenhouses of spring and falling inwards. Virgil found that it was difficult to avoid picking up on thoughts, with only the two of them here. Too easy to eavesdrop, freed from distraction.

It felt similar to hearing the Wireless go off from somewhere nearby. He sensed the playful warmth of possibility; a daydream quality. Metaphorical ships sailed or to be sailed.

          “Last I played for anyone was accompany carols with my fa… so when’s it on, sorry?”

If Virgil's gazed dropped, a lead weight, it was only because he was painfully aware of Cepheus' pulling his thoughts back from pleasant tides. Of course. Of course he'd think of the younger man as little more than a victim of his father's intellectual avarice. Living, breathing evidence of a crime that would blot a good family tree.

"Oh, um, sometime in July." Virgil slammed shut the door between his own mind and Gamp's, gaze flickering up momentarily to politely note this tactful turn in conversation; he feared what else he might read. "We do advertise it in the Prophet, so you'll know."

What had he even been expecting? God. He was another case for Cepheus to pity, alongside a long list of badly treated Beings. Virgil struggled to keep the thought down and to find something else to do, quickly, before he could fully acknowledge a prickle of shame crawling up his spine.

His fingers closed on the camera. "Care to pose for a photograph?" he lifted it with a weak smile, shrugging. "I was going to take one at your booth anyway."

Cepheus nodded a little too earnestly in response to Peter Pan being advertised visibly in the Prophet. He should have perhaps come out here and smoked and gone back without drawing into conversation. But it was oddly hard not to talk to Virgil Carstairs. Strange. He was thinking to make his excuses and scurry away when the younger wizard asked if he might take a photograph.

“Were you?” Cepheus asked, for some reason making it sound like it wasn’t obvious Virgil was on some sort of official photography duties again. “Oh yes, you said, of course.” He slipped his hands from his pockets and hastily ran one self-consciously through his black hair, and tugged at his grey tweed blazer to straighten it and adjusted his official metal name badge on his lapel. For some reason he suspected this wouldn’t go into the yearbook - but the thought passed by quickly. He was fond of having his photo taken in honesty, not that he’d like to admit it.

“How’s the background,” he looked over his shoulder and considered it and up at the light of the April day. “It’ll do I’m sure. Bit of greenery.” Cepheus turned back to Virgil with a gentle smile, not wanting to look forced, trying to recall the surprise of Virgil being Rapunzel instead.

He paused still and calm long enough for the Slytherin to focus and snap, smiling pleasantly throughout, relaxing.
“What about you? Does the photographer get to feature in his own yearbook?” Cepheus asked, head tilted slightly as he looked at Virgil behind the camera. “I promise I won’t cut your head off.”

Virgil allowed his heavy gaze to follow his subject's movements, jealous of the hand that so effortlessly groomed a mane of black. It was truly beautiful - the manner of hair that begged to be adorned by garlands of summer or spring. He lifted his camera to his eye so that Cepheus would not detect this look of longing.

"Lovely," his response to the greenery was quite aside from the beauty of foliage. A finger pushed down with determination, and there was a flicker of movement behind the lens...

Click - click - click --

The shutters halted as soon as Virgil released the switch. He swallowed, savouring that last private moment of observation before lowering the camera. Cepheus' question caught him off guard, however, and he stared with rather obvious bemusement. What was that now? His photo? Come to think of it... there would be one, an official one perhaps. But that wasn't the implication at present.

            "I promise I won’t cut your head off."

He licked his lips, mouth feeling unaccountably dry, and laughed nervously as he slipped off the crate. "I don't know about that. It might have some artistic value." Virgil approached the older wizard to carefully hand him the camera.

It was horrible. He almost hated himself for wanting to be closer to Cepheus, for holding his breath when he leaned in to point out the little switch that would trigger the mechanism. The mortification from earlier still had its hold on him. Virgil didn't know if he ought to feel pathetic or flattered. Both. Both seemed apt.

"Keep it down for three to five beats," he explained in a quiet fashion. "The photo will catch anything that happens in those beats, of course. I'll just... um, just stand... here?"

A glance behind him at the greenhouses, their fogged up walls: wild plants pressed obscenely against the glass. The student looked back towards Cepheus with a forced sense of his usual listlessness. Not quite smiling, not quite frowning.