 HeadGirlMC | Treddie & Trixiver <3 | Copy Girl | Katie's Ickle Minion | I love YOU more
The more that Mavis would argue with him, the longer he would stand his ground. It wasn’t even like he was arguing back but there was a strange thrill to being on the receiving end to such sass. A participation trophy would be appreciated, he’d place it next to his endurance plaque from putting up with the accusations.
Miniature Mavis didn’t appear to be as mistrusting as her mum but was doing a great job at whispering secrets. He settled the hat gently on the top of Andrea’s head before his brow arched questioningly. “Resemblance to who?” his eyes flicked between the pair, judging who would crack first.
If she thought that she could get away with the blatant admission that she was warming to him then she had another thing coming. “Is that how I gain your admiration then? By buying you pastries?” The corner of his mouth twitched into a playfully crooked smile as he watched her fluff her perfectly styled curls. “Because I have a whole stack of these things from that cup over there and I came here very much alone.” he waved the vouchers in his hand. Subtly wasn’t his strong point, the Sorting Hat hadn’t even considered any house other than Gryffindor for a reason.
Usually his name came with questions about whether he grew up in the city of Chester, never as an association with a fictional cat. “I’m pretty certain it means fortress” Or something like that anyway, hence why it was used as a suffix to so many place names. “I’d say it’s because my parents liked the city but I don’t think they’ve ever visited.” And this was likely not the response she was anticipating from what he assumed was supposed to be a jibe at him. “But I can guarantee that if they were big fans of literature from centuries ago, my sister would be called Alice and not Allison.” On second thoughts they were remarkably similar. “And Tessa would be what? Tweedle?” he chuckled. Why she was so caught up on the fact he liked smiling, he did not know. “If it makes you feel better, you can call me whatever you like.” Within reason anyway. Chestire was relatively inoffensive in the long list of names he could be called.
He was about to make a comment about the pastry being tainted by a love potion as she licked her fingers clean when she changed the subject of conversation to his chosen profession. “I’m a photographer, yes. Freelance though, you won’t find my work on the cover of Witch Weekly.” Or whatever other publication was popular with the crowds. He enjoyed photographing a pretty subject of course but he didn’t appreciate being told to capture the same poses over and over again. Maybe if the money was persuasive his opinion might change temporarily, rent was expensive.
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