your highness your ways are very strange

[xenophilius]

Who: Xenophilius Lovegood and You
What: A day in the life.
Where: Variously; the Valhalla Inn, the streets of Mog Hill, the Queequeg's coffee house, and a bonus time/place of your choosing.
When: Vaguely within the last week of Velldaren. Whatev'.
Notes: A basic day in the life style post, and open to everyone ever.
Warnings: Xeno.

See my thread starts for tag openings!

Comments

a morning // valhalla inn

[xenophilius]

It's a bit of a wet morning for it, with rain having come down in a fine mist when Xenophilius had first gotten to work, but has since dried up. It's left the earth moist and cool, the leaves of the vegetable and herb plans clung to by beading moisture, and saturates the air with the smell of the garden. The wizard kneeling amongst the plants has dirt on his palms and beneath his nails, streaking the knees of his trousers, but he also couldn't be more content. The gardening implement in his hand rakes the ground so that he can dump wayward weeds into the pile he's made at his side, and white-blonde hair clings to his brow more from recent rain fall than perspiration -- he works like it's leisure.

The humming can be heard at garden's edge, and it's obvious he is in his own little world.

an afternoon // queequeg's

[xenophilius]

This is Xenophilius' kind of place.

He sits inside with his second cup of coffee drunk from, a few tattered books and magazines at his elbow for perusal, and what seems to be a few sheaths of blank parchment, an ink well and a quill in his hand. Happy to be out of the way and otherwise content, his intention is to write. Currently, however, he is looking at the ceiling-tall aquarium with either intent interest in the starfish and other creatures inside, or his mind has gone off on some other tangent entirely, and that's just where his eyesight landed.

Ink drops from quill tip, ruining his page, and gaining his attention. It's dabbed up with the sleeve of his jacket.

a noon // streets of mog hill

[xenophilius]

A wind slams sharp down the street, catching Xenophilius off-guard.

Loose leaf publications come flooding from his hands, whispering down the sidewalk, drawing a wince from the wizard as he starts off after them, crushing what he'd managed to hold onto beneath an arm. A few are snatched up off the damp concrete, moving as if to leap frog from page to page, before he remembers he is, you know. Magical. Struggling his wand from the pockets of his coat, he flicks it impatiently in the direction of scattered news pages. "Accio journalism!" It mostly half-succeeds -- some of them stop and drift on back in fragmented fluttering, while others languish where they've landed.

"At least that cuts the wheat from the chaff," he mutters, as he goes about collecting up the strewn pages.

??? // ???

[xenophilius]

[ OOC: Surprise me, if nothing suits! I can make most things work. ]