Who: George Weasley, Angelina Johnson, and a giant bottle of vodka. When: Last Week, Backdated, after this and this. Where: Angelina and Katie's Flat. What: Getting drunk. Rating: TBA Open/Closed: Closed
George felt like blowing something up. Which wasn't all that unusual, as George liked blowing things up in general. But he felt like blowing things up in a more destructive way, rather than in the pursuit of prankdom or because it was fun. He was just irritated in general, and for a wide variety of reasons, and irritated wasn't a general George state of mind. He had plenty of temper, but usually he was too busy at the shop and being George to be actively irate for long periods of time. He just had better things to do.
But there were, it seemed, exceptions. Such as when one's twin impregnated one's shop girl, and then didn't even bloody TELL one about it until one was in prison. (Which still hadn't been his bloody fault, no matter what anyone said. That cop was being a bint, and had a thing against redheads or something.
He had shite he could do still, but when Angelina's note came through, he decided to say to hell with it. Ange could probably use the company, anyway. And between his brother, the shite with the Death Eaters, and Roger sodding Davies, George could definitely use a few dozen drinks.
He jotted a note to Angelina, locked up the shop as soon as it was closing time, and then apparated over to the girls' place, not bothering to let Fred know where he was going. They'd ned to talk things out, and soon, but George wasn't ready yet. And he probably didn't need Fred to come after him and have it all pop out when he was drunk, either.
He didn't bother to knock, just popped into the flat, looking around for Angelina and then plopping down in front of her. "Everything is shite," he informed her. He paused and then added belatedly. "Hi."