Clem sits down next to Avery, putting her sneakered feet onto the next step down so her knees are almost up to her chin.
"Thanks, it's got a pocket," she says, leaning back and sticking her hand into the wholly impractical, slightly-off-boob-center shirt pocket. She never keeps anything in there, because it wouldn't fit much more than a snack sized candy bar, and that would melt at boob temperatures. Maybe a single hair tie or a crib sheet for a transfig test.
She leans hers chin on her knees while Avery talks, occasionally considering interrupting her but ultimately just letting her ramble on. She seems pretty drunk. "When he's not being a pill it's not so bad," she says when the topic of Quayle comes up. "We actually agree on most things. Quidditch things," she amends quickly. They very super much do not agree on most real-life things.
Avery & Clem
"Thanks, it's got a pocket," she says, leaning back and sticking her hand into the wholly impractical, slightly-off-boob-center shirt pocket. She never keeps anything in there, because it wouldn't fit much more than a snack sized candy bar, and that would melt at boob temperatures. Maybe a single hair tie or a crib sheet for a transfig test.
She leans hers chin on her knees while Avery talks, occasionally considering interrupting her but ultimately just letting her ramble on. She seems pretty drunk. "When he's not being a pill it's not so bad," she says when the topic of Quayle comes up. "We actually agree on most things. Quidditch things," she amends quickly. They very super much do not agree on most real-life things.