Not a lot of conversation options follow someone admitting that they examine all the colors in your hair. One could follow the vain route and discuss how they too have examined the colours of their own hair, however, Ollie was not the vain sort. Another pathway could be to remain in modest silence, which Ollie often did but greatly hindered the conversation aspect. Though, he supposed, it might be possible to create a conversation that didn't make him sound like a vain creature, which would be fine by him. Either silence or conversation; he liked both and wouldn't so much mind the silence, anyway.

For a few minutes he remained in silence beside the girl. They were an odd pair, he had decided. Not odd for each other, but odd in who they were. He was the heartbreak King (as in, heartbroken, not heartbreaker) who lived in a perpetual daydream and was constantly constructing story ideas in his mind. Rain made him weepy and romance was what he thrived for. Sometimes, his friends called him outdated or jaded.

The girl beside him was unconventional, no matter the world she chose to live in, be it wizarding or muggle. Attire that fit neither world and hair that the sun god itself seemed to have kissed, and hats seemed to be an often donned accessory. Quite often, her face was red and she seemed to be almost out of worldly - or at least not of this time. Maybe they each were born to the incorrect time periods.

This was, perhaps, the reason he felt comfortable laying here beside this Hufflepuff girl that he honestly knew little of. Granted, strangers didn't often move Ollie from his comfort zone (with the sole exception of Mozzie and her friends, for they could terrify anyone), but this moment especially felt comfortable, because he knew Roísin was, like him, an artist, a connoisseur of the finer things in life, and the details of beauty. Perhaps she, too, was a dreamer?

"What's it look like?" he finally asked after many minutes of silence. His voice was soft and quiet, almost a mumur and he felt a certainty that she would hear him. "My hair, I mean. The colors - what kind of colors has it in it?"

What did Roísin see when she looked at his hair?

----------------------------------------------------

"Hissy fit?" scoffed Mozzie, sitting back down beside Tristan and glancing over Inez and Quentin. "No one's throwing a hissy fit - you're just moving too slow for my fast paced life." Her tease was left with a grin and she tugged on her leg warmers before zipping up her hooded jacket.

"Geeeze, it's getting chilly," she muttered as darker clouds rolled in through the sky, their ominous threat growing more and more suspicious. Another rain storm. Alas. This time, they'd be inside, though! Hurrah, hurrah!