when it's one of those days
[Ford's part of this post is open; Gilderoy's is closed to Luna, but feel free to have your character notice him!]
Rutherford Briggs is at The Coffee Shop.
There's nothing unusual about this-he's here every day, usually in the same spot, nursing either a large French vanilla latte with two shots of espresso (weekdays) or a medium hazlenut iced coffee (weekends) while skimming over the day's newspaper. He is a creature of habit.
Messing with his routine is a guaranteed way to get the dirtiest of looks.
We're talking about you, person sitting in his usual spot.
Luckily, he is only easily annoyed, and "I'm annoyed" is not grounds for killing (as would be the case with some of his friends-at least he has self-control, he thinks, and is that much more smug). So he turns on his heel and looks for another spot. Unfortunately, the shop is about as crowded as it can be for a weekday morning, and the only open seats belong to tables that are already occupied.
And it's raining out, so he really has no choice if he wants to get his pre-office routine taken care of.
He wanders up to the least crowded, least messy table he can find and offers a smile to whoever is seated there. "Excuse me. Would you mind if I sat here for a few minutes?"
Streets away, over in the still-sort-of-deteriorating Kashtta, Gilderoy Lockhart has a problem on his hands.
A really, really big problem. A 500something-pound problem, to be exact, that is not so much on his hands as it is on his paws.
He is a tiger.
Apparently, raging at the journal network and Chicago and all its fuckery this week triggered another shapeshifting session. His suit didn't survive this time, and it hurt like hell. Who knew growing bones would hurt more than shrinking them?
(Harry Potter. Dohohoho.)
He immediately heads for Luna's room, tripping over his paws on the way. They are big, and there are four of them, and he's never had to walk like this before. Tails, apparently, have a purpose! And he can't figure out how to make his work. Really, he's just waiting to hear someone yell something along the lines of "there's a drunk tiger in the hallway!"
When he reaches her door, he squints at it, calculating. If he can just get to the doorknob, he can probably-
Knock the entire door in.
That wasn't the plan, but. Okay. What crappy doors these must be, that they can't even support the weight of a tiger...
Sorry, Luna.
Rutherford Briggs is at The Coffee Shop.
There's nothing unusual about this-he's here every day, usually in the same spot, nursing either a large French vanilla latte with two shots of espresso (weekdays) or a medium hazlenut iced coffee (weekends) while skimming over the day's newspaper. He is a creature of habit.
Messing with his routine is a guaranteed way to get the dirtiest of looks.
We're talking about you, person sitting in his usual spot.
Luckily, he is only easily annoyed, and "I'm annoyed" is not grounds for killing (as would be the case with some of his friends-at least he has self-control, he thinks, and is that much more smug). So he turns on his heel and looks for another spot. Unfortunately, the shop is about as crowded as it can be for a weekday morning, and the only open seats belong to tables that are already occupied.
And it's raining out, so he really has no choice if he wants to get his pre-office routine taken care of.
He wanders up to the least crowded, least messy table he can find and offers a smile to whoever is seated there. "Excuse me. Would you mind if I sat here for a few minutes?"
Streets away, over in the still-sort-of-deteriorating Kashtta, Gilderoy Lockhart has a problem on his hands.
A really, really big problem. A 500something-pound problem, to be exact, that is not so much on his hands as it is on his paws.
He is a tiger.
Apparently, raging at the journal network and Chicago and all its fuckery this week triggered another shapeshifting session. His suit didn't survive this time, and it hurt like hell. Who knew growing bones would hurt more than shrinking them?
(Harry Potter. Dohohoho.)
He immediately heads for Luna's room, tripping over his paws on the way. They are big, and there are four of them, and he's never had to walk like this before. Tails, apparently, have a purpose! And he can't figure out how to make his work. Really, he's just waiting to hear someone yell something along the lines of "there's a drunk tiger in the hallway!"
When he reaches her door, he squints at it, calculating. If he can just get to the doorknob, he can probably-
Knock the entire door in.
That wasn't the plan, but. Okay. What crappy doors these must be, that they can't even support the weight of a tiger...
Sorry, Luna.