RP: Just bopping around
Date: The wee morning hours between 9 December and 10 December 2004
Character(s): Peeves
Location: Five Alarm
Status: Private
Summary: Peeves finds something to do late at night when no one is around to bother at the pub.
Completion: Complete
Peeves was never quite able to just sit around and do nothing. It was almost necessary for him to always have something to do or have someone to annoy. That's what made closing time at the pub so difficult for Peeves. At Hogwarts there was always at least one student out of bed that he could get into trouble, or at least one faculty member awake and roaming the corridors that he could keep himself occupied with.
Everyone in Rosmerta's pub, however, had gone to bed long ago, and even though he was tempted to go and surprise random people throughout the inn, Rosie Posie would be disappointed in him, and that just wouldn't do.
So he did what any poltergeist did when boredom sank in. He wrote letters to the barstaff so that they could find them when they came in for work the next day, of course.
Dearest Mildew, mumsikins of the Ickle Pickle:
Your hair is black like coffee without creams.
Your face is white like snow before the pee.
You seem to be the girl of wicked dreams,
And Ickle Pickle's friends with little me!
Yours sincerely with a bottle of rum, Peevesie dear!
Peeves had always been utterly superb at love poems. Or so he thought.
Oh, Ali Oop, my lovely little fruit loop:
You are so sweet
You are so nice
You have good feet
And no more lice!
Love always and forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever, Cute Peevesie.
But then there was the Irish One. He couldn't be nice to the Irish One. He liked Mildew and Ali Oop. But the Irish One he liked not so much.
Irish One:
You smell
Like hell.
Peeves
There. Now he was done. He folded the poems into a triangle and set them up on the counter of the bar, cackling as he zipped out of the room, off to find something else to occupy his time until the start of the day.
Character(s): Peeves
Location: Five Alarm
Status: Private
Summary: Peeves finds something to do late at night when no one is around to bother at the pub.
Completion: Complete
Peeves was never quite able to just sit around and do nothing. It was almost necessary for him to always have something to do or have someone to annoy. That's what made closing time at the pub so difficult for Peeves. At Hogwarts there was always at least one student out of bed that he could get into trouble, or at least one faculty member awake and roaming the corridors that he could keep himself occupied with.
Everyone in Rosmerta's pub, however, had gone to bed long ago, and even though he was tempted to go and surprise random people throughout the inn, Rosie Posie would be disappointed in him, and that just wouldn't do.
So he did what any poltergeist did when boredom sank in. He wrote letters to the barstaff so that they could find them when they came in for work the next day, of course.
Dearest Mildew, mumsikins of the Ickle Pickle:
Your hair is black like coffee without creams.
Your face is white like snow before the pee.
You seem to be the girl of wicked dreams,
And Ickle Pickle's friends with little me!
Yours sincerely with a bottle of rum, Peevesie dear!
Peeves had always been utterly superb at love poems. Or so he thought.
Oh, Ali Oop, my lovely little fruit loop:
You are so sweet
You are so nice
You have good feet
And no more lice!
Love always and forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever, Cute Peevesie.
But then there was the Irish One. He couldn't be nice to the Irish One. He liked Mildew and Ali Oop. But the Irish One he liked not so much.
Irish One:
You smell
Like hell.
Peeves
There. Now he was done. He folded the poems into a triangle and set them up on the counter of the bar, cackling as he zipped out of the room, off to find something else to occupy his time until the start of the day.