feorge | oo1.

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oo1.

[ video || open action ]

[The faces of the passerby's to the device's lens seem to be reflecting a range from distinct lack of interest to mild amusement to extreme confusion. They also appear to be shielding their heads from something, but from the device's position, it isn't quite clear what.

That is, until the throng clears enough for the device to get a good shot of the fountain - and what appears to be an aquatic apparition thrashing about in the center of it all. Wrapped in one of its many tendrils can be seen a man in slightly tattered clothes, though his most distinct feature is the flaming red hair that might be somewhat familiar to select residents of the City. He is also screaming and flailing against the monster theatrically.]

No! No! Somebody, stop this beast! This is no way for a man to go! No!

[As the creature lifts him to its mouth(?), he confines himself to his fate and shouts to whatever observers have stuck around to watch the events unfold.]

Tell my family - I love them!

[But it's too late for him. The monster slips him into its translucent mouth and he can be seen sliding through the watery entrails - and then sliding right back out through the stomach, depositing him just close enough to get a better view of him. His concentration broken, the monster collapses back to its original position in the fountain, thoroughly soaking the man and the other observers in the process. They look annoyed. He looks...disappointed.]

Bugger. Another flop. [He turns to the device with something of a smile, putting his abundant freckles and soft brown eyes into view.] The stomach's supposed to be more akin to jelly, see? The idea was suspension, not lubrication.

[He sighs and gets to his feet, brushing himself off despite his dripping wet state.]

All in due time. Let's go it again. Come on, Georgie.

[He addresses another, though he is quite noticeably alone, and it's only in this that his voice takes a slightly less chipper tone. All that can be seen is his back and the strange, ethereal movement of the water as he walks back over to the fountain and the device shuts off.]

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[ooc; Fred is officially in the City! :D He hasn't quite figured out the device yet, though he played with it for a good while beforehand because that was curious minds do! Feel free to say your character was an unfortunate observer or just happened to pass him by or whatever, really. As a side note, I'm going to be disappearing around 1pm-ish today, so tags may come slow after that, but backtagging is love and I will reply as quickly as possible! Go crazy, you silly kids! ♥]

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Was that what your performance was for?

[Fred hadn't meant to say it. As much as everything else about the two, it's just second nature to speak of George as though he's right there with them. He's meant to be, should be, and his absence is more symbolic and meaningful than Fred is at all comfortable with. But he can't let that show, won't, and his grip around her only minorly tightens as they begin to Disapparate. Whether George is here or not, he's got family. He's got Ginny, and that's loads more than he's realistically supposed to have. He can pine over his missing half until this world's Sun explodes - he'll be clinging to his sister and the time they have together all the while. Because that's what family does. It doesn't make sense how or why, may never make sense, but Fred'll stick to it without question.

The cabin, on the otherhand, is a wonder beyond words. He releases his grip on Ginny the moment he sees it, as though he needs his entire being in order to comprehend. His first thought is that it's beautiful, not entirely unlike Hogwarts and its surrounding forests and wildlife. His second is that it's strange, peculiar to have a house out here that's set up and ready - which leads to his third thought just as Ginny says the word herself. Fred hears her, and he knows the word, recognizes the word, but it doesn't quite connect until he notices some distinct parallels. Away from the city, out of view from Muggles, quite unlike a house but cozy in all the ways one should be.

Home. It's just like the Burrow.

Ginny's next words hardly register with him, and he has to blink himself back to reality.]

Hm? Oh, right, yes. Brilliant.

[Clothes. Why are there clothes here for him? No matter, it's hardly as important as observing the cabin at the moment, so he takes the first seat he can find in the place and continues to look around. It's clean - but too clean; the sort Mum'd trade her wand for in their unmanageable chaos of a home. And there's that word again, in relation to this place. This unfamiliar place with all the traces of its former inhabitants, traces of people he knows - traces of the things he will never see again outside these walls.

That thought pangs particularly strongly deep within him, and Fred unwittingly finds himself filled with the notion that he can't leave this place. He doesn't want to leave, and not just the cabin but the City as a whole. There are no regrets, there is no bitterness, nothing of the sort in light of his death. He accepts that, he was ready for that. Fred was willing to give everything for the War - but that doesn't mean he didn't want those things. It's not like he didn't want to celebrate what he knows to be an assured victory with his family, or to help restart the world the way it is meant to be. Or to watch Ginny grow up into a beautiful woman, to see his git of a little brother finally get together with Hermione, or to grow old with George forever at his side--.

Fred lifts a hand to his mouth, determined to keep it together despite a warmness spreading across his face, clouding his view with a thick gloss. This is it for him. This cabin. This place, here, now, with Ginny. He lost that future, and is trapped in present while surrounded by his past. He's come home.]

Think these biscuits have run a bit foul, Gin.

[He calls through the tightening of his throat as he moves to rub at his eyes, the tin left untouched and undiscovered in the kitchen.]

Sorry! Haven't done groceries in a while for this place. Want to start the tea instead?

[This she calls across the cabin from the twins' old bedroom, where she's busy staring into the contents of the neatly-organised boxes she'd packed herself. She had packed these up so long ago, hadn't expected them to leave the box again, but here she was and as she was pulling a fresh shirt and jeans free, she finds herself wanting to cry. The sensation sweeps out of nowhere, blindsiding her and she has to pause to gather her emotions, to compose herself.

It's so bloody hard.

Fred is here. Fred is here, with her, as alive as she remembers - until she hugs him and can feel the lack of a heartbeat. Ginny thought she had accepted this long ago, but the wound felt as raw and fresh as the day he had first arrived in the City, happily announcing his death for anyone who might happen to hear. For her to hear, for Ron, for everyone else from their world. And George had followed and he never talked about how it made him feel, she never knew -

Pull yourself together, Ginny Weasley.]

Hey, Fred? D'you reckon these'll fit? [She says this as she walks down the hall, voice thick around the edges but ignoring it and hoping Fred does too. Ginny stops to just look at him, really look, and she can't help but break into a quiet smile.] Or did you want explanations first? I'm sorry. I know I'm being terribly mysterious.

Edited 2011-08-17 21:32 (UTC)

Fred Weasley. Don't think I shall remember it-- sorry, nothing to do with you, only-- a lot going on up here. [She frames her head with her fingers.] I'm Sexy. Or the TARDIS. Idris sometimes, though that was really more her name than-- [Annnnnd she doesn't even finish this sentence before she's off to something else again.]

What were you asking, sorry? Oh right, no, no, I don't think he'll want much from you at all other than to talk. Possibly a bit of running.

Little bit, I s'pose, though that was mostly just for the fun of it.

Having fun is important. Except sometimes you don't realize you were having fun until it's over. And then sometimes you realize you weren't having fun at all, and then you just have to laugh! So maybe everyone should just take fun as it comes.

Is it? I'm not actually sure if that's what goes on in the University, but from what I've heard it's similar enough. Then again, I'm unsure if anyone uses wands there, either.

Do they have to be specific words or just a general idea of what you want to happen?

[YES. You have successfully passed round one. And- wow, so does Fred. wtf kind of guess is that?]

Yeah! How'd you know? Can other people do that too?

[...This gal's a bit nutters, isn't she? But in the fun way, so he just grins as he listens to her.]

Talking and running, eh? Sounds a lively fellow.

[Tea is good. Tea is easy, safe from thoughts he doesn't want to linger on, so Fred coughs a little to clear his throat and gets to his feet, venturing to the kitchen. It's simple and mundane, finding the kettle and filling it with water, which makes it perfect for a distraction. Once it's set and boiling, Fred leans against the counter and folds his arms across his chest, eyes beginning to wander again.

Ginny said it hadn't been "home" for nearly a year, but it was still almost immaculate, which leads him to believe she's been keeping it clean just for the sake of it. He sniggers at the thought. Mum should only be so lucky to get this sort of upkeep in the Burrow. And maybe that's part of what makes it different. Rather than being home, where he wants to be but never will be, they have this cabin, and it's theirs. Something to make their own, and he'll just have to make the most of it.

Without George, or Ron, or Mum and Dad, Bill, Charlie, Percy. Bloody Hell, they'd just started to be a whole family again. Just the luck of the draw, apparently, and Fred shakes his head with a heavy sigh just before Ginny comes back down the hallway - sounding in much the same state he is. Stuck in a proper flap, conflicted between relief, misery and just all about confusion. He grins a bit.]

No need to apologise, that'd ruin the excitement of it all.

[Playful and excitable, Ginny. The way he always is, as though looking at the world through Omnioculars at that World Cup match years ago. It's but a game full of players - win or lose, the playing's the important part. The uncertainty, the thrill of it all, the fun. Fred's playing, he's always playing, and death doesn't change that. He still aims to win.]

Reckon those'll do just fine, little sister.

[...He is just going to stare in amaze. Why does no one else understand this?]

You are brilliant, you know that?

They should do fine. They're yours, after all.

[Yours. Not George's, not Ron's not anyone else's but his. Ginny had been careful to Summon Fred's clothes when she was packing up everything in the cabin, putting them in a box and then George's in another. The same with Ron's, the same with Hermione's, and Harry's too. Luna, Cedric, Cho. Lupin and Sirius. Lily's, too, though she had never known her. It had been depressing work, but she did it with the hope that people would return one day and they'd need their things when they did. And if Fred asks after any of this, she'll answer with as much honesty as she can, without worrying him too much. The last thing she wants is for him to know just how hard it's been.

But she won't lie to him on how long it's been, either. She knows her brother is dead, but he isn't blind. She looks different and she didn't realise it until she saw that difference reflected in Fred's expression. He'd missed three years of her life. Was she even the same person he knew, anymore? She didn't want to think of that.

Ginny brushes past him to get to the cupboards, pulling down two mugs and the tin of tea. She snags two spoons and the jar of sugar, checks the spell-chilled cupboard for milk. It's simple work, she moves through the kitchen with an ease not unlike their mother, and she hops up onto the counter to sit while the water boil so she can look at Fred and smile.]

So, what, no questions? Never took you for the type to just sit back and accept things, unless the Hat put you in the wrong House?

[Different magic for different worlds, eh? He's paying close attention to the information she gives him in exchange for his.]

It's got to be very specific. One syllable off and you could end up with tentacles rather than spectacles.

[They are excellent gamblers, mate. Good at guessing the odds. It's totally not that he's poking fun at his literally using an instrument for magic.]

Nah, at least, not that I know of. Just sort of a lucky guess.

[ she laughs, shaking her head ]

Not really. It's just things that I learned! I think I understand emotions a lot better now that I didn't have them for a while.

['Yours,' and that earlier thought returns as he sets about peeling off his jacket and shirt. Fred gets that he's been here before, it's evident from the way the cabin's set and Ginny's acting as though this is all natural and normal. But he doesn't remember any of it, and that's the unsettling part. Memories are fickle things and easily tampered with, but the idea that you haven't got control over your own? It's more than a bit unsettling.

But more than that, it's the realization that even if he can't recall, Ginny can. Merlin knows how long she's been here, and while he's free to forget that time in between, she's been left to remember all of it, and he doesn't even know how much of it she's privy to. She knows he's dead, that much he can tell, but does she know how? Why? What any of it even means? His eyes absent-mindedly wander down to where he lazily cast aside his old clothes, still tattered and dirtied from the fight despite his playing about the water. The evidence is all there - does she recognize it, and just hasn't said anything?

Once the shirt's on properly, Fred watches his sister mull about the kitchen, every bit the Ginny he knows but still impossibly different, like there's an added step in her gait that he doesn't understand, doesn't recognize, and the difference in age becomes all too noticeable. Just how much time has he lost, exactly? But then she smiles, and it's so very familiar, he has to smile back and shake his head in amusement.]

Can't a man get decent before starting about an inquisition?

[Questions abound, enough to fill a few OWLs, essays and all. But not entirely about the City - Fred did his digging before causing a scene in the fountain. He tinkered with the device, took in the surroundings, found his lack of pulse. Inquisitive nature in any circumstance, he wanted to gain some sort of footing before deciding on a course of action. He can't just outright rely on others to show him the way, he's got to have some sort of hand of his own. The questions he has now all pertain to home, or the family, or things that no one can really explain.

And in the end, every one of them leads back to Ginny. To her, this place, and all of that time lost. So as Fred leans back against the counter, contemplating where to start first, only one question really comes to mind. Quietly, with his head lowered and arms folded, it just sort of...slips out.]

Are you all right?

It's all the same, love. Most folks spend a lifetime with them without learning a damned thing.

In that case, I guess I can accept the compliment.

[Are you alright? The seemingly innocent inquiry makes her pause, sets her heart pounding a little harder even as she goes a bit cold at the tips of her fingers and in the pit of her stomach. Has she really been that transparent? Half of her is appalled that Fred picked up on her unsteadiness so immediately, but the other half isn't surprised at all; she was damn near tears when she saw him in the fountain, and even if she didn't say anything, her expression and her fierce embraces were enough. It's obvious she knows Fred's fate, and she does know the how and why of it all, but accepting it is another story entirely. To have lost family in a battle she hasn't even fought, to be unable to change the future from where she stands in this City? It's a cruel addition to the cage the deities have built of this place.

Ginny draws in a breath, steels herself for the easy lie as she meets her brother's eyes, and says, ]

Yeah, of course I am.

[But it falls flat. It falls so flat and she can hear it and she knows he can too. Ginny swallows roughly past the sudden lump in her throat and averts her gaze, hands curling into the edge of the countertop, and she's silent for a long moment... and then sighs, her shoulders sagging ever so slightly. She'd want the truth, if things were reversed. She'd want her family to trust her enough to hear it, no filters, no sugar-coating.]

Actually, that's... to be honest, I'm not. [She brings up a hand to wipe over her face, laughing, though the sound is half-hearted.] It's... I mean, this is all a bit mad. It's been ages since I've seen family, Fred, and even longer since I've seen home.

Edited 2011-08-21 04:41 (UTC)

[ She rolls her eyes, not intolerant, and nods. ]

Good. Next time I'll do more than shouting. Now, as lovely as it's been thinking I was witnessing some horrific death, I was still on my way for a coffee and exploring. If you don't mind, I think I'll need that coffee more than ever, now.

You're welcome to join, unless you have other people to frighten today.

[Fred watches her closely as she steels herself against the question. The slight fidgeting, the almost unnoticeable shift in demeanor - he wouldn't have caught on if it weren't the sort of thing you'd find in every Weasley (save for maybe the more emotional Ronniekins). He doesn't pay mind to the fact that it's the last thing George said to him before the battle began, or that may well be a question worth avoiding for the rest of days. The only thing that matters is her answer.

And it's just as expected. Not quite broken but far from solid. 'Of course I am,' but when was the last time that was actually true? Fred shifts his weight a little when she sighs, moving his hands to grip the counter tightly under the guise of bracing himself in this new position. It's not out of sudden grief or anger or anything like that, mostly just as something to keep him grounded as he listens with a calm gaze. He can't let the world slip out from beneath his feet if he's got to make sure Ginny's okay. He tries for a sympathetic smile.]

Yeah, imagine that oughta be a bit strange. [For lack of a better word that isn't 'depressing'.] You said 'ages'. Will you be getting wrinkles soon, then?

[It makes her stomach twist, seeing Fred with less than his usual troublemaking grin, and knowing that she's the cause of it - even a little. This shouldn't be how things are. This shouldn't be how their reunion goes, with serious questions and answers heavy with grim truth. It should be as it was in the fountain and it should carry over to everything else, they should be laughing over tea and stale biscuits, not letting their pasts weigh on their shoulders until the smiles are crushed out of them. Ginny should be telling him of her adventures in the City, of how she's working at a bar and giving people flying lessons; not wondering if she should say anything about the attempts on her life or the years grown apart from home and family. She wonders if Fred is thinking about the war, the battle, if he thinks she has the truth of it or if she's even lived it.

But as Ginny looks at her brother, her heart squeezes tight in her chest, and she sighs in turn. He's asked how long. She won't lie. She can't do that to him. So the not-so-youngest Weasley meets Fred's gaze and murmurs her answer, soft and almost apologetic.]

I don't know. Was Bill nineteen years old when we started calling him ancient? [She braces himself for his response, even as she adds,] I've been here for three years. The last time I was home was... it was the day we left The Burrow for Muriel's.

Hanna Cross. Nice to meet a fellow magical redhead.

[So its a different kind of magic. It still counts!!]

Yes, very. That's good, isn't it? Otherwise, everything is boring.

Much as it breaks my heart to have to decline, I actually have got someone else to frighten. My little sister'll be here to collect me any moment, now, and I've got to quite thoroughly traumatize her.

[No, not really. His arrival alone is more than enough to do the traumatizing, and if his smile's anything to go by, it seems he'll have his share of trauma as well. Nothing like family bonding, eh?]

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he's there for you when he shouldn't be but he stays all the same;

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