Private, but not quite anonymous any more
Sat Mar 11, 2017 01:28

She hadn’t come here before, either? Huh. Ruben had assumed that she must be from the area, since her voice was obviously American English. (Of course he recognized the accent. Aside from the flight attendant on the way over, he hadn’t actually spoken to many, or any, Americans before, but he was pretty familiar with television; summer nights in front of a screen was the only way he practiced English outside of school.) But in retrospect, maybe it was too quick of a judgement. Just because he’d come from far away and felt like the Biggest Newcomer didn’t mean that no-one else here was also possibly a newcomer.

Apparently, her ice-cream was pretty tasty. Her eating noises were actually audible. “Okay,” he responded, probably redundantly as he had already begun nodding before she even finished the sentence. “I am curious about what can have such a good reaction.” Juggling his belongings once again, such that the worn leather jacket was hanging over the shoulder of his ice-cream-holding hand, Ruben used his now-freed hand to make sure his hair didn’t fall into her cone as he ducked over. His hair, while long enough to hang past his shoulders, wasn’t as long as he wanted; he’d only seriously started growing it out a couple years ago, and his current aspiration was for waist-length. But it was still long enough to make a mess if it trailed through ice-cream accidentally.

He took a small lick and straightened up again, considering it with a genuine thoughtfulness only a little exaggerated for her sake. It didn’t take long to reach a conclusion. Seconds, actually. “Jävla råttorsöron, that is fantastic,” he swore appreciatively. Alas, it was unlikely that she would be able to appreciate it, or perhaps even recognize it as swearing. His non-Swedish roommates back at Durmstrang had often joked that his mother tongue had too much ‘dancing and singing’ to be taken seriously, which always naturally inspired another round of the semi-eloquent, more-than-semi-creative curses that the Nordic cultures were infamous for.

“Should we sit down?” Technically it was a question, but the way Ruben said it was more half-suggestion, half-decision. The parlour had some empty chairs by the window that, while not exactly fancy, looked way more comfortable than the bench on the street, and he moved over to claim one, tossing his jacket over the back. “So you are going to school close by,” he echoed. “The only one I know is mine. Rocky Mountain. Is that yours, too? Are we classmates now as well as... ice-cream-mates? Because I should maybe introduce myself, then,” he smirked. “Ruben.”

  • Good, those are the best kind - Kaye, Sun Mar 5 17:33
    Clearly, this guy had never eaten really good cookie dough. The right kind of cookie dough could be more interesting than anything in the world. Kaye didn’t mean the cheap store bought kind, even... more
    • Private, but not quite anonymous any more - Ruben, Sat Mar 11 01:28
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