Golden Snitches Get Stitches (open)

Ollie could not sing, though that never stopped him should the mood strike him or if he and some mates happened upon a karaoke bar after a particularly rowdy night. However, he was not the sort to jump onto a table in the middle of the day and start wreaking havoc on innocent eardrums by mutilating some well-known songs completely out of the blue. That had to at least be accompanied by the phrase “I dare you” or a half drunken pitcher of ale. Or maybe his brother looking mortified at the idea of people looking toward him in public without his consent. Kit was a laugh and a half when he wanted to be, but it wouldn’t have been the first time the younger Devereaux had embarrassed his bro in public and there was surely many more opportunities to come. Now, however, he wasn’t dared, drunk, or in messing with his brother and had he been able to read Echo’s thoughts he would have been mortified to discover that she’d given the idea of him singing into his ice cream cone even half a second’s worth of consideration.

A napkin was slid over to him from across the table and Echo gazed at him, licking her ice cream innocently as the little boy at the next table gaped. This was bloody brilliant, wasn’t it? At least his turn at making her into the center of attention had been truthful, that little girl had asked for a real signature from a real quidditch player. Ollie was no Stubby Boardman and now he had to either ruin the charade that was really rather amusing or give this kid a false story to share with his mates. Fuck it. “Hold this,” he said in a truly shit Northern accent, thrusting his ice cream cone into Echo’s hand so that he could retrieve his wand from his pocket and start doling out forged signatures. He started with a large flourish on the S, taking up far too much of the napkin and having to make a dash and finish the ‘rdman’ on a second line. A completely shite autograph to be sure, and he’d possibly misspelled Boardman – there was an E in there, wasn’t there? “Here ya are, love. That’ll make you a pretty knut if you get hard up.” He gave her a wink and another botched signature lip curl as he handed over the worthless napkin and extended his hand for his ice cream cone to be returned to him.

For a few minutes at least, Ollie thought he’d gotten away with not having to dash the little boy’s dreams of meeting a famous musician and nothing much else happened while the pair ate their ice cream cones and laughed about nothing in particular, but as the boy and his mum were getting ready to go, the little lad approached and stuttered his request for an autograph. “Right-o, mate,” he said in a rubbish accent yet again, scrawling an only slightly better forgery for the boy and giving him a hair tussle on the head. The boy skipped off happily as Ollie avoided making eye contact with his mum, who surely knew the difference between a famous musician and a dumb youngster playing a joke. “Alright,” Ollie said to Echo as he stood from the table and slid his chair out of the walkway with his foot, “now you owe me an ice cream.” He smiled showing there was no such debt, though he wouldn’t pass up another opportunity for such a fun afternoon, and raised his hand awaiting a farewell high-five. “See ya ‘round, Everwood.” A high-five; the most awkward ending to an interaction peppered with awkwardness all the way through. Classic Ollie.

Tags: Echo Arista Everwood // Word Count: 623 //
Outfit: IDK, something cool // Notes: ✦