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tamingthemuseTitle: Moving
Fandom: Original
Prompt 437 Relocate
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 554
I've dreamed of boxes tonight. Big cardboard boxes full of duck tape and color-coded writings. I hate moving.
Not that I have a choice, mind you. My boss decided to relocate the office, and if I want to keep working for him, I have to move too. Not that I have a choice, again. Not that's even Jordan's fault, actually. The local magic seed went down a couple of weeks ago, and with it, all magical traffic in the area just moved away. And what's the point in having a private investigator agency for magical occurrences if there isn't any magical occurrence left to investigate, right ? And since I didn't bother getting training for a job that wouldn't require magic, I didn't have my place in town anymore.
Ok, I know, I could have one if I really tried. Plenty of people make some kind of living without a post-high school education, and magic could help me in many aspects of a regular work. But I guess I'm slightly addicted to the P.I. way of life. So here we are, back to moving away.
First, I had to pack my stuff at the office, and, for some reason, Jordan managed to talk me into packing the general stuff too. She is deviously wicked under her proper 50ish woman figure. Her moving system is a thing of nightmare, full of codes and arrangements that are probably going to make the unpacking super easy, but are hellish to put together for the disorganized disaster I am. I couldn't even use much of my magic, because "it's too imprecise, Fiona. Everything must be precisely packed". So yeah, an afternoon of hell at work, and no demon was involved.
Then I got back home, and started my own packing. And I did the worst thing possible: I tried to remember Jordan's system and use it, without her exactitude. It was... sloppy would be too generous, maybe, but it was still more effective that what I would have come up with on my own. I guess. I don't know. I know even less now that I am sitting in my car, boxes everywhere on the back seat and the trunk, nursing a bad hangover. At some point last night, I thought booze would improve the moving process. What was I thinking ?
And so am I, on the road with my few possessions, driving to a new life. Or, at least, a new place. The apartement I've found a few days ago is only a block away from the new office. I will be nice to be able to sleep in and still maybe avoid being late. And to skip the morning traffic jam, you know, like the one I'm currenty trapped in. Yeah, when I said "driving" to a new life, I should have said "moving at a turtle's speed". Why are all those people going to the same place I do ?
I look at the rear-view mirror, and a familiar sight comes to me. The vehicule right behind me is owned by a low-level warlock, the kind that mostly prepare benign potions and spells for the non-magicals. Jimmy gives my intel from time to time, in exchange for some help in bigger stuffs. Look like some things will not change much in that new town.
Fandom: Original
Prompt 437 Relocate
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 554
I've dreamed of boxes tonight. Big cardboard boxes full of duck tape and color-coded writings. I hate moving.
Not that I have a choice, mind you. My boss decided to relocate the office, and if I want to keep working for him, I have to move too. Not that I have a choice, again. Not that's even Jordan's fault, actually. The local magic seed went down a couple of weeks ago, and with it, all magical traffic in the area just moved away. And what's the point in having a private investigator agency for magical occurrences if there isn't any magical occurrence left to investigate, right ? And since I didn't bother getting training for a job that wouldn't require magic, I didn't have my place in town anymore.
Ok, I know, I could have one if I really tried. Plenty of people make some kind of living without a post-high school education, and magic could help me in many aspects of a regular work. But I guess I'm slightly addicted to the P.I. way of life. So here we are, back to moving away.
First, I had to pack my stuff at the office, and, for some reason, Jordan managed to talk me into packing the general stuff too. She is deviously wicked under her proper 50ish woman figure. Her moving system is a thing of nightmare, full of codes and arrangements that are probably going to make the unpacking super easy, but are hellish to put together for the disorganized disaster I am. I couldn't even use much of my magic, because "it's too imprecise, Fiona. Everything must be precisely packed". So yeah, an afternoon of hell at work, and no demon was involved.
Then I got back home, and started my own packing. And I did the worst thing possible: I tried to remember Jordan's system and use it, without her exactitude. It was... sloppy would be too generous, maybe, but it was still more effective that what I would have come up with on my own. I guess. I don't know. I know even less now that I am sitting in my car, boxes everywhere on the back seat and the trunk, nursing a bad hangover. At some point last night, I thought booze would improve the moving process. What was I thinking ?
And so am I, on the road with my few possessions, driving to a new life. Or, at least, a new place. The apartement I've found a few days ago is only a block away from the new office. I will be nice to be able to sleep in and still maybe avoid being late. And to skip the morning traffic jam, you know, like the one I'm currenty trapped in. Yeah, when I said "driving" to a new life, I should have said "moving at a turtle's speed". Why are all those people going to the same place I do ?
I look at the rear-view mirror, and a familiar sight comes to me. The vehicule right behind me is owned by a low-level warlock, the kind that mostly prepare benign potions and spells for the non-magicals. Jimmy gives my intel from time to time, in exchange for some help in bigger stuffs. Look like some things will not change much in that new town.
