Simon Bican

He totally got the whole 'like a furnace' thing so he didn't comment on it. It was almost oppressive out there, the expanse of the blue sky and the heat of the sun that bore down without any sign of relenting. Tallygarunga Road had been a haze as he walked down it, the heat lines setting everything off-balance and giving it an unreal quality. He would not have been surprised to learn that on some of the sealed roads here there would be little puddles of melted tar. Note to self: check shoes before heading inside. His mother would somehow find a way to kill him across all this distance if he tracked melted tar over carpet back at school. "I read, Ger." The three words were accompanied by a snort. How else did she think he learned about stuff? "Contrary to popular opinion, I do know what those scribbles on paper mean. And if you want to get fancy," he added briefly in English before switching to Romanian, "I can do it in more than just one language." He could have translated it for Gerry, sure but he couldn't be bothered; either she'd get the intention, or she didn't, and he didn't much care which it would be. Instead he gave a proper answer, and to be fair kept it to English. "You said it yourself: it's about being responsible for another creature. I'm gonna get one at some point, and might as well make sure I know enough about it to not do a shit job taking care of it. I'm not going to be one of those assholes-" he switched back to Romanian just for the curse "-who dumps something that loves you and needs you out into the wild to survive just because it didn't match your perfect and wrong expectations." Simon was totally talking about just owls here. Of course he was. It could be nothing else, nothing else at all. Just owls.

Clearly there was no point in trying to educate Gerry on the finer points of dumb jokes. Or how not to be an ass to an owl that was half a metre from head to tail - and had a much, much larger wingspan. The birds themselves were not idiots - after all, they had to be somewhat clever to find their way, and most certainly understanding of human speech if they were to follow instructions as well as they did - and by the way the massive owl was glaring at Gerry (in the way that only owls could) it was clear it was Not Impressed with her comments. Ah well. Her loss - of hair and scalp, maybe - if she couldn't see the errors of her way in time. "I'm always in a sunny mood, Ger," he said, giving her a crooked grin and with eyes dancing behind his sunglasses. "Can't you see? No clouds anywhere." Outside it was nothing but blue sky, while inside Hoots and Whispers it was cool and shaded. Was it air-conditioning, or an atmospheric charm? Either way, it was certainly much nicer inside than out. And no clouds in here either. Just owls and pussycats, and instead of pea-green boats a whole host of other creatures. "I'm not shopping. Not yet anyway. One day I'm gonna buy myself an owl. But not today." Not for nearly two years. "What about you? Finally joining the ranks of owl owners? I hope not."

Simon did not mind not being the first to class, or even not second. For some people that was a big deal, but Simon didn't care. As long as he wasn't last, or second to last (teachers tended to notice who that student was, too), or late, Simon was fine. Unlike that student (and there was always at least one), he didn't need that form of validation. Two seats in the second row from the front were already filled, and that was fine by him. It would have been the same if they'd been second row from the back. Contrary to what people might expect, Simon wasn't a fan of the back rows. Goody-two-shoes sat in the front, troublemakers in back, so by sitting in the middle Simon hoped to be mostly ignored. And a lot of time it worked. (And since he actually liked learning - shhhhh - being further forward made it easier to see and hear what was going on in the front.) Of the two students in front of him, the blonde girl he vaguely recognized, and the dark-haired guy he did not recognize at all. Still, best to be polite and direct a simple "hey" to each after picking an empty desk behind them and setting his bag on it. A quick search inside (past the blazer, but above the spare uniform in case Care of Magical Creatures got a bit wild) and out came his books and writing things. He then set his bag on the ground, pulled out a chair, sat down... and promptly slumped face first onto his books. The cooling charms about did provide some relief, especially after the walk to class, but god it was hot as balls in here. Hot. As. Balls. Maybe he didn't hate the shorts that were part of the uniform; maybe he'd get over his dislike of them like he did the short-sleeved shirt. Pity wearing the kilt to CoMC was such a bad idea, as that girl in that one class a few years back had made clear. Still with his head on his books, Simon twisted to get a better look at the new teacher. There were so many of them, he'd never be able to keep track. This one, though, he might remember. Cute, but young. This was probably his first year teaching. Poor bastard. If the magical creatures didn't eat him alive, then the students most likely would. Tallygarunga students: definitely designation XXXX.

Behind his sunglasses (which he still did not remove as Gerry did, not even to sit them on top of his hat) Simon rolled his eyes. "My brain is fine, Ger," he said with a snort. As with everyone, he shortened her name down to a single syllable. It did not matter if it was already shortened to something else, he always made things shorter. Gerry became Ger, Teddy became Ted, his sister Silvia became Sil. The one exception so far was that scarlet beanstalk of a seventh year Ted hung around with, whose name was too short to shorten and so was referred to by full three syllable surname. "There's an art to dumb jokes," he continued. "Pity you don't get that." And he was serious about thinking them an art, along with the good ones. No one beyond Silvia and now Ted got to hear them, but he liked making them nonetheless. It was not something he had picked up from his father, who was as opposed to 'dad jokes' or 'groan ups' as one could get. "Besides, you should be the one trying to be serious instead of insulting the biggest owl in the place. Those things eat a possum a day. And if you piss it off, it might try and eat you." Now wouldn't that be an image. A magical, Australian version of Hitchcock's The Birds, started playing out in Simon's mind, and he chuckled. "Maybe try one of the little owls, they seem more your speed." They were also more Simon's speed, not that he'd admit out loud just how cute he thought the tiny boobooks were. Okay, maybe to Silvia, but no one else. "Or maybe just a post box. That's probably safest. If you ignore the snakes or spiders that might get inside." Because Australia.

Simon chuckled, a low and throaty sound with a surprising amount of warmth to it. "Of course you haven't seen that kind of talent before, since you hadn't ever seen me dance." He was back to confident now, openly preening at Teddy's praise. Maybe it wasn't so bad that his mother had invited Teddy to his future dances. And maybe it wouldn't be so bad that Teddy knew about all this. Sure, he might have been the biggest gossip Simon knew, with a nose for gossip like a niffler had for shiny things, but he wouldn't share this. Teddy was a good friend. Again, a better one than Simon deserved. But this time he wasn't going to shove him away. Instead he turned into the hug, pulling back enough so that he could hug Teddy back, and press himself in so closely he could rest his chin on Teddy's shoulder. The same movement would allow Teddy's head to settle back down on Simon's shoulder, much as it had been before the physical rearrangement. "Hey, so, you wanna go inside and get some mini pies and sandwiches before the girls realise they don't have to stick to their diet?" He hoped there was still some good left - Simon knew all too well the urge to gorge once it was all over. "You could say hi to Silvia, and my mum can make a pain of herself again. I'm sure she'd like that." A sudden thought occurred as he held Teddy tight, and Simon had to voice it aloud. "What did she say to you, anyway? Mum, when she hugged you." (Simon)

Simon stood there quietly for some time, not pulling away from Teddy but not leaning into the hug either. Instead he was just there, calmly enjoying the solid presence at his back. Teddy was too good a friend for someone like him, Simon knew, clearly fighting through the general cloud of jerk to get through to someone who just... wasn't enough. Maybe that was why he was such an active jerk to him - better to snap and snarl now as a warning to stay away than a full-on vicious attack later, right? With a great exhale of breath Simon relaxed, fully leaning back into the hug. One arm came up to rest a hand on an arm wrapped around his torso. "You really thought I was good?" he asked in a tentative voice, as his fingers idly drew short lines across the bare skin of Teddy's forearm. "I mean, I know I'm good-" he added more firmly, and it wasn't an entirely unearned gloat, "but... you actually liked it? You're not just saying that because you - because you're my friend-" and here that tremulous note, so foreign and strange even to Simon, reappeared "-but... fuck, just forget it." A part of him wanted to walk away then, avoid the burning embarrassment that rose like bile up his throat. But he didn't. He held on. Or rather, continued to let Teddy do the holding on. (Simon)

"Violet, huh?" That explained a lot. It was all just a horrible coincidence. "How long do you think you can hold off running to her for all the juicy details? Five minutes? Ten?"He shook his head then, as if to shake away the next biting words that wanted to come out. Instead Simon focused on his mother's request: be nice. She was right. Despite all his behaviour Teddy was his friend - or at least the closest thing he had to one."I'm sorry," he mumbled quietly, the two words blurring together into one msorry. Then, louder and clearer, "That was a dick thing to say."Why yes, Simon did have the ability to say he was sorry. And more importantly, actually kind of mean it. Okay so he still was not looking at Teddy when he said it but it still counted, right? Simon sighed and ran a hand through his hair - then promptly grimaced at the feel of hairspray and gel that still clung to it, and now his hand. "You're the closest thing to a friend I have - how fucking sad am I? One friend and such an ass to him? - and-" And what, Simon? Simon didn't know. (Simon)

"Malaise, huh? That's quite the word." Simon couldn't deny its accuracy, however. "But I don't see the rest. She's more like Silvia than me. I'm sure you can see it." Like her mother, Simon's twin was an expert in poking at him - probably where she got him from. If Silvia was like their mother, the same could not be said for Simon and his father. Mummy's boy and Daddy's girl the twins were, but as the years went by Simon and his father had drifted apart, a relationship strained by magic and secrets growing worse. This summer had been the worst, with his father staring at him like he'd seen a ghost when he and Viorica had come to pick the twins up. It was three whole days before Aurel had said anything beyond 'please pass the salt'. Simon heaved a great sigh. "You didn't have to lie to her, you know. Now she'll ask me all about my 'friend'-" here he made air quotes "- and be heartbroken when you never come to anything I do." He still didn't look over at Teddy. Him being out of sight made it easier to talk to. "And you didn't have to lie when you said I was good. Why were you even here?" Had Teddy heard a rumour and decided to spy on him? Had he planned to confront Simon about this? It couldn't be a coincidence. Surely. (Simon)

Mama, please, Simon almost said, but he stopped himself before the words escaped. To do so would give Viorica more fuel for the fire, more embarrassment ammo for the attach; Simon did the same with others, but more out of meanness than fond ribbing. Still, he had learned at the feet of this master and was not fool enough to think he had surpassed her."Oh, he already has the wrinkles," she said with a laugh and a smile that crinkled her own features. "But they are not laugh lines like his mother's. I hope you can make him laugh more than I can."Now," she continued, "I had better be inside. They will wonder where I have gone. It was very nice to meet you, Theodore, and I hope you will come see my son dance again. Even if he doesn't invite you-" she punctuated this with a sharp glare at her son "- then I invite you."Seemingly satisfied with how much she had embarrassed her son, she moved forward to embrace Teddy. And not one to resist one more poke, she said softly in his ear, too quiet for Simon to overhear, "By the by, you have a little something on your mouth."Then she released him, smile practically beatific. "Now Simon, you be nice to that boy," she told her son, in a tone that meant there was only one acceptable reply."Yes, Mama."And then she was on her way. Simon watched until she was gone, back to Teddy the entire time. Once he was certain the were alone, he spoke but still did not turn back to face him. "Yeah, I know. I wonder how we're related too." (Simon)

While Viorica beamed at the praise heaped upon her son, Simon did the opposite. His face twisted into an over-dramatic frown that was almost comedic in its ridiculousness. It was not just due to how she continued to embarrass him (although it was no small part) but Teddy's reply.At times Simon seemed to exist in a sort of Schrödinger's confidence, at once intensely proud and yet intensely suspect of his own skill and hard work. Teddy's comments triggered the latter: what would a guy like Teddy know about ballet and what was good? He was looking at it with the eye of a casual audience, surely. And also it was just because he didn't rude to Simon's mother.(The same argument could not be applied to Viorica, as she clearly knew what good ballet was. The angry eleven year old that was the true Simon argued that it was because she was his mother, pointedly ignoring the many, many times she had been more kindly critical than cruely kind.)"Oh, don't make that face," she told him. Then to Teddy: "Does he make that face at school? I don't know why he insists on doing that. He has such a handsome face." To emphasise the point, she patted his cheek again. It only made Simon's scowl deepen. "Mama, are you trying to embarrass me?" "Don't be silly, Simon. I do not try - I succeed." (Simon)

Viorica turned to her son, one immaculate eyebrow raised ever so slightly. "'Friend?'" That one word was enough to set Simon's cheeks aflame - something she promptly ignored as much as the colour already on Teddy's lips and cheeks. To Teddy she said, in heavily accented but well-spoken English, "It is lovely to meet you, Theodore. I'm so pleased you decided to come see my boy perform. I always ask him, invite your friends, let them see you soar. And finally someone has come to see him." "Mama, I didn't-" "Simon has never let us meet his friends from school before," she continued on, barrelling over her son's attempt at correction. "Silvia yes, and I'm sure you know what a butterfly she is. But never Simon. You cannot know how happy it makes me to know that one of his friends has finally come to see him." Simon opened his mouth to try and correct her again, but shut it without a word. She may have been embarrassing him to no end, but he hadn't made her happy like this in... Well. He couldn't remember. She reached up and touched her son's cheek - the one without the heart - in a gentle caress. Pride emanated from that touch and the smile accompanying it. "He did so well tonight. I am so proud. Tell me Theodore, what did you think of my handsome knave?"(Simon)

To say Simon was surprised by the sudden burst of physicality from Teddy was an understatement. Teddy may have had a good three inches on him in height but he'd never been this aggressive before. It was so out of character, in Simon's eyes, that he missed the entirety of Teddy's speech.What he could not help but notice was Teddy's lips on his.He froze, neither returning the kiss nor pushing him away. When this had never happened before it most certainly would have been in a better place. Not with a Simon afraid and lashing out, and this Teddy who... was this Teddy. When he did find his ability to move again it was in his hands, which twisted into the fabric of Teddy's shirt but nothing more. To push, to pull, to hold Simon didn't know - and then the choice was made for him."Simon, darling, are you still out here?""Mama!" Simon half-gasped against Teddy's lips before pushing him away."Simon, is that you?" The voice was closer now, and as it approached his attempts to right himself and move away from Teddy became more panicked.But he gave into her questions. "Yes, Mama, I'm here." It was probably better to get this over and done with, try and take control before Teddy decided to be 'helpful'.His mother came around the slight corner, and stopped short at the sight of Simon not alone."Simon, who is this?"While it was clear from Simon's behavior who she was, there was little resemblance between mother and son. She was a tiny, delicate thing, almost a foot shorter than him with a face lined with hundreds of thousands of easy smiles. They did share the same colouring, the warm undertones of the skin and dark hair.There was no getting out of it now. "A friend from school, Mama, Theodore Spellman. Ted, this my mum, Viorica Bican." (Simon)

Even as worried as he was, Simon could not help but roll his eyes. "So that's a no on the bribery then?" he snarked. "What could it be then? Nothing like a little blackmail between friends, I guess." Simon was no fool, he was well are that you could never buy silence, only rent it. So what would Ted's starting price be? The closest thing to the Red Queen right now was Simon's mother, and he highly doubted Teddy would run inside and tell her. By now she did have the idea that her son was a dancer, and a knave. More than once he had stolen baking she had made before it was ready - and especially when it was never meant for him in the first place. Scratch that thought. What he could tell her was about the things that never happened. Nope, never happened, not once and certainly not twice. Zero, zilch, nada. The worry gnawing at his stomach was growing now, turning from thousands of tiny teeth into a handful of wicked fangs, of tearing incisors. His teeth were back, and he was ready to use them. How dare Ted do this, ruin his secret, interrupt his coming down from the dancing high, and insist on sticking around through everything? He pushed forward from the wall at his back, and into Teddy's personal space. He didn't let anything like the three inches Teddy had on him stop him from doing his best to be intimidating. Were he a cat, he would be twice his normal size, puffed up in rage and terror. "Fuck you, Theodore Spellman," he ground out, voice so low it was almost a growl. "This is mine, and I don't want you to share it. You can't have it. So name your price." (Simon)

Too absorbed in his little video world to notice anyone's approach - let alone Teddy's - that when the tap on his shoulder came, he practically leaped three feet in the air. Not an impossibility, mind you, given the leaps he had done not long before in the grand pas. Worse though was that he dropped his phone, pulling the headphones from his ears and skittering across the concrete with only the anti-breakage charm Simon (like most students) had put on it keeping it safe. He swore under his breath before turning on the tapper. And promptly froze, colour draining from his face as it dawned on him he had been caught. It made the red traces on his lips and the shadow of the heart on his cheek stand out all the more starkly. His phone lay on the ground, forgotten in Simon's shocked panic. Ted. Teddy Spellman. Shit. All of Tallygarunga would know of this by the end of their first day back. He'd be ruined. The peace and quiet that had come with the persona he'd accidentally cultivated would have gone, and instead there'd be... There'd be expectations, people wanting him to be their little dancing boy. For one moment he thought he could deny it, say what was him? But then Ted named him Knave and that was it. Game over, man, game over. "Congratulations, Ted," he said, trying to keep his standard level of snark but struggling for the thick layer of panic that coated his tongue. He swallowed hard and tried again. "You've solved the mystery. I stole the Queen's tarts. Now what do you want?" (Simon)