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The Celebration of two fools of April

"So ya about ready to head to the Maison, clone? S'pose we're pretty much wrapped up here, far as I can tell."

George is countin' the extra cash outta the register, makin' sure we've not got too much to leave in there for the night. Not only is it April Fool's Day, but a lotta o' the world knows it's our birthdays as well, and that there's no way in ruddy London we're gonna be around to watch the WWW tonight. So yeah, don't wanna make things too invitin' for the criminal sorts who might wanna make us the April fools. We're skivin' off early, the two of us, to head up to the Maison and make sure everything is right and proper brill for the festivities tonight. This means we're leavin' the kids to close up shop.

I look over at Miles. "Got that ward spell down for the front door lock-up at closing, Kilos?"

"Got it, Fred," he answers.

“Make sure you give yourself plenty o’ time to suit up before ya come by. Want you b-movied up proper-like!”

"Yeah, otherwise ya don't get your own snifter of the very special, made by us, 'staff-only' birthday punch," I remind 'em.

“Now, we gotta get goin,” Georgie says, closin’ up the register. “We got some outlandish and extravagant costumes to squeeze into!”

"And when ya see the trousers on mine," I admit, "you'll know what George is talkin' about! Till we see you next, ladies and gents! Tata!"

Geordie and I head out the door and down the Alley till we get to our Apparition point. Moments later, we're storming the doors of the Maison, obviously interrupting a heated discussion between Packlesby and Trudes at the front desk. Well, Trudes is heated, anyway.

“One second, Packlesby, is a big deal! What if she’d been the Minister? What if she’d been an auror? Have our license quicker than you could get a cushioning under us to break out fall, that’s for sure, you half-wit! Why they keep you on, I’ve no clue, but you can guess I’m going to be talking to them about cutting your pay yet again!”

"Hallo, and what's this? Another good day in the neighbourhood?" I ask Trudes..

“This meatloaf brain got a cushion-charm one second too late and some lady slipped on goo almost bruised ‘er tailbone! It’s a good thing Michelson’s good at healin’ and I could smooth it all over she wasn’t gonna sue us!”

"Meatloaf brain? Hmm, good idea, we'll have to look into that, won't we, clone?" I say thoughtfully, if I might say so myself. "That's why we pay ya the big bucks, Trudes, so we don't have to pay 'em out in lawsuits! Nice goin'!" I take a deep breath and look around the entrance lobby. "Alright then, anybody ready to partay?"

He isn’t,” she says, thrustin’ ‘er finger toward the shruggin’ miscreant. “He’s going home and practicing his reflex-time or else,” she finishes, turnin’ her firey eyes on him.

“Yeah…don’t get any love,” he says with a shrug and slouches off toward the stairs to the staffrooms.

“Honest, you two, if I have to clean up one more o’ that shit-wad’s messes…when are you gonna get a manager for this place?”

"Soon, Trudes, it'll be soon, we promise ya." I try to be soothing, I really do. "We'll make sure and find somebody it'll be easy to work with too, alright?"

She grumbles something and heads up the stairs as George calls up to ‘er, “But no work tonight, you got it? It’s all fun and games! Don’t worry none about responsibilities and lawsuits and whatnot.”

"Nice try, Geordie. Hey, we did what we could, eh? But enough of that drivel, we've got a party to set up for! Where we startin', and with what?"

“Figure we split it up into rooms,” he says, fanning his hand in the air in front of us in his visionary way. “One room’d be the muck-monster’s swamp. Figure that’s best in the lobby, since we got the recreation of the Hogwarts Swamp there. Then we got the mad scientist’s evil laboratory in another room, prob’ly the lafeteria with loads o’ beakers and whatnot. Then tin-can spaceship in another…whaddya think?”

"Sounds good to me," I tell 'im. "Everybody's gotta sign in here, right? As the person/thing they're dressed as, so people know who all's here, don'tcha think? Plus, I s'pose we'll need at least one wall in one o' the rooms to show our b-movies, so as everybody can watch their alter-egos on the silver screen."

“Oh, that’s a must,” Geordie agrees. “We’ll have to set that up in the space-ship room. All them nobs and gears and screens and blinkin’ lights. Techno up the wazoo! You get that room, my clone of the outer space!”

"Ta! And don't forget the Tokyo skyline in the background - hmm, maybe we could kinda rig that in the background of the graveyard room. Needs some cheap, stringy cobwebs there, some pie-tin flyin' saucers in the space room. That it?"

He scratches his chin and shrugs. “Dunno. We’ll prob’ly think of it along the way. Let’s go crackin!”

A coupla hours later, the Maison Mischief is total and proper brill, it is, and it's time to go put on our b-movie wear. Geordie and I adjourn to separate dressing rooms in our private private room and get to it.

I pull off the work-ish duds and toss 'em on the cushioned bench there, choosin' to work on my hair first. A few minutes and a few intensifed spells later, ya could mistake me for a Malfoy, ya could, blonde as I am. I tug on the tight white trousers and shirt, tuckin' it so that my name is straight and glaring across my chest. The black and red space captain-ish sorta jacket goes over top and I tuck a toy ray-gun in my back waistband for good measure. (Woulda tucked it in my back pocket, but these trousers play snugbuns a bit too serious-like.) The final touch? Takes a moment, but I work the spell on my front teeth so that each time I crack a smile, a brilliant, twinkling glint sparks off 'em. Then I look myself up and down, front and back in the mirror.

Flash Gordon, eat your heart out!

Now to see what Geordie's got himself up to.

When Geordie comes out, he's surrounded by a halo o' teased, messed, frizzy hair standin' out about a foot around his head, like 'e stuck a fork in a muggle electrics socket. He's taunted out 'is whiskers so'z he's got a five o'clock shadow ten times over, and he's done somethin' to 'is eyes so he looks half-crazed. The labcoat 'e's got on is white, ratty, with frayed threads, some burn holes, and half a dozen pretty sizable violent chemical splotches. His shoulder's smokin' too.

We check ourselves in the mirror in our secret hide-away in the back of the Maison.

“Well, Clone, shall we?” I say, strikin’ a classic Flash pose.

“Just a mo, my cloniest,” Georgie says, reachin’ into a pocket hidden behind a distinctly nasty large rotten tomato-lookin’ stain, and pulls out a great big envelope, which ‘e hands to me.

The moment I open the envelope and slip the card out, Marvin pops up, his gnarly ray-gun pointed right at my noggin. Where’s the kaboom? There was supposed to be a kaboom. Then I open up the card and there’s a room-shakin’ KABOOM, and soon as the dust clears, I read the little clone-written inscription in the card.

To the greatest April Fools prank ever.

Wub,
Geordie


“Aww, George,” I say and grab ‘im up in a clone-crushin’ hug. His big fluff o’ hair envelopes my head and a few strands get in my nose. “Thanks. You know you’re the best prank ever, too.”

“Takes one ta know one, Clone,” he says, smackin my back. “Let’s go out and prank the daylights outta the world!”

“Yeah!”

Comments

Posted by: George Fabian Weasley (nm_george)
Posted at: April 2nd, 2009 03:50 am (UTC)
Spying

Aley was listening, but then I catch his eyes widening, and he nudges me, discretely trying to get me look in a direction without getting Trude's attention.

I wait ‘til Trudes is lookin’ down at Aley and then steal a glance in the direction. And there, walkin’ in dressed as Xena Warrior Princess, is Trudes’ girl.

“Say Trudes,” I pipe up. “Aley brought some snacks. Made ‘em himself, came up with the ideas and everything. Chocolate ice-box biscuits what look like chunky poo. You should try ‘em out!”

"Their by the door," Aley adds, then gives her one of those smiles. "Please?"

She smiles warmly at ‘im and flicks a piece of ‘is hair out of place. “Sure, Al. You know I love your treats. Really are a bright one, you are. I could see you endin’ up in my ol’ house. What’re they called, then?”

"George ended up naming them. Poo-kies."

“Oh? Clever. Though I woulda called shit-scuits, m’self.” She laughs and flicks another bit of ‘is hair. “Right then. Off to eat some chunky shit and I’ll give you the review in a mo.”

Aley grins. "Okay!" He turns to me, and gives me a go gesture as Trudes starts to head off. "Don't let her catch you just yet!"

I throw back my head and laugh. “Right, let’s go find a place to hide and keep watch. Maybe behind Seymour!”

Aley just shakes his head and grabs my hand, pulling me over to an area, where we can keep an eye on Trudes, but she can't see us. And the food is nearby too, so bonus.

"George, who are you supposed to be anyway?"

“Your garden-variety mad scientist,” I tell ‘im, pickin’ up a few Cream Pusses and handin’ one to Aley. “Ya know, makes them mind-controlin’ concoctions, or the things what change a person into some hideous monster, or even makes a hideous monster. There were too many horrendously great ones, I couldn’t choose just one, so I went as a generic looney.”

He nods, and I can tell he feels a bit lost. Poor kid, both he and Iva need an introduction into the world of B movies. Muggles certainly know how to make the most fantastically bad movies around. "And Fred?"

“He’s dressed as Flash Gordon,” I explain. “Some bloke what’s got only fourteen hours to save the world from an alien invasion.”

"Oh....Trudes spotted her."

I look up from my snack, a globule of puss hangin’ on the side o’ my mouth. Sure enough, there’s Trudes just about reached the tray o’ poo-kies, but she’s stopped stock still, starin’ with ‘er jaw open, gawkin’ at Xena.

“Should we go out and nudge ‘er into action?” I whisper in Aley’s ear, lickin’ the puss of my cheek.

He shakes his head. "No. I'm younger than her, and I even know she needs to do this on her own. We helped enough."

“That’s true enough,” I say, smirking and grabbing up a few green olives with bloody veins painted on with tomato juice to look like disgusting eyeballs.

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