Palma de Animus // Intermission
Hey guys! I haven't updated in a while, I know. This is just a short note to let everyone know that I haven't abandoned the story, and that I will update after my finals. Just in case anybody had any questions about it, taking art courses sucks beyond belief when it hits finals time. The next date will be up before Valentine's Day -- I can promise that much. :)
And to comply with FFN's rule for not using chapters as place-holders and author's notes, here's a quick rough excerpt of things to come:
----
Alastor ignored the petite blonde girl in front of him. Years of auror training and experience had taught him patience; he could be patient and ignore Buffy's blatant stare.
They were in a large room that could only be accessed through Dumbledore's office -- Buffy had called it "Central Control" when she had been introduced to the room. He, Buffy, Dumbledore, Tonks, Shacklebolt, and Mundungus were sitting around a table, and were currently discussing Lucius Malfoy's escape from his incarceration.
"I keep telling you, the apparation wards were flawless! I put them up myself!" Tonks proclaimed, indignant.
Alastor ignored the argument beside him, just as he seemed to ignore Buffy, who seemed to be attempting to catch his eye. He merely continued looking at the schematics of the prison he and the other members of the Order of the Phoenix had built. There had been only one viable exit in the entire structure, and as Tonks said, there had been apparation wards. Ventilation was done through magic, there were no windo -- Alastor growled when a scrunched up ball of parchment landed in front of him, rather discreetly, but breaking his concentration, nonetheless.
Finally, he allowed himself to look up at the annoyed face of the Slayer. She knew he was avoiding her -- in fact, he had been doing it ever since he first met her, breaking his rule only when they were required to work together. Oh, no, it wasn't that he didn't like her, or that he found her annoying -- well, he did find her annoying, but that wasn't the point -- it was because he just couldn't answer her question.
Knowing what was to come, Alastor unfolded the piece of paper without hesitation. Just as he had suspected, written in bold, girly script was the question, "Can I have one?"
When she first inquired after it, she had asked 'Where did you get it?' When he told her that she couldn't just purchase it, she had taken to pestering him every time he saw her -- and sometimes even when he didn't see her, by sending him owls (a method of communication that he was greatly vexed at Dumbledore for teaching her). The girl just didn't seem to understand that magical eyeballs weren't dispensible by the knut!
Alastor glanced up again at Buffy, who was looking rather eager this time, and, looking her in the eye, ripped the note into two pieces. Quick as a thestral, she'd narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw. Perhaps if he were a couple decades younger he would've been afraid of her icy glare, but he wasn't. With a soundless grunt, he readjusted his bowler cap over his eyes and returned to studying the prison schematics.
January 11, 2004.
Hey guys! I haven't updated in a while, I know. This is just a short note to let everyone know that I haven't abandoned the story, and that I will update after my finals. Just in case anybody had any questions about it, taking art courses sucks beyond belief when it hits finals time. The next date will be up before Valentine's Day -- I can promise that much. :)
And to comply with FFN's rule for not using chapters as place-holders and author's notes, here's a quick rough excerpt of things to come:
----
Alastor ignored the petite blonde girl in front of him. Years of auror training and experience had taught him patience; he could be patient and ignore Buffy's blatant stare.
They were in a large room that could only be accessed through Dumbledore's office -- Buffy had called it "Central Control" when she had been introduced to the room. He, Buffy, Dumbledore, Tonks, Shacklebolt, and Mundungus were sitting around a table, and were currently discussing Lucius Malfoy's escape from his incarceration.
"I keep telling you, the apparation wards were flawless! I put them up myself!" Tonks proclaimed, indignant.
Alastor ignored the argument beside him, just as he seemed to ignore Buffy, who seemed to be attempting to catch his eye. He merely continued looking at the schematics of the prison he and the other members of the Order of the Phoenix had built. There had been only one viable exit in the entire structure, and as Tonks said, there had been apparation wards. Ventilation was done through magic, there were no windo -- Alastor growled when a scrunched up ball of parchment landed in front of him, rather discreetly, but breaking his concentration, nonetheless.
Finally, he allowed himself to look up at the annoyed face of the Slayer. She knew he was avoiding her -- in fact, he had been doing it ever since he first met her, breaking his rule only when they were required to work together. Oh, no, it wasn't that he didn't like her, or that he found her annoying -- well, he did find her annoying, but that wasn't the point -- it was because he just couldn't answer her question.
Knowing what was to come, Alastor unfolded the piece of paper without hesitation. Just as he had suspected, written in bold, girly script was the question, "Can I have one?"
When she first inquired after it, she had asked 'Where did you get it?' When he told her that she couldn't just purchase it, she had taken to pestering him every time he saw her -- and sometimes even when he didn't see her, by sending him owls (a method of communication that he was greatly vexed at Dumbledore for teaching her). The girl just didn't seem to understand that magical eyeballs weren't dispensible by the knut!
Alastor glanced up again at Buffy, who was looking rather eager this time, and, looking her in the eye, ripped the note into two pieces. Quick as a thestral, she'd narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw. Perhaps if he were a couple decades younger he would've been afraid of her icy glare, but he wasn't. With a soundless grunt, he readjusted his bowler cap over his eyes and returned to studying the prison schematics.
January 11, 2004.
