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Post by Iris Elliot on Jul 22, 2011 14:00:41 GMT -5
It was sufficient to say that he was reluctant or confused. Iris could tell that much. She really couldn't get a good read on him, which was unusual for her. She could usually read someone pretty well. Although she felt he was a good person. there was obviously something about himself that he thought Iris would hate.
"Hate is a strong word Dylan." Iris said, watching him stare at his plate. "I don't think I'd have it in me to ever hate you." She shrugged slightly, no longer as happy as she had been. If this conversation continued, she had a feeling that someone's feelings would indeed get hurt despite how they both thought it would go.
Iris stood and collected their now empty plates. She could have easily used magic to do it, but she needed a minute to perk up. "I'll just take these and bring out more tea."
In the back, she took a deep breath. No need to be nervous or upset. They didn't really know each other and there was no need to take any words that were spoken so soon to heart. Making tea, which should have been a two to three minute process, took her about ten minutes. At this point, she was fine, but she was giving Dylan a little time to either gather himself or run.
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Post by Dylan Woods on Jul 22, 2011 14:34:04 GMT -5
It was enough. Maybe it wasn't exactly a promise, but he hadn't expected that. For now, it was enough for him to hear that she couldn't hate him, even though she'd probably change her mind later.
He didn't say anything as she got up and went into the kitchen to make more tea. When she was gone, he sat there, debating with himself about whether he should leave. No, actually, he knew the answer to that. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to leave. The debate was simply that he didn't want to. He stayed rooted to the chair, picking at the remains of his biscuit.
He didn't understand why he didn't want to leave. Hadn't he always managed to avoid close connections before? But something was nagging at him; something unfamiliar. The truth was, although he had always told himself he was fine--even happy--being alone, the truth was, he was actually rather lonely.
And in that moment, Dylan made a decision. Maybe it would have been better to be honest with her from the start, so that he wouldn't have time to care about her, but he knew he couldn't do it. He couldn't tell her what he was, and he would do whatever he could to keep it from her for as long as possible.
Even as he made the decision, he knew it was the wrong one.
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Post by Iris Elliot on Jul 22, 2011 15:26:20 GMT -5
Iris took one last huge breath before she grabbed the tray of tea and made her way back out to Dylan. She was surprised to find him still sitting there, picking at a biscuit waiting for her. It surprised her even more to find that she had actually been expecting him to be gone when she got back.
She gave a bright smile. "I don't actually think we'll drink this much tea, but just in case, I brought some more." She set the tray down and took her seat across from him. "And don't think I forgot. I brought you more honey."
As she sat there, she didn't move to make more tea for herself. It was just an excuse to go to the back, but she was relieved to see him still here. So, some part of him did want to stick around. She really didn't know where to go from here with him. He seemed to be sad now and she didn't quite understand why. She thought that they were hitting it off and she didn't see any reason to be so quiet. After all, he did stay.
"So, Dylan, tell me something." Iris said, idly playing with her stirring spoon. "Anything. Something random." It was the only thing that she could think of to get his mind off of whatever happened a minute ago. And she was just naturally curious about him and who he was.
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Post by Dylan Woods on Jul 22, 2011 16:13:09 GMT -5
He looked up at her as she came back into the room, and he could see her surprise. Obviously she had expected him to leave, and he wondered for a moment whether she actually wanted him to. But that bright smile put that thought--and pretty much all other thoughts--out of his mind.
There's nothing wrong with having friends, he told himself. Why shouldn't he have a friend? Why couldn't he just enjoy this for now and not worry about everything?
He carefully poured himself another cup of tea, just so he would have something else to do with his hands and so he wouldn't have to look at her if he got too uncomfortable. He was stirring the honey into his tea when she spoke again, and the question made him look up at her in confusion.
Tell her anything? What did she want him to say? Irrationally, his very first thought was to tell her that she was pretty. But surely she was trying to get him to talk about himself, not about her. So he blurted out the next thing that came into his mind, seizing on something that he knew they both had in common: books.
"My favorite author is Charles Dickens," he said, meeting her eyes for a split second, then dropping them down again to his tea.
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Post by Iris Elliot on Jul 23, 2011 3:04:24 GMT -5
(So I know you mentioned in an earlier post that Iris was like Jane Austen and etc and you just made the site Prudence, but Jane is really my favorite author ) Iris choked a little on the tea she had decided to finally pour for herself. She wiped her mouth and laughed a little. "Your favorite author is Charles Dickens? That's amazing." She smiled and put a finger to her lips, a sign that she was thinking deeply. She stood from her seat and walked over to the front desk. She went behind and took a book from her shelves. "This is a copy of his book Great Expectations. Leather bound of course. A customer ordered it. But that was almost five months ago. You may have it." Iris slid the book across the table towards him. "I also have his book The Old Curiosity Shop in the back. It's not leather bound, but you can have it also. Charles Dickens isn't my favorite. Jane Austen is." She smiled with a shrug. "What else do you like?"
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Post by Dylan Woods on Jul 23, 2011 9:16:10 GMT -5
Dylan smiled a little sheepishly. Admittedly, for someone who looked like him, Charles Dickens might have seemed like an odd choice for a favorite author. But maybe that was why he liked him. The characters in Dickens' novels were often outcasts, people on the fringes of society. Dylan could relate to that.
"Not what you expected?" he asked, but she suddenly got up from the table and walked over to the desk. He followed her with his eyes, frowning in confusion. But when she came back with a beautiful leather-bound book, he was stunned into silence.
Most of his books were old, beaten-up paperbacks. Some were missing pages, or they didn't have covers. He certainly didn't have anything as nice as this. The cover was a thick, but supple leather, and the edges of the pages were tipped with gold. "Thank you," he said reverently, turning the book over in his hands. It's beautiful."
Setting the book down gently beside him, he raised his eyes to her once again. Somehow it didn't surprise him that Jane Austen was her favorite author. He had guessed it from the beginning. "I've read her books, too," he confessed with a smile. "I particularly liked Persuasion."
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Post by Iris Elliot on Jul 23, 2011 11:16:27 GMT -5
"Very impressive. You know Charles Dickens and Jane Austen." She smiled brightly, pleased to have someone that was familiar with great literature. Muggle authors nonetheless! "You're a man after my own heart." Well that couldn't have come out more awkward. But Iris, withholding the urge to grimace and dismiss herself to the back again, played it off well deciding that laughing about it was the best thing. No need for him to be uncomfortable again.
"You know, I have a whole pile of books in the back that people have either left here or that I have too many of. You're welcome to take your pick among those." Iris offered, hoping that the offer of more books would distract her from her horrible joke.
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Post by Dylan Woods on Jul 23, 2011 23:25:40 GMT -5
Dylan blushed a little, but the way she turned her comment into a joke helped keep him from getting too nervous. Besides, they were talking about books now, and that was a subject that always put him at ease--not that he often had a chance to discuss them with anyone. Dylan wasn't even sure Elijah could read.
"R-really?" he said, shocked that she would just offer them to him when he hadn't even done any work yet. She was so generous, so caring, and he almost felt like he should turn her down. But he didn't want to hurt her feelings... and free books were just too tempting for him to turn down.
"I'd like that," he said, smiling shyly. "What other authors do you like?"
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Post by Iris Elliot on Jul 24, 2011 20:51:18 GMT -5
"Good. I know I can trust you to take good care of them, but I just don't have room for them here or at my apartment." Iris smiled broadly, but when he asked her what she liked, she felt a blush creep into her cheeks and she was suddenly very shy. He was actually interested in knowing things about her?
"Well, Jane Austen of course. Emily Bronte, Robert Louis Stevenson, Lewis Carroll, Wilkie Collins. I'm a big fan of writers from the 1800's.' Iris smiled sheepishly. "I guess I was born in the wrong century." She laughed lightly and shrugged.
"What else do you do in your free time?" She asked, stirring her tea absentmindedly, watching him with bright curious eyes, genuinely interested in what he would tell her.
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Post by Dylan Woods on Jul 24, 2011 22:26:23 GMT -5
He hoped she wouldn't notice, but he decided to avoid her question for now. He wasn't sure how to answer it, anyway... Pretty much all he had was "spare time." It was just easier to talk about books. He was comfortable there; it was something that he knew. Books were a way to escape into a different world, to experience things he might never have a chance to know about. In his mind, he'd been to Paris and Rome and Ancient Greece, all thanks to books. When he read, he wasn't a lonely, isolated werewolf living in a crudely-built cottage in the woods. He was transported to other places and times; he had friends. Maybe it was sad, but Dylan didn't think of it that way.
"I like books from that time period, too," he replied. "I really liked The Woman in White... Marian is such a strong character. And I used to imagine myself as Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights...."
He smiled somewhat sheepishly, hoping she didn't think he sounded stupid. It didn't even occur to him that he had never cared about that before with anyone else.
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Post by Iris Elliot on Jul 25, 2011 0:13:19 GMT -5
Iris didn't think it sounded stupid at all. What good were books if they didn't make you feel like you were in another world? They should transport you to another time and place, make you feel worldly when you haven't ever left your flat.
"I'm a particular fan of romance novels, although I like all types. But I love to pretend like I'm the heroin and the hero is trying to win my heart." She smiled sheepishly and blushed. She had to laugh a little at herself. Saying it out loud sounded so odd to her. "You must think that's really silly of me."
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Post by Dylan Woods on Jul 25, 2011 22:26:42 GMT -5
For as long as Dylan could remember, he had loved books. He never had to teach himself to read, so he must have already learned it with his human family, whoever they were. In those terrible first years after he'd been turned, when he had been living in caves, he'd still somehow managed to get his hands on some books to entertain him on the cold winter nights. He would read about Treasure Island or Robinson Crusoe, so that he could pretend he was somewhere warm.
He'd never been able to share his love of books with anyone, but now, at last, here was someone who understood. Dylan thought he probably would have liked her even if she didn't understand his love of books, but the fact that she did made him like her all the more. It was a dangerous feeling, but he couldn't help but be drawn in by her.
"I don't think it sounds stupid at all," he said. "I'm the same way."
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Post by Iris Elliot on Jul 25, 2011 23:00:48 GMT -5
Iris didn't think she had smiled so much in her life and that was saying something because Iris was usually always happy. And yet, there she was smiling at him again. She was drawn to him and she didn't know why. She thought maybe it was the way he looked a little wild and yet, he was so educated and gentle. He spoke softly and he had manners. She knew that no one should judge Dylan by his cover.
"You pretended to be the heroin in the stories too?" She giggled slightly and shook her head. "I'm just kidding with you. I know what you mean." She had finished her cup of tea by now and she knew if she drank anymore then she would explode from all the liquid she had consumed. So she settled for looking at the antique clock that hung on the wall above and smiled again.
"It seems we've been talking for quite some time. No need to reopen now. Would you like to go ahead and take a look at those books in the back?"
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Post by Dylan Woods on Jul 26, 2011 15:59:53 GMT -5
Dylan laughed at her joke, which was an unusual thing for him. It wasnt that he didn't laugh; he often found humor in the books he read. But he rarely laughed out loud, and the sound was unfamiliar even to him. "No, I don't think I'm quite the heroine type," he replied with a smile.
It was odd how carefree and open he felt. Usually, he was worried about something--a hole in the roof, the state of his crops, or the ever-present fear of discovery. But with Iris, he felt so comfortable and relaxed, and he found himself showing a side of himself that even he hadn't known was there.
He glanced down at his second cup of tea, which he'd barely touched and was now cold. He supposed it didn't matter; he'd just enjoyed talking to her. He had assumed that she'd want him to get to work once they were done eating, but instead she offered to take him in the back to look at more books. He couldn't help the smile that appeared on his face.
"Yes, if you're sure you don't want to open the store..."
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Post by Iris Elliot on Jul 26, 2011 22:13:55 GMT -5
Iris laughed with him. He had such a infectious laugh and his smile was amazing. She wondered why he didn't smile more often. It was definitely infectious. So with a wave of her wand, the dishes collected themselves and floated off to the back and she stood.
"Just follow me. They're this way." She walked towards the back where the office was. She was afraid that he might find it messy and cluttered, but to her, this was what she was used to. Her mother left it like this and she didn't have the heart to change anything about it.
Every piece of furniture was antique and made from the same dark wood. The brightness of the room came from the two windows that were on the opposite wall from the doorway and parallel to the desk that was to the left of the doorway was a huge built in bookcase with glass doors and antique finishes. Chairs and small end tables sat in front of both windows and paintings and mirrors hung all over the wall so that the light pink vintage wallpaper was almost completely covered. And piled in front of the desk was a huge pile of books almost as tall as the desk itself.
Iris stepped into the room and turned towards him to gauge his reaction. "I'm sorry it's cluttered. My mother left it this way." She shrugged lightly and walked over to the books. "Ta-da. And these are the books that you can take your pick among. Please, as many as you want. I have no where for them." She smiled and motioned for him to come over.
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Post by Dylan Woods on Jul 27, 2011 17:35:08 GMT -5
Dylan really didn't mind the mess. His cabin was usually neat, but that was only because he didn't really have a lot of possessions. He had built bookshelves for his collection, and whenever he needed another, he built another. He would sooner start to overflow yet another bookshelf, especially if he brought a lot home from here today.
However, there was another problem that worried Dylan. He would have been perfectly happy to take most of these books from her, as long as he didn't already have copies of them. But he didn't know how to do magic, and he couldn't very well carry 20 books into the forest without it. And if she found out that he couldn't do magic, she was going to wonder what he was doing here in Hogsmeade.
He decided to be sparing, maybe only taking two or three more books today.
Moving into the room, Dylan came to stand next to her, rather than going directly to the books. "You... you were close to your mother?" he asked, a wistful note in his voice. Dylan wished he remembered his mother. All he remembered of her was the song she used to sing to him.
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Post by Iris Elliot on Jul 27, 2011 23:54:18 GMT -5
Iris noticed that he only picked up two or three books. She frowned while he looked through them and he couldn't see her face. Was he not pleased with the selection?
"I'm sure I'll have more books next time. So if you don't like those now, maybe next time you can take more." She had purposely implied that he would be coming back and she was hoping that he would agree to it. She found herself upset at the thought that they wouldn't share more days like this.
Iris smiled when he asked about her mother. She picked up a picture and handed it to him. It was of her brother and her mother at the zoo just a couple of weeks before the Hogsmeade attack. Her brother had visited from America for vacation. Her brother and mother were laughing with their arms slung over each others shoulders.
"I was....very close with my mum. She owned the bookstore before I did actually." Iris, to avoid looking him in the eyes because she thought she might get a little emotional, picked up and book and studied the cover.
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Post by Dylan Woods on Jul 28, 2011 23:23:43 GMT -5
Dylan was quick to reassure her. "No, no... these are good. There are a few I already have, but the rest are good.... I just didn't want to take too many at once. I mean... I don't want to be greedy..."
He blushed, feeling a bit stupid. He really would take most of them if he could, but he couldn't really very well carry that many books into the forest. If only he could do magic...
But then she started talking about her mother, and he could hear the sadness in her voice. It made him ache inside, and he almost reached out to touch her arm, just stopping himself at the last moment. "I'm sorry," he said. "It must have been hard.... She looks like a nice lady. At least you have your picture and your memories. That way she's always with you. I... I don't even have that much."
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Post by Iris Elliot on Jul 30, 2011 0:24:26 GMT -5
Iris watched him hesitate. She wondered why he was so guarded around her, like touching her or showing her physical support would break her. She found herself wishing he would close the distance, but she knew better than to push physical things when they had just barely reached their new level of friendship.
Iris was so consumed in think about how nice it would be for him to hug her and make her feel better that she almost didn't catch him speaking to her. "Dylan, what happened to your parents?" Thinking about Dylan without a family or no pictures of them at least made her want to cry for him. How did he survive without the comfort of knowing someone loved you no matter what?
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Post by Dylan Woods on Jul 30, 2011 10:10:41 GMT -5
Dylan couldn't remember not being a werewolf. Sometimes, the attack and initial transformation was so traumatic and terrifying that it wiped out all memories of the time before. Dylan didn't remember much of anything before waking up in the forest, naked and bleeding from a leg wound. He had no idea who turned him, how he got there, and where he had come from. He remembered his name was Dylan, and he thought he was around 13 years old when he was bitten, but that was about all he remembered.
Sometimes he'd get a flash of something familiar; a phrase or a feeling. There was a song he remembered, and was pretty sure his mother used to sing to him. He felt fairly certain that, once, a very long time ago, he had been happy and loved. But beyond that, he had no idea. He didn't know if he came from a big family or a small one, if he had brothers or sisters or anything else. For all he knew, his mother and family were still out there, missing him and wondering what happened to him.
He never should have mentioned it to Iris, because he knew she would ask. And he had no answers for her; none, at least, that he was ready to tell her.
"I don't know," he said sadly. "Please... don't ask me about it."
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