The Bear and Barnacle

Rodolphus was in the bathroom, shaving. He was using an old-fashioned straight razor because he liked the way the cool metal felt on his skin. He tilted his head and pulled the skin taut over his jawbone. This part was always the trickiest and he took it slowly, just gliding the blade along. DING DONG! The doorbell sounded and Rodolphus started, slicing himself neatly. He cursed and dabbed at the cut, which was running blood down his neck. Before he could do a healing charm, the bell sounded once more. He swore again, and sulfurously, when he recalled that Lucius kept no house elf. Rodolphus pounded down the stairs, bare-chested, shaving foam on his face and bloody, the razor still clutched in his hand. He yanked the door open. “WHAT?!” he roared.

It's a very pretty day; fluffy clouds and birdies chirping death threats at each other and woodland animals scampering about and all that. Unfortunately, Xel has just gotten back from the physical therapist (having sworn up and down to allow no needles whatsoever), and is therefore in no mood to appreciate it.

Oh, her slack-jawed complete failure to even understand the shape of the muscles around his leg was entertaining. He didn't try to explain; telling someone that your leg was broken when you were three and magically healed by someone too green to understand that it needed to be set properly first, that your medium-soft tissues had grown into place around a knobbled, shelf-like structure of bone-scarring as a result, and that you'd just re-broken it and whittled away said structure without leaving a scar and the muscles were now going to have to adjust to a tibia that is suddenly the correct shape--well, it would just take too much explaining. And there would be follow-up questions. So he'd just smiled at her and said Ahahaha, well, it's complicated, but this is how things are, you can see the problem, ne?

So, yes, the reaction had been amusing, but the following hour. Just. Well. The break had been painful, a delicious tide of crimson, but...

The thing is, Xel wasn't born a masochist, but Zelas-sama knew how to remedy that before he'd been mazoku even a few years, and now he has both the mazoku and the normal human reactions to pain. And that hour. And. And. He'd decided to keep trying to take evening shifts at the pub. Meaning spending hours in public and putting on at least two shows at once before getting any alone time with his person. Or chickening out, which is no shame for a Guildsman but would mean spending the entire day completely alone. Which might be even worse.

So the mood he was in, carving banister posts someone had ordered into giraffe heads to focus himself before heading over to the B&B, when the doorbell rang, was really a little bit indescribable. Especially since the birch-wood is warded to keep the uninvited out. Taking all that into consideration, it's probably understandable that he somehow failed to put the carving knife down.

Q was in the kitchen cooking breakfast when a knock at the door startled him. Looking mournfully at the yolk oozing out of what was going to be a sunny-side-up egg, he sighed. "Guess it's scrambled eggs for me." He went to the door, singing:

Someones knockin' at the door
Somebody's ringin' the bell
Someones knockin' at the door
Somebody's ringin' the bell
Do me a favor,
Open the door and let 'em in.

Suiting action to lyrics, he swung the door open.

He's sitting on the floor of his dingy little flat, in front of the tiny television, bowl of some sort of riducolously sugary cereal in hand. He lifts another spoonful, chewing messily, as he chuckles at the screen. Milk is dribbled slightly down the front of the purple t-shirt he is wearing as the spoon jiggles when he laughs.

His head suddenly perks up as he hears the sound of someone on the stairs up to the flat. He lowers the bowl slowly, eyes narrowing in the direction of the door. A moment later, a knock is heard.

Growling, he stands, putting his hand around the knife in the pocket of his pajama pants, as his bare feet shuffle him closer to the door. He flings the door open. "You're interuppting my morning cartoons...really not smart."

Some people might not think of interrupting someone's coffee as coitus interruptus. They're the people who drink scalded coffees from coffee chains, or guzzle down instant brews just for the caffeine buzz, or maybe even grind their own coffee at home— but they aren't drinking Ianto Jones Coffee. And when someone, Jack for instance, is busily enjoying a mug of it, just about moaning over the perfection, he is really looking to enjoy it to completion.

What he definitely isn't looking for is someone at the door before he can reach a nice coffee-drinking peak. It interrupts the wonder of the coffee, and so when he goes to the door, he's very displeased indeed at the... coffee-us interruptus. Whatever. It's displeasing, whatever it's called. "What do you want?"

For this event, you'll be answering your doorbell.

Yup, that's it.

No, really. Let us explain.

Margate has been invaded. The invaders are a deluge of men and women of the worst sort: Those who wake you from your well-earned naps, interrupt your dinners, make it difficult for you to leave the house, and seem to revel in coitus interruptus. Yes, the door-to-door folk. One of the lost tribes of the ancient world, restless spirits, they wander the globe in an endless wearisome quest for inconvenient moments to knock.

Your post will be your character answering the door. We encourage interesting situations for the answering. One of fifteen types of ring-ers, pulled from a hat, will respond to the post. Insanity will ensue.

Thread-crashing is encouraged if you see someone else having a doorperson you'd love to see your character interact with, but your ring-er will be randomly selected. Those who have no fixed abode may be accosted on the street or in the Pub, but others are asked to use their homes. Some of you (yes, Rodolphus, yes, Joker, we're looking at you) may have interesting ideas as to the best way to dispose of an inconvenient cookie-selling Girl Scout (do you have those in Britain?). Go ahead. No one will stop you.

The tag is "ding-dong." Have fun.