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→ I'll bury my soul in a scrapbook.

Who: Irene Adler & Sebastian LeMat.
What: Insomniac chatter.
Where: A late night diner in Flyside.
When: In the wee hours of Shundi.
Notes: We are transplanting from a meme BECAUSE WE CAN.
Warnings: None as of yet.

I believe you," Irene says, admiring the picture once more and then looking at Sebastian with a slightly strange smile, her eyes thoughtful. Her expression is almost smug- got you- but it's also rather sweet. She likes a love story- not that Sebastian's exactly got hearts in his eyes, but there's more than one type of love, isn't there? And the way he says her name has something bright and lovely in it, no matter if it's romantic or not. "Lucky girl."

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Her eyes widen slightly when she feels the snake brush against her palms, but then she opens her hands slightly to look--

"Oh," she breathes, eyes glinting. "It's gorgeous." She's a bit of a magpie; give her something glittery, something bright, and she's sold. She keeps her hands cupped, but raises her eyes to his face with a smile. "Alright, fine, bait taken; you're- a magician, a wizard? Forgive me any mistakes, my home world doesn't have magic."

"I was a wizard, but I cut out and sold my ability." It's far easier to talk about his history with those that have no frame of reference for his actions. "I recently bought it back. Sort of."

Cocking his head to one side, he takes in Irene's expression before waving down a waiter and asking if he can buy an empty water glass. Once that's been negotiated, he'll keep up the conversation while writing something around the edge of the glass in grease pencil. "If you like it, I think I can stabilize it. If not, I can promise that it won't explode or anything too messy."

Irene doesn't really pass comment on the question of him cutting out and selling something like this; the idea of doing business (as he makes it sound) with that kind of ruthlessness sits just fine with her.

"Well, I can hardly ask for more than that," she notes, slightly dryly but with a smile which negates the effect somewhat.

"That's very good of you." Amused, Sebastian licks the pad of his thumb and runs it along the rim of the glass testing for something before he seems satisfied.

"Now, I want you to very carefully, as if you were moving a butterfly, put the little fellow in this glass. It should hold him." Should. Probably. In theory.

"Oh, he's a he now, is he?" she asks, apparently ignoring the fact that they're doing something which could result in explosions (because when else do you promise someone no explosions?) She moves her hands very, very carefully, slipping the snake slowly into the glass...

"Or a she. I haven't asked."

The snake hisses a bit before sliding into the glass, doing a few laps around the edges, and settling down. It still emits a bright, blue light. "I think he'll dim during the day, but I can't swear to it."

"I can't tell if you're being flippant or not about asking." Irene leans down slightly to smile at the snake, the blue light illuminating her face sharply. "Hello, darling. Will he need looking after?"

"Shouldn't need much, but a name'll help him stabilize," he says before taking a careful drink of his coffee. It's a point of pride that his hands aren't shaking. "Although, usually the more attention you pay him, the more 'real' he'll become. Magical artifacts tend to grow personalities with age."

"Not quite up to nicking a hamlet, yet." What should be a simple charm leaves him a big wobbly, as if he's a newborn foal. It ought to be embarrassing, but he can't feel much beyond being so very pleased that it worked.

"I can lavish attention with the best of them," she assures him, stroking a finger over the glass and glancing up to smile at him almost wickedly. "I'd call him Hamlet, but I'd hate him to start moping."

"Best avoid the tragedies all together. Could be a Beatrice, if you think a star danced at her birth." His knowledge of Shakespeare is limited, but Sebastian has put some effort into knowing the basics of who's who and from which play. "I'm really rubbish with most of his work that wasn't made into a movie."

"I studied drama; I've had his work drilled into me, for better or for worse," she says with amusement; it's not the work itself she's really referring to, but adaptations. In her experience, being a drama student and keeping company with the same leads to seeing some- interesting versions of Shakespeare's plays, to say the least. "I do love Beatrice. She speaks poniards and every word stabs- mm, I think it suits her."

"Then she's named and yours." Naming a magical construct affects it, but in what way remains to be seen.

"I've never seen Shakespeare live, but I suppose there's bound to be a company somewhere in the city. If I'm taken up by the desire to change that."

"I'll take you," she announces, ignoring that if in favour of charging ahead and not really implying that he has any choice in the matter. She's feeling fond of him, and what she does when she feels fond of people is drag them about according to her whims.

Anyway, she's got to hear more about the village.

"Baedal's theatre scene is, ah...indescribable." Take from that (and her barely suppressed smile) what you will.

"I can only imagine." It's true. He's paid a little attention to the handbills put up around town, but it's not really been anything that he's focused on.

"I suppose it's a bit silly to say this, but I think seeing something live would be a novelty."

"Good. I like seeing people do new things." She's finished her coffee now, flicking a piece of hair behind her ear (her updo not as pristine as usual) and presenting him with a smile half way between challenging and (God help him) perky. "You're going to like it."

"I know I will, but you'll have to tell me what I ought to wear." He could trust his judgement or ask Malfoy, but might as well be honest with Irene and admit his ignorance.

"The particulars depend on where we go," she points out, though with Irene, chances are the dress code is always 'up to the nines'. She says as much, adding airly, "But I'll be dressed up, and you'll be on my arm, so something suitably sharp, unless you want to be branded as my bit of rough."

"I've never looked rough for the sake of it and I think going to the play will be novel enough," he says entertained by the thought of ever being a 'bit of rough'.

There's a carefulness to the way he presents himself that has been practiced and pulled on as a disguise for so long that it's almost natural. Even so, once he gets talking, there are flickers of who he was and still is. It's more than likely that Irene can surmise that at one point, Sebastian was very rough indeed.

Irene is good at seeing those layers of disguise and reality- though layers isn't precisely the word she'd use for them. They're more intricately linked than that; there is more overlap than people think, sometimes.

"Then I can trust you to come smartened up," she says expectantly, mock stern before she breaks into another smile.

Perhaps a more apt metaphor would be 'filters'; at heart, Harry is the same man, but he can been seen through various lenses and each alters the viewer's perspective.

"I think I can manage that." He seems pleased by this outcome and decides that it was worth the fit of insomnia.

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