Quote:
Originally Posted by Touz
It didn't happen often. Hardly ever, really. But Plymouth Morgan had a moment of perfect wizard-brain clarity. They were going TOO FAST, out of control almost, on some SLICK substance coating the chutes. Plymouth was a Ravenclaw... so...
"Impedimenta!!" Plymouth cast, so so so so thankful that he'd remembered his wand AT ALL.
Unfortunately, though, Plymouth's intent to KEEP Daphne Hopton safe and happy and alive and still somewhat liking him - must have been a little TOO strong because they slowed waaaaaaaaay down. Way down...
Daphne was going to KILL HIM. Goodbye sweet world. Please tell Plymouth's mum that it was a good death.
They neared the bottom of the chute and Plymouth was clutching Daphne so hard that she probably couldn't breathe. He got ready for the landing... and then his impending doom.
There was an unpleasant feeling on her bottom, almost like she was sliding around on something slick. From behind her hands that still covered her face, Daphne grimaced unpleasantly.
Having slowed down, she removed her hands to crane her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever was on the slide, making her highly uncomfortable. "I think I don't like slides," she commented wheezily to Plymouth in case his other idea for their date involved more slide riding. His arms were so tightly around her stomach it was a little difficult to breathe, for more reasons than the pressure against her diaphragm. "You're squeezing me, sweetie." EEEEEP. BOTTOM.
Remembering what Plymouth had told her, she lifted her legs ready to plant them on the ground except--they had slowed down to a stop just as they reached the bottom. Ha. That was interesting. Hopping off, she turned around to talk to Plymouth but a strange boy was...touching his bottom and crying. "Uh," she muttered raising a delicate whilst making a disturbed and horrified face.
No. Not Garret Crocker's feral brother. Please, Merlin. Not on her date! She then felt something dripping down her thigh, reaching behind her she ran her hand along her skin. Greasy, she pressed it against her fingers before bringing them up to her nose cautiously. "Butter? There's butter on my--" HER DRESS! clutching the back end of her dress, Miss Hopton let out a horrified wail.
Someone. Was. Going. To. Die.
She just needed to decide who was going first.