RP: Homecoming
Date: November 5th, 2004
Character(s): Kingsley Shacklebolt
Location: 104 Albus Avenue, Stoatshead Hill
Status: Private
Summary: Kingsley arrives, a bit high off secondhand pot smoke, and finds a home.
Completion: Complete
The house was perfect. Okay, so it was far from perfect. It definitely needed some work, but maybe that's why it immediately felt like home. It was a lot like Kingsley himself. Plain, no-nonsense exterior with surprisingly large windows. Far away from everything, nestled in a copse of wilderness that served to both obscure and protect it.
He could become a hermit here if he wasn't careful.
He'd packed all of his important belongings into one large trunk at hearing the news, and he'd hitched a lucky ride out of London with a university student headed for Exeter. The student, a misplaced Rastafarian, had pumped the reggae so loud and smoked so much reefer on the way down that Kingsley was feeling a little giggly off the secondhand smoke.
Or maybe it was just the countryside that had him feeling giggly. He'd never lived in the country.
When he'd seen the town, he'd asked the young man to stop, his heart swelling for the first time in years. The student had gave him a look that clearly indicated he'd puffed too much secondhand smoke. Being a Muggle and unable to see the warded town, he couldn't quite understand why Kingsley wanted to be dropped off with his trunk in the middle of a goat pasture.
Kingsley had gathered his trunk and performed the necessary mild memory charm on the young man (hoping that marijuana and memory charms did not adversely effect one another). He thanked the young man for stopping and offering him a ride out of the wilderness and then told him that he must decline, as he was waiting for someone.
The irony killed him.
And when he saw the makeshift sign - Albus Avenue - he dropped his trunk, fell face-first onto his new lawn, and cried like a baby.
In the future, he would always blame those tears on the secondhand smoke.
Character(s): Kingsley Shacklebolt
Location: 104 Albus Avenue, Stoatshead Hill
Status: Private
Summary: Kingsley arrives, a bit high off secondhand pot smoke, and finds a home.
Completion: Complete
The house was perfect. Okay, so it was far from perfect. It definitely needed some work, but maybe that's why it immediately felt like home. It was a lot like Kingsley himself. Plain, no-nonsense exterior with surprisingly large windows. Far away from everything, nestled in a copse of wilderness that served to both obscure and protect it.
He could become a hermit here if he wasn't careful.
He'd packed all of his important belongings into one large trunk at hearing the news, and he'd hitched a lucky ride out of London with a university student headed for Exeter. The student, a misplaced Rastafarian, had pumped the reggae so loud and smoked so much reefer on the way down that Kingsley was feeling a little giggly off the secondhand smoke.
Or maybe it was just the countryside that had him feeling giggly. He'd never lived in the country.
When he'd seen the town, he'd asked the young man to stop, his heart swelling for the first time in years. The student had gave him a look that clearly indicated he'd puffed too much secondhand smoke. Being a Muggle and unable to see the warded town, he couldn't quite understand why Kingsley wanted to be dropped off with his trunk in the middle of a goat pasture.
Kingsley had gathered his trunk and performed the necessary mild memory charm on the young man (hoping that marijuana and memory charms did not adversely effect one another). He thanked the young man for stopping and offering him a ride out of the wilderness and then told him that he must decline, as he was waiting for someone.
The irony killed him.
And when he saw the makeshift sign - Albus Avenue - he dropped his trunk, fell face-first onto his new lawn, and cried like a baby.
In the future, he would always blame those tears on the secondhand smoke.