Freddie's Birthday

Frederick Dodger consistently forgot about his birthday. In the (number withheld) years he had been alive, he had remembered a mere two thirds of his birthdays. His brother Alfie - the only other constant in his life -- was there to remind him that a party needed to be thrown. Freddie always agreed vehemently; it wasn't that he disliked his birthday, it was that he had difficulty keeping the days straight. It wasn't surprising for someone who owned a pub (/bookstore/cafe/performance space/whatever it was).

The party was themeless, but Alfie had sprung for custom bottles of butterbeer that featured Freddie on the label, waving proudly. There were also Flamin' Freddie shots-- firewhiskey aflame in a shot glass. It made smoke come out of the drinker's ears, which Freddie found hilarious.

His staff had done a great job of making the place look slightly more classy than it usually did, which Freddie appreciated as someone with an aesthetic value system. Alfie didn't seem to care whether the chairs looked comfy enough to float up to the sky and pretend to be a cloud or whether the books made it from boxes to shelves. Freddie liked at least some semblance of order among the chaos. There were even curtains up; Freddie was astonished. Now it was time to drink enough to forget it was his birthday again.