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| Guardians of the Black Lake | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Feb 24 2015, 02:13 AM (68 Views) | |
| Georgette O'Callahan | Feb 24 2015, 02:13 AM Post #1 |
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Georgie O’ Callahan knew the answer to a lot of things. The number of counter-clockwise turns it took to brew a perfect Draught of Living Death potion. The year Dorian the Defenestrated usurped Raunchy Riklovos the Bulgarian Troll King. The pruning angle that maximized Mimbulus Mimbletonia re-growth in the winter. How many seconds it took to diffuse a homemade atom bomb. What she didn’t know was who the flying fuck went swimming at seven in the goddamn morning. “Wheeeeee—” “No squealing,” came the immediate, incisive snap from beneath the brim of a baseball cap a pale hand was clutching down, the other clutching a piping hot thermos of jet-black coffee. It was an altogether glorious August morning, the sun bursting at the seams in the cloudless sky, dappling the Black Lake in winks and glitters that flared into bursts of light as the gaggle of early-bird students jumped and splashed around in the water, and Georgie wanted nothing more than a giant flaming meteor to blow it all up. Why the hell had she been assigned to this? There were fifty million other ways she could’ve filled her weekend volunteer hours—Map Your Own Genome club’s recruitment booth, re-organizing the Restricted Potions textbooks in the library, alphabetizing medical records in the Hospital Wing—and yet somehow the student council had her lifeguarding a freaking lake cookout? What had she done to deserve this? “Oh my God, Grace, stop it!” a pig-tailed girl laughed from beneath the looming lifeguard stand as her friend hit her with a full-frontal splash attack, and Georgie snapped up her Sonorous-charmed loudspeaker without so much as opening her eyes. “No laughing.” What did she have to do to get some goddamn quiet? Wasn’t that what mornings were all about? Peace? Quiet? Harnessing your yoga or doing chi or sun evaluations or— “Grace,” came the same shrill, mirthful screech, “you’re getting my hair wet, oh my Go—” “FOR FUCK’S SAKE, GRACE, NO MEANS NO, YOU RAPIST,” Georgie yelled into the loudspeaker, shoving the bill of her hat up from over her face to glare down at what appeared to be a first year, though her murderous gaze caught instead on the lean, inky-haired frame lumbering up the stand’s ladder. It cooled slightly, body slumping back down into its previous state of don’t-give-a-fuckery as she aimed the loudspeaker down at Caleb Archer. “You’re late.” He shot her a flat look as he continued to climb, and she couldn’t really tell if it was more of a ‘sod off’ or a ‘wait till you hear why’ kind of deal, though given his idiot friends, she wagered it was the latter. Her eyes briefly flitted over his attire, and the appropriateness of it immediately annoyed her: sunglasses, bright t-shirt, red swimming trunks, sunscreen-slathered nose, a clipboard, a copy of the Black Lake Rules and Regulations manual, etc. etc. She’d slapped on her ‘Unicornucopia!’ hat, the ratty red swimsuit they’d given her, and her dad’s old Red Cross sweater and called it a day. It was seven the fucking AM, who had time for anything else? Annoyed, she tossed aside the loudspeaker and reached instead for her automatically replenishing thermos, bringing it up to her mouth for a horrifyingly long gulp. Caleb’s face flickered with concern as he reached the platform, catching her just as she lowered the steaming thermos, and she rolled her eyes—hater. “Only the third refill, relax.” Just as he opened his mouth to say something, however, a giggle pierced the air, and Georgie snatched up the loudspeaker so fast that she almost broke the sound barrier. “GRACE, I WILL CRUCIO EVERYTHING YOU LOVE.”
Edited by Georgette O'Callahan, Feb 24 2015, 09:40 AM.
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3:25 PM Jul 11
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3:25 PM Jul 11