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Nov. 26th, 2007 @ 11:39 pm Christmas highs to wizard lows
Current Location: "We Need A Little Christmas"
Current Mood: energeticenergetic
Waiting for inspiration to hit, I hear – no, feel - the big band Christmas music blaring its way through Chez Clone, rattling pipes and dishes and my bones and teeth, if I’m not wrong. George says it’s to get the inspirational blood flowing for our inventing, but I’m pretty sure it’s only to give him a dose of the Christmas cheer that’s not going to find him sleeping under the kitchen table in the morning. It’s kinda hard to rain on his parade when he’s only trying to help himself feel better a couple of weeks A.R. (after Rosie, ‘course), but on the other hand, it’s not so easy to listen to, either.

“Clone!” I shout. “CLONE! GEORGE!” Hard to think he can’t hear me at that volume, but – maybe not.

I hear an almighty clomping in definite rhythm and next moment, our undeniably harmonious voice belts out, "Litle Jack Frost, get lost, get lost! Little Jack Frost get lost!"

I take a deep breath and throw my hands in the air, starting to hum along, then take the basement stairs in time to the music, one at a time with a little flourish on each. Yeah, maybe he’s got something here after all. “Little Jack Frost, get lost!”>Collapse )
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Hillarious, Laugh
Nov. 16th, 2007 @ 02:15 am Dead Ends
Current Location: Three Broomsticks, mostly
Current Mood: determineddetermined
“Oi. Clone,” I say, looking up over the rim of my spoon at breakfast. “You can forget I asked this just after I do, but I think it’s one of those gottabedone’s, mate. It’s Friday.”

George twists a chunk of coffee loose from the rest in his cup and forms it with his fingers just before popping it into his mouth. "What more about it you need to know?" he says, his voice comin' out a little like sandpaper. "Not much else I know myself." His red-rimmed eyes are still filled with sadness and they not only pluck at my heartstrings, they give a mighty yank.

“Er, nothin’ - not about that,” I say. “This is strictly business. What say the odds are on keeping the Broomsticks for deliveries?” I scoop another bite of Chocowaffle-O’s quickly to try and take the pressure off of the twenty-kilo question. But I wasn’t taking the mickey. This is strictly business – and if it’s gotta be done, I’m sure as hell not putting George back through the wringer. This’ll be up to me.DeadEndsCollapse )
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Mr Cheerful
Oct. 17th, 2007 @ 02:13 am And So It Begins...
Current Location: Chez Clone once more
Current Mood: creativecreative
Current Music: The gears in our brains whirring
Tags: , ,
I wander out from the back room to find Trudey Fruitey packing up her stuff and pulling on her cloak.

"Just about out of here, Trudish?" I ask.

"Yes, I am," she answers. " ' Nother day, 'nother Knut."

"Aw, Trudes, we do you better than that!" I say, trying to sound hurt.

"You two had better never do me at all, but yeah, I was only taking the mickey." She picks up her bag, walking around the counter. "Have a good night, gents. Don't stay here all night again, all right?" Then she heads for the door.ItBeginsCollapse )
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Nerdy
Oct. 2nd, 2007 @ 02:04 am Feisty Broomsticks and Not-Yet-Forgotten Folks
Current Location: WWW, 'course
I incant the spell and the yawn takes hold at just the wrong moment. Things have been just enough slower down at the shop that the ol' clone and I have actually been able to ease off a bit, just in time to gear up for All Hallow's Eve.

But back to that yawn - just after the spell to Apparate. Bad idea, that. Got the roof of my mouth scraped once Apparating with my mouth open - Prongs knows from what. That feeling of being sucked through a straw? Yeah. Worse with your mouth open. So I push hard to clamp it shut and it gets closed in just the nick of time.

I stroll through the front door of the shop and without looking toss a casual "Hey Trudes" toward the currently hunched-over body at the register.

The head of the hunched-over body raises and blinks at me. "Hey Lav," he mumbles and puts his head back on the counter.FeistyCollapse )
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Up to something
Aug. 16th, 2007 @ 12:25 am A Better Offer
Current Location: Diagon Alley
Current Mood: chipperchipper
Georgie's a peach.

Now that he's through being a pain in the arse - and just back from California. I did miss him terribly - really I did.

But if I didn't get out of that rut shuttling between home and the shop, the shop and home, day after day after day...I rather thought I might go suicidal - or worse yet, serious - especially after being so cooped up with Buttsy-boy before even that came to pass.OfferCollapse )
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Hillarious, Laugh
Jul. 16th, 2007 @ 02:37 am Bouncing Buttercup
"Could you believe that little twirp had the spheres to bust my chops over the price of that Extendable Ear? Telling me the thing had a punctured ear drum when I know very well the little bugger made that 'adjustment' himself back there on Aisle 6. Haggling with me, he was, trying to get me to lower the price when what I should have done was bounce him out of the shop on his own ear! What are the little ickles coming to these days, clone?"

George doesn't want to hear this rant from Tales of the Shop Today, I can tell. Instead of answering me, he just nods much too seriously. I suspect he's thinking about whatever it is he's going to do on his creations tonight. All night. Again. For what must be the fiftieth night in a row. This solemnity shite has got to stop. We have a reputation at stake.

I've just Apparated home after a long, hard Sunday's toil - well, really I closed up early after that little maggot of a customer finally decided to buzz off. But it sure felt long and hard - especially when lately I feel the need to be funny and devious enough for two.

"George, What's with the long face?Collapse )
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Hillarious, Laugh
Jun. 29th, 2007 @ 11:16 pm A Touching Moment
Current Mood: sleepysleepy
Anvils. I swear someone’s tied anvils to my eyelids. Yet I suspect my journey to the kitchen will go more smoothly if I was to open one - eyelid, that is. Both would of course be even better, but I realize that’s a lot like putting both best feet forward – takes loads more effort with, at best, mixed results. So I settle for one and with much effort, shove it open to welcome the morning.

Oho! The sun has the audacity to be burning brightly into my room this morning. There’s just something too suspicious about so much cheerfulness this early. My eye works to adjust to the light and I manage to roll myself out of bed, attempting to comb my hand through my tufted mass of Weasley bedhead hair. Frowning as I work to untangle my fingers and stagger to the door, I slip on my fuzzy lime green slippers to take the morning chill from my toes. But before stepping out, I make sure to yank up my lime green Marvin the Martian Ray Gun boxers, never knowing who might be wandering the halls of our humble manor.

The stagger to the kitchen is most uneventful, aside from arriving with two eyes open, which for this time of the morning, is quite the oddity. I yawn and scuff my way to the icebox, opening the door and bending to see if I can spy the jug of pumpkin juice – anything to get that ‘brown’ taste out of my mouth.

Moments later I feel warmth nearby, which might not be a bad thing, depending on its source. But when its source is large, male, hovering too close, and breathing down on me, I don’t find said warmth in the least bit comforting. In fact, ‘not comforting’ moves quickly to disconcerting when I find gentle pressure and an exceptionally warm, palm-sized patch of warmth applied to my left cheek – and I do not mean of the face on the upper half of my body.

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Mr Cheerful