Penelope Clearwater is not a Quaffle type of girl (spindleloosener) wrote in may02, @ 2010-09-07 17:39:00 |
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Current mood: | annoyed |
Who: Penelope Clearwater and Marcus Flint
What: Penelope will attempt to convince Marcus to rock up for charity. And Marcus will likely take some convincing. Small children should look away right now.
Where: Penelope's flat
When: Maybe Wednesday/Thursday-ish?
Status: InComplete
Rating: PG-13/R for language and innuendos, with other things likely definitely to follow.
Penelope Clearwater was not amused. Indeed, she was currently surveying the floor of her wardrobe with a look of consternation and annoyance that her clients very seldom got to see. That bloody bird has done it again, she thought, hands propped on her hips and braced for battle. Why was it always her favourite pair of shoes, and - come to that - always in odd shoes? There, look! Red suede pair; left. Pooped in. Red suede pair; right. Unblemished. Black leather and cork wedges; left. Pooped in. Black leather and cork wedges; right. Not pooped in. And so forth.
Well, at least she knew that his sense of direction couldn't be faulted?
D'Artagnan, who had been Porthos' predecessor, had been much better toilet trained. She could have sworn it. And at the moment, she was highly tempted to send Porthos the way of her first owl.
"PORTHOS!" she sung out at the top of her voice, cheerful-like, but with an obvious undertone of threat to it. "PORTHOS, WHERE ARE YOU? I FEEL LIKE CHICKEN TONIGHT, PORTHOS."