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Lifestyle Section [04/10/2010 - 07/07/2012] In their own section, writers can now enjoy the freedom of elbow room. No longer will their articles about the latest fashionable patterns in wizarding robes get mixed up with columns on new Ministry laws and Quidditch accessories. Bigger and sturdier desks with no visible signs of termite damage decorate the rectangular area that is devoted to the Lifestyle section of the Daily Prophet, alongside new and more comfortable chairs to better shock absorb posteriors during crunch time. Those dreadful deadlines are always looming near so remember to stay on top of your game! You are HERE. |
There were a couple of things Hunter liked about her new desk. First, she liked that she had a nice big, clean desk that didn't wobble at all... and it was all her. She loved that it wasn't in the middle of layout like her last desk. And she liked that she was close to the front desk and could watch the yummy little nibble working there when she was particularly blocked in her work. |
"Hehe." Plymouth had spent his quiet morning at his desk making an indian headdress from loose slips of paper. Actually, he was making several, using paper clips and charms and color pens. He got up to look at the door to the street, threw a glance down to the hall to where The Boss was, then creeeeept into the office of Hunter Bones. Once he was safely inside, he put the headdress on. It was droopy and awful and the rubber band he was using made his hair stand up EVERYWHERE. But it was kind of awesome. "I made you one." Plymouth held up Hunter's by the rubber band. "Hehe. If you want." |
Ooooh. The little cute one was here. With FASHION ACCESSORIES. "Yes, come here. Give it to me," Hunter gestured for him to approach her desk and made grabby hands at the... thingy. What was that? "You brought it to exactly the right place. I am fashion forward, you know?" |
Plymouth had been sort of hugging the wall, so he eased towards her with the headdress out in front of him. His arm was stiff and he had the band on the very tippy of his fingers. He didn't want to get TOO close. "I was just bored. Like, really bored." Nervous!hehe. "And I saw you staring." She made him totally nervous. He stopped short of her desk and leaned forward so she could reach his gift offering. |
"I like watching you do your job," she informed him, her lip quirking into a half smirk. Hunter reached for the headdress and turned it around a few times. How did this work? "You're adorable. What do they call you?" |
She was HITTING ON HIM. ... HEHE. Merlin. Okay. Plymouth backed away slowly, back towards the door. "Depends, I think, on which they you mean." |
He was running away. That was a shame, but he was a baby nommy one and it didn't really surprise her. Hunter waggled her fingers at him. "The girls? The ones whose hearts you continuously break, I imagine? I'll start. I'm Hunter Bones." And he was...? |
Andddddddd Plymouth's grin fell off his face. He swallowed, the loud type, and fingered the doorknob. He never meant to ever break anything on a girl, and to be perfectly honest, he'd been broken more BY girls...? At least, at present, it felt that way. Not that he blamed her. She was happy... so... "Err... Plymouth. That is my name. I already knew yours." |
"And I already knew yours, but now we're properly introduced and we can say hello to each other without awkward silences," Hunter saw the wounded expression flicker on his face. It was terribly familiar to her, so she stopped giving him the intense look and pulled out the drawers of her desk. "How do you feel about cookies? For? Opposed?" |
Awkward silence. It happened anyway. ... "Hehe. I think I'm a fan. But not if it's coupled with the coffee here? I don't know what happens, but that stuff tastes street water." Plymouth eased back towards the desk, his headdress still droopy, his hair growing increasingly more wild. |
"I'm also for them, although I think most of the ones in my desk are store bought and a little stale," Hunter apologized, drawing out a sleeve of oatmeal raisin cookies and rolling it toward him. "You know, the funny thing about the coffee is that it's MUCH better than it used to be. You must be spoiled by gourmet coffee." |
"I think maybe it's coffee in general. It does funny things to me." No, the already overly hyper did not stimulating caffeine. "Hehe." More awkward silence. .... Plymouth tugged at his headdress. It wasn't.... coming off though. Ruh roh. Tug. Tug. Tuuuuuug. "Ow..." |
"Merlin, what did you do?" Hunter slid out of her chair and circled the desk to see if she could pull that big head thing off of him without pulling out all his hair with it. "Tell me you didn't use a sticking charm." |
"I didn't use a sticking charm....?" Plymouth not-so-convincingly replied. Tug. "But that might be a lie...?" Plymouth bent his head down for Hunter to better see errrr him. "Hehe. Umm. You don't suppose you could help me a bit? I think Mr. Hoshino might not appreciate fashion forwardness on me." |
"Let me see," Hunter slipped her fingers into his hair, sliding them along the headgear. Nope. It was well and truly stuck. "Well, that's... let me get my wand. Or... scissors? Whichever you prefer." |
O__________O "You... really? I was .. I was kind of growing it out?" His um.... the girl he used to date hadn't liked longer hair. Or beards. Or dogs. Or... his socks in her flat. Whole other story that, though. "Is there an Option C?" As nice as he found Hunter Bones, Plymouth Morgan just wasn't so sure about her wand near his head. "Just pull real hard. I won't cry. Much." |
"I can't think of anything else to do," Hunter complained, but she did give the headdress a little tug. If she pulled too hard, the thing was going to pull apart and his little creative spirit might break. "I'm going to... pull really hard. It might hurt a bit." Stupid, really. She could just CUT it. |
"Does it look bad....? Maybe we could just leave it," Plymouth suggested, trying for nonchalance and probably completely failing. He peeked up at Hunter Bones, who looked ... Well. Forget how she looked. .................................................. . "Hehe. Umm." Um. UM. Indeed. |
"It doesn't look like anything yet," Hunter winked at him and gave the whole headdress one last vicious twist. It pulled off some chunks of hair, but at least he wasn't permanently attached to the thing anymore. "Oh... oh, little honey. Let me... are you okay?" |
Plymouth's mouth fell open. She'd sort of - no she'd just straight up - TORN it OUT of his hair? Yeah. Yeah that happened. His eyes drifted to his creation, then back to her. o__o It took a moment for the HURT to register, and bet your momma's curtains IT DID hurt. The sort of sting that made his eyes tear up involuntarily. Not crying, though. Plymouth Morgans do NOT cry. Much. "Is there a bald spot....?" Just what he needed. A bald spot. |
"No, kid. All your hair is intact. You are without any attractive war wounds," she left the headdress in his lap and slid back into her seat. "So... you want to be a writer?" |
Plymouth's hand kept wondering up to his hair. "Hehe. I had ear hair once. What's a small bald spot, right?" Right? Anyway. He situated himself in the chair, trying to appear sophisticated and manly all at once. "Uhhh.... err... no? I umm.... I just work at the front desk. Sometimes I write memos. You might have got one." Sometimes he drew on said memos. It happened. "But not for a career. Who'd want read what I write?" haha, right? |
"Don't you know that everyone has a story to tell, Plymouth Morgan? I bet you have a really interesting story." Maybe. Or maybe he was just a sad kid who didn't know that this was hard work for someone not trying to break into the business. "What would you like to do, if you weren't writing memos?" |
"Not really," Plymouth squirmed and fidgeted around uncomfortably in his chair. She wasn't exactly prying, or even asking questions, but he still sort of felt like a bug under a muggle magnifying glass. There wasn't much to him. He got up, alone, went to work, went home, alone, and hung out his best friend in the world: his 4 year old baby sister. His routine didn't vary much. "Me and Mom used to do the Quidditch circuit. Selling stuff. Traveling. It's been looking more and more appealing lately. Not that I don't like this job..." 'cause he totally did. Plymouth Morgan LIKED all his new dress robes and suits, how important he felt having a desk, and the occasional sir he got. At least on the periphery, he appeared grown up. |
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