[maidstone] lyrids { k i }

Billie seemed hesitant to suggest summer. Killian bit his lip – it must have sounded like he was inviting himself over. "Or I can just bring it to school, one of these days." It wouldn't be the same, though, the lights from the castle got in the way. Maybe if they went to the Forbidden Forest, which was forbidden. Killian's brow furrowed, just forming one line. "Or something." He should bring it to school, though. There was a meteor shower after they got back, he was pretty sure. They could at least try it. 

Killian arched an eyebrow, the corner of his lips twitching with amusement. "You tolerate MacTaggert," he corrected, with no bitterness. "You can say, I don't think he minds." His dorm mate was a character unto himself – loud, boisterous, shockingly kind and considerate at times but generally a straightforward, man of few words type. Killian wasn't sure if he was the prototypical Gryffindor, either, but Mercutio was definitely closer to the archetype.

He glanced over at Billie, who also didn't seem impressed, and he laughed a little. "Nora did say it was an acquired taste," he said, taking another sip. The aftertaste was better than the taste, he thought, and it wasn't truly horrid. He straightened up from where he leaned against the railing when Billie began to ask something of him, deflated when she decided to do it herself. "Right, sure," he said, his expression bemused as she ducked into the house.

“Or that,” Billie said politely, hoping she was just imagining the slight conversational withdrawal she felt from him. There were telescopes at school, though, and a whole tower with a relevant name. “It’s nice here, though, in the summer,” she added, just in case. She just smiled and shook her head when he said tolerate, absolutely unwilling to cede this. Even if she did agree with him, somewhere under all of the layers of politeness and properness.

Acquired taste? That was what people said about coffee, and though she always smiled and nodded, Billie was extremely skeptical of the concept. She smiled and nodded now, before disappearing inside.

She knew she was on a bit of a time limit here; it wasn’t like there was anything that needed to be done necessarily, but she couldn’t keep him out there, away from everyone else (Mavis), for too long. She herself couldn’t be out there for too long; she was one of the hosts of this party, and owner of this house, ostensibly. She felt a little guilty for it, knowing a part of it stemmed from her own reluctance to be in the middle of the action.

Better be quick, then.

Billie reappeared outside again, rifling through the small bag she’d retrieved. She pulled something small and folded up out of it, then placed the bag down on the seat behind them. “I found this in Hogsmeade last week and I kept meaning to show you, but I’ve been so busy.” Billie pressed it into his hands, clearly happy with herself. “I mean I know I see you all of the time, but we’ve been studying so hard and it’s all in different boxes—” she made a box shape with her hands, “—In my head.”

She let her arms drop to her sides, feeling a little embarrassed about speaking so quickly, being slightly out of breath, and alluding to her extremely uncool obsession with organising her life. Billie was a highly organised person; excessively organising herself was her favourite way to keep her anxiety at bay. Especially study-related anxiety. Most of the time, she tried not to seem as intense about it all as she was. And she wasn’t allowed to think about OWLs now, so she picked her drink up off of the little table and took another sip (feeling very improper drinking straight out of the bottle), before turning back to him.

“It’s like a magazine,” she said, unnecessarily. It wasn’t thick, just a handful of sheets of paper stapled together in the middle. “If you flick through that part…” she said, peering down at the pages he was looking at. The first section was mostly art… “There,” she said. A very short essay on wizarding prison abolition. "He has a radio show," she added.

"Summer, then," Killian said, trying and failing to hide the relief in his voice.

Billie returned, a little out of breath and vibrating with what Killian thought (hoped) was excitement. Something to show him? His eyes widened. He couldn't begrudge her forgetting, ( at but we’ve been studying so hard Killian shook his head, miming pulling a zipper across his lips. No! Bird! Tests!) since it seemed much like something he would do. Context was key. Billie maybe had the reverse problem, though, where she needed the context to be right before sharing, while Killian's brain, apparently, needed the context to be wholly unrelated.

Killian took the packet in his hands carefully. Like a magazine, Billie said. "I didn't know wizards made zines," Killian said, a little baffled. It had staples in it. He had brought a stapler to Hogwarts first year and his professors had stared at him with bewilderment. He ran his thumb over the staple, over the A4 printer paper. It was wizarding, of course – some of the art, not much but some, on the first few pages moved as Killian flipped through. It was so familiar, this format, from boxes and boxes of his mum's old zines from her student organizing days.

But how did Billie know that zines were Killian's first picture books? She didn't –– he got to the page in question and she pointed out what she meant. By Kai Kimura, read the byline. Killian skimmed the essay. It was short, but it was familiar language. Similar than what he had given Billie, really, but maybe that was because of the intended audience? "A radio show," he repeated, brows furrowing as he looked through the man's short little bio. "On the Wizard wireless?" He looked up to Billie, feeling rather like a wire had been crossed somewhere. "Have you listened? Is it any good?"

“Yes,” she said. Yes, on the wizarding wireless. “I caught a little bit of it last night,” Billie said, nodding. “I think that episode was about… Immigration?” She frowned slightly; she’d had to infer some things. “I only caught the very end.” She didn’t want to assume that he’d enjoy it. She really didn’t like assuming things in general, so even bringing this up to him felt a little uncomfortable to her. As if, if he hated it, then he hated her too, or something.

At least she was aware of how dramatic that was.

(But she did hope he would like it.)

There was just something that appealed to her about having a muggleborn (— or a halfblood? She didn’t want to assume this either, but it was at least very obvious that the man was deeply comfortable and knowledgeable about both the muggle and magical world), having someone, who was comfortable in both worlds, talking about the same things she and Ki had been talking about. His essay didn’t go very deep, but Billie had felt as if he’d been applying Ki’s thoughts and concepts to the British wizarding justice system in a way that she understood.

“I just thought it was interesting,” She said lightly, trying to sound casual and polite so that it wouldn’t be so obvious how badly she wanted his approval. She’d gotten the impression that Killian hadn’t found or didn’t know many magical folk — personally or otherwise — who had both an academic interest in politics and a thorough understanding of the muggle world. Billie took a sip of her drink, then dabbed politely at the corner of her lips with her ring finger.

"It sounds interesting," Killian said, trying to keep the excitement to an acceptable background simmer instead of leaping up with excitement. Look, there, right there, someone was already thinking about the same things as him! (He was a little disappointed not to be the first, but only a little). Killian's fingers curled around the side of the packet. "Is this your only copy?" Should I read it all now, was the real question, lingering under the surface. He was so pleased that Billie was sharing this with him, so eager to read it all, find the radio show. Maybe listen to it with Billie?

Another problem bubbled up. Killian frowned. "Er." He took another sip of beer (ew) to mask it. "Um. I –" God, this was embarrassing. "Can you get the wizarding radio on... a normal radio?" He had never thought to ask before. He had never wanted to listen to the wizarding radio before.

He shook his head. "That's maybe you can show me how after the party, before we go back to school?" He looked at Billie and laughed at the absurdity of his question. "Because I know neither how to drink nor how to use a radio. Absolutely useless, aren't I?" Killian wasn't usually for self-deprecating humour, but even now, being the butt of his own joke didn't dim the joy in his eyes.

Billie kept her pleased smile small when he said it sounds interesting, even though it threatened to become a bigger one. She raised her eyebrows at his question, rearranging her expression a touch belatedly into something more like polite surprise, as if she hadn’t been expecting him to look at her. “Um, yes," she answered "—But you can keep it,” she added quickly, holding up a hand as if he was trying to pass it back to her right now.

Normal radio? “You can, but... I think you have to use magic,” Billie told him, swapping her bottle from one hand to the other. Merlin, how she wished for seventeen. (Seventeen made her think of Phillip, even though he was eighteen now. It had been such a big deal for them, when he could do magic outside of school). She sighed.

Billie could taste the beer on her lips, on her tongue, and she wished they'd brought some of the snacks out here so she could wash it down while she sipped. She smiled a bit at his joke, shaking her head; he wasn't useless by any measure. “Maybe we could listen to it together?” she asked, swaying to one side slightly, holding her beer in both hands. Then, not to be weird: "Maybe Mavis could come," she suggested. "If she'd like that kind of thing."

Um, yes, Billie said, and Killian's hands were already moving to give it back before she continued. "Oh," Killian said, confused, then "Oh!" with more excitement. He didn't really believe her, but her hand was up, blocking him from placing it back into her possession. "I'll return it when I'm done," he said, his thumbs crinkling the paper some more. This was an unexpected reversal. Typically Ki was the one loaning out books and readings and such. Not so often he was the borrower.

Of course you had to use magic. "Next October, then, to listen at home." He sighed, heavily, frustrated again. The rules of magic locked him out of the world when he was at home, the fact of magic locked him out of resuming his old life. He could hardly imagine it, not. Five years at magic boarding school would do that. "Maybe I can listen in the common room." If no one was listening to Quidditch. Which was in itself unlikely. He took another sip of beer.

"Together?" Now there was an idea. "I'd like that, as long as you don't mind me talking over it sometimes." If the host was talking about these kinds of topics, Killian couldn't see him not interrupting the programme. He couldn't imagine Mavis liking 'that kind of thing', but he also couldn't have imagined Mavis liking 'him', so there were many factors at play. "I'll ask," he said, nodding decisively. If they listened all together, maybe they could meet at the Nandamuri house instead. He liked the Nandamuri house, though he hoped Cordelia wouldn't touch his hair again.

She felt the urge to argue, like it was a gift, or something. She thought he’d enjoy it the most; it was for him. But Billie argued with no one and nothing so, “Okay,” was what she said, her small smile lingering. She wondered if she could find the next issue, or the previous one, for him. She liked making him smile like that.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Billie answered politely, not even bothering to ponder if she would. She was adaptable; she assumed he meant it in the talking-over-it-because-it-was-interesting way, which made her far happier than the talking-over-it-because-it-wasn’t way. Though, upon second thought, she probably wouldn’t have much problem with the latter. She assumed she’d be more interested in his thoughts anyway. Where would they do it, she wondered? Could she take a radio to his house? She was reluctant to bring a boy, a different boy — any other boy — home to Kendrick’s. More than the way she was generally reluctant to bring anyone to Kendrick’s, that was. Tonight was the first time she was bringing anyone other than Phillip over.

Maybe they could listen to the radio show here, at the Maidstone house.

“Sure, and let me know,” Billie agreed with a nod. They’d work out the details later, she thought. A selfish part of her probably would prefer to do it with just him. She felt like she’d probably want to pick his brain, in a way that was harder to do when there were more people present, and she loved Mavis, but Mavis was loud. Billie took another sip of her drink. That was probably rude of her; it Mavis was a lot more than simply ‘loud’. She felt a little guilty. “I look forward to it,” She added, glancing down at her bottle to check how much more there was. About half, still.

"Okay," Killian echoed, clutching the thin paper of the zine like it was a precious artifact. He wanted to read it all right now, but maybe that would be rude. It was a party, not a study session. Killian carefully folded the packet and tucked it into an interior jacket pocket.

Killian considered the likelihood that Mavis would want to listen -- she wasn't particularly political, in Killian's estimation, but she also had myriad interests beyond the ones she showed when with Nola and the other girls. It was lovely to get to know that hidden version of her, but Secret Mavis was hard to predict. She might hate it (You might hate it, remember said a small voice in the back of Killian's head) but her brother was a war hero, so, like, maybe? Killian scratched behind his ear. "Me too," he replied, only just a smidgen too earnestly. Maybe it would just be him and Billie. That would be nice, wouldn't it?

Maybe they would listen here -- it would be a nightmare to get to, but he could do it, and they could look up at the stars at the same time.

Killian took another sip of beer. The taste was becoming less awful as he went. "I think I'm getting used to the flavour," he said with a wry smile. He wasn't feeling anything yet, though. Maybe it took a little bit of time. Time that maybe he and Billie didn't have -- the noise from the interior of the house was steadily rising. He didn't really want to go back in yet. "Sounds lively," Killian said, cursing himself for acknowledging other people at all.

The guilt hovered; Billie tried not to focus on it too much. Me too, he said, and he sounded like he meant it. That was just Killian, though, she thought affectionately. Always meaning exactly what he said.

“Same for me,” Billie said, her gaze downcast again as she glanced at the bottle. She swapped it back to her right hand. Then, “No actually, that’s a lie, it’s still dreadful.” The blonde gave her friend another smile — small like she’d admitted a secret — like the confession and the smile were both just for him. She took another sip, though, silently making the point that she’d still drink the beer. She didn’t even grimace as she lowered it from her lips, amusement lingering instead.

Killian commented on the sounds coming from inside the house and Billie let herself glance in that direction, a nervous kind of hesitation crossing her expression briefly before she contained the feeling. “Yes, we should probably go back,” she agreed, assuming that that was what he was implying. She gave him an apologetic smile on the off chance that she’d kept him for too long and straightened up, ready to return to the house. Ready to leave.