6 Mischiefs Managed - [Accidental video] (backdated to Monday)

[greding]

[George is seated at the kitchen table, making some notes on a piece of paper. A cup of tea can be seen next to his paper. He takes occasional sips as he works, scratching his nose with the tip of his quill. Beyond his left shoulder, the kettle is thrumming away happily on the stovetop, clearly about to start boiling any minute. George pauses over

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[action for the cabin]

[feorging]

[They're always up at the same time, these two, either out of some freaky psychic twin connection or the fact George is a twat and likes to try and pull one over on Fred while he's snoozing away - but it's no matter. Fred doesn't mind, and honestly, he's glad for it, if only because that means he can send his brother to go make the morning's tea. Only problem with this morning is that George seems keen on letting the kettle wake the whole bloody house.]

Oi, you tosspot! Have you forgotten how to turn off the stove again?

[Honestly, what would he ever do without--

After a moment of getting no response, Fred ultimately decides that maybe George isn't throwing a fit and giving him the silence treatment but that maybe something's wrong. He can't have gone, can he? He promised he wouldn't. He gave his word. Fred immediately jumps out of bed and is charging down the stairs in moments.]

George! [And there he is, sitting at the table with his notes, as per usual. Fred sighs (irritation or relief?), then moves to turn off the fire beneath the kettle and put an end to its incessant whinging.] Merlin's beard, you arse. You could respond when I insult your less-than-par intelligence.

[No witty response or snide remark, and Fred's taught him better than that. He turns back to his brother with a frown.]

Georgie? [No response. He walks over and leans over the table beside him.] Hullo? [Still nothing. So Fred flicks his forehead and jumps back, prepared for George to give up the hoax and lash back at him. But yet again, nothing. He's alive, though, and Fred starts to think that maybe this is a curse. He scratches at his chin, pondering what he ought to do with a statue of his twin, when he notices the quill he was working with.]

Well. Don't mind if I do.

[Cue grinning, the devious sort, and caution to any that might be coming down the stairs because Fred's just started his newest masterpiece on his brother's face.]