13 January 2012
Friday the 13th @ 7am
Daily Prophet Headquarters
Diagon AlleyThe glass front doors of the Daily Prophet blew off their hinges, spraying glass onto the reception area. Fortunately for the welcome witch, she’d seen it coming and ducked behind her desk.
Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the illustrious and reputable Daily Prophet, stormed in after his assault. Red-faced, wild-haired, and moving with the fury and intensity of a much younger wizard. In one hand his wand. In the other, the remains of a mangled copy of this morning’s edition.
“Death cometh!” he shouted, nearly screaming, his eyes huge beneath his bushy eyebrows. “Death %&#*’ing cometh for whoever of you knuckle-dragging ink-trolls bollocks this up so $&#’ing badly!”
Cuffe had come down to breakfast to find a copy of
his own newspaper tarnished with a vile flier, a rogue pamphlet, a violent scrap of badly written used toilet paper.
[1] It was enough to send him into an unparalleled fury.
Not everyone had arrived to work yet, but those who had jolted up from their desks or froze in their paths. Cuffe’s tantrums were not completely unusual, but he’d never blown anything up before. No one dared say a word, let alone ask what had happened.
Cuffe’s frown contorted his face as he glared around the room as if anyone could be the offender. The reporters - no, the prose was too competent. The copy editors - no, they’d never have allowed the sentence fragments. The press-masters and apprentice tinkerers! It had to be one of them! Slipped in the offending leafs just before the stacks of papers were bundled with twine! But it could be the owl keepers. Oh, it must be the owl keepers. Only the most deranged spent the early mornings on a cold roof talking to birds! But it could be the newsies. The &$@’ing newsies with their big mouths and thumbs up their arses!
It was then that one of the thumb-sitting newsies came rushing in out of breath. Not quite noticing the destruction even though she had to tread over broken glass, she nearly ran into the editor shouting.
“We have to pull the paper! We have - someone’s stuck something …” She trailed off when she processed the scene. Shakily she handed over a copy of the invading page.
Cuffe stared at it before swiping it away, crumpling it up, and throwing at the nearest head.
“No shit, Sherlock! What the bleeeeeeeding hell are you all waiting for! Pull the $@&!ing edition!”
Only then did the room jump into action. A dozen wix snatched up coats and brooms and hurried past the editor and out the door. The owl delivery was a foregone conclusion, but at least they could pull the paper off the stands.
Someone cleared their throat at Cuffe’s elbow and he turned slowly. It was his assistant holding out a cup of tea.
“Cuppa, there, sir? You seem a little fussy.”Fin
[13 Jan] Death Cometh Before Tea [Snapshot]