(Untitled)

[waningred]

Who: Charlie and Ron
Where: Home Sweet Home (aka Charlie's slanty shanty)
When: 29 March 2002, morning
Status: Complete

Comments

[red_apostate]

It was amazing how those old instincts never really left. By rights, he should still be passed out in a drunken stupor, but years underground did nothing if not make a person a very, very light sleeper. With a groan, Charlie cracked a bleary eye, and was punished for doing so by way of the sunlight streaming in through the door. He could make out only a blurry silhouette against the bright light. Damn it all. He forced himself to sit up, his body creaking in protest. Oh, blessed hell, mistake, mistake, mistake... His head began pounding even as his vision cleared.

"Wha..." Well, that was articulate, old chap. Your voice sounds like you swallowed a bucket of rusty nails, by the way. He raised a hand and shielded his eyes from the blistering brightness. Oh. "Ron?"

Well, at least it was intelligible.

[waningred]

"Who else would it be?" replied Ron, eyeing the interior warily for a moment before stepping over the threshold. "The wake-up fairy?" In a sudden fit of sibling deviltry Ron purposely left the door wide open, letting in as much of that bright, cheerful sunlight as possible.

It was the very least he could do.

Once inside, he couldn't help but frown at the surroundings. His own room back at the manor house was by no means spotlessly clean, but it certainly wasn't this bad. Opened tins of food (some empty, some - judging by the smell - had gone off weeks, or maybe months, before) sat atop what must serve as a table and spilled onto the floor, continuing like a trail of bread crumbs over to the pallet Charlie slept on. Littered amongst the tins were empty liquor bottles of various size and shape.

"Gave the house elf the year off I see..."

[red_apostate]

Charlie snorted, then pushed the strands of scraggly hair out of his eyes. He stretched and opened his mouth in an exaggerated yawn, relaxing as he realised it was his brother who was inviting himself in to his... well, home didn't really cut it, but it would do... and not one of the nasty fellows he been wagering on niffler races with last night.

"Offering to tidy the place up a bit, then, are you?" He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Oi, I'm starkers. Hastily, he tucked the stained sheet around his waist before standing.

He turned his back to Ron, rifling along the table, picking up various bottles and setting them back down, disgruntled, as he realised they were empty. He looked over his shoulder at his brother. "Or did you perhaps bring me breakfast? One in liquid form would do the trick." His eyes narrowed in pain as his hangover sank vicious claws into his head. "Really, Ron- why are you here?"

[waningred]

Standing downwind of his pickled brother was much worse than Ron could have imagined. Having those newly-heightened senses thanks to the bite from Greyback didn't help matters either. "Looks like you've had enough already, Moody." The comparison to the once hard-living and even harder-drinking Auror was intentional and he thought maybe the jab might sink in. Although, he didn't have high hopes. Old habits were hard to break once you'd slid as far down as Charlie.

"Which is why I'm here..." Folding his arms over his chest, Ron adopted what he hoped to be an authoritative stance. The blank stare he got in return only served to exasperate him more.

"Christ, Charlie," Ron huffed, "you're the one that's supposed to be telling me to get my act together, not the other way 'round!"

[red_apostate]

Charlie heard the tone in Ron's voice, and it made his hand pause over the last of the empty bottles. He brought his hands down to grip the edge of the table, feeling the splintered wood digging into his palms.

"Well, look who's all grown up and come to judge," he said in a low voice. "What's up, Ronald? Gotten tired of raising zombies with your pals and remembered you had family to pester?"

He swung around to face his brother, his old friend anger pushing away the cobwebs in his head. "I'm not Dad, and we're all adults now, right? Take care of your damned self, and let me worry about me. Unless you've got something useful to tell me, spare me the character assessment and toddle along, then."