In the middle of the Hogwarts Sorting Room stood a young man in sweatpants, a large t-shirt, and a heavy, hooded sweatshirt. His name was Jesse Pinkman. Jesse's arms hung at his sides, fidgeting with his sweatshirt as he glanced around awkwardly
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"This is fuckin nuts. And I've had some ridiculous shit happen to me." He suddenly looked at the man in front of him. "So are you some kind of magician or something then?"
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Costume?
"YOU!" Turlough yelled at the talking dog that poked his head in the door. "You stay away from my keys!"
I only stole them once! Wishbone ran off, miffed that Turlough was STILL angry about that.
Turlough glared and turned back to Jesse. "Nope. Oh, and if you see anyone with glasses and an arrogant attitude, ignore him. He's a bastard."
(God I love playing Wishbone. Dogus Ex Machina go!)
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Jesse stared after the dog for a moment and then snapped his attention back to the alien-dude. "Yeah, ok. Right." One hand on his forehead and the other pointing after the Jack Russell, he demanded,
"Did that dog just...? Was that--...?" Jesse, after all, had once been an 8-year-old in the suburbs; he knew his talking dogs. ((But would break no fourth walls.)) "Did you hear that?"
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"Wow. So this shit is real. Like -- when you say magic, you mean real magic, not lameass tricks and stuff. Real magic." He paused, letting this thought sink in, then asked eagerly, "Do I get to, like, gain superpowers?"
Jesse's mind turned happily to the self-designed superheroes in his old sketchbook.
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"Sounds like superpowers to me, yo." It certainly beat Reverso-Man (who had the magnificent, superhuman ability to run backwards very quickly and efficiently. "Aw, man, this is gonna be sick."
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