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Again, awesometastic Chapter Ern! |
SPOILER!!: This whole thing. Hahahaha. MEN. That's all I've gotta say. Quote:
What a stud. I like this story and I like you and I think you're BRILLIANT. Mmm. :glomp: |
Haha that made me laugh *maybe they're veelas* Love this, pams!! |
sheesh, you are hilarious. for realz. |
PAMS already:P |
omg i died at the hobbit comet,i almost hope it's Al but I would lvoe either!! ahahaha! Veelas! Ofcourse brad would go there;) |
I am like SO late on commenting on the last post. *kicks self* Your stalker does indeed approve my friend ^_^ I have to agree with... someone... the hobbit comment was genius. It was giggle inducing indeed. |
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Text Cut: Stuff that made me LOL! =DD :rotfl: x 99999 xD Quote:
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*flailFLAIIIIIILS* Quote:
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Good update, Eriinnnn. Give us another one, soon? ^__________^ *huggles* |
So so so sorry about the wait, lovies. I promise to be better next time. I'm definitely trying to do tooooo much and my fics are suffering for it. The upside? It's REALLY long. SPOILER!!: quotes and stuff http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2...s/1a398b0c.jpg Day 1, Part 5 A point of interest. The reason the store on the opposite shoreline didn’t look much like a store is because it is not, in fact, a store. I’m not sure if it even qualifies as a proper building, having no roof and dilapidated walls, but the 'building' is some sort of miniature castle with a crumbling wall that stretches out a few hundred feet before giving up and collapsing into the lake. And it is really really old. When we say stuff is old in the US, we could be referring to that crazy old house down the street that’s 30 years old or, sometimes, to some log cabin where the logs and daub have been replaced over and over for the past 200 years and there’s nothing very old about it except the way it smells and the speech they give you about drying herbs and making your own butter. It’s sort of lame. Actually, it’s really lame when you realize what ‘old’ means here in England. A castle that’s 200 years old would be a little baby castle. Not even historically significant. 500 years. 1000 years. That’s old. And old castles, even without ceilings and with rubble all over the ground, are very NOT lame. I would be willing to forget about Brad and the store in favor of climbing all the stairs leading up into the wreckage, except that my extremely well-spoken and intelligent brother pauses at the point where the weathered boards of the dock met a sidewalk leading around the castle-thing. “What now?” he sighs. I’m so sorry if my falling down and injuring myself is SO inconvenient for you, Arm Pit. My bum and I apologize profusely. But rather than my pithy reply, I simply hurry to join him on the sidewalk. “You are such a Drama Mama, Brad. Do you need some smelling salts before you swoon again?” “I…” Any retort is replaced by the forehead-wrinkle-of-confusion of which my brother is so skilled. Kat, the best friend from home, says he looks like a confuzzled little puppy when he makes that face. I maintain that he looks like evolution skipped back a couple models to regurgitate him. “I have no clue what you’re talking about. Can we just GO?” “They have a castle,” I point up at the pile of rock. From up close, the slanted masonry is covered with a fine web of ivy that climbs right up to the rampart. Tufts of leafy plants poke through the stones wherever the stone has crumbled away. Or maybe the stone crumbled away because the plant was poking through? “There are more than 1000 castles in England, Ug. I’m not sure this one even qualifies,” Brad doesn’t seem overly impressed by the castle. Bet he WOULD be impressed if it was female or made of donuts or something. “What do you know about castles? It isn’t like we have them all over back home.” “Did you even open the guidebook Mom bought you?” Is it possible my idiotic brother just channeled Hermione Granger for a moment? Haven’t you ever read Hogwarts, A History? The world goes upside down. “Can we just… ice cream?” More than anything, I would just like to pretend the thought never entered my mind. Arm Pit Cope ≠ Hermione Granger. The sidewalk ends at a road that curves through a postcard town and disappears between several stone buildings. They aren’t nearly as old and crumbly as the castle, but they have a quaint appeal. Across the street is a block of narrow storefronts, each with a roof like a pitched tent of straw. The whole effect is just charming, as Mom would say. Brad gestures to what has to be some sort of grocery store, easily identifiable by the bins of produce lining the sidewalk and the bright red Coca-Cola machine just visible through the plate glass window, and we cross the road in that direction. As we approach, three blond girls leave the store, and within the space of a moment, Brad manages to make the twelve inches between us seem more like twelve feet. Twelve COUNTRIES. I no longer exist in the land of Brad and The Veelas. They aren’t uncommonly pretty, or anything… just the regular kind of pretty. But I’m a girl, so maybe it doesn’t work on me. “Get lost, Ug. I’ll find you later,” he somehow orders me away without moving his lips, and then he’s surrounded by the veela girls and I’m left alone on the pavement. This… is abandonment. People go to JAIL for stuff like this. I stomp into the store. Gracefully, though. I stomp gracefully. Outside the door, the weather is beginning to feel muggy and oppressive, but the air conditioning is on full blast inside. My wet toes immediately freeze into ten mini popsicles. Toesicles. Whatever. The state of my toes and the fate of my brother don’t really bother me at the moment, though, because I spot a familiar dark head of hair examining a rack of postcards. There are lots of shots of the village at twilight, a few with those straw roofs covered in snow, and more than one postcard has a herd of sheep standing in the middle of the main street I just left behind. That one might be my favorite. I am fully prepared to launch myself at Harry!Al, just to see if he always shoves away completely hot girls who are hugging him, or if he only does that when they show signs of a mental disorder… but I realize something. He isn't alone this time. There's a girl with him. That red-haired girl from the dock. Ginger, I remind myself. Call her a ginger. At the dock, all I noticed was the peculiar color of her hair. 'Red' always refers to a whole range of colors, from strawberry blond to auburn to that fake orange-red rock stars use to the nearly maroon you see on TV vampires. But the ginger girl's hair is actually red. Not red-blond or red-brown or red-orange. Dark red and completely straight past her shoulders. Wonder if she dyes it. But here in the store, and now that I'm totally used to her hair color, I notice other things. Like the fact that she's got a pretty sun-freckled face that is almost completely hidden by the sulky look permanently glued to it. Or the fact that she keeps touching Al on the arm like they're absolute besties. Or like she's his girlfriend. Girlfriend. Which brings us to an interesting ethical dilemma. If, in fact, Al is actually Harry Potter, and we know without a doubt that Harry Potter is destined to be with Ginny Weasley, then... is it wrong to want to stab her in the face with a fudgesicle? Am I stepping on the toes of the fiction gods or the literary powers that be? I totally don't want to step on any toes, but sending Harry Potter to my British vacation and then not letting me have at him is sort of like taunting nifflers with leprechaun gold and then letting it disappear as soon as they get their little sniffley paws on it. It's cruel and unusual. I don't know the laws over here in the UK, but that is NOT COOL in the US. So I play it dumb as I sidle up to Al and the Ginger, giving him a little flirty finger wave. Trust me. It is a KILLER move. He sort of quirks a half smile at me and raises his hand in return, which earns a hard glare at us both from the Ginger. I am feeling very unkindly toward you, Ginny Weasley. "Al. You said you'd buy me something," she whines, and it is suddenly very clear that I have ceased to exist. "Shut uuuuuuup," he rolls his eyes at her before planting a hand in the middle of her back and propelling her down the aisle. Away from us and toward the freezer cases in the back of the store Yay. He wants to be alone. With me. “I’m TELLING,” she hisses before disappearing at the turn in the aisle. That didn’t exactly sound like the lovey dovey language one would expect from a devoted Weasley girl, who has loved him since they first met. Al shoves his untidy hair off his forehead, leaving it in a sweaty spike. In this air conditioned icebox, it’s likely to freeze that way. “Sorry about my sister. She’s kind of permanently cranky. I’ve told Mum it’s a glandular disorder, but she swears Red’s just suffering from hormones.” I zip right past the sister part. Wait. Red? WHAT HAPPENED TO GINGER? “What’s her name?” He does one of those long, slow blinks, like he can’t believe I’m asking questions about his sister when my typical intense focus is usually on him. “Uh. We call her Red? ‘Cause she has that…” He points to his hair and make curling motions. “Why not call her Ginger?” And I’ve officially lost his interest. Boys. Sigh. If you’re not paying attention to them, you aren’t worth their time. “Gilligan’s Island, right? Why all the questions about my sister?” “No reason,” I go for the distraction and reach in front of him to give the postcards a vicious spin, making the rack rattle until it tips over. Glossy photos spill across the shop floor, drawing the attention of everyone in the place. “Uh. You want to go see that castle?” “Absolutely,” Al grabs my hand and jerks me toward the door. “I don’t think it’s a castle, though.” |
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Love it, can't wait for more. |
It's totally Harry Potter! And he held her hand! I'm so jealous of Ally. ^_^ Post more when you can! |
It's Al and Lily, I know it - it has to be them!!! THIS WAS FREAKING AMAZING!!! Is Allie in Hogsmeade? |
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SPOILER!!: Only a few of the things I found quite funny:) Great post! PLEASE PAMS! :) |
I have SO many scenarios running through my head about who Al could be and what other things (years, role of the books as history or fiction) need to be certain ways for it to be that person. It's quite distracting. Anyway. The fudgesicle bit was so hilarious, I giggled out loud and James looked at me all funny. And then I had to explain. And then he looked at me all funny again. The whole thing was just so well written. I like the interaction between Harry!Al and "the Ginger" and I admit, the end caught me by surprise. Ally may randomly hug strangers, but now Al is a hand-grabber. The Ginger glare almost makes me think she has similar feelings about Al talking to girls as Ally has about Arm Pit. Ah, siblings. |
Brillient chapter Ohhh Ginger is his sister? Cool! LOL! Can't wait for more. PAMS! |
ahh this is amazing..it's def al and lily...wh oelsee? |
Oh, gosh... I'm so sorry for making you guys wait on me. I really really really wanted to update sooner, but Ally was stubborn and there was RPG school stuff. Forgive me? SPOILER!!: Quotes http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2...s/1a398b0c.jpg Day 1, Part 6 If my life was a movie, this moment would have a fast-paced musical interlude as Al and I run off together, laughing at how everyone in the world just doesn’t get how amazing our true love really is. And it would probably end in snogging. That’s British for kissing. Let me tell you, though, that in reality, there isn’t much romantic about running down the street to escape the postcard-spillage-induced wrath of a shopkeeper guy. For one, my flip-flops are still wet and keep snagging on the cobblestones. For another, our hands get all sweaty in the heat. That is NOT sexy. So when I trip and stumble out of my flip-flop, my slippery hand slides from Al’s. He leaves me behind. I watch him turn the corner into the ruined castle while I’m still slogging up the street. “You… left me,” I gasp once I reach him. Al perches on one of the walls, looking sort of Narnia-regal in the ruins. Not the first Narnia movie… the second one. It’s funny. In the US, there’d be signs everywhere telling you to “DO NOT TOUCH,” and here Al sits on an ancient wall. “I thought you were right behind me.” “I… wasn’t.” My wrath would be more effective if I could breathe. “Not a runner, I see,” he gives me a mildly concerned look. There is nothing romantic about this moment. I’m sweaty and out of breath, and Al is commenting on my physical fitness. Plus, I lost my flip-flop. “Really… hard to run… in flip-flops.” I inform him with as much indignation as I could muster. Not much, in case you’re wondering. He points at my bare foot. “You lost one.” “I KNOW.” As if I couldn’t tell I was only wearing one shoe. I mean… before I stopped running for my life. What’s this thing with him stating the obvious? Al doesn’t even offer to go back to look for my shoe. So much for British-y chivalry. “Why don’t you come and sit up here?” He pats the stone ledge beside him. THERE. That’s sort of romantic. He wants me to sit by him. I lunge at the wall, pulling myself up by jamming fingers and toes into mossy crevices. Clearly, I am not physically suited for this lifestyle, which is weird because I have no trouble climbing trees or running track back home. I hang pathetically from the wall and give Al a sad puppy face. Al hooks my elbow and hauls me unceremoniously up beside him. For the first minute (or five), I just cling to the before even attempting to sit up. That… also NOT sexy. “Your toes are dirty,” Al points out helpfully. “Thank you, Captain Obvious,” I mutter, sticking out my bare foot to admire the mossy toenails. “You are most welcome.” Al twists around to face the lake, his interest in my toes waning. “You’re not one of those fussy types who cannot get dirty, are you?” His tone almost wavers between admiring and skeptical. “Nope. Not me. Super low drama right here,” I agree. He doesn’t need to know that those same toes were dipped in canoe sludge earlier, or that I broke one of them three years ago on our theme park vacation by tripping over the bed the first day. You’d be surprised how easy toes are to break. Carefully, I twist around to view the lake as well. From here, I can see the cottages crouching like animals among the trees, hiding their lurid interiors. The place looks quiet from here, a far cry from reality. “What’s Al short for?” The tips of his ears turn pink, and Al ducks his head. It’s possible I was looking at something other than the lake. Maybe. “You ask a lot of questions.” “I’m a very curious person.” He nods. “Curious.” It’s clear he isn’t going to answer my question. Or not on his own, but I’m a very persuasive person. Arm Pit calls it annoying, pestering, nagging, whining so intense it causes his ears to bleed… whatever. I know how to get answers. “Albert?” Duh. Of course not. “What? Look… Ally-Allison-Ally Cope. Why do you want to know?” He was stubborn, which is normally NOT an attractive quality. In fact, it still isn’t an attractive quality, but he was Harry Potter… or something like it… and was granted a certain amount of leeway. Boy-who-lived hall pass. “We have this weird American custom called ‘getting to know each other’ where we ask and answer questions. To get to know each other. To be FRIENDS.” Al doesn’t speak, opting instead to study my dangling bare foot and then the bloody scratch on my knee. Oh, hello. Where did that come from? “Maybe I don’t feel like talking,” he finally responds, and he is suddenly in my personal space. Inscrutable green eyes hover just above me, and I can only stare back in wide-eyed fascination. My stomach whirls and flutters in that out-of-control, dangerous way, like maybe he’ll kiss me and I’m not ready for it. Or maybe he’ll push me off the wall onto the rock below. I’m not ready for that either. “You are in BIG trouble,” a voice says from the ground below us. Red stands at the bottom of the wall, arms crossed and toe tip-tapping away. Behind her stands another dark-haired boy and my own dear Arm Pit. He holds up my flip-flop, dangling a strap from one finger. “You know… you really are.” |
*ish sleepy* but I love it. |
Love it! Oooo i wanna read more! I do! I do! Haha...Hmm, i wonder why Al doesn't want to say his name? And trouble? Oh what? Where? When? xD PAMS! Eviee <33 |
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So, when I went to quote stuff, thinking 'that's so funny', it was basically the entire post, so I'll just say that it was really funny instead ^_^ Great post! Please PAMS! :) |
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I didn't like it that he got moody at the end but he is probably embarassed by his name:P Great post!! Loved it. PS...British chivalry? Where did you hear that from? Guys here are just as annoying and rude as anywhere else.:lol::P |
oh my goodinesss thsi is amazinnggg |
I am terribly terribly sorry that I haven't posted in so long, my friends. I took a break to do NaNoWriMo during November, but I'm happy to report that Ally is still dancing around in my head. So I'm back... and I hope you'll stick with me for more of the Cope family's vacation. http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2...s/1a398b0c.jpg Day 1, Part 7 Brad grumbles under his breath the entire way back to Rose Cottage, and he must feel, for some reason, as if dragging me bodily into and out of the canoe will somehow relieve his anger. It doesn’t seem to be working, though, because his expression is all stormy weather even as we climb the shallow steps of the cottage porch. “You know, most of the time, I can’t figure out what you’re thinking.” That, dear Arm Pit, is because I don’t communicate in grunts and burps. “What happened?” Mom glances up from where she and Dad are cuddled on the violently magenta sofa, frowning first at Brad’s grump-face and then at me. I know what she’s thinking… I’ve taken summer casual to a whole new level of shabby-fab. The highlight is either my mossy flip-flops or the dirty streaks in my shorts. Or maybe the bloody scratch on my leg. It’s a tossup. “Genius girl here ran off with a strange boy.” “He’s not a strange boy.” “You don’t know him.” “I met him this morning. He’s our neighbor.” “Ally,” Mom shakes her head at me. At ME. Brad is the one who is a rude attitude on stubby man-legs, but I get the head shake. Unfair. “Mom.” I shake my head back. “We didn’t run off. He was showing me the castle in the village, not eloping with me.” “It isn’t a…” Brad pauses. This is clearly NOT the moment. “She probably thought he was Harry Potter or something.” “He isn’t Harry Potter.” Obviously. “There,” Mom starts to say. “I’m sure Ally…” I interrupt her. “He’s Harry Potter’s son Albus Severus. And we met his older brother James, and his younger sister Lily.” That isn’t what anyone wants to hear, I guess, because Mom sinks back down on the sofa and Brad storms off to his room. I find small satisfaction in knowing it is just as pink as the rest of the house and not much of an escape. You can’t run away from the Pepto Bismal bottle. The thing is… I am not a crazy person. I know that magic isn’t real, and I know that Hogwarts was created by JK Rowling and is not a real place. But there is only so much coincidence I can handle, and the fact that Al-who-looks-like-Harry-Potter also has a brother called Jim sort of pushes me past my skepticism. When Jim introduced himself to me back at the castle place, all I could do was fish face at him until Brad dragged me away. He looked a lot like Al, although he exuded that cool boy confidence some girls find attractive. I might have found it attractive too, actually, if I hadn’t met Al first. I sort of feel like making puppy dog eyes at Jim/James now would be uncool. So when I tell my family that we’re staying in a cabin right next to Harry Potter’s family, I don’t say it lightly. I know how it sounds. But honestly… what would you think? “I’m worried about your daughter,” Dad mumbles from his side of the couch without looking up at me. He gives Mom a hearty pat on her arm. “She’s having some sort of psychotic break.” “She gets it from your side of the family,” Mom grumbles back, but she stays tucked next to him on the couch, and I figure they’re teasing me. Whatever. I’m not having any sort of break, although I would pay cash for a break from my family. A long one would be nice right about now. Circling the couch, I plant myself in front of my parents with my hands on my hips. “Mom.” “Ally, honey. I love you, and I really would like to take you home with us at the end of the trip. In the best interest of everyone, you need to let this Harry Potter thing go. It’s not funny anymore.” It really ticks me off that she won’t listen to me, but it ticks me off even more that she’s making me feel bad. ME. And I didn’t even do anything wrong, but I’m suffering from an epic guilt trip! My bottom lip starts to wobble. “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry about Brad.” Yeah, mostly I was sorry he was such a lame attempt at humanity. He didn’t have to freak out the second I was out of his sight, and he really didn’t have to do that freaking out in front of Al and family. “He just worries,” Dad offers. “It’s a big brother thing.” I’m not sure I believe Dad. Personally, I think Brad’s underwear is too tight. At this point, I’m kind of at a loss. I can’t talk to them about having Harry Potter next door, and I really don’t have any other conversational highlights. But on the other hand, I just got busted for wandering off with a stranger, which sort of suggests that wandering off again in search of Al is a bad idea. What’s a girl to do? So I just stand there, looking at my parents on the Pepto sofa. And they just sit there, looking up at me. “Ally. Go somewhere.” No problem, Mom. No problem at all. |
:lmao: Hilarious as always ^_^ Fantastic post! Please PAMS! ^_^ |
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