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Harry is really, really glad he didn't go into some depressive fit thing after Susan... you know.
He considered it. It was very tempting. But in the end... what good would it have done? Susan wouldn't want him to do it. Hell, if she'd popped out of the woodwork and he hadn't left the house in four months she'd probably have slapped him. So he forced himself to get his boots on every day and do his damn job. He found lost things. He worked on improving a few of his foci and enchanted objects and stuff. Cries most nights, but doesn't admit it, and that's been getting better. Recently he took a job protecting some kind of monastery from monkey demons.
A factor relevant to that particular job is currently napping in his coat pocket. He found the puppy there afterwards and tried to call that monk dude, but the monastery seemed to have vanished. Which was weird. But he got the puppy vetted by Bob and Father Forthill, and they said the little guy wasn't some kind of hellspawn, so... he kept him. Called him Mouse. Let him nap in his coat pocket. Mister got along with him, because Mouse wasn't big enough to be a threat to the big cat's authority.
Anyway, Mouse is napping in his coat pocket, and Harry just got out of the morgue looking at a corpse. He's pretty sure this is the work of some White Court bastard. The victim doesn't have a mark on him, but he's got the dopiest grin in human history. And Harry, being Harry, knows from dopey grins. So Harry sets out looking for a White Court vampire. Thomas doesn't know of any of his cousins who'd have gone after this guy (their official victims are dumped in a nearby quarry, apparently), so he's out investigating the red light district. And trying to look like someone who would be interested in a prostitute, instead of someone who would rather cut off his testicles with a spoon than lay a finger on a member of the oldest profession.
doing-the-right-thing
doing-the-right-thing
"You know what, sure." Harry takes an honest-to-god Bakelite telephone out of its cradle and dials a number.
"Hi, Charity?" Harry winces. "Yes, and I'm still very sorry about that. But I'm- no, I have- I need a sweater." There's a pause. "Yeah, he's about as tall as you, I'd say. Yes. And he's- no, I just- there's magic reasons, okay? I need your fluffiest sweater. Not your best, just- yeah, fluffy. As much fluff as humanly possible. Yes. Thank you, Charity, I owe you one. Okay, I owe you several. I did already apologize for that. Thanks. Could you send Michael over with it? Good, good." He holds the receiver at arm's length and gingerly clicks it back into the cradle.
"Well, that went as well as expected. Your sweater is en route."
"Hi, Charity?" Harry winces. "Yes, and I'm still very sorry about that. But I'm- no, I have- I need a sweater." There's a pause. "Yeah, he's about as tall as you, I'd say. Yes. And he's- no, I just- there's magic reasons, okay? I need your fluffiest sweater. Not your best, just- yeah, fluffy. As much fluff as humanly possible. Yes. Thank you, Charity, I owe you one. Okay, I owe you several. I did already apologize for that. Thanks. Could you send Michael over with it? Good, good." He holds the receiver at arm's length and gingerly clicks it back into the cradle.
"Well, that went as well as expected. Your sweater is en route."
doing-the-right-thing
"Eeeeyep. The older something is, the less likely to go kablooie. Hence the car, hence the phone, hence the candles and fireplace and lack of water heater, sorry about that last one by the way."
doing-the-right-thing
"That's the spirit. Let's see, what was I going to do with today... hm. I was going to work on some of my enchantments, but that might literally be the most boring thing to watch in the world."
doing-the-right-thing
"I'll show you a few minutes of it, I guess. See for yourself." Harry moves an interesting (but cheap) rug out of the way and pulls up a trapdoor in the floor. He starts down the ladder.
doing-the-right-thing
Down the ladder is a basement filled with stuff. Ikea shelving creaks under books, bowls full of dried herbs, and, next to what looks to be the severed testicles of some large mammal, an intricately carved human skull. It seems to flicker with light as Buttercup descends, but on a second glance it's gone.
There's also a table with several items strewn across it. Harry picks up a carved walking stick made of dark brown wood. "This is my staff! It is a good friend of mine. I don't much like leaving it at home, but it kind of attracts attention. At least the blasting rod fits in the coat."
There's also a table with several items strewn across it. Harry picks up a carved walking stick made of dark brown wood. "This is my staff! It is a good friend of mine. I don't much like leaving it at home, but it kind of attracts attention. At least the blasting rod fits in the coat."
doing-the-right-thing
"Yep! Fire, fire, and more fire. Also a good friend of mine. So, d'you want to see the exciting process of enchantment?"
doing-the-right-thing
Harry holds the staff in front of him. He breathes in a level, even rhythm. The runes glow and fade in time with his breath. A slight draft runs through the room, similarly timed.
no-return
...Yep. That's pretty boring. But it's not like looking at Harry is exactly an unpleasant activity on its own merits, so whatever.
doing-the-right-thing
Harry continues to enchant for several minutes, until the doorbell rings.
The doorbell is loud! Harry jumps, and the staff (in the middle of glowing) flashes unhappily. "Gah! Wh- okay. Uh, that's- probably your sweater. We should go up and get it. From Michael."
The doorbell is loud! Harry jumps, and the staff (in the middle of glowing) flashes unhappily. "Gah! Wh- okay. Uh, that's- probably your sweater. We should go up and get it. From Michael."
no-return
"That was not remotely the most boring thing in the world," says Buttercup. "Let's go get my sweater!"
doing-the-right-thing
(The skull's eye sockets glimmer again as they leave.)
Harry clambers up through the trapdoor and out to the door door. He opens it, revealing a man almost as tall as he is, bearing three extremely fuzzy sweaters.
"Hello, Harry. I'm told you need sweaters for, ahem, 'unclear magic reasons that he refused to clarify because he's a selfish bastard who doesn't care about the people who get caught in his wake of destruction'? Correcting for Charity's editorializing, I assume you need them for magic reasons."
Harry clambers up through the trapdoor and out to the door door. He opens it, revealing a man almost as tall as he is, bearing three extremely fuzzy sweaters.
"Hello, Harry. I'm told you need sweaters for, ahem, 'unclear magic reasons that he refused to clarify because he's a selfish bastard who doesn't care about the people who get caught in his wake of destruction'? Correcting for Charity's editorializing, I assume you need them for magic reasons."
doing-the-right-thing
They're so fuzzy!
"And who's this?" asks Michael. "Do you have an apprentice now?"
"Not an apprentice, just- he's White Court, so I can't touch him without burning him, and he likes hugging."
Michael raises an eyebrow. "Well, far be it from me to stand in the way of hugs. Take the sweaters with my blessing, they were going to Goodwill anyway."
"And who's this?" asks Michael. "Do you have an apprentice now?"
"Not an apprentice, just- he's White Court, so I can't touch him without burning him, and he likes hugging."
Michael raises an eyebrow. "Well, far be it from me to stand in the way of hugs. Take the sweaters with my blessing, they were going to Goodwill anyway."
doing-the-right-thing
Michael hands over the sweaters. (The sweaters themselves are slightly burny, as Michael knitted them for Charity himself. But they don't seem to do anything past mild burny discomfort.)
In the process, his hand brushes Buttercup's, leaving behind a wide patch of blackened skin and the smell of burning meat. "Oh! Oh, no, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to- oh dear. Would you like a bandage?"
In the process, his hand brushes Buttercup's, leaving behind a wide patch of blackened skin and the smell of burning meat. "Oh! Oh, no, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to- oh dear. Would you like a bandage?"