He sat on the edge of the pedistal, staring at the ceiling and taking some stock in his life. Here we go: fact, he was covered, head to toe, in some kinda oily... gook. Fact, he was kinda woozy and disorientated from the whole adventure through whatever kinda hoodoo they'd gotten their fingers into back home
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Most days, it was a fairly standard walk, but today things were slightly different. Most days, when Fraser passed the popcorn room, he smelled salt and the grease and terribly chemical fake butter, and beneath that the faint burnt smell of popped corn, and beneath that the scent of slightly damp stone, and that was usually it.
Today, he smelled hair gel. Well, he still smelled the salt and the butter and the popcorn and the like, but underneath all of that there was hair gel, aftershave, and a whiff of car interior that could only have come from a 1967 GTO, ( ... )
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At the comment, he smiled a bit. "I don't think you'll need to kiss any fish any time soon. We're nearly there. I've got a towel you can borrow, and I've got some of your things in my closet."
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He almost grins. "So this place is civilized, right? Hot showers an' everything?"
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"Yes, Ray, hot showers," Fraser replied a touch dryly. "All the things you could ask for in a civilized living environment. Although," he added with a touch more cheer, "they do have baths as well."
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.... baths. Canadians might as well come from another planet. "Just point me at the soap and hot water, I'll be fine."
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The directive was simple enough, and one that Fraser, being forced to inhale the scent of the butter over and over again, was more than happy to obey. "Understood. Just through here." They had reached the portrait. "Metheglyn," he said to the Fat Lady, and she swung open with a wink at him. Dief ran into the Tower ahead of them, going for Fraser's room.
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He was getting a headache.
"Meth... what?" He stares at the painting, then comes through the door, shaking his head. "We sure this place isn't in Canada?"
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He stepped through the portrait, glancing curiously at his partner. "No, Ray. We're in Scotland." He glanced around the room, brow furrowing slightly. This didn't look anything like Canada to him...
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"It's just kinda clean here, that's all. And people talk funny."
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"As far as I know, I'm the only one you've talked to so far." Although he had, of course, heard before that he 'talked funny' -- from Ray himself, no less. Shaking his head, bemused, he led Ray through the rather easier-to-navigate halls of Gryffindor till they reached his room. Dief waited at the door; Fraser let him in, then held the door open for Ray.
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"Yeah, but we walked past some people back there," he pointed out, "And they were all talkin' like Bond." He followed them into the room, and glanced around. Yeeep. This is Fraser's room.
"Where's the shower?" He shrugged off his coat, and then peeled off the shoulder holster. Aw hell, his weapon! He pulled it out to inspect the popcorn-butter damage.
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"'course I brought it. We didn't know where we were actually gonna land," he points out. This is reasonable to him, of course. He shakes his head and sets it on the desk as well. "Have to clean it and pray, I guess." He strips off his shirt as he heads out and up the hallway to the shower.
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Turning back to the room at large, he clasped his hands and surveyed the damage. Butter. Wonderful. He went for his books, and in short order had discovered the Scourgify charm, which took care of that nicely. As for the gun... Fraser checked it carefully, then promptly unloaded it and tucked it away in his desk.
When Ray returned from the shower, his jacket was clean and laid neatly atop the bed, and Fraser was looking through a small bag that appeared to be his.
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He wandered back up the hall with the towel wrapped around his waist. "You said you had other clothes?" He grabbed his jacket and examined it.... holy crap! "... you're good."
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