WHO: Rolf Scamander & Lindsay Macmillan WHEN: Thursday, 29 November 1998. Evening, a while after this. WHERE: Rolf's flat in Ringwood. WHAT: Rolf's got some writing done and wants an objective eye. What's in it for Lindsay? Probably food and getting to hang out with an adorable dog. RATING: Low.
Rolf didn't exactly do a lot of entertaining, so after he'd told Lindsay to just "come on by" at her leisure, he mentally kicked himself. The place was a bit of a mess, despite his best intentions to clean regularly. He did, he really did. It was only that everything seemed to end up in a disorder by the end of each day, and today he'd not had a chance to address that just yet. If it were anyone else, he wouldn't have cared quite a much, but Lindsay was the only one of his friends who always seemed to have things perfectly in order. Despite what she claimed about her personal life and her own living quarters, Rolf couldn't imagine that should wouldn't judge him at least a little bit for the relatively messy state of his flat. Mel didn't seem bothered by the notion at all, and wagged his tail innocuously from the mattress.
Still, it couldn't hurt to get a bit of straightening up done, so once it seemed a plan was set Rolf rolled off the mattress on the floor of his bedroom and set to working a few of the usual cleaning charms in the living room. A stack of papers on his desk flew into a drawer, the dirt and mud from that had tracked inside from his trip to the dog park an hour before dissolved with the flick of a wand, his jacket rose from the spot on the floor where it had fallen and resituated itself on the back of the door. What to do with the mess of wires currently gathered around the television and VCR he'd labored at setting up a few days ago in the corner escaped him, so he left it. Good enough, for now, he supposed.
He started to wonder what sort of food he should go about making or otherwise acquiring, because he'd also implied that it would be part of the deal for her to look over what he'd written so far. That was a little nerve-wracking, too, because no one had read this yet but him, and he was sure it was dreadful. And boring. Eventually he'd work a book about his grandfather and his life and work into something interesting, but Rolf doubted it was there yet.
Rather than let himself fret further, Rolf moved into the kitchen and began rummaging through cabinets to see what was on hand.