#divinelf

do u wanna do a christmas card for me in french then

♥: Your muse crying about something

Most of the time he doesn't ask--half because he doesn'twant to know, and half because he thinks it would all goway over his head even if he did. All of that is Davina'sworld, and he's just...a guest in it, he supposes. Doesn'tbother him much--at this rate, his life could do with beinga little more average.

So he doesn't ask when she comes in carrying a stack of books that are probably older than the city, or an armful of herbs that stink the place up for days, and hedefinitely doesn't ask when he's startled out of what he'sdoing by the door being slammed behind her. But he doeslook up long enough to catch the red eyes, the vain attemptto hide the tears rolling down her cheeks and the way herhand trembles at her side.

                      She's many things, Davina Claire is, but she's not much of                      a liar, or particularly good at hiding her feelings. So he's on                      his feet in a heart beat, and she doesn't protest in the slightest                      when he draws her in for a hug--really she doesn't say anything                       at all, there's only a soft hiccup against his collarbone, and he                      presses a single kiss atop her head, smoothing back her hair.

          "--'s alright, you're alright, whatever it is, you'll be fine,          it can wait."

♦: Slow dancing

She's practically giddy when she discovers that yes,that dusty, decades old gramophone does in fact stillwork, and he knows instantly that peace and quiet isa thing of the past. Mostly because Davina seems utterly determined to play every record she can gether hands on--and as it turns out, there are quite afew lying around the place.

          Davina is the one who starts it, but it takes all of about          three seconds for him to take the lead--mostly because          she is simply far too tiny to be the lead in any kind of           dance. And she kept standing on his feet.

The song isn't quite slow enough for this kind of dance,but he's not any kind of expert at anything beyond theone very simple waltz his mom taught him when he was ten, so they run with it. Davina doesn't seem to mind and after a few minutes of it, she's got enough ofa hang of the steps to not step on his toes every othermovement. Besides, it's way too late and they are waytoo tired for anything faster.

♟: Patching up a wound

All behold the big bad witch of New Orleans, who took downoriginal vampires, werewolves and all manner of creature inbetween--but who tripped over her own feet and cut open herleg on the sidewalk. Newt would be lying if he said that he didn't find it at least a little bit funny. Of course, when he'dlaughed carrying her inside ( because of course, she'd fallenabout ten feet from the door ), she had given him a glare thatprobably could have killed someone.

But that, in turn, had only made him laugh more, setting herdown on the bed--and listening to her mutter that she could have walked up the stairs on her own just fine thank you very much, even if they both knew it was a lie if ever shehad told one.

                     So he grinned, shaking his head while cleaning the cut                     not complaining too much when she whacked him up                     side the head between winces.

          "You're bloody hopeless."

♔ :Finding your muse wearing their clothes

It had long since become common occurrence for Davinato be in his apartment--so he'd stopped questioning it, shegenerally just shrugged whenever it was brought up and hejust went with it. Such was life now, he supposed. A wholelotta hot chocolate, more jazz music than anyone shouldever have to hear and a live in witch. So of course, when he woke up and found her perched comfortably on hiscouch, her nose buried in a book that looked older than either of them, he didn't think anything of it.

                        However, when he did a double take, slumping sleepily                        into the spot beside her, he quirked an eyebrow in                         question, to which she pointedly didn't bother looking up.                        Not uncommon, whenever she was doing something, she                        tended to get so involved, he would shout at her and she                         wouldn't hear a damn word he was saying.

          "--is that my shirt?"

And again, she didn't look up, but he did catch the smirkshe was trying ( and failing ) to bite back, as it tugged atthe corners of her mouth. Which of course, he took as hiscue to roll his eyes, letting out a sigh, jabbing her in theside just hard enough to earn him a soft laugh.  

          "I s'ppose I'm not gettin' that back then?"