Ronald B Weasley (the_weasel_king) wrote in expresslogs, @ 2012-03-31 23:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | !open, ron weasley |
Finally!
Characters: Ron
When: Saturday/Sunday, midnight-ish
Location: rear kitchen
Warnings/Rating: None anticipated
Summary: Ron is elated there's a kitchen closer to his room
Status: Narrative
Ron couldn't sleep, but he couldn't figure out why. Maybe it was the level of emotion or energy on the train, or maybe it was the fact they were moving again and he had no idea what or where Tortuga was. He'd heard it was an island, and he wasn't sure what he thought about that. He was also pretty sure he'd heard something about pirates in the hallway, but he didn't know what he felt about that, either. So rather than stay in his room and irritate Hermione with his restlessness, he decided to go wander. He paused to regard the painting of the lion on their door, wondering when that had gone up there. He knew there was some bird going around painting doors; he just didn't know theirs had been slated for it. It was nice though, and after studying it for a minute, he turned to start toward the kitchen. He did pause outside Hugo's former room, curious about the missing name before recalling he'd moved in with Harry's daughter. His cousin. Sometimes it was still weird to think about that. He was also trying not to think too hard about Gin being gone. She hadn't been here long, and everyone was assuming people were being sent back to where they'd come from. So ... it was for the best. For her to go back to her game, to marry Harry, to have her kids, and not be stuck on this train. Still, it had been nice to see her. To at least know that her future was turning out okay even if he was still stuck here. It did raise a whole wave of homesickness though, and maybe that was contributing. He thought he should try to find Harry, see how he was doing, but... maybe Harry'd have the same idea as him and wind up meeting in him the kitchen. Or maybe someone else would. If he was really lucky, he'd find someone to make him food again. People seemed to like doing that for him, and he appreciated it. But if no one did show up, he was sure he was capable of making himself a snack. Or finding something already made that he could eat. Padding on slippered feet down the corridor, his wand jutting out of the pocket of his dressing gown, Ron made his way to the kitchen pantry. Opening the door, he stepped inside and began to rummage around. |