Finn and Tibs
Tibs tried his best not to look nervous, but it was ruddy hard when you were the shortest guy by at least half a foot. No, that was a lie. A foot. He was the shortest by a foot and was in the middle of this circle of giants. Why had he agreed to come, again? Bloody hell.
"Who's ready for some stag night debauchery!" one of the giants crowed, causing the others to hoot and holler in compliance. Tibs grimaced and watched them head off to the club, and wondered if he could escape without anyone noticing.
"Oy, they left without the bachelor," Finn's voice came from behind, fixing his coat. Tibs stared up at his brother in annoyance, and received a confusion look. "What?"
"I may as well be a pixie," Tibs said, his tone flat. Finn laughed loudly and clapped his hand on his brother's back. "No, it's true, they're all giants and I'm standing there like a house-elf all cowering and---I am on the Wizengamot and I feel like a fourth year! Wizen-ga-mot!"
"Quiddicth players don't know what the Wizen-ga-mot is," Finn said, his eyebrows high with amusement, "Just--get a couple of drinks in ya and it'll be fine, I'm pretty sure they're not going to be paying attention to anyone but those women on stage, all right?"
Tibs flustered but let his brother tug him along. Well. At least he'd been invited to this giant bash/
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