not quite full moons

awoo

The moon had not yet completed it's revolution, leaving it just the faintest smidgeon off from being completely full. All the same, it was doing a remarkable job of stealing away the spotlight that the moon so jealously shared with the stars, bathing the night sky in just enough light to be a marked plum midnight. The light of the moon was not taking all it's time to shine across the sky, and instead let the occasional moonbeam darting about to the world below. For all it's effort, there was not all that much that was willing to be as hospitable as the moon would like, though one rather dreadful fact of the modern human world was that there were very few people taking the time to consider the way of the moon when designing architecture, a fault of being creatures more fond of daylight than the moonlight.
One particular New Fiddleham garden was very much the outlier to this. Actually, 926 Augur Lane managed to be an outlier to every rule, including those that were made in and existed solely within the space that had once been enclosed within a fence around the property.
Pretty and very precisely placed patterns of the moonlight trailed and danced and darted about the garden in a way that seemed so thoroughly ancient, and yet new with each night that passed by.

This sounded all very charming and serene, which was decidedly not the case anywhere else. The very distinctive thump of a presently human body colliding into the wall once again came about. This did not alarm the man who had undertaken this specific wall-colliding, nor the other occupants in the room.
After all, it was the full moon and one simply learnt to experience an increase to the typical levels of oddities in the days that bookended this.

"If you must, Mr. Cane," came the remark of the man who was the closest to legally owning the house, the mad detective and Seer, R. F. Jackaby, using the man's choice of personal surname rather than the slightly demeaning one that had been given to him professionally, holding his teacup close to his chest to avoid it being spilled, "Do try to avoid knocking anything that, if broken, might possibly invoke a curse?"

"Sorry Mr. Jackaby," returned the man, one Charlie Cane - and indeed also one Charlie Barker, and Kazimir Cain - as he paced about the room in a way that was not entirely fitting of the future ruler of the Om Caini, "I will not break anything that doesn't want to be broken." This was not entirely as diplomatic as he usually was, nor as legible as he could have been, taking far too fast. Of course, diplomacy and legibility are not so easily maintained when walking directly into a doorframe when cutting too much of a corner when pacing through it.

"Does that have a chance of cursing someone, sir?" Abigail asked, suspiciously eyeing the piece of pottery by the hallway door that she, herself, had almost broken on more than one occasion since it arrived.

"Probably," her employer remarked with a wave of his hand, "I'm not sure. I haven't finished deciphering it. That's the problem with dead languages, anyone who I might have been able to ask for clarification are all too busy being dead to help me."

"And yet," the house's resident ghost, Jenny Cavanaugh remarked, her being dead having nothing to do with why she did not want to help, "He still ignored me when I told him not to leave something dangerous lying about like that."

"I did not ignore you," the Seer replied as he brought his teacup to his lips, "I heard you, considered your opinion and then decided not to acknowledge it."

"Which is, by definition, ignoring me." Jenny deadpanned in a way that was definitely an attempt to good-humouredly copy the man's own delivery.

"Definitions are limiting and create preconceived notions." was all he was able to offer in what was definitely not a defence.

Charlie dashed passed again, his pacing having reached a speed that was far closer to a brisk jog than it was a leisurely walk. He was ordinarily a rather decently tended to fellow, but his usually neat hair was set about in curls, improbably fast stubble prickling his face, these two combining in a way that left a charmingly scruffy impression about the young man. He was doing his best at working off some of the energy that came with it nearing the full moon, which was a losing battle as it just left him exhausted and bursting with far too much energy.
He would have very much liked to succumb to the call of the hound, to take form and simply run until he could not run any more, as was common when he was with his family, but alas there were just one too many posters plastered about recently calling for his demise to be able to justify it. So, he had to take to pacing the house as if that could ever compare.
He might have been slightly embarrassed by the lack of control he was exhibiting in front of an audience had his audience not have been made of perfectly peculiar people that were  just as fond and understanding of him as he was of them.