marinade on that for a little while

"I can't believe you skipped work for— nope, no—"

Frank swatted Mary's hand clutched to the oversized hat she picked up during their last stop and pushed it down from where she had tried to drop it atop his head. His dark eyes slid up to the one she wore, definitely too big and slouched sideways. Stupid, he thought but grinned anyway.

Outside on the top level of the double-decker bus, it was hot, certainly hotter than he expected for that time of year, and an unusually sunny day. In his limited time living in London, he learned that those kinds of days were few and far between. Not that he minded. Pittsburgh wasn't renowned for its weather either. "When's the pub part of the tour, again?" Frank pulled the paper map from his front pocket that he'd folded up into a neat sequence of triangles. Next was the Tower of London.

"We doing this?" Frank adjusted into the tiny plastic chair, pointing to the spot on the map with his knees pressed uncomfortably against the row of seats in front of them. He could do with the stretch, but a beer sounded far more appealing than some kind of fucking museum.

@Mary Hunt

“Oh, shh. It’s one day.” This month, but he didn’t need to know her proclivity for owling in since switching departments (when she did owl in, the rest of the time she skived on Ministry time) and he ought to be grateful, she was spending her unauthorised day off helping him to assimilate. “They’ll barely notice I’m gone.” In truth, her colleagues would probably appreciate the peace and quiet. Mary scowled dramatically at his refusal to wear the obnoxious Union Jack hat. “I paid good money for this -- tourist prices, you know, not cheap.”

She sat back in her half of the seat (or what was left of the bench, which was less than half because Frank was built like an outhouse) and lifted her nose snootily, crumpling the hat in her lap and looking out at the sights. “After the Tower, if you behave.” She had to admit she was rather keen on a gin and tonic herself, but the whole point was to reward yourself with a drink after you’d done a bit of sightseeing, and she had to teach Frank that too. Americans.

Mary glanced down out of the corner of her eye at where he was pointing to on the map. “Yes. You’ll love it,” she told him. “They’ve got all the sparkly stuff in a big vault. And it’s air conditioned in there,” she said, pointedly; he was dressed head-to-toe in dark colours, including ‘shorts’ that looked like jeans he’d sawn off himself with a severing charm (she’d know, she’d been there once -- as a misguided teenager). She’d dressed for the weather (unlike some people) and was in a summery, floaty, white cotton dress with a light denim jacket folded over her arm if it got a bit nippy when the breeze picked up -- one always had to be prepared in England.

The bus came to a stop and she stood. “Come on,” she tugged him up by the shoulder of his shirt. “If you at least pretend to enjoy it I’ll let you ceremoniously burn your hat later.” She led them down the spiral staircase and practically popped out the door onto the pavement. They were immediately greeted by an extremely long queue -- and an enormous castle.

“Lucky for us, I bought fast-track tickets. Muggles really do think of everything,” she commented as she walked past the line to the ‘Skip the Queue’ entrance. She glanced back when she reached the ticket scanners and waved at Frank to hurry him up. “Come on.” They were beeped through by the attendant and Mary looped one arm through Frank’s, guiding him under the portcullis and across the drawbridge. “Has Pittsburg got anything on this?“ she asked, affecting his gruff American accent.

If he behaved. Who did she think she was, his mom? Frank scoffed but didn't immediately open his mouth to argue— probably a result of the long instilled and ever lingering fear of his mother, even if only as a thought. Besides, somewhere deep in the trenches of his self-declared black soul, he was enjoying himself. And he hated himself for it. Mary provided the perfect excuse to see the things he was curious about but wasn't curious enough about to just get over himself to do them on his own. Not that he planned on letting her know that, of course.

"Well thank fuck for that," Air-conditioning. It felt like a foreign concept. Frank squinted up at the blue sky. There was practically no cloud coverage and he could feel his otherwise pale skin going pink under the eye of the sun. It was the third time in the last hour that Mary had mentioned the sparkly things in the vault, and each time he got a little less interested. "I want to see the birds," He'd read something in the guide about ravens in the courtyard.

Frank followed a few paces behind Mary (it wasn't hard, she was practically skipping) but paused at the muggle contraption to gain entrance. After a few muttered curse words and in general, looking lost, an attendant with a cherry-red face came over and all-too-happily gave him a hand, tapping the paper ticket then ushering him through the gate. "Uh, thanks," He said a moment too late, just as Mary looped an arm through his and lead the way. Touching was the very last thing he wanted to do in that heat, but he went along with it briefly then used the excuse of reading a sign to disentangle.

"We have a zoo," He said distractedly, eyeing the sign. "Your sparkly things are... here," He pointed a long finger to where the map indicated, figuring it was best if they got it out of the way first. He had a feeling his patience would only wear more thin as time went on.  He waited for her to lead the way again, assuming. "Really, nothing like this though—" Despite himself, Frank sounded vaguely fascinated. America had a history, of course, but nothing like what he'd seen in England.

“A zoo,” she repeated, fanning herself with the spare hat and only really achieving in making herself more hot. “So do we.” Mary watched Frank study the map and took advantage of his distraction to have proper look; it was such a shame—

“Hm?” She flicked her attention back up to his face, pretending to have been looking at the map rather than at him. “Wonderful, let’s go,” she replied, about to stroll off towards the Jewel House when Frank spoke again. Mary softened as she gazed up at him and then away, lest he catch her. “Well, I’m sure Pittsburg has something going for it. You can jot me down a list in case I ever make it over the Atlantic.” She smiled up at him, then grabbed at his hand to tug him along the footpath.

They rounded a corner and the courtyard opened out, with the White Tower in the middle and the ravens in their cages between them and it. Mary paused -- he had wanted to see the birds -- and pointed with the hand that had been holding his. “There you go.” She wiped her slightly sweaty palm on her dress and glanced sidelong at Frank -- he looked rather like a raven, didn’t he? No wonder he hadn’t picked anyone up that night -- his aesthetic was a bit gothic, niche. “Like looking in a mirror I expect," she smirked up at him teasingly.

She allowed him a minute of birdwatching before continuing on her way, not picking up his hand again because she had decided was too hot for that sort of business. She opened her arms out grandly instead, gesturing up the path and ignoring the other tourists; “Come on, the air conditioning awaits.”