George Weasley (all_ears) wrote in afic, @ 2011-03-04 23:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: george weasley, character: ginny weasley, player: sarah, x player: ali |
WHO: George and Ginny Weasley
WHEN: March 4, 8ish
WHERE: George's shop and his flat
WHAT: Ginny persuades George to stop being a bum and have dinner.
RATING: PG PG-13 Okay, okay. So George has a potty mouth.
Friday and Saturday nights got pretty busy at the shop. They got so busy, in fact, that this particular Friday, George—standing behind a register that was seven people deep—was rather surprised he'd let himself be talked into giving all the employees the next night off. George didn't mind working alone in the shop, and it wasn't so busy that one person couldn't handle it—besides, he'd been doing this for years now. And the employees wouldn't complain if he gave them the night off. And they better not complain—Saturday nights in March were not something to be taken lightly at a prank shop. April was just around the corner...not that George could forget that.
So, he didn't feel to bad then, turning the register—line now trimmed down to four—over to the shop girl, Amber, the moment he saw the familiar red head of hair heading toward him from the front door. George waved at Ginny over the heads of the customers milling about in the shop, and motioned her to come back behind the counter. He disappeared ahead of her, behind the shimmery pruple curtain into the back room of the shop. It was one large, open room save for the hallway to the storeroom and the basement, and his office, where he begrudgingly had to do the paperwork every month. For the most part, George spent all his time in the large workroom, exploding, imploding, expanding, contracting, transfiguring, charming, hexing, boiling, burning, destroying and creating things—though it was hardly evident from the state of things. George tended to keep things pretty tidy...boring, bland, totally manly, but tidy.
The upstairs was equally boring and bland. And equally visibl were the reminders of Fred scattered about the place. There was still a row of notebooks neatly stacked above Fred's old work station, and while everything wasn't exactly where Fred had left it, it was clear George hadn't let everything go. Just like his notebooks and stool still sat down stairs, upstairs in the attic, George still had Fred's old twin bed, and most of his things, tucked away neatly in boxes, hidden, but not forgotten.
"So," George said with a big grin, turning on Ginny and handing her a menu. "Pick out some food already, 'cause I'm starving!" And so was his life—there were clear, sad reminders hanging all about him, but as apparent as they were, George would swat them away like the quick swish of a disappating charm through fog, putting on the smile to reassure, always, that he was totally, perfectly, absolutey fine.