RP: A Not Real Return
Date: August 29, 2006 Characters: Charlie Weasley Location: Somewhere in Ireland Private/Public: Private Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Nothing stated, though implied drunken!one night stand, smoking, nakedness. Summary: Charlie wakes up and wonders away, a sudden (though not long lasting) clarity.
There was a noise, something like metal smashing against the floor. With a jolt he lifted his head, realizing in a half a moment the wet sticky mass on his chin. Pressing and licking at the insides of his mouth, he rose a hand to wipe along his stubbled jaw, making a face as his skin stuck to skin. He didn’t recognize the smells around him; squeezing his eyes tight, he tried to focus his vision as he blinked and rolled, hands moving then to cover his entire face as he groaned.
His head felt heavy, fuzzy, like he wasn’t quite aware of his surroundings (which he wasn’t), like he’d been drinking too much or someone had his brain wrapped in a cushion of air, like he couldn’t quite focus.
The sheets below him, he noticed as he leaned against the unfamiliar bed frame, were tangled in his legs and he could feel the rough scratching of the material across his skin. Swearing, Charlie moved to disentangle himself from such a predicament only to feel an elbow brush against something soft- fleshy- and he jolted over looking down at the body next to him.
Hands then flew to grasp the sheets he’d prior been trying to remove from himself, swearing internally in his head. He needed to get out of the bed before she woke up, this mysterious porcelain skinned beauty that he’d never met (but apparently known). Dark eyes roaming over the room, the floor, he tried to find boxers, robes, anything to cover himself. Not an article of clothing and he swore again, only this time out loud, getting the attention of the woman next to him. She turned, sighing lightly, facing him, though her eyes remained closed.
She was at least pretty, with almond eyes and wavy dark hair. He looked at her for a moment longer, trying to figure out why he’d taken her to bed however, as he most recent goings on when he awoke were blondes; he merely sighed, again disgusted at himself in his sobriety before sliding out from the sheets, luckily finding his wand on the nightstand next to him.
Voice a low hush, as quiet as he could manage, he summoned his clothes, surprised when all that flew to his grasp was a pair of denims he hadn’t even remembered wearing the night before. Mentally shrugging, he tried to shake off the fuzzy disconnected feeling his head still felt as he pulled on his trousers.
The button was hard to manage, his fingers not seeming to understand the motor skills involved, probably due to the way his head swam. Finally though, he managed it, pulling the fabric high on his hips, only to have it slip down; strange- he didn’t remember his trousers being too loose; in fact, if anything they’d been getting tight lately. With one last look at the stranger in the strange bed, Charlie turned and left not another glance back.
He didn’t turn back, either, until he was safely aware of his surroundings; highly confused of where he was in the first place. It didn’t look to familiar, nothing stood out; he hoped she hadn’t been a muggle- he didn’t need the Ministry finding out especially if he’d done magic around her…. Then something hit him, there was no Ministry. Charlie laughed at the thought; he was afraid of something that didn’t exist, reaching behind him he moved to pull out the box of fags he always kept there, panicking slightly when there was nothing. Hand almost slapping his ass in desperation to find them, he quickly realized, they weren’t there; in fact, the blue jeans he’d pulled on- they weren’t his at all.
Sticking out a leg, he looked down at them and sighed; well, he wasn’t going back to find them, he had his wand (he pulled that out of his pocket to double check it was his, it was) and he’d just go home. Only his head throbbed at the very thought of apparating; his head throbbed and his stomach rolled nauseatingly. Well, if he was going to walk, he’d need to find a shirt, muggle or wizarding world- they liked people fully clothed; and then a damn fag, he was dying for a smoke.