<div class="floatleft">(https://www.thoughtco.com/thmb/EXwmLQ0O3khWz2mHbRB3RCAlYXc=/650x393/filters:no_upscale():max_bytes(150000):strip_icc()/Henry-Cavill-Man-of-Steel-56f015bc5f9b5867a1c57978.jpg)</div><div class="floatright">(https://i.imgur.com/yuExVFv.png)</div><table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td><strong>NAME:</strong> Michael Oakes (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=299655.msg14703824#msg14703824)<br/><strong>YEAR:</strong> Hufflepuff / 7th Year<br/><strong>BLOOD STATUS:</strong> Muggle-Born<br/><strong>WAND:</strong> 14" | Sycamore | Dragon Heartstring<br/><strong>WEARING:</strong> A blue buttoned shirt and his best pair of jeans, a rough green jacket with a little wear and tear<br/><strong>DATE | TIME:</strong>  Saturday, 26 October, 2019 | Evening<br/><strong>LOCATION:</strong> Three Broomsticks<br/><strong>CONTENT:</strong> Turned my whole world upside down...<br/><strong>MOOD MUSIC:</strong> Eric Clapton - Layla (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0WUdlaLWSVM)<br/><strong>TAGGING:</strong> Juliette, Closed</td></tr></tbody></table><br/><hr/><br/>Michael was very glad when Juliette echoed his toast. He'd been concerned he may say the wrong thing, but it seemed she was as eager to invest herself as he was. Though the concern about what he was saying had lead to his cheeks being a similar deep red tone to hers. Something he was painfully aware of but unable to do a thing about. Any potential embarrassment was only muted by the fact Juliette seemed to mirror his feelings. At least he was not alone in his awkwardness.<br/><br/>He nodded in agreement, again. He was very glad she enjoyed the drink, and beamed at her as he leaned in a little. Aiming to be attentive he couldn't help chuckling at the way she whispered her preference for French cuisine as though it was a dangerous secret. Fortunately a good deal of their traditional dishes could easily be found in the British isles, the nation's proximity favoured sharing and her favoured cuisine was famous the world over. Although Michael, personally, held a preference for the simple, hearty British classics.<br/><br/>There was a brief shake of his head when she asked for forgiveness, as an effort to dismiss the idea that she had done anything that needed forgiving. Her tastes were her own, after all. After that he listened in to her description of flamiche. He loosely thought he'd heard of the dish, and it sounded delicious, but Michael wasn't an expert on French food by any means. "I'd love to try it." He responded eagerly. Though it was easy to guess by his sheer size Michael's appetite was well known around Hogwarts.<br/><br/>The desserts she listed, at least those that he recognised, were all things he enjoyed a great deal. Although he couldn't claim to have a sweet tooth like she did he was all too happy to eat his share of puddings. "A good dessert is perfection." He added in agreement, before momentarily pausing to think. His far larger fingers gently moved to brush against hers. Many expected clumsiness from Michael, but a life of practical living had lent itself to physical dexterity. Where her skin was soft his was calloused and rough, both hands marked with a variety of scars. Burns, scratches and even bites. Predominantly fading but still present they could be felt, a tapestry that hinted at his reckless nature. But where the marks told of his tendency for bold, drastic choices his actual movements here were delicate, gently running a fingertip along Juliette's palm. It was an idle movement, invited by her and done only as he thought.<br/><br/>"I would have to confess I favour the simple things. Bangers 'N Mash. A good roast dinner. Even a bacon sandwich." He now had an apologetic expression. It wasn't a picture of sophistication even if it was honest. He rarely tried posh food, and tended to prefer to avoid it even when given the opportunity. Michael liked life simple. His fingertips didn't stop moving as he spoke, large hand eventually very cautiously capturing Juliette's to lightly embrace her. At that point he paused and half-smiled, glancing about the room before returning his attention to her and looking sideways at the touch. It was light by his standards, but firm enough to show confidence in himself. He wondered what she made of all the marks on his hands. Almost impulsively, born of that one brief moment of self-consciousness, he felt an apology slip from his tongue. "Sorry." He stated simply, not clarifying what he might be apologising for.