Nemo's smile cracked wide with such a sheepishly involuntary delight that she even tried to stifle it. She felt her cheeks go pink. Virgil did that thing that boys did so well, asking questions with such interest that it could be disarming. And Abby, well, Abby could make anyone feel special with her spontaneous yarn-spinning. Any detail was gold in her fingers.

"No! Marching band," Nemo said wiping her warm face with her cool hands. "Walk around a football field dressed like nutcrackers playing show tunes. And Dead Poet's Society is a movie about fae boarding school boys reading poetry in a cave."

In the pause, Nemo ventured a counter, her friends' ignorance at her home-references inspiring curiosity.

"Do you two like movies?" She realized it was entirely possible she'd never heard either one of them reference one. The exchange of movie references and quotations was like currency back where she'd been - entire conversations could be carried on without a single original word. Here, almost none of that, none that she could remember with all these magical children.

Virgil wondered if he preferred the reality of a Dead Poet's Society or Abby's fantastical explanation. Poetry had always been very private for him, not even shared with his once-intimate housemates. It was the kind of magic that happened inside.

             "Do you two like movies?"

He picked up one of the cushions, hugging it to his chest as he spoke. "I suppose. I watch them sometimes. Edgar used to take us, especially if we were adapting a muggle story. They're nice.... just, well, rather.... you know, you can't really be a part of a movie the way you are a part of a play?"

And the feats they could achieve with magic onstage were so much more fun than those effects onscreen. The gillyweed made him feel philosophical and sleepy, thoughtful mouth opening into a catlike yawn.

"But I like how cosy they are. You just sit back and," he gestured vaguely with a laugh "Fall into the screen. With popcorn or Maltesers."