Day 5: "The Contest" (HP: Charlie and others, PG13)
Title: The Contest
Fandom: HP
Characters: Charlie Weasley and a bunch of other dragon handlers
Words: 450
Rating: PG13?
A/N: Typo comments still welcome. Takes place winter 1992-93 on the dragon preserve.
The Contest
"Why the hell would anyone make that bet?" Charlie frowned, incredulous. "Seriously. What else is there to do out here half the time, and besides, shit, man, you must be doing it wrong if you're willing to just stop. One of life's little pleasures."
"So you won't take the bet?" Anderson lifted a blond brow in challenge. "I've come up with a bet Charlie Weasley doesn't think he can win?"
"Fuck that. I could win; I just don't understand why anyone would propose it in the first place. Where did you get this idiotic idea again?"
"My parents are TV junkies."
"…what?" Charlie looked at Klein and Dobrescu, who obviously had already had this conversation because they weren't puzzled.
"His Mutter und Vater haf ein tel-a-vishin box, vhich kleine progamme mit Spieler hass, und dis main Intr--ah, sto-ree für ein--"
Charlie waved off the frustrating mix of language, resolving to work again with Klein on the translation charm in the morning. "You got this off of one of your American wireless picture programmes? This is what you did on your holiday to home?"
Anderson shrugged. "Can't be helped. Though this one was pretty damn funny."
"I imagine. Watching a bunch of blokes not get off. Hours of entertainment."
"Well. Not like they'd have showed it if they were getting off."
Charlie sighed. "American Muggles are even weirder than English ones. Though I suppose less weird than the Welsh. Seriously. What's the use in a programme regarding wanking if one doesn't even get to watch?"
"The FCC'd have a cow, though. Er, if I understand, sort of like your Ministry and upset over misuse of Muggle stuff. They're a department what gets their panties in a bunch about sex stuff on the TV."
"So someone produced an episode about wanking."
"Well they never used the word. Look, I can't do it justice, but that's where the concept came from. You in, or not?"
"So all I have to do is not jerk off longer than any of you lot?"
"Yeah, if you think you can."
"Please."
"So, you're in?"
"What's the bet?"
"Hundred bucks on the show."
"Which is?"
"Uh. Like. A few... five? Galleons. Or maybe ten Snador. Or. Fuck. They need to come up with one damned currency over here. Too complicated."
"It is, that. They need something simple like we have. Five Galleons it is, then. Klein?"
"I haff vager, eqval Vizard Mark."
"Right." Charlie tossed his Galleons on the table and confirmed Anderson and Dobrescu's bets as well, then sealed the pot.
It was probably unfair that Elena had taken to visiting his tent most nights, but then, they hadn't asked, so he hadn't volunteered. Fucking wasn't wanking, and it wasn't his fault.
Fandom: HP
Characters: Charlie Weasley and a bunch of other dragon handlers
Words: 450
Rating: PG13?
A/N: Typo comments still welcome. Takes place winter 1992-93 on the dragon preserve.
The Contest
"Why the hell would anyone make that bet?" Charlie frowned, incredulous. "Seriously. What else is there to do out here half the time, and besides, shit, man, you must be doing it wrong if you're willing to just stop. One of life's little pleasures."
"So you won't take the bet?" Anderson lifted a blond brow in challenge. "I've come up with a bet Charlie Weasley doesn't think he can win?"
"Fuck that. I could win; I just don't understand why anyone would propose it in the first place. Where did you get this idiotic idea again?"
"My parents are TV junkies."
"…what?" Charlie looked at Klein and Dobrescu, who obviously had already had this conversation because they weren't puzzled.
"His Mutter und Vater haf ein tel-a-vishin box, vhich kleine progamme mit Spieler hass, und dis main Intr--ah, sto-ree für ein--"
Charlie waved off the frustrating mix of language, resolving to work again with Klein on the translation charm in the morning. "You got this off of one of your American wireless picture programmes? This is what you did on your holiday to home?"
Anderson shrugged. "Can't be helped. Though this one was pretty damn funny."
"I imagine. Watching a bunch of blokes not get off. Hours of entertainment."
"Well. Not like they'd have showed it if they were getting off."
Charlie sighed. "American Muggles are even weirder than English ones. Though I suppose less weird than the Welsh. Seriously. What's the use in a programme regarding wanking if one doesn't even get to watch?"
"The FCC'd have a cow, though. Er, if I understand, sort of like your Ministry and upset over misuse of Muggle stuff. They're a department what gets their panties in a bunch about sex stuff on the TV."
"So someone produced an episode about wanking."
"Well they never used the word. Look, I can't do it justice, but that's where the concept came from. You in, or not?"
"So all I have to do is not jerk off longer than any of you lot?"
"Yeah, if you think you can."
"Please."
"So, you're in?"
"What's the bet?"
"Hundred bucks on the show."
"Which is?"
"Uh. Like. A few... five? Galleons. Or maybe ten Snador. Or. Fuck. They need to come up with one damned currency over here. Too complicated."
"It is, that. They need something simple like we have. Five Galleons it is, then. Klein?"
"I haff vager, eqval Vizard Mark."
"Right." Charlie tossed his Galleons on the table and confirmed Anderson and Dobrescu's bets as well, then sealed the pot.
It was probably unfair that Elena had taken to visiting his tent most nights, but then, they hadn't asked, so he hadn't volunteered. Fucking wasn't wanking, and it wasn't his fault.