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[rule_britannia]

Two weeks at home.

Two weeks managing to avoid getting a black eye.

It was nice while it lasted.

Bloody wankers.

Comments

[rule_britannia]

Oh bloody hell that is not funny don't even joke about that.

[greenmoonrising]

What? A teashop could be nice, though maybe without all that ugly furniture and the lovey-dovey couples...

[rule_britannia]

I think my father would actually disown me.

[greenmoonrising]

Oh, one of those ambitious types eh? Well, maybe you could uh... set up a swanky teashop that only caters to the Ministry of Magic higher-ups and uses gold cutlery instead of silver and have your china actually imported from China.

[rule_britannia]

You know you might actually be on to something.

[greenmoonrising]

I want a VIP pass if you do set this up - I introduced the idea, I might as well get classy tea times for it.

[rule_britannia]

[Here, have a squiggle/blotch on the page while Arthur cracks up laughing]

It shall be the classiest tea shop in England.

[greenmoonrising]

Will there be cake? :)

[rule_britannia]

Only the best.

[greenmoonrising]

Yeah, that VIP card? I'm demanding it now. I'll switch in my glasses for a monocle and top hat if that's the dress code, just promise me cake.

[rule_britannia]

That sounds like a marvellous dress code!

Consider it a promise.

[greenmoonrising]

Awesome, I'm saving this correspondence for future reference. Leave the pages in dad's safe and all that.

[rule_britannia]

That's probably for the best. I might forget.

[greenmoonrising]

And I have a bad habit of making my desk explode. Um, potion experiments.

... And just dropping things in general- Hey, do you think you'll still let me into the place after breaking a cup or two by accident?

[rule_britannia]

I won't even make you pay for them.

VIP pass, you know.

[greenmoonrising]

You're making me swoon, man. Promise me the cake won't be ridiculously sweet or rich, and you'll have me eating out of your hand.

[Cue series of scribbles and mini ink splatters as his hand jerks over the page.]

............ I'm not flirting, I swear.

[rule_britannia]

Oh dear lord.

I'd hate to see what you're like when you are flirting.

[greenmoonrising]

I don't flirt, I swear, I don't know how to flirt - that's Tony's thing. Ask the girls in your year, they've probably all been hit on by him.

... Right, so I've gone and made an ass of myself huh?

[rule_britannia]

Just a little bit.

That looked like flirting to me.

[greenmoonrising]

[More ink splatters as he flails in his chair.]

I swear I wasn't I just- I usually just respond like that as a joke- okay, a pretty bad joke but I swear

[Frantic scribbles all over the page.]

Sorry.

[rule_britannia]

Hahahaha.

It'll be our secret.

[greenmoonrising]

Thanks and uh yeah. Sorry. Word vomit, stupid things come out, maybe someone replaced my quill with a prank one again...

[rule_britannia]

You know what they say about bad workmen blaming their tools.

[greenmoonrising]

Hey, I know how to handle my tools

.................... I walked right into that one didn't I.

[rule_britannia]

You are making this too easy.