Oliver probably should have been more upset about the layover for his flight, but he was surprisingly upbeat. With New Years coming up, it figured that something would go wrong when he was forced to take a last minute flight into France. His family would understand, of course, but Olly was never one to sit around or wait for too very long. He was immediately grateful that he had been born with the presence of mind to have something on hand to do at all times.
Well, 'last minute' was a bit more dramatic than what his flight was. His was New Year's Eve, and with no one but family to spend time with, Oliver couldn't quite complain – at least he wouldn't be forced to go about kissing his cousins' cheeks or something. No, he was fine with whatever delays had come up – weather or otherwise (he'd been far too uninterested to check what the problem was). After ambling around the airport for a time, Ollie had finally landed himself back where he started: the seating area down the hall from his boarding gate. With the foam on top of the exceedingly tall drink in his hand, one might think he was drinking something with alcohol in it. The twenty-year-old, however, had never found a liking for beer, so the idea wasn't pleasing in the slightest. Sure, he would drink it conversationally, but never just out of boredom. So it was with an Apple Cider that the Hufflepuff Graduate had been making his way about the building.
He settled himself in front of a long table in an arm chair among several others of its kind (As well as a couple couches interspersed in the rotunda that made up gate C16). Oliver nearly wanted to curl up and set an alarm on his cell so he could take a nap – he certainly had enough time to do so. The cold drink in his hand had enough sugar to get him by, though. After all, he had a phone call to make.
He dug into his carry-on and pulled out a phone and a deck of cards. Selecting his mum's number from his 'Favorites' list, Ollie opened the pack of cards and let them slide out into his hand as he settled the cell on his shoulder where he could hold it up to his ear as he shuffled the deck. Jokers set aside, he set about choosing the game he would play as the phone connected and started dialing. By the third ring, he was shuffling for the fifth time, with the speed and skill of someone who could make a living off of dealing cards at a casino or the like. Oliver, of course, was no such thing. No, he was content with his career and wasn't likely to give it up for a job in robbing people too foolish or drunk to properly handle their money (or their drink, for that matter).
“Maman,” he greeted, leaning to his side to keep the phone against his cheek. He dealt four cards for himself, face up. It had become a habit of his to toy with playing cards, even on his own, to relax or to pass time. After nearly twelve or thirteen years of playing new games and gathering new decks of cards, Oliver found himself using his most favourite – and arguably the most worn – set. He placed down another four cards – one atop each of the previously placed ones, and began a game of his recent obsession: Suits.
His mother, though glad to hear from him, was clearly concerned when he dialed her number while his flight should have been taking off. “Non, je ne – Maman, écoutes.” Oliver sighed, attempting to talk over both his mum and the prattle of ten or so French and British accents all talking amongst themselves in the background. “No, mum. The flight, it's been delayed or something.”
Olly would be the first to tell you that his family was all kinds of strange. His mum was partly French and partly British, so while her accent was heavily French, her maiden name was Clark (which also explained her rather English-sounding first name, Deborah). But she had been closer to her mum's side of the family, ensuring that Oliver would grow up learning the French language his mother loved so well.
It was most curious, Ollie had been told, that while his French accent was remarkably proper, his British accent was nearly as clipped and posh as his father's. Growing up among people who spoke a combination of three or four different languages at a time made picking up both new accents and new languages simple for Oliver. Undoubtedly, anyone within hearing range would send him the strange look he always received when he switched back and forth. Anyone who got to know him, though, would find that he was actually rather in love with the slang of languages just as much as he adored using more complicated or obscure words in his writing. Sometimes he would have an entire conversation in phrases made primarily of slang, but then would switch to going on like he was writing one of his novels. He often forgot the fact that many of those he conversed with wouldn't care to hear his latest opening sentence idea.
“I know, mum. I'm sorry. I'll just be late.” Three of spades is less than the ten of spades. That one goes to the side. Ace of hearts is higher than the other hearts, so all the smaller ones can go as well. “...yes, I can try and sleep on the plane. … Well, I wouldn't very well be able to call you while I was sleeping, now would I? Otherwise I would be doing so now.” He laughed, “Yes, well I'll find time. But you know me – I can keep awake for ages. How else do you think I actually managed to finish any of those essays in school?... I did pretty well, all things considered. Especially for a 'Puff who couldn't quite focus in classes sometimes.”
Oliver, ever one to try and make others feel good, tended to make jokes about himself rather than the people around him. But his mum laughed regardless, making him smile warmly – even if it was only directed at the cards in his hand rather than at her. It looked like he was going to win his game, too.
“Oui, mais je ne sais pas quand.” He replied to the question of if he would get another flight. He couldn't say when he would land, but hopefully he oculd find out and call or text before the plane boarded. “D'accord. Je sais. Oui. Et toi. À demain.” Hanging up his phone, Oliver swiped his hand over the low table before him to pick up his cards before taking a drink from his glass.
Well, he hoped he would land tomorrow anyway, Oliver noted as he recalled his closing promise of “see you tomorrow.” He was pretty thrilled that he could avoid the countless questions (often repetitive of course) from his large and rowdy family for a day or so. But then, what was a holiday without someone to share it with? Better a large and crazy family than being alone. Olly didn't think he could complain about them and mean it; they were pretty wonderful if he did say so himself.
(OOC: I said New Years, but I could change it if it doesn't make sense for Maisie)
Last edited by Oliver Connolly on Sun Jan 12, 2014 5:58 pm; edited 2 times in total