| Oct. 5th, 2007 @ 08:48 pm Brooms and blokes |
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Current Mood:  mischievous
Backdated to Oct. 6th, Thursday
We've hit the after-lunch lull right abouts now. Fred's doing 'parchmentwork' in the back, and I can tell by the thunderous snores leaking through the rubber duck that he's taking his work as serious as Mum took Dad's muggle trinkets. He really should learn not to fall asleep clutchin' the intercom.
I pick up the duck and listen for a minute, then give it a hearty squeeze. It lets out an enormous squeak and Clone's snores turn into a yelp.
I figure I'm counting down to about ten before we see the clone, and sure enough, at nine and three quarters, he stumbles through the back room door, rubbing his eyes. "Were you here this whole time, George? Coulda sworn I heard someone murdering a duck out here. Oh - and that parchmentwork's murder too, speaking of."
"Yeah, 'cause you were dead-to-the-world on it, sounds," I say. "Ta for the serenade. Took the edge off the inactivity."
"That bad, eh?" he asks, wincing a bit. "Suppose I was dead tired. But long as the rhythm was good, though. Been workin' on that. Looks like I missed a lot out here. You got along without me then?"
"Trudes' gone catatonic," I say, pointing. And it's true. She's leaning against the shelf of Fake Test Answers For All Subjects. "Was thinkin' o' sending her home, then thought, if it's so dead we can just have one out here, why don't you and I trip on my Trappotini's and order us up a bushel o' brooms?"
He suddenly looks much more awake and gasps in delight. "Yes! Ah, the brilliance of you, clone! If Rosie wouldn't kick my arse, I'd snog you this instant! Give me about two minutes to find my shoes and make myself look - well, never mind the respectable part. It'd never fly anyway."
I smack his bum for good measure as he hurries back into the back room. A covey o' witches as just came in coo and giggle at this. Well, whatever floats their boat, I guess.
"Trudes," Fred whispers in her ear once he's reached her, obviously trying not to yank her from her catatonia too suddenly. I've heard that's bad too. "Trudes, we have customers - and Georgie and I were just on the verge of deserting you. So look alive, eh? We won't be that long."
She looks around blearily. "Wot? Right. Shouldn't look bored in a joke shop..." she mumbles but Fred's already disappeared into the back room to...whatever.
The witches come up and ask if the bloke as just went in the back is my twin brother. Brilliant dames, really. Sharp as butter knives. Nothing gets past them!
Fred wanders out from the back once more, looking ready to go - again - and stops next to me. "Couldn't help overhearing, ladies, but I've gotta let you in on a little secret. We're not really twins, not really. I'm actually twenty years older than this bloke here. But you know - you try to come up with a fabulous and unique look, and what do you get? Some kid has to copy your style." He leans forward to whisper to them. "But if you look closely, you'll see. Some things just can't be imitated."
The witches are staring in amazement now and I can see Trudes stifling a snigger behind them. "Give these lovely ladies a discount on everything, Trudes! You know, the superusual!"
Trudes winks at us. "Got it, 'gents. Have fun with your broomsticks."
The witches look like they're about to have coronaries when she says this. "You can bet your bum, Gerty. Oi! Reminds me," I say and run into the back. When I reach the office, I grab something off the desk and hurry back through to see the ladies still swooning. "Come on then," I cheer, hooking my arm in Fred's. "Let us off to our next destination!"
We skip out into the Alley, laughing and ignoring the appalled looks of the two old witches that we nearly run over in the process. |
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ate_george's journal
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