charlesweasley (charlesweasley) wrote in uprisingrpg, @ 2010-11-12 23:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | charlie weasley, hestia jones |
Who: Charlie and Hestia
What: Charlie plans to kidnap Hestia away from the Ministry for Friday Night fun.
When: Friday
Where: Ministry of Magic and then who knows!
Warnings: TBA
Status: Incomplete
It was Friday and pretty soon it was going to be Friday night. People made songs about the concept of Friday night and the implications it had, usually surrounding that of parties. While he had no such plan (party's often got too crowded for his tastes), he was using the simple fact that it was soon going to be Friday night to justify him leaving the Ministry early. It wasn't as if he was behind on work. His mountain of paperwork had been completed yesterday and he spent most of this afternoon looking over the paperwork again, pretending as if he may have made a mistake. He knew he hadn't.
When it was past four, he lept up from his desk and gathered his things. His mind was in a whirl and he was trying to consider just how he wanted to spend his evening. He considered going back to Tonks' but he had a feeling she'd be distant. He didn't know if he was simply being paranoid or not but he felt as if she was quite distant anymore. He didn't like to think on it. He didn't like that he had even picked up on her odd behavior. She still had not told him the name of this mystery man. He didn't let on how much this hurt him.
He would have told her if the shoe was on the other foot.
Shaking that thought away, it cemented in him that he simply would not go home this evening. He needed something exciting to occur and fast. Thinking quickly, his mind skimmed through all the possibilities of people he could kidnap and the types of adventures he could have, and after a moment, he smirked.
Five minutes later, he was on the approriate floor, waltzing towards Hestia's desk with a big bear of a grin. "Hestia," he said to announce his presence and in greeting, just before he reached her cubicle. He stood on the tips of his toes ('Blasted Prewitt genes', he thought to himself) and placed his arms on the top of the cubicle, resting his chin against them with a smile before he added, "Hi."