Well. Wasn't this interesting? A real fun fest.
Ricky Roma took stock of the room, no hurry but not missing anything, not if he could help it. Not looking anything beyond self-assured. Hell, he knew what he was about. And you never let your guard down. Especially not with a group like this. What in - What in the hell was this nutjob operation?
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If Roma had thought this to be a bunch of fruits, one might shudder to contemplate how his opinion might alter upon meeting the Lord High Fruit of Fruitland himself. All right, so no one had ever conferred such a title upon Albus Dumbledore officially, but come on ... Supreme Mugwump? Pretty much the same thing.
Here he came, the most fabulous geriatric wizard in all Britain, togged out in his purple robes and his high-heeled buckled boots, ready to welcome Hogwarts' newest arrival. "Welcome," he caroled, beaming in that grandfatherly way of his, like an emaciated Father Christmas. "Welcome, young man, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! How was your journey?"
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Oh God. Oh Christ. Somebody fire the fucking confetti cannons, already, strike up the band and start the parade.
Okay. Okay, so he stared for a moment. Just a moment. Just a moment, but for that moment he couldn't say a fucking thing and damned if he could even think a fucking thing, because... because what the hell else can you do when some like that marches (swishes? Christ) over?
"What the hell."
So, not the most tactful answer. He had been trying to go for tactful. He usually could and usually did. But some situations, it was asking too much. He'd have to get this one through his system before he could even think about speaking to it. Him. The... The complete fucking fruit. God. God damn.
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Reassuring, no?
"I am Albus Dumbledore, former headmaster of this school, and a professor emeritus," he continued. "I would give you my card, but I seem to have left all my chocolate frogs in my other robes," this said while patting the pockets of these robes in search of the elusive sweets.
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And it was still taking Roma some time to catch up with whatever the hell was coming out of his mouth. Words of some sort, probably. Nonsense words, most likely. Talking fruit about wizards (oh, God, please say he had not suddenly died and ended up in Hell or some place with a bunch of fucking wizards... he wasn't even going to entertain that delusion, because that would be madness itself) and this school and -
Chocolate frogs?
What in the hell were- And why was this guy messing around with his pockets? Roma had nearly stopped staring, but now he was back at it again.
Could you believe this guy? Could you fucking believe it ( ... )
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Very much against his liking, Roma was almost, almost tempted to egg the old guy (speaking of which, "young man," what in the hell, "young man"?) on, just to see what would come of it. Find yourself in a situation like this, might as well go along with it.
But Roma was damned if he wasn't going to encourage this guy. You do not encourage that type. It was a simple fact of life.
"Yeah, hey, or how about this? How about I am perfectly fine with my vocabulary, thank you very much." An exasperated, exaggerated sigh; for fuck's sake, these people.
Wizard swears. Fucking wizard swears.
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Jesus God alive, where did this guy get his fucking clothes and, more to the point, how could he fucking wear them?
Oh. Oh, wait. Take a step back, look at the guy, replay the words...
Right. That was how he could wear them.
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((Shamelessly cribbed from the Wizard Swears episode of Potter Puppet Pals))
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Fuck. Ahhh, fuck, he'd actually laughed at the fruit and his faggot-ass words. His wizard (NOT WIZARDING!) swears.
Roma composed himself, brought up the more appropriate expression of disgust. "That is fucking ridiculous. Childish."
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