April awoke to Charlie farting in her face.
She didn’t wake to the action, per se, but the stench of rotten meat and overcooked cabbage. Gasping for breath, she flailed wildly for a moment, trying to reach the wand on her bedside table to fight off what was surely an attack. Charlie, roused suddenly and violently from happy crup dreams, began to bark as though the room were on fire. April shoved the tangle of fuzz and fury off her pillow. Choking violently, she scrambled out of her bed. Or rather, attempted to. Her leg had managed to get stuck in her sheets and April only had time to yelp before falling out of her bed.
Staring at her ceiling, mercifully free of the stinking cloud, April wondered how her life had led her to this moment.
“Are you fuckin serious, dude?”
Charlie barked happily. April swore again.
Extracting herself from her prison of sheets, April staggered to her feet. Charlie bounded across the bed towards her, rearing up on his hind legs, ready to play. April glowered at him. He wagged his tail. Warring with herself for a long moment, she finally reached out to let him nuzzle against her hand. Turning around to dig through her laundry pile, April swore again.
“You little shit! Stop fuckin’ eating my clothes! Get back here!”
Charlie made an expeditious retreat, disappearing out the door in a flop of tongue and cheery yips.
April’s morning continued in a similar vein. Her supposed underwear drawer was filled with mismatched socks and dirty t-shirts. Fine, whatever, fuck that. She’d found a pair of grey jeans and pulled them on, only to realise they were backwards. She was out of coffee, and the trash bag split when she tried to take it out. Charlie had immediately bounded towards the mess, and April was very nearly outplayed by her shithead of the crup desperate to eat garbage.
“How the fuck did you live this long?” April asked the mutt, horrified as he attempted to pounce on a broken piece of glass. Charlie said nothing, as he was a dog.
--
By the time April had fed and walked the fart machine, locked up, and set a course for coffee, it was half past nine. The streets were already bustling with activity as wixen perused stalls and popped in and out of existence along Avenue Lambda. April wove around a pair of chattering youths to duck into a poorly lit bodega.
“Morning Peg,” April called, shuffling to a sliver of counter. Fiddling with a pair of tongs and withdrawing a bagel, April was very pleased that she managed not to drop anything. “How’s it going?”
Peg was a half-giantess, draped in shawls and with her gnarled black hair pulled into a severe looking bun. She fussed with a pot of coffee, large hands surprisingly dexterous as she capped the paper cup and slid it to April.
“Oh, you know, the usual. Cooling charm went out in the building again,” her throaty voice carried through the cramped shop. April grimaced, fishing a few crumpled notes out of her coat pocket, passing them to Peg.
“That’s the third time this month,” April arched a brow, looking up at Peg. The woman shrugged as she made change, dropping coins into April’s waiting hand. April promptly upended the pile in a tip jar. “Want me to have words with your blowhard landlord?”
“Honestly, I’m just ready to move,” Peg sighed, dropping into a chair that strained under her mass. April made a sympathetic sound.
“I’ll keep an eye out for you,” She commented, taking a sip of glorious, perfect caffeine. It was the first good thing that had happened to her all morning. “Chin up, beautiful; I’ll pull some strings.”
Peg laughed, waving a dismissive hand at April. “Aren’t you running late, sweetpea?”
“Eh,” April shrugged, glancing to the clock mounted on the wall, surrounded by countless knickknacks. “What else is new?”
--
“I distinctly remember telling you that you needed to be on time today,” Marcell’s voice greeted her as soon as April entered the precinct. The small, neatly dressed witch shot April a chastising look. She’d perched on a corner of April’s desk. April wondered how long her superior had been waiting there.
“Probably,” she agreed around her last mouthful of bagel, dropping into her creaky chair and hooking her finger through her stained mug. Upending the contents of the paper cup into ceramic, she leaned back and tossed in the direction of a trash can without looking. The cup went wide and skittered across the floor. Oops.
“What was it this time?” Marcell commented dryly. She poked her wand at the discarded cup, redirecting it to reach its mark. April snorted.
“Crup ate my underwear.”
“Really.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Do you happen to remember why you needed to be on time?”
“So I could see your smiling face?”
“Hilarious,” Marcell deadpanned. April thought she saw humor flashing in the blonde witch’s grey eyes. Mission accomplished. “You had a meeting.”
Wait.
“With the Chief.”
Oh shit.
“Twenty minutes ago.”
FUCK.
April sprang to her feet, and began to dart towards Chief’s office. She skittered to a halt, turned around, and promptly drank half her coffee. That accomplished, April began running through the desks of the Thirteen and Three Halves finest. Pausing in front of a frosted glass door, April took a moment to try and straighten up. Fingers combed through her cropped dark hair, then attempted to smooth out a wrinkle in her black coat. She attempted to remove the crup fur clinging to her ratty pants, with mixed results.
Rapping her knuckles on the glass, April braced herself for the Chief’s ire.
“Enter,” a baritone rumbled through the door. April obeyed quickly, slipping in with a tight smile. “Shut the door, Kaufman.”
Shitshitshitshitshit, April panicked. The door clicked with a final sort of noise.
The office was filled with clouds of orange and violet smoke curling around finely crafted mahogany furniture. Golden light cast a deceptively warm atmosphere through the room. April stood, spine ramrod straight, as she looked to the Chief.
Chief Wells was, to put it lightly, fucking terrifying. Built like a small house, his gold trimmed black robes only seemed to make him larger. He sat comfortably in a plush, velvet backed chair, a cigar perched between thick fingers. April met his gaze, fatherly disappointment painted across his dark features. The expression was like a kick in the gut.
“It’s good of you to join us,” he intoned. April winced. “Have a seat.”
She hastened to obey, dropping into a straight-backed and thoroughly uncomfortable chair. Wait. Us?
In all her terror apprehension, she’d failed to notice the thoroughly unfamiliar face in the chair beside her. April looked between the pale haired witch and the Chief, arching her brow.
“Auror Forsythe is the newest member of the Three Halves.” Chief Wells spoke blandly, gesturing with his cigar to the newbie.
“Okay,” she said cautiously. The caffeine had yet to properly kick in, and her mental faculties lagged for several moments.
“Kaufman’s going to be showing you the ropes,” Chief Wells directed towards Forsythe and everything clicked into place. A very, very bad place. April blinked intelligently.
“Uh—“
“You’ll be happy to do so, won’t you Kaufman?”
“Ah—“
“You will, in fact, take this seriously?”
“Um—“
“And, perhaps, exercise some punctuality?”
“Yes?” April ventured. She hadn’t meant to make it a question, but Chief was looking at her with that Dad face, and she was trying her hardest not to cower in her chair. She winced. The Chief smiled placidly at her.
“Good to hear. Kaufman, show Forsythe around.”
“Right, yeah, of course Chief.” April was privately impressed that she didn’t scramble out of her seat, rising with some shreds of dignity. She barely spared a glance for the poor bastard newbie, all too happy to snap open the door and escape the pervasive air of I’m not mad, just disappointed.
From across the Precinct, April could see Marcell snickering.
“Well, shit.”
She didn’t wake to the action, per se, but the stench of rotten meat and overcooked cabbage. Gasping for breath, she flailed wildly for a moment, trying to reach the wand on her bedside table to fight off what was surely an attack. Charlie, roused suddenly and violently from happy crup dreams, began to bark as though the room were on fire. April shoved the tangle of fuzz and fury off her pillow. Choking violently, she scrambled out of her bed. Or rather, attempted to. Her leg had managed to get stuck in her sheets and April only had time to yelp before falling out of her bed.
Staring at her ceiling, mercifully free of the stinking cloud, April wondered how her life had led her to this moment.
“Are you fuckin serious, dude?”
Charlie barked happily. April swore again.
Extracting herself from her prison of sheets, April staggered to her feet. Charlie bounded across the bed towards her, rearing up on his hind legs, ready to play. April glowered at him. He wagged his tail. Warring with herself for a long moment, she finally reached out to let him nuzzle against her hand. Turning around to dig through her laundry pile, April swore again.
“You little shit! Stop fuckin’ eating my clothes! Get back here!”
Charlie made an expeditious retreat, disappearing out the door in a flop of tongue and cheery yips.
April’s morning continued in a similar vein. Her supposed underwear drawer was filled with mismatched socks and dirty t-shirts. Fine, whatever, fuck that. She’d found a pair of grey jeans and pulled them on, only to realise they were backwards. She was out of coffee, and the trash bag split when she tried to take it out. Charlie had immediately bounded towards the mess, and April was very nearly outplayed by her shithead of the crup desperate to eat garbage.
“How the fuck did you live this long?” April asked the mutt, horrified as he attempted to pounce on a broken piece of glass. Charlie said nothing, as he was a dog.
--
By the time April had fed and walked the fart machine, locked up, and set a course for coffee, it was half past nine. The streets were already bustling with activity as wixen perused stalls and popped in and out of existence along Avenue Lambda. April wove around a pair of chattering youths to duck into a poorly lit bodega.
“Morning Peg,” April called, shuffling to a sliver of counter. Fiddling with a pair of tongs and withdrawing a bagel, April was very pleased that she managed not to drop anything. “How’s it going?”
Peg was a half-giantess, draped in shawls and with her gnarled black hair pulled into a severe looking bun. She fussed with a pot of coffee, large hands surprisingly dexterous as she capped the paper cup and slid it to April.
“Oh, you know, the usual. Cooling charm went out in the building again,” her throaty voice carried through the cramped shop. April grimaced, fishing a few crumpled notes out of her coat pocket, passing them to Peg.
“That’s the third time this month,” April arched a brow, looking up at Peg. The woman shrugged as she made change, dropping coins into April’s waiting hand. April promptly upended the pile in a tip jar. “Want me to have words with your blowhard landlord?”
“Honestly, I’m just ready to move,” Peg sighed, dropping into a chair that strained under her mass. April made a sympathetic sound.
“I’ll keep an eye out for you,” She commented, taking a sip of glorious, perfect caffeine. It was the first good thing that had happened to her all morning. “Chin up, beautiful; I’ll pull some strings.”
Peg laughed, waving a dismissive hand at April. “Aren’t you running late, sweetpea?”
“Eh,” April shrugged, glancing to the clock mounted on the wall, surrounded by countless knickknacks. “What else is new?”
--
“I distinctly remember telling you that you needed to be on time today,” Marcell’s voice greeted her as soon as April entered the precinct. The small, neatly dressed witch shot April a chastising look. She’d perched on a corner of April’s desk. April wondered how long her superior had been waiting there.
“Probably,” she agreed around her last mouthful of bagel, dropping into her creaky chair and hooking her finger through her stained mug. Upending the contents of the paper cup into ceramic, she leaned back and tossed in the direction of a trash can without looking. The cup went wide and skittered across the floor. Oops.
“What was it this time?” Marcell commented dryly. She poked her wand at the discarded cup, redirecting it to reach its mark. April snorted.
“Crup ate my underwear.”
“Really.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Do you happen to remember why you needed to be on time?”
“So I could see your smiling face?”
“Hilarious,” Marcell deadpanned. April thought she saw humor flashing in the blonde witch’s grey eyes. Mission accomplished. “You had a meeting.”
Wait.
“With the Chief.”
Oh shit.
“Twenty minutes ago.”
FUCK.
April sprang to her feet, and began to dart towards Chief’s office. She skittered to a halt, turned around, and promptly drank half her coffee. That accomplished, April began running through the desks of the Thirteen and Three Halves finest. Pausing in front of a frosted glass door, April took a moment to try and straighten up. Fingers combed through her cropped dark hair, then attempted to smooth out a wrinkle in her black coat. She attempted to remove the crup fur clinging to her ratty pants, with mixed results.
Rapping her knuckles on the glass, April braced herself for the Chief’s ire.
“Enter,” a baritone rumbled through the door. April obeyed quickly, slipping in with a tight smile. “Shut the door, Kaufman.”
Shitshitshitshitshit, April panicked. The door clicked with a final sort of noise.
The office was filled with clouds of orange and violet smoke curling around finely crafted mahogany furniture. Golden light cast a deceptively warm atmosphere through the room. April stood, spine ramrod straight, as she looked to the Chief.
Chief Wells was, to put it lightly, fucking terrifying. Built like a small house, his gold trimmed black robes only seemed to make him larger. He sat comfortably in a plush, velvet backed chair, a cigar perched between thick fingers. April met his gaze, fatherly disappointment painted across his dark features. The expression was like a kick in the gut.
“It’s good of you to join us,” he intoned. April winced. “Have a seat.”
She hastened to obey, dropping into a straight-backed and thoroughly uncomfortable chair. Wait. Us?
In all her terror apprehension, she’d failed to notice the thoroughly unfamiliar face in the chair beside her. April looked between the pale haired witch and the Chief, arching her brow.
“Auror Forsythe is the newest member of the Three Halves.” Chief Wells spoke blandly, gesturing with his cigar to the newbie.
“Okay,” she said cautiously. The caffeine had yet to properly kick in, and her mental faculties lagged for several moments.
“Kaufman’s going to be showing you the ropes,” Chief Wells directed towards Forsythe and everything clicked into place. A very, very bad place. April blinked intelligently.
“Uh—“
“You’ll be happy to do so, won’t you Kaufman?”
“Ah—“
“You will, in fact, take this seriously?”
“Um—“
“And, perhaps, exercise some punctuality?”
“Yes?” April ventured. She hadn’t meant to make it a question, but Chief was looking at her with that Dad face, and she was trying her hardest not to cower in her chair. She winced. The Chief smiled placidly at her.
“Good to hear. Kaufman, show Forsythe around.”
“Right, yeah, of course Chief.” April was privately impressed that she didn’t scramble out of her seat, rising with some shreds of dignity. She barely spared a glance for the poor bastard newbie, all too happy to snap open the door and escape the pervasive air of I’m not mad, just disappointed.
From across the Precinct, April could see Marcell snickering.
“Well, shit.”
1x Laugh
