[mp] so blue

Harlan hummed a thought at the idea of a song being written about him. That sort of thing had never appealed him, good or bad. For some people that kind of thing held a peculiar sense of sentimentality, that another would metaphorically shot from the rooftops about them, but not Harlan. He felt the same about most public displays of anything too personal for his liking. Then again, posing for Senna's artist friend in next-to-nothing hadn't been that painful. He could have blamed the tea but he knew there was more to the story than just that.

"Sounds shit if I'm honest," He commented with a smile, the tone of his voice also betraying the statement.

Senna stopped taking steps so Harlan did too, leaving a bit of space between them. He couldn't afford to get so distracted so early. What time was it, he wondered, glancing at his watch for a fraction of a breath for flicking his gaze back up to her. To his surprise, much of the night had already come and gone. "Positano," He added, standing in her compliment without faltering. "It did," Did him well, he meant. Her follow up question was far less simple to brush aside.

In truth, escaping was exactly what he'd been doing. A trip after the season had become a ritual for Harlan, but that particular one he felt more compelled than usual to leave his life behind for a little while. "Hmm," He considered it, eyes turning up in thought. "I think I could have done with a few more weeks..." He confessed as if Senna knew a fraction of the things that he found himself running from. As it turned out, running away from himself was easier said than done. Italian food, and Italian wine, and Italian women seemed like a good place to start.

"Have you been?" He wondered. It was less of a deflection and more of a genuine need to know her.

Senna smiled back at him, her hazel eyes warm, as she slowly shook her head. “No, I think you’d like it,” she disagreed playfully. “It’d be catchy, get stuck in your head kind of thing.” Why did she seem half tempted now to actually write a song about him just to tease him about it, something about golden auras and eyes so blue and unexpected kisses in indoor pools. 

Her eyes tracked him as he looked at his watch and her brows pulled together at the thought that cropped up because of it. Was he looking for a reason to excuse himself? She understood he was the man of the night but maybe she wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye quite yet. It was that golden gravity he had all over again. Two weeks ago in the limbo of no response back from him, she was convinced it had all been in her mind but with him here in front of her, it was harder to deny. She found herself glancing back at the party where people milled around tables just so she didn’t have to watch him check the time. 

“Never been,” she said as she turned back to him, echoing his two word response rhythm. She had been to plenty of topless Italian beaches though and she couldn’t quite stop herself from wondering if he had went to any.. or if he would join her if she asked. Or even more likely, if she mentioned she didn't think he would go, he might do it just to prove her wrong. She half-smiled at the thought. Sen studied him as he answered, giving him a small nod, hearing something familiar in his tone. The escape hadn't put to rest whatever was hovering over him and she understood that fundamentally. "Maybe you can go back? Now that you've collected your case of trophies and all?" she suggested. She didn't have a clue what quidditch players did in the off-season or whatever it was called.

She shook her head once, her silvery blonde hair falling over her shoulder. "Not there specifically, but Naples?" she said more in a question. She thought that was round about Positano but wasn't sure. Geography wasn't her forte. "I toured around a bit in Italy before I wound up in France and that was nice. I don't remember much of the Italian I had picked up though." She glanced upward as she tried to recall some phrases. "Scusi. Buona notte. Ti amo. Lasagna... Pizza..?" Yep that was about all the Italian she remembered. Then she bite her lip and couldn't resist. "I know of some great topless beaches you might be interested in."

Harlan let out a laugh that read uncertain. The rest of the month was scheduled well in advance and being away from home, his routine, was a bit of a foreign concept to him. Even being away for longer than a week, and simply for pleasure, teetered on entirely too leisurely for his speed. "Yeah, why not?" His mouth was met with a vaguely rueful smile. "Take a sabbatical for half the year..." Harlan was well away he was the one making it hard on himself, but he couldn't stop.

"Ah, right," His eyes that had been exploring the wall of sea that encapsulated them flicked back to Senna, then upward in thought, visualizing a map of the Italian seaboard. "It's not far off," He nodded surely once he'd fact checked himself. He often got a portkey to Naples then travelled up the coast on his own. "You might have been and not even known it," Harlan mused. He could understand a similar kind of a lifestyle; in and out of cities and towns.

He watched as she recalled the Italian words, a knowing smirk on his lips. He masked it (unconvincingly) with a sip of his drink. From over the lip of the glass, he grinned again before speaking. He was far from a linguist himself, but his Italian wasn't half bad in hindsight. It helped being there, speaking the language. "Well, suppose you know the essentials, then," He teased with his tone. Aside from the obvious; vino, amore, sigarette, sesso...

"Of course you do," Harlan replied somewhere between impressed and giving Senna a hard time. "You seem to have a penchant for that sort of thing, hm?" He had turned slightly to watch as a prehistoric looking turtle careened by, looking back at them. Harlan could have sworn it had looked him right in the eye. "Well s'pose I'll just have to go back now, then," Harlan decided with a nod. The underlying 'she could show him' was clear, he thought.

She liked the smile he gave her even if she did detect a hint of irony in his voice. But she jumped on the ideal escape they painted together. “Could go anywhere, do anything you wanted, no schedules,” she added, somehow she was already imagining that for herself as well. The band’s current success was more than she ever dreamed and she tried to be grateful about it, but the schedule and rigid demands were hard on her, made worse by the fact that she wanted this more than anything and yet didn’t seem to be completely happy about it either. She was still trying to reconcile it. Maybe that’s why this escape, no matter how implausible or unrealistic it seemed, felt so nice to dream about.

“Yeah, probably,” Senna agreed with a smile, her hazel eyes warm as they met his. When she had been more of a wandering spirit (literally) before the band, there had been more side-along apparition haunts to unknown places than she could count. She probably had been there and either didn’t remember or hadn’t seen enough of the town outside of the dive bars or night clubs they had apparated to. “That’s all you need, right?” she asked with a glance at his drink. Maybe a few more words in Italian or just a half way decent translation charm. Or Senna’s favorite method of connecting with someone, no talking required. Taking a step closer, she slipped her fingers around his glass and brought it to her lips for a sip before she returned it to him with a smile.

Her laugh seemed to bounce off the deep tanks as she grinned at him, devilish and unashamed. “A penchant for celebrating the beauty of the human body, you mean?” she said, rephrasing his question in the way she saw it, one brow raised as if daring him to argue that point. She gave a nod though and glanced back toward the main stage as someone tapped the magically amplified microphone and started speaking, the crowd drifting closer. Sen turned to him first before the lady in vibrant red on the stage pulled her attention too much. “You’d like it,” she agreed to his plan and then flicked her gaze down to her own chest before glancing backing at him with a wide smile. “Obviously.”

Then she nodded toward where everyone was gathering. “I think they are announcing the raffle winners,” she mentioned as she took a step backwards toward it, still facing him, the question unspoken but clear on her face whether he was going to join her or not.

There was a particularly whimsical way that Senna painted a picture with her words; he could almost feel the shift in the atmosphere of the room as if he had gone with it. She had a penchant for that as well it seemed. She was an artist, he reminded himself, a storyteller. He shouldn't have been surprised Harlan found himself lost in the idea of doing anything he wanted, no schedule, no agenda. The taste he had in the days leading up to where they found themselves made him more susceptible to such leading lines of thought.

She stepped forward and for a moment he could feel himself stand up more straight, his shoulders back, alert. In one fluid motion she took his glass from his hand and he let the backs of his fingers fall intentionally over her own. It was a poor attempt at retaliation but he had to start somewhere. Harlan's brow quirked but he stopped short of asking any questions.

Masking a smile with his mouth pressed together in hard line, Harlan swirled his tongue against his cheek, eventually taking the glass back without any further reaction. He'd learned about her that it only made things worse. Or better.

A bit of both.

"Mhm, sure" Harlan feigned agreement with her next creative use of rhetoric. He supposed it was celebrating the human body in theory, but he was too stubborn to succumb to being proven wrong so easily. But he knew she was right. The sound on the stage was distant in his frame of reference and he silently cursed when it became too loud to ignore; Senna had taken notice as well. "The raffle?" He'd forgotten about the ticket in his front pocket. He pulled it out, perfectly creased, and opened it with his thumb.

"Probably a bloody set up..." Harlan was cynical on the best of days. More so, he was a sore loser at games of chance that had nothing to do with actual skill. "I've got terrible luck with these things..." He mentioned as he strode to Senna's side, touching her hip to point her in the  direction of the stage. "Show's up there," Harlan leaned in to speak to her, gesturing to the man on the stage who had started the drum up interest in the series of numbers called out.

Even the slightest touch of his hand against hers sent her into that space of heightened awareness that came so easily with him. Sen eyed him over the rim of his own glass, her gaze falling to his lips, noting with glee the quirk of his brows. It wasn't really a reaction, she took it more as a challenge.

His agreement didn't feel sincere, but with the din of the raffle announcement getting louder, it seemed like that would be another challenge for another day. Besides, she was right and he probably knew it. It was inordinately too easy to picture it clearly just now, her laid out on a beach, salt and sea on the air, the sun and his gaze warming her skin.. a shiver went down her spine as he touched her hip, nudging her to turn in the direction of the stage. She followed suit but she was distracted by how she could almost feel him just behind her shoulder.

"A set up? How?" she asked, her gaze straying to him in question before flicking down to the little red ticket between his fingers. Senna remembered buying a few tickets from a cute raffle seller who had an aura like milk and honey, but did Rhey have still have her ticket? She remembered asking her friend to kiss the ticket for good luck and them both laughing about it before.. "Oh!" she remembered with a soft noise and she reached up right under the hem of her crop top at the center of her chest and fished out her own little red stub. She tilted her head before she flipped it right side up so she could read what she hoped were winning numbers as the big drum on stage rolled, the tickets flitting in a red whirl as it spun.

"I hope I get lucky," Senna said, distracted as she tried to listen to the mustached man with the dulcet baritone voice on stage. She grinned a second later as she realized what she had said and the double meaning there, but the quick sequence of numbers on her ticket being called out caught her attention. Her thumb moved along the row before her eyes widened as the man read out her number. She wasted no time in raising the winning ticket into the air, "That's me!" Smiles and small congrats were thrown her way from the party goers closest to them and she accepted them all graciously, but as soon as their attention was turned back to the next number being raffled, she glanced at Harlan. "But did you hear what I won?" There was a whole list of things they were raffling off, but she hadn't caught which lucky item was now hers for the taking.

"Jus—" Harlan was only a fraction of the way through his thought when Senna pulled her raffle ticket from under her top as if that was something ordinary. He glanced down, at her, then back to the stage more pointedly. She had to know what she was doing. A sliver of a smile pulled at his mouth but he knew better than to give in too easily. "Nothing," He lamented with a raise of amused brows that directed her back to the attention of the man who held the room.

"You're kidding?" At first he didn't believe her, but after a cursory glance at the ticket he saw the three winning numbers at the end of the stub. "You're not," It wasn't hard to tell that he was astonished. "Of course you did..." Harlan squeezed where his hand had rest without thought on her side. Perhaps it wasn't rigged after all. He followed the sound of quiet claps as it hushed when the next award was read aloud. "A certificate for Eaton's," The name felt like poison on his tongue.

The restaurant held the elite of the elite. Reservations weren't even a figment of imagination, and one had to know someone, who knew someone, to get a foot in the door. Harlan was fortunate (or unfortunate, he thought) enough, to have been a guest of the owner multiple times in his career. Pat Keough. An world renowned quidditch player in his time, and an even better coach in the next. Neither of those mattered much to Harlan, because he knew the man as what he was. An absolute prick.

"You wouldn't like it," He scoffed. If there was a trade-in offer for her win, he figured she ought to explore it.

His doubting question had her smiling as she glanced back at him, holding up her ticket in proof. "No, I really did," she said on a laugh, surprised at her good fortune, and yet not that surprised at all. She had gotten a good vibe from the ticket seller. Sen's smile grew wider when she saw he was actually surprised, still wondering how he could think these things were rigged or why someone would event want to do that, all while she peered around the crowd trying to see what prize she got or where she needed to get it.

Lucky for her, he had heard her prize, but the way he said it made her half-turn towards him, her brows pulling together, hearing the edge in his voice as he said the name. "Eaton's?" she repeated, her mind whirring as she tried to remember. "Oh! Isn't that the umm.. the--" she snapped her fingers as she finally remembered. "-- the really posh restaurant? The one that has the river in the restaurant? I mean I know we're magic and all, but honestly how do you even build that? Plus, I heard they even had water nymphs who lived there? How wicked is that?" Her voice was hushed as the prizes were still being awarded, but her excitement over her win made her rush over her words.

Harlan's conclusion about her not liking it was a surprise and she tilted her head. "Why?" followed quickly by a "No way, it sounds amazing. I bet the food is to die for. Wait--" a thought occurred to her as she touched his hand at her side. "Does that mean you've been there?" That little tidbit if it were fact wouldn't be a shock considering who he was, but Eaton's was one of the most exclusive restaurants in the country so of course, Senna was curious about it. And even more curious on why he thought she wouldn't like it.

Senna flitted from thought to thought and Harlan struggled to keep up while also processing the idea of her at Eaton's. "That's the one," The river, the water nymphs. He was reluctant to hype up the establishment any more than she was doing all on her own. In truth, on paper, it was magnificent; the food was impeccable, the service unmatched and the atmosphere unlike anywhere he'd ever been (and that was saying something).

But it was fucking pretentious. Just for the sake of it, too.

Harlan was distracted only a fraction by her turning back and leaning into him. "I have," He said plainly, watching as the next raffle winners were announced one after another to a room of drunken applause that bounced over the aquarium walls. "Pat Keough is..." Pat-fucking-Keough, he thought. "Well known in quidditch," Harlan landed on. He was possibly the most well known in the business full stop. "Maybe you'll like it..." He backtracked.

"Just doesn't seem like your vibe," The word was chosen with intent. A smirk pulling at his lip though he kept his eyes on the stage, only glancing down at Senna briefly while he pinched the fabric of her top under his palm.

"Pat Keough.. Pat Keough.." Senna repeated, testing the name on her tongue, her lips rounding on the last syllable, but she didn't recognize the name even after repeating it so she gave a little shrug. Well-known in quidditch? She'd have to take his word for it because she was certainly not the expert. She couldn't quite decipher the tone in his voice, it was puzzling, yet her eyes stayed on the stage as other prizes were handed out, the warmth of him at her back.

"I think I will," she told him with confidence and a small smile as she imagined it in her mind's eye. She just wanted to see if for herself, to know what a river running through a restaurant looked like, to see a water nymph while she ate something she probably couldn't pronounce. It seemed like fun, something new, but his comment made her glance and meet his gaze. Not her vibe? "Why not?" she asked. What was different about the restaurant's vibe? Or hers?

But now that he said it, she couldn't help but wonder if that was true. She had heard it mentioned a few times and hadn't gotten a vibe one way or the other, mostly because they had been vague mentions, 'couldn't get a reservation' type sentiments. Her eyes tracked the movement of his crooked smirk as she turned to face him instead of the stage. "Come with me," she breathed with bright eyes. "I'm hungry and I want to see the water nymphs," she added, her fingers lightly resting on his chest, the hard shell of his shirt button under her fingertips. "Please?" Senna tacked on as her fingers trailed downward to rest on the next button.

Harlan's mouth pulled into a subtly amused smile as he watched Senna test the name out on her tongue. Pat Keough was a lot of things—  at present the nicest he could conjure up was well-known—  but in no world did he imagine that she might have known about him. She hadn't made it much of a secret that his profession held little interest to her. And in truth, he preferred that. He could be just Harlan, even if their encounters were sparse. Even there, surrounded by the quidditch of it all, he couldn't have felt any less interested.

Unsurprisingly, Senna disagreed. His smile grew when she turned around with that god-damn mischievous look on her face that he had started to know well. It didn't bode well for his hard-headedness, anyway. "It's very pretentious is all," Harlan began, eyebrow raising in thought.

He swirled his tongue against his cheek, his eyes flicking down at her fingers that danced over buttons of his shirt. "Ohh, I see..." Harlan clicked his tongue knowingly. "Impressive effort," He touched the inside of her wrist with the back of his fingers, unable to stop himself but still aware of the eyes around them. The last thing he needed (at any given point, really) was any added attention on his personal life. And being seen with a member of the up and coming band of the moment wouldn't help.

At least Eaton's was private, he reminded himself.

Fuck—  no. Harlan chastised himself for allowing the thought to cross his mind, even in passing. "Absolutely not," He replied matter-of-factly, resolute in his reaction. "I imagine one of your friends might like it a bit more than I would," Of course that wasn't why he was declining, but for some reason he felt the need to soften a bit. Only just. Harlan moved her hand from his chest and shook his head again, prepared for her to not accept his words at face value.

"Why pretentious?" she asked, ever-questioning, the smile still on her lips as her honey eyes glinted as she glanced between his mouth and his eyes. It was a little distracting, but she couldn't tamp down her curiosity on this. And she was just the tiniest bit intrigued with this little challenge that he had so nicely presented to her.

He caught on to her game and she laughed, his touch hot against her wrist sparking like fire. She hadn't even noticed that the raffle had finished, a smattering of applause sounding around them, before the next band set up on stage.

There was that stubbornness in his gaze that she was starting to know better. She probably should've expected it. Her brows flickered as he pushed her hand away, not liking the way that felt, but she took his 'no' more like a 'maybe'. The band started up just as she opened her mouth to speak so she had to lean in closer, an idea forming, a dangerous gleam in her eye. "Fine, then dance with me," she offered instead and the proceeded to move her body.

In the most ridiculous way possible.

She was all elbows at awkward angles and knees turning in then out as she wove a circle around him, her hands waving in front of her face in a classic window wiping motion, then she went full-noodle, her arms and shoulders riding the wave of movement as she leaned her back against his back and wiggled. Then as she rounded his other side, she even made a full effort to do some lunging moves as she brought her hands in a circle at chest height (the closest she had come to a work out in years so she hoped he was appreciating her efforts).

"You're sure you don't want dinner?" she asked innocently as she started doing the robot.

His eyes narrowed with a hint of impatience. Senna, he figured, might question why the sky was blue if given the opportunity.

Distraction came her next attempt to convince him to go with her— dancing. It was hard to think of something worse given the location, but then it started. His mouth pulled into an amused smile that was painted with something like agony. "Would we call that dancing?" He teased as she made her way around him a circle. His arms folded easily over his chest having taken notice to the growing pairs of eyes turning in their direction. Most looked amused, entertained even, while some started to talk amongst themselves.

Fuck.

Harlan assumed that they were putting two and two together, recognizing him, or her, or both of them. "Fine, now," He shook his head sternly, already regretting his decision. The temporary fix that was getting attention off of them wasn't worth running into Keough. Harlan made his way toward where the prizes were being allocated, fully expecting her to be following. Time seemed to be moving faster (on account of the impending dread) and before he knew it they were staring down the underground entryway of Eaton's.

The very picture of him being a major grump, arms crossed in front of him and everything, as she debated whether the partygoers around them were ready for her to break out the real dance moves, was a hilarious juxtaposition for her. Senna couldn't hold back her smile as she starting doing a disco move she had seen in a muggle movie once. She was hungry, but wow, seeing his expression as she clearly brought attention on the two of them was almost worth skipping dinner.

Except just as she was about to bring out the imaginary fishing rod and reel someone else in (because clearly Harlan was not going to join her), he gave in.

She stopped immediately and sent him a beaming smile, floating in his wake as he stalked toward the prize table. With a few gracious thank yous to the raffle man and a quick 'see you later' and sly wink to Rhey as she grabbed her purse, they were off. Staring up at the heavy wooden door, arched and looking like it had been there for a thousand years, Senna glanced over at Harlan. No bad vibes so far, except for the shadows around his gold that made her think twice about why he had been so reluctant.

But they were already here and with the charm Harlan had done as the secret 'code' to get in, Senna's eyes were widening at the first impression. It was like they had stepped into a secret ballroom, and the intrigue of it being exclusive and secret and a curiosity was diminished a bit by the clash of vibes she got. It was as if the fanciest of restaurants, all crystal chandeliers and golden tablecloths fought were shoved into cavern of a room they had tried to make look like nature. There was a distinct dissonance, but it was so subtle that she thought perhaps it was one of those places that grew on you.

Her tone as they entered was hesitant. "This is... nice," she said before her eyes caught on the stream running through the restaurant. "Ohh, water nymphs?" she asked taking a step closer, but she was halted in her tracks as a severe woman with cheekbones that looked like they could cut glass stepped in her path. "Please don't approach the river," the woman said and Senna didn't like the tone in her voice, especially as she added. "For your safety," before giving them with a fake smile and asked them to follow her. She hadn't even asked for their names, yet knew Harlan's as she showed them to their table.

"Mr. Keough sends his regards," the woman said before two menus were accoied with a flourish from the river bed, drying magically in the air before settling in front of each of them. The woman disappeared without a word and Senna shifted in her chair as she found his gaze.

"Hope they're not going to deliver the food like that," she said with a nod toward the indoor river. "I hate soggy bread."

Harlan scoffed into a chuckle, watching with a lingering smile as Senna eyed the water, by proxy the nymphs. His gaze flickered over the women then quickly averted. He was half way to scorning her when the hostess beat him to it. And somehow she was far more harsh than he would have been. Also not a surprise, he remembered a few instances at Eaton's when the service was less than welcoming. That was the appeal, he figured. It was exclusive and important enough that the air of superiority was eagerly lapped up.

"Thanks, Roisin," He nodded, hands firm on the menu in an attempt to get back control of the situation. "Can we have—"

The redhead cut him off. "— bottle of the Invechiatto?" Harlan grinned. "Please," She remembered, anyway.

Once the server left, he peeked from over the menu to where Senna was looking a bit lost opposite him. "I told you it's not your vibe..." He commented casually before his eyes wandered to the open water to their left. He had to admit there was an allure to Eaton's; it was private, quiet,  otherworldly. But as with most shiny things, it had it's pitfalls. And he figured they would creep up more and more as the night went on.

"Happy now, then?"  Harlan's brow quirked, not-so-secretly grateful that the glass had seemed to crack. He sat down the menu; truthfully, he knew his order before they arrived.