Furmy didn't get nearly as many treats as Mangig had gotten before they left, and was terribly sulky because of it. It was because he was a chubby tawny owl, wasn't it? And didn't have the speed that the smaller owl did. He'd considered pooing on the owl post worker on the way out, but they gave him a good scratch on the head and he thought better of it.
Maybe he would get more treats when he returned? Furmgoat was hopeful.
Flying across London, he snuck his way into the ministry, through all the levels, and finally to office of the games department head. His wonky wings landed him swiftly on the corner of the desk, narrowly missing the mess that was already occupying the desk and staaaaaaared down the person in the room.
"Hooo."
Furmy held out his leg that had an attached letter and waited expectantly for treats.
Or someone was getting poo'd on.
Quote:
To whom it may concern:
CEASE AND DESIST YOUR SPORTING. ALL SPORTING. IMMEDIATELY.
OR ELSE!
While society rots away and further deteriorates, our SCHOOLS are wasting their time, MONEY, and resources funding POINTLESS GAMES. MOST OF ALL: QUIDDITCH. LAST YEAR ALONE, HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF GALLEONS WERE WASTED! MORE THAN 200 MAN-HOURS! Students should be learning to READ, WRITE, and WAND WAVE! NOT how to swing bats, search for gold, and fancy themselves birds!
YOU WILL NEVER BE A BIRD! QUIT QUIDDITCH OR DIE!
Yours truly.
PS: I'LL HAVE WHAT IS MINE, YOU UNNATURAL GINGERED HARPY! IN THE MEANTIME, I'LL TAKE WHAT IS YOURS. QQOD!