George Weasley (saintly_george) wrote in the_inbetween, @ 2017-08-08 12:59:00 |
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Current location: | Auntie's place |
Current mood: | aggravated |
Private for Muriel
"Where have you been?"
George tossed his work robes for the hamper and bent to untie his boots. "At the shop. I told you I'd be late. Meeting with that new supplier?" He looked up, then sighed at the all-too-familiar anger on Charlotte's face. It had become a daily scene, this...
"You most certainly did not. Who is she?"
"She's a he, and his name is Ryan, and he sells black market Tentacula seeds and gunpowder. And I told you that I had a meeting."
Charlotte tailed George to the shower, grumbling under her breath about this or that... "I really think we should have a baby," she said as he turned on the spray.
"I don't." A baby? Into this mess of a relationship? He stepped into the shower and reached for the soap, scrubbing as she went on.
"It would give me something to do," she reasoned. "Something to take care of. Make my day worth having..."
"We can get a pet," he countered. "Take care of a cat. And if you're out of things to do, come clerk at the shop. Save another salary and keep me from hiring some stranger. Hell, keep the salary for mad-money. I don't care."
"You're mad. That's always your answer. Come clerk at the shop. So you can keep me under your watchful eye, I suppose?"
"No. So I don't have to hire some idiot off the street."
"Oh, so I'm an idiot now?" She threw a towel into the shower as George shut off the water.
"Oh, for fuck's sake. Did I say that? Everything has to be so about you. Do whatever you want. You're the one wanting to know where I am every second of the day." He grabbed clothes from the wardrobe, shrugged them on over still-wet skin. "Get a cat. Get a fucking goat for all I care."
She followed him to the fireplace, anger coming off her in almost palpable waves. "Where do you think you're going?"
George scooped floo powder and looked at her before tossing it. "It's Tuesday. Don't wait up."
Muriel's sitting room was a haven of quiet as he stepped out onto the hearth. "Auntie?" There was no answer, so he moved to the cabinet in the corner and rummaged for the firewhiskey, pouring a tumblerful and downing half.
Whose idea had this marriage been, anyway? What the fuck had he been thinking?