Who: Fred Holden & Charlie Weasley What: Well Charlie's been deemed an idiot, kitten is so not happy Where: Charlie's office When: Right after receiving this order for execution Rating: R (for language, not for all the thoughts of Charlie naked...she'll keep that to herself) Status: Closed; Complete
Fred was in a damn chipper mood. Her general annoyance, frustration and impulse to do horribly violent things to humans after having to put down that Aethonon the previous day had passed. She was just coming back from outside where she'd decided napping in the sun was a good idea for her lunch break. Fred was bopping down the hall, earphones in and her iPod clipped to the waist of her shorts. It was a small miracle she even owned shorts, but it was no surprise they managed to cover less flesh than her skirts did. Her supposedly valid excuse was that it was hot out, and for her it was damn hot.
Bopping along, she stopped in front of her desk to find a packet of papers. Her head and hips swung widely from side to side punctuating each beat as she sang along to the song currently playing in a harmony an octave higher than Hetfield's voice, "Die, die, die my darling, don't utter a single word." And then she read what her spiffy little packet said. "What. The. Fuck? You stupid, stupid man." Fred's eyes narrowed and she turned on her heel, legs moving quickly to carry her to the stairs and up to the top floor where Charlie was holed up in his office. "Questions, my ass," she mumbled to herself. "'Hey Charlie, you fancy yourself a case of death?' Yeah, that's a question, innit?" She rapped on the door three times, quick and insistent as she glared at the door, earphones still in.