#afigg

What ringtone my muse has set for yours: Amelia keeps her phone on silent 95% of the time, but when it’s not it rings with the standard tones. 

What contact photo my muse has set for yours:

What my muse thinks of the way yours texts: Occasionally the texts have a slightly flirtatious tone to them, but that is likely due to the fact that inflection is difficult to read in a text message.

How quickly my muse responds to your texts: As soon as she’s able. Sometimes she gets engrossed in her work, but when she comes up for air, she’ll respond

How often our muses text: Now that they’ve reconnected, the texts go back and forth fairly often

How often our muses call: Occasionally. Generally texts are easier, but there are exceptions.

Does my muse purposefully miss calls from yours: No. On the occasions that Amelia cannot get to her phone because she is in a meeting or something of that nature, she returns any missed calls or messages promptly. And those close to her know that if she doesn’t answer the first time and it’s an emergency, they should call back immediately. Two calls in a row from the same person and she’ll answer, no matter what’s going on.  

Across the table, thick, leather-bound books were opened to yellowed, aging papers, the silver lettering that detailed the covers glinting in the muted lighting. Black Magic: The Left-Hand Path, Magic and Alchemy, Secrets of the Darkest Art. 

If anyone didn't know them, the dark tombs that the two Order members were pouring over would be enough to turn heads and raise countless questions, but fortunately they had been smart enough not to delve into their research in a public space.

At the moment, they were in the empty room ordinarily used for the Order meetings. Across the wooden table, Remus had laid out a careful array of documents, some aging and fragile and others new, hastily scribed maps and notes passed to the pair over the past week. Across the end of the table was a map of London, covered in ink marks where notes had been added on movements, attacks, and secret houses, all thickly disguised beneath a heavy blanket of charms that Remus was currently working on lowering.

This was the less glamorous side of the war. There wasn't any fancy spell-work or daring bravery, but instead a lingering smell of mold and a steady cloud of dust that seemed to catch and settle on any available surface possible. However, you would be hard-pressed to hear the Marauder complain about it. Here, surrounded by texts and maps, the werewolf was in his element.

The security and steadiness of research was something that he'd pick over the bloodlust of battle any day. Besides, this work was crucial and essential to their effort, no matter how trivial and grueling it seemed at times. During his time at Hogwarts, most of their most successful pranks and plotting had only been possible as a result of meticulous research, and although the end goal wasn't quite the same, the methodical practice was something that he knew well.

Moving away from the map and lowering his wand now, Remus bit his lip before glancing back towards Arabella, breaking the steady, comfortable silence that had stretched between the two as they worked.