Percy Weasley (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
aperfectthird) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tampered2012-03-26 10:03 pm
aperfectthird) wrote in tampered2012-03-26 10:03 pm
just bundle up my coffin, 'cause it's cold way down there
When; BACKDATED to midnight-ish, Monday, March 26
Rating; PG-13
Characters; Team Magical Redhead (aperfectthird, hexuality, onlyholey, and feorge)
Summary; Percy's back from the dead and his siblings are not well-pleased that he had the nerve to die on them.
Log;
When Percy comes to, it's not so different from waking up after a nightmare. He jerks awake with a gasp, feeling nauseated and dizzy, arms thrown up in front of his face like he's warding something off.
It's dark and quiet. Slowly, he lowers his arms, tries to get his bearings. He reaches for his glasses on the bedside table (glasses, bedside table) and puts them on, blinking to focus his vision. It doesn't help. Even with his glasses on, his vision is still blurred and he can't quite get anything straight.
He breathes, presses his face into his hands. His head is pounding and his mouth is dry, like he's coming down from a day-long bender and the hangover from hell is rearing its ugly head. He could do with a hangover potion - or, failing that, some of that Muggle analgesic - aspirin, he thinks it's called. Of course, if there's nothing else, there's always coffee. It's gotten him through some pretty bad mornings-after, though none of them made him feel quite like his head has been used as a Bludger. Swinging his feet over the edge of his bed, he puts them firmly on the ground, lets his head swim for a moment before he attempts getting to his feet.
The trek to the kitchen is long and slow, and his brain attempts to make some progress in figuring out what in Merlin's name happened to get him in this position. There's something, something at the corners of his mind that he can't quite put his finger on, but there's a blue light behind his eyes that makes his head throb and his pulse pound dully in his temples.
If nothing else, Percy is quite good at managing a coffee machine semi-conscious (it's the one Muggle device, and the one thing in the kitchen, he's any good with) and it's not long before the rich smell of coffee permeates the air. While he waits for it to percolate, he leans against the counter, rubbing his forehead, waiting for the pain to recede, and hopefully reveal some answers.
Rating; PG-13
Characters; Team Magical Redhead (
aperfectthird, hexuality, onlyholey, and feorge)Summary; Percy's back from the dead and his siblings are not well-pleased that he had the nerve to die on them.
Log;
When Percy comes to, it's not so different from waking up after a nightmare. He jerks awake with a gasp, feeling nauseated and dizzy, arms thrown up in front of his face like he's warding something off.
It's dark and quiet. Slowly, he lowers his arms, tries to get his bearings. He reaches for his glasses on the bedside table (glasses, bedside table) and puts them on, blinking to focus his vision. It doesn't help. Even with his glasses on, his vision is still blurred and he can't quite get anything straight.
He breathes, presses his face into his hands. His head is pounding and his mouth is dry, like he's coming down from a day-long bender and the hangover from hell is rearing its ugly head. He could do with a hangover potion - or, failing that, some of that Muggle analgesic - aspirin, he thinks it's called. Of course, if there's nothing else, there's always coffee. It's gotten him through some pretty bad mornings-after, though none of them made him feel quite like his head has been used as a Bludger. Swinging his feet over the edge of his bed, he puts them firmly on the ground, lets his head swim for a moment before he attempts getting to his feet.
The trek to the kitchen is long and slow, and his brain attempts to make some progress in figuring out what in Merlin's name happened to get him in this position. There's something, something at the corners of his mind that he can't quite put his finger on, but there's a blue light behind his eyes that makes his head throb and his pulse pound dully in his temples.
If nothing else, Percy is quite good at managing a coffee machine semi-conscious (it's the one Muggle device, and the one thing in the kitchen, he's any good with) and it's not long before the rich smell of coffee permeates the air. While he waits for it to percolate, he leans against the counter, rubbing his forehead, waiting for the pain to recede, and hopefully reveal some answers.