RP: Time to Get Some Things Done!
Date: November 14, 2004
Characters: Gilderoy Lockhart, others maybe?
Location: Out in town
Status: Semi-private (if it makes sense for you to see him, by all means...)
Summary: Lockhart, bruised, scraped, and recovering from the night before, decides to go out and get some business done.
Completion: Complete
Gilderoy Lockhart woke up on the morning of November 14th in what was, perhaps, the most unpleasant way imaginable for a man. Oh, yes, waking up to find yourself at the opposite end of a Death Eater’s wand would be bad, as would being awakened by chickens pecking you to death.
But having your dear, darling Myffles pounce, claws extended, teeth bared, upon the apex of an unexpected “tent” in the middle of the coverlet was the most horrible thing Lockhart had ever experienced. Oh, it was embarrassing enough that the tent existed, as his dreams were filled with his friend Marcel, and the mystery of who might that “Mr.Gerent” be? But to have a full set of cats claws dig into the morning wood was just so incredibly painful, Gilderoy had to stuff the covers in his mouth to prevent his screams of pain from reaching Rose’s room down the hall.
Myffles, terrified at her master’s reaction, bounded to the opposite side of the room and hid in her bed under his writing desk while Gilderoy curled up in a fetal position, wincing and moaning in pain.
“Welcome to another bright and beautiful day in Stoatshead Hill,” he muttered to himself in a squeaky voice, gritting his teeth. The night before was absolutely miserable. He had ruined one of his favorite pairs of boots, had come home all muddy and cold and bruised and pecked and scraped up. And even though Rose did her best in giving him a hot bath, some cocoa, and tucking him into bed, he still felt old and achy when he finally fell asleep.
Gilderoy reached down and massaged his aching stiffy, trying desperately to replace any of the pain with some sort of pleasure. Merlin, that hurt! It’s bad enough that it’d get all hard dreaming about a man, but to have Myffles...
He pushed himself up to a sitting position and glared at his cat under the desk. “Don’t you think that punishment is a little harsh, darling?” he asked her. Gods, this was turning out to be a difficult day!
Characters: Gilderoy Lockhart, others maybe?
Location: Out in town
Status: Semi-private (if it makes sense for you to see him, by all means...)
Summary: Lockhart, bruised, scraped, and recovering from the night before, decides to go out and get some business done.
Completion: Complete
Gilderoy Lockhart woke up on the morning of November 14th in what was, perhaps, the most unpleasant way imaginable for a man. Oh, yes, waking up to find yourself at the opposite end of a Death Eater’s wand would be bad, as would being awakened by chickens pecking you to death.
But having your dear, darling Myffles pounce, claws extended, teeth bared, upon the apex of an unexpected “tent” in the middle of the coverlet was the most horrible thing Lockhart had ever experienced. Oh, it was embarrassing enough that the tent existed, as his dreams were filled with his friend Marcel, and the mystery of who might that “Mr.Gerent” be? But to have a full set of cats claws dig into the morning wood was just so incredibly painful, Gilderoy had to stuff the covers in his mouth to prevent his screams of pain from reaching Rose’s room down the hall.
Myffles, terrified at her master’s reaction, bounded to the opposite side of the room and hid in her bed under his writing desk while Gilderoy curled up in a fetal position, wincing and moaning in pain.
“Welcome to another bright and beautiful day in Stoatshead Hill,” he muttered to himself in a squeaky voice, gritting his teeth. The night before was absolutely miserable. He had ruined one of his favorite pairs of boots, had come home all muddy and cold and bruised and pecked and scraped up. And even though Rose did her best in giving him a hot bath, some cocoa, and tucking him into bed, he still felt old and achy when he finally fell asleep.
Gilderoy reached down and massaged his aching stiffy, trying desperately to replace any of the pain with some sort of pleasure. Merlin, that hurt! It’s bad enough that it’d get all hard dreaming about a man, but to have Myffles...
He pushed himself up to a sitting position and glared at his cat under the desk. “Don’t you think that punishment is a little harsh, darling?” he asked her. Gods, this was turning out to be a difficult day!