Okay, so Turlough didn't really CELEBRATE Saint Patrick's Day. But he did read about it, mainly the part where people (mostly Americans) used it as an excuse to drink copious amounts, particularly of beer
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Lezard Valeth had read about St. Patrick's Day as well. He didn't consider it a holiday worthy of celebration. Driving all the snakes out of a small island kingdom? Hardly an impressive feat. Besides, Lezard's sympathies rested more with the snakes.
That didn't mean he wasn't going to have a drink or two. La Fee Verte's domain appealed to his aesthetic sense (though in his opinion it could do with some randomly placed treasure chests and maybe a lava pit or two), so he enjoyed nipping into the Little Green Apple now and again. There was also an added incentive to resort to alcohol: He needed something to take his mind off certain compulsions left over from his recent experience of being a chinchilla.
Lezard noticed the glare, and chose to spin the laziness of it thusly: "Now, now, Groundskeeper. Just because we shared one mindblowing kiss isn't any reason to go making eyes at a student."
"All those detentions say otherwise. But I should say no more on the subject, for alas, our love is forbidden." Lezard drained half his glass of the abominable concoction known as Irish Trashcan Punch, and set the glass down on the bar with a dejected clunk.
"Then why haven't I seen Kojiro yet? I've seen everyone else here at Hogwarts. Some people far too often," he added with a glare in Lezard's direction. And yes, Turlough's lying.
"Perhaps he only appears to people he especially likes or especially dislikes," Lezard conjectured with every outward show of seriousness. "I've won his heart and if we contravene his wishes he'll surely steal you away. That, or he may start leaving you dubious presents."
"Oh, groundskeeper. I will not protest against this silly charade of yours. I know only too well that you won't wish to go up against Kojiro, and therefore I am perfectly happy to deny our mutual passion."
Lezard was amusing himself thoroughly. He could almost forget the lingering chinchilla instincts that cried out within him: yearning for the Andes, wanting to roll in a basin of volcanic dust, that sort of thing.
Since Turlough was neither a valkyrie nor a hot chick of any kind, Lezard did not find this exciting, nor did he believe Turlough found it so. Had he seen it coming, Lezard would have ducked it somehow -- dematerialization, teleportation away, some kind of nasty spell to immobilize or banish Turlough -- and consequences be damned. He could deal with another detention, even if he had to serve it with that bastard Mr. Wednesday.
However.
Lezard's defenses were not what they should be. When he had been a chinchilla, he had lacked powers altogether. He still hadn't quite recovered. It wasn't that he lacked power now, it was that he hadn't regained the near-instinctual command he'd developed over his years of magehood.
Therefore, when Turlough planted upon him a forceful kiss, Lezard's response was not that of a great and powerful mage, but that of a chinchilla.
That didn't mean he wasn't going to have a drink or two. La Fee Verte's domain appealed to his aesthetic sense (though in his opinion it could do with some randomly placed treasure chests and maybe a lava pit or two), so he enjoyed nipping into the Little Green Apple now and again. There was also an added incentive to resort to alcohol: He needed something to take his mind off certain compulsions left over from his recent experience of being a chinchilla.
To wit: He kept wanting to take a dust bath.
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"Kojiro," he sighed, and gazed moodily into his Trashcan Punch. "That's who."
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Maybe he should get kidnapped instead, it wouldn't be out of character.
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"That, my dear groundskeeper, is like saying Homsar doesn't exist. You can go on pretending all you like, until you get a faceful of marshmallow."
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Yeah, Turlough's drunk.
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Lezard was amusing himself thoroughly. He could almost forget the lingering chinchilla instincts that cried out within him: yearning for the Andes, wanting to roll in a basin of volcanic dust, that sort of thing.
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However.
Lezard's defenses were not what they should be. When he had been a chinchilla, he had lacked powers altogether. He still hadn't quite recovered. It wasn't that he lacked power now, it was that he hadn't regained the near-instinctual command he'd developed over his years of magehood.
Therefore, when Turlough planted upon him a forceful kiss, Lezard's response was not that of a great and powerful mage, but that of a chinchilla.
He squeaked.
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Right now, though, Turlough was grinning like a loon. "See? No Kojiro!" he said triumphantly. "Also, you squeaked."
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