My name is Apollo. I'm in Slytherin. I play the clarinet. I don't like mischief.
No, just leave them. We don’t need to wait, since I’m sure we’ll hear who ends up picking them up. Or at least who looks thoroughly ashamed when they walk past. But really, it’s only been a few days. How do we already have knickers of unknown origins in our room? I, for one, am shocked. And vaguely confused.
Does anyone even know what Apollo is saying? Ever? I’d be more shocked if we weren’t living with tweedle dumb. Not to mention Scabior hangs all over Travers like he’s Merlin’s gift to man. Maybe if she wasn’t high all the time she’d have more sense than that.
I disagree. Stay with them and make sure they don’t come down for anything. Ensure safety, whatever. Didn’t I say that I wasn’t apologizing, Black? And who the fuck is tweedle dumb? Forget Ollopa, I don’t know how you all aren’t dead yet. You’re all a bunch of mentally incapable idiots. Is that what it is then, Bobbin? Are you jealous of my being Merlin’s gift to man? Better I’m fucking Scabior than hanging on someone else.
YES YES GOOD JOLLY GOOD. In the morning I shall see you after defending the panties from harm through the night. Auf wiedersehen, bonjour, Persia.
(Source: finchflinching)
Well they’re certainly not mine. Apollo, what ar- no wait, no. I don’t want to know. I vote that we hang them out in the common room and let whoever’s they are claim them in a rather public fashion.
Isn’t that a bit, I don’t know, mean? Ha. Kidding, kidding. Travers can do it. S’probably the closest he’ll ever get to touching a pair of knickers.
Right, like this isn’t the closest you’ve ever been to a pair. I alluded to- Dear fucking Merlin, you’re so god damn stupid. I’m with Black. Ollopa, go hang them in the common room, you’re happy enough to see them. Over the entrance would be satisfactory.
HA HA! I will bring with me the tallest pair of shoes this great trunk will grace me with and show them the world they have never before seen in the confines of a pair of well worn trousers. Shall I return, or watch the panties to ensure their safety and comfort? They may fear heights.
I’m not a House Elf, if you’re going to have girls in here at least tell them to take their knickers with them when they leave.
If you want an apology you’ve got another thing coming. Flowered, too. You sure they aren’t yours, Bobbin?
AH! I wondered when they would find and seek me. They seem disturbed from their slumber, perhaps you might place them back where you found them, Finch, old sport.
… So is that a no?
Do sycamore roots multiply by tissue box banjo! No, it’s a yes. Yes, it’s a yes. Good day, old sport. Beware the smoke from between your fingers.
(Source: apollothegreek)
Fornication? Apollo, do you know what fornication really is? I’m sure I could show you.
I wonder, do you? Fucking donuts, you claim to have within your possession And here I am, old sport, to tell you that so such things can be possessed. They are a private breeder.
(Source: apollothegreek)
I don’t have fucking donuts.
Of course! The fornication of a donut cannot be had. I should hope you would not interfere with their practices, ways of the world. A sick person you would have to be.
(Source: apollothegreek)
I’d rather be in the depths of burning hell. Where the fuck have you been?
Been you have fuck the where, old sport! This way and that, dancing on a summer sun with the tips of my fingers down south.
(Source: apollothegreek)
Please stop. Unless you enjoy speaking of nuts.
Ah, so you do have donuts! Go nuts. Gonuts, donuts.
(Source: apollothegreek)
Least you aren’t dead, I guess.
Who is to say? Very well it could be that you are very much seeing a cloud now, of my past self. Alternatively! You could be the cloud, dead. Floating. Aimlessly wandering the earth in search of release.
(Source: apollothegreek)
