Idle Threats
Title: Idle Threats
Author: Felicity, not me.
Fandom: Dresden Files tv verse
Rating: Eh, PG-13 for language.
Summary: What happens when Harry leaves Bob's skull in Felicity Adams care for a few days?
Author's Note: I told you there would be more Felicevents. Only this one I didn't write. Felicity wrote it and refused to post it herself so I decided to take matters into my own hands, I'm still trying to convince her to participate in the comm. Hope you guys like it. Felicity does read the reviews so give her lots of love.
Felicity flopped down on her bed, heaving an exhausted sigh, and started peeling off her shoes and socks. Long, long day of herbal deliveries, and her still not over her cold. Blue-grey eyes carefully avoided the rune-marked skull as she rose and trailed over to her closet, drawing out a robe.
"Hrothbert?"
"Yes, O loveliest of tormentors?"
"You aren't going to peek, are you?"
A chuckle came from nowhere. "My dear girl, I'm dead, not dead. Of course I'm going to peek."
Felicity's eyes narrowed. "You know, Hrothbert, there's a junior high right down the street. And I believe they're rehersing a show. Be a shame if I had to stash a certain cranium underneath the seats in the back row."
There was a conspicuous silence from the skull, then, "You wouldn't."
Felicity nodded with an evil grin. "I think they're prepping 'Hello, Dolly'."
"Bitch."
"Don't peek?"
A ghostly sigh gusted through the room, and Bob observed, "You really are a difficult creature, Miss Felicity."
The aforementioned difficult creature swept from the room humming something that sounded suspiciously like 'Ribbons Down My Back' -- but not before considerately tucking Bob's skull atop a bookcase out of the cat's easy reach. The sound of water running in the bathroom indicated the shower was in use, and Hrothbert of Bainbridge materialized in the attic room, poking about the large and angled space with idle curiosity. Coming to a stop before a shelf, his pallid face broke into a wide, wicked smile.
"Why, Miss Felicity," he growled, trailing a ghostly fingertip along the spines of the books. "I believe I've just found your weakness." Because tucked away between grimoires and herbals and works of classic literature was a single, battered copy of The House of Dark Delights by Louisa Burton. "Someone fancies reading about a romp with an invisible lover."
Author: Felicity, not me.
Fandom: Dresden Files tv verse
Rating: Eh, PG-13 for language.
Summary: What happens when Harry leaves Bob's skull in Felicity Adams care for a few days?
Author's Note: I told you there would be more Felicevents. Only this one I didn't write. Felicity wrote it and refused to post it herself so I decided to take matters into my own hands, I'm still trying to convince her to participate in the comm. Hope you guys like it. Felicity does read the reviews so give her lots of love.
Felicity flopped down on her bed, heaving an exhausted sigh, and started peeling off her shoes and socks. Long, long day of herbal deliveries, and her still not over her cold. Blue-grey eyes carefully avoided the rune-marked skull as she rose and trailed over to her closet, drawing out a robe.
"Hrothbert?"
"Yes, O loveliest of tormentors?"
"You aren't going to peek, are you?"
A chuckle came from nowhere. "My dear girl, I'm dead, not dead. Of course I'm going to peek."
Felicity's eyes narrowed. "You know, Hrothbert, there's a junior high right down the street. And I believe they're rehersing a show. Be a shame if I had to stash a certain cranium underneath the seats in the back row."
There was a conspicuous silence from the skull, then, "You wouldn't."
Felicity nodded with an evil grin. "I think they're prepping 'Hello, Dolly'."
"Bitch."
"Don't peek?"
A ghostly sigh gusted through the room, and Bob observed, "You really are a difficult creature, Miss Felicity."
The aforementioned difficult creature swept from the room humming something that sounded suspiciously like 'Ribbons Down My Back' -- but not before considerately tucking Bob's skull atop a bookcase out of the cat's easy reach. The sound of water running in the bathroom indicated the shower was in use, and Hrothbert of Bainbridge materialized in the attic room, poking about the large and angled space with idle curiosity. Coming to a stop before a shelf, his pallid face broke into a wide, wicked smile.
"Why, Miss Felicity," he growled, trailing a ghostly fingertip along the spines of the books. "I believe I've just found your weakness." Because tucked away between grimoires and herbals and works of classic literature was a single, battered copy of The House of Dark Delights by Louisa Burton. "Someone fancies reading about a romp with an invisible lover."