Well. Wasn't this interesting? A real fun fest.
Ricky Roma took stock of the room, no hurry but not missing anything, not if he could help it. Not looking anything beyond self-assured. Hell, he knew what he was about. And you never let your guard down. Especially not with a group like this. What in - What in the hell was this nutjob operation?
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All right, he hadn't expected that. What, they got talking (he wasn't sure if it was talking exactly, but it wasn't really worth thinking about right now, as point was he could hear it) dogs just sort of... wandering around? Christ. Okay. If he was going to play along, might as well keep at it.
"Then I guess we'll have to strike that question. Tell me about... What the hell do dogs like, bones? Tell me about bones."
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He was talking to a dog. He was still talking to the dog. Well, what the hell, you couldn't not talk to the dog. Never knew what an angry dog might do. A dog starts bark, you throw it a hunk of meat, or something. A dog talks, you talk back, and maybe it won't piss all over your leg.
"And I've got to say, I've never met a dog that could read before."
Feel pretty fucking strange, talking to a dog.
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She read the application, a faint line creasing her brow as she read.
When she had finished, she looked up at the new arrival.
"Let me guess. You've got a bridge you want to sell us?"
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"Can't say I've ever sold a bridge before. Last I heard, there wasn't much money in bridges." He shrugged, watching her. "Though if it came up and any of you fine individuals happened to desire a bridge, you'd better believe I'd find one."
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"Have you ever heard of a paperwork monster? That's quite an idea, you know. Might be worth looking into"
Yeah, he's fixated, the little weirdo.
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"Yeah, yeah, I-" Yeah, no. That isn't going to work. "Are you shitting me, or are you serious about this?"
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Given the way things had been going so far, however, Roma wasn't entirely certain he could trust that.
"So what, exactly, do you mean by that? 'Creating new biological lifeforms.' Pardon me if I am being ignorant, bjut it isn't something I run into every day." Or ever.
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If Roma had thought this to be a bunch of fruits, one might shudder to contemplate how his opinion might alter upon meeting the Lord High Fruit of Fruitland himself. All right, so no one had ever conferred such a title upon Albus Dumbledore officially, but come on ... Supreme Mugwump? Pretty much the same thing.
Here he came, the most fabulous geriatric wizard in all Britain, togged out in his purple robes and his high-heeled buckled boots, ready to welcome Hogwarts' newest arrival. "Welcome," he caroled, beaming in that grandfatherly way of his, like an emaciated Father Christmas. "Welcome, young man, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! How was your journey?"
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Oh God. Oh Christ. Somebody fire the fucking confetti cannons, already, strike up the band and start the parade.
Okay. Okay, so he stared for a moment. Just a moment. Just a moment, but for that moment he couldn't say a fucking thing and damned if he could even think a fucking thing, because... because what the hell else can you do when some like that marches (swishes? Christ) over?
"What the hell."
So, not the most tactful answer. He had been trying to go for tactful. He usually could and usually did. But some situations, it was asking too much. He'd have to get this one through his system before he could even think about speaking to it. Him. The... The complete fucking fruit. God. God damn.
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Reassuring, no?
"I am Albus Dumbledore, former headmaster of this school, and a professor emeritus," he continued. "I would give you my card, but I seem to have left all my chocolate frogs in my other robes," this said while patting the pockets of these robes in search of the elusive sweets.
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And it was still taking Roma some time to catch up with whatever the hell was coming out of his mouth. Words of some sort, probably. Nonsense words, most likely. Talking fruit about wizards (oh, God, please say he had not suddenly died and ended up in Hell or some place with a bunch of fucking wizards... he wasn't even going to entertain that delusion, because that would be madness itself) and this school and -
Chocolate frogs?
What in the hell were- And why was this guy messing around with his pockets? Roma had nearly stopped staring, but now he was back at it again.
Could you believe this guy? Could you fucking believe it ( ... )
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Ron was not sold.
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"It isn't cheese. It's the little details we allow to run our lives." He waved a hand dismissively. "You're a kid. You'll figure it out sooner or later." And if he didn't, hell. That was his loss.
"You want something else, though... What do kids even like these days?" No sense beating around the bush, here. And kids got impatient with that sort of thing, didn't they? Mike's kids did, anyway. Those kids liked, what, toy guns or something, but then they didn't hang around some fucking magic school.
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"Just because I don't have those lines on my forehead when I raise my eyebrows as much as the other fellow doesn't mean I'm a kid. You just... you just look old, so. But if you're letting details about cheese run your life, you got more worries than just that ( ... )
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Nineteen. A kid, is a kid, is a kid. He doesn't know whether Mike's are that old. He doesn't know how old any of Mike's are, but what the hell. A kid is a kid, and so on and so forth.
"Okay, what? You want me to buy you a beer, then?" He shrugs. "Settle down. You don't want to be mistaken for a kid, don't act like one. I'm telling you, that's the sort of tantrum-throwing shit kids pull. Well. kids and Moss, but that's close enough."
He paused a moment before added, "And when you swear like that? Doesn't help. Sounds like you're using the naughty words while your mother's back is turned. Just a helpful hint." Can he help it if the kid sounds young? "But you want one, I'll buy you a beer. A couple, if you're feeling adventurous."
Had the kid said something about flying? Sure. Of course he had. Damned magic school.
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