Waffles with Pip

Never been in Pip’s neighbourhood. When she said Whitechapel, I pictured it quite a bit seedier. Dunno, that burly bloke what looks about as friendly as a rugby tussle in a maelstrom, standin’ out front ‘er place makes me feel right at home!

Said bloke gives me the glare-down as I open up the door.

“Evenin’ gent,” I greet ‘im.

He mutters something about how I’m not the usual bloke and shuffles away from the door.

“Predictability’s overrated,” I tell ‘im and head on up to Pip’s door.

I bang on her door a few times before I can hear somebody shufflin’ toward it. I bang a little harder and hear the security charm bein’ undone.

“What? Who is it? Oh!” Pip blinks up at me. “It’s you. What are you doing here, boss?”

“Harassin’ the locals,” I reply. “Come on.”

“Come on what?” she asks, yawning. “I was just dozing off in front of the telly.”

“Come out. Hang out. Let’s paint the town chartreuse!”

“I do like chartreuse,” she admits, “but I’m in my jimmies. Bunny slippers and all that. Let me get dressed, huh?”

I take a quick look-over. True enough, she’s got this ginormous blue sweatshirt on over some garish pink and green plaid pajama bottoms. All topped off by the infamous bunny slippers.

“So?” I say. “Covers ya up just the same.”

“Yeah, but…” she starts and then shrugs. “Okay, where are we going?”

“Dunno. Whaddya got a hankerin’ for?”

She grins. “I know a great place that’s open all night. Round Knockturn—they make great waffles.”

“Waffles at midnight sounds proper,” I grin. “Lead the way, Pip.”

She turns a speculative eye on me suddenly. “Hey,” she says sharply. “If I have to go out in PJs, so do you. So the way I see it, you’ve got two choices. One, you can transfigure your clothes into pajamas or two, you can borrow mine. Your choice…uh…George?” she tilts her head to the side. “I think?”

“What have ya got?” I ask.

“Um, black, purple plaid, and orange,” she ticks off on her hand.

“Purple,” I say. “Goes best with me firey locks.”

“Yeah,” she agrees with a wink. “A total match. So what’s the occasion? I mean not everyday I’m dragged out to have waffles by a red-headed twinster. What gives?”

“Just for the halibut,” I shrug.

“Yeah right,” she says, going into the next room and coming out with a pair of purple bottoms. “Here ya go.”

“Wot, just the trousers?” I ask. “Not that I’m ashamed o’ me manly chest, but you know what they say; ‘No shoes, no shirt, no service.’”

She giggles and tosses ‘em to me. “You can keep what shirt you’ve got on. Unless you want my bathrobe with rubber ducks on it..”

“Quite like that idea, actually,” I muse. “Now, if I have me niffler slippers with me, I’d be all set!”

“Next time,” she says, handing me the robe. “Help yourself. Loo’s that way, if Iva would mind me seeing you in your unmentionables.”

I shrug and head on down to ‘er loo. I’m not the least bit surprised to see a few cauldrons set about.

“Thought you were gonna hide your cauldrons,” I should out as I change trousers.

“Well I was,” she says from just outside the door, “but then…I decided that it would be weirder if I got rid of them. Y’know. Anyway, Kevin thinks I tie-dye clothes in them, so it’s okay.”

“Good thing you lived in Berkley for a few years, all I can say. Right! Trousered up! Let’s go.”

She salutes sharply, “Righto! Follow my lead.”

We shuffle out into the hallway, and she locks up behind us. Down the stairs we go, and out the door. Mountain of a man is still hanging around outside, and gives me a rather menacing look.

“What’s with the getup?” he rumbles.

“Oh, hey Brad!” Pip says brightly, “We’re going out for midnight waffles in our pajamas. Cool huh?” then she gets this stern look on her face, and puts her hands on her hips, “Brad, did you finish your paper for class tomorrow?”

Hugeness sort of shuffles his feet and, Merlin above, he actually looks guilty.

“I done half of it,” he mutters.

“Well, you march your arse right back home and do the other half!” Pip scolds, shaking her finger, “Go on now! Do you think half is good enough? Forget it! Go one, get to it!”

The guy sort of protests, but after a glare from Pip, wishes her a good night and trundles away.

“Proper, Pip!” I congratulate her.

She shrugs, taking my hand and tugging me off down the street, “I’m sorta the neighborhood mom, y’know. C’mon, boss. You wanna Apparate, or walk?”

“Apparate works for me.”

“Coolness.” She winks and drags me into a nearby alley. She giggles, “Jeez, my neighbors are going to think I’m banging some red-headed guy in an alley. Not a reputation I need.”

“Aww, they’d just be jealous is all.”

“Yeah, jealous of me.” she says, “Hold on, yeah? I can’t remember the coordinates.”

“You can’t? So we gonna go apparatin’ around ‘til we find the right ones?”

“Aww, shut it.” She grouses, “I know how to get there. I just couldn’t tell you how to get there. Hold on.”

“Just so long as you know we’re goin’.”

She sticks her tongue out- standard response- and clamps on to me and we pop away.

When we arrive, the place is marginally hoppin’. People comin’ off work, people gettin’ ready for it. Loads of ‘em gots pale skin. Must be vamps. “Oi, Pip, what gives? This place is practically undead!”

“Funny man.” She giggles, “It’s open all night, and the food is great! Max sure knows how to cook!”

“Sure hope so. I’m starved! After you, Pippin McDuffle.”

“Sure thing Georgie!” she winks, “I’ve given up trying to decide if you are or not, so you’re George tonight, kay?”

“Well, as the other of us is off for the weekend with a witch younger’n you, I’d say it’s a safe bet I’m who you s’pose I am.”

“Good.” She says, waving cheerily at several of the vamp waitresses and plunkin down into a booth, “I happen to be very fond of George. Hey Valerie!”

A young (I guess) blonde waitress comes over, smiling, “Evening Marley! The usual?”

“Naw,” Pip grins, “We’re having waffles! Right boss?”

“You betcha!”

“Waffles it is,” Valerie smiles, fangs showing a little, “I’ll tell Max you’re here. Anything else I can get you?”

“Just milk for me.” Pip says, “George?”

“Milk’s good,” I agree. “Large, so I can grow up big ‘n strong.”

The vamp laughs and heads off to the kitchen with our order. Pip smiles at me suddenly, biting her lip a little.

“So what’s bugging you?” she asks.

I look over at ‘er. “Mm?”

“I said, what’s bugging you so much that you decided to make the long journey to Whitechapel to have a pajama party?”

“Mmm…Saturday night. Empty house.”

She sighs, rubbing her eyes, “Y’know, one of these days it would be great if you actually answered me. I’m just trying to be your friend.”

I raise my eyebrows. Then sigh, too. “Pip…”

“Look, I’m sorry if you don’t want me to say anything,” she continues, “but I’m not going to just sit here and have you be all evasive. Not when something’s wrong, and not when I’m trying to make you feel better. That’s what friends do, y’know.”

I take a packet o’ sugar from the little sugar caddy and nudge it around the table. “Only ever really talk to Fred,” I tell ‘er. “Nothin’ against you.”

“Well, obviously you haven’t talked to Fred, cause it’s still bothering you.” she says, as Valerie the vamp brings us our milk. Pip smiles and thanks her, and then goes quiet.

“Well…you’d be right about that,” I say, starin’ into my milk.

She sighs, “Okay, you don’t have to say anything. I won’t force you to. I just wish you would. I mean, obviously you like me enough to set me up on a date with your little brother, so I must be doing something right.”

“Yeah, you’ll have to tell me how that went,” I remind her.

“What makes you think I’m going to give you details?” she smiles coyly.

“Because you owe us!”

“I owe you nothing,” she protests, “I brought you porn!”

I’m surprised bow how many people don’t turn around at her exclamation.

“Okay, point,” I say, pickin’ up my milk and takin’ a swig.

“Yeah.” She says, then furrows her brow, “But…I don’t mind saying that brother is….surprising.”

I laugh. “There’s a word for Ron. Surprising. And I’ll just leave that to my imagination.”

“Not in a bad way,” she says quickly, “He’s just… not like a lot of other guys.”

“Glad to hear it.”

She looks at me, all hard-like.

“Ok,” she says slowly, “so you don’t want to fish for details about your ickle brother’s hot date. You must be troubled.”

“Oi! Was just protectin’ the…surprisingness, I was!”

“Please.” She huffs, “You must think I was born yesterday. You haven’t even asked if we….y’know. I thought for sure I’d have to fend you both off with a stick come Monday.”

“I’m waiting to attack with Fred,” I say, crossing my arms.

“Well, that’s fab.” She says grumpily, then sighs, “I’m sorry I’m being all bitchy tonight. I’m kind of strung out about this Ron thing, and I think I’m sort of taking it out on you. I still wish you’d tell me what’s bothering you, but I’m being more pushy than usual. Sorry.”

“Why should you be sorry?” I ask. “I have a natural effect on people that make ‘em wanna throttle me.”

“That’s certain,” she chuckles, “but usually I’m pretty immune.”

That thought’s interrupted by the waitress bringing our waffles over. We tuck in right away, and for a minute there’s just chewing. Then Pip swallows and says, “So, how are we gonna paint the town chartreuse? Any plans?”

“Didn’t really have anything on my mind,” I shrug.

“Well then, how’s about this,” she leans forward all conspiratorially, “We get sundae stuff from a convenience store, rent a bunch of awful horror flicks, and get comatose on sugar and fake blood.”

“Plan Nine,” I say.

“Yeah, Plan Nine,” she rolls her eyes, “Do you guys think of everything?”

“Just about. How’s about I make ya a barfait?”

She blinks for a moment, “I’m sorry, I thought you just said ‘barfait’. Are my ears that bad?”

“Yes, they’re that bad, because I did.”

“Oh.” She says, “Yeah, okay, whatever that is, I’m game. My place or yours, sir?”

“Hmm…there’s less hazard in my place, what with them bubblin’ cauldrons about in yours, so are we feeling reckless or safe tonight?”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” she shrugs, “but my place is a mess. Fred won’t mind if we use your private twinny space for our Marathon of Horror?”

“Prob’ly wouldn’t if ‘e were home,” I reply. “But he’s out.”

“Oh,” she quirks an eyebrow at me, “where’s he at?”

“Off for a weekend away,” I say.

“Oh, cool.” She smiles, “That must be nice. Well, looks like we got the place to ourselves.” She bats her eyes at me, “I promise to behave, boss. Cross my heart.”

Must be nice? It’s a nightmare.

“That we do. And if you behave, I’ll be disappointed.”

She laughs, and points her fork at me, “Okay, you got it. I’ll be on my worst behaviour. Every mother’s worst nightmare of the witch her son brings home. How’s that?”

“Brill!” I cheer. “How’s about Evil Dead, eh? Ay-shlee…Ay-shlee…”

“Let me out now!” she parodies, “Ashley, it’s your sister! I’m alright now!”

I snort. “Don’t let ‘er out. Ain’t ya ever seen a horror? Eh? Oi, I tell ya, people in horror films are idiots. It’s no wonder they all bite it.”

“No joke,” she giggles, “and what’s with all the girls falling over three thousand times when they’re trying to run away?”

“Well, gotta make the audience feel smart somehow, eh?”

“Yeah, well, that’ll do it. How ‘bout Dawn of the Dead, too?”

“Don’t know as I got that one, but Plan 9 is a def.”

“I’ve got it.” She snaps her fingers, “We can pop over to my place first and grab it.”

“And when we get to Chez Clone, I’m slippin’ into my nifflers.”

“Yeah!” she enthuses, then looks puzzled, “Wait, what?”

“Couple o’ nifflers Fred and I had stuffed,” I say and then burst out laughing at the look of horror on ‘er face. “They’re just slippers, Pip.”

“Oh, right.” She says, wiping imaginary sweat off her brow, “Slippers, yeah.” Then she grins, “Aww, how cute! Niffler slippers- neat!”

“That they are.”

“So, what do we need to get before we go get the movie from my flat?” she asks, pulling out a pen and tugging a napkin infront of her, “Ice cream? Popcorn? Sundry other goods?”

“I’m makin’ barfaits, poopcorn, and lemonade.” Movie nights. I want movie nights with Fredgie. I shake myself. Good on him. He’s got a weekend away. I’m happy for ‘im. Don’t be a mopey bastard, George.

She gives me this weird look, “Yeah, okay. I’m not going to ask about the weird food. Oh, hang on, Trudes mentioned something like that.” She wrinkles her nose, looking disgusted, “God. Trudes. Major buzzkill.”

“Yeah, noticed you two wanted to gnaw on each others larynxes. What’s up with that?”

She sighs, “Well, I don’t know, exactly. It may or may not have something to do with an alleged incident in fourth year.”

I raise my eyebrow. “Just what is said incident? You got me all curious-like?” Hmm, could this be a breach of employer-employee morale? Let’s just call it getting’ all the facts to employee animosity.

“Well, Trudes and I had Potions together- y’know, like Gryffindor had Potions with Slytherin? Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had it together, too. So one day we’re in class, and we got partnered together…well, she was annoying the hell out of me. I mean, she fucking put my hair in the ink, and tripped me and poked me and…jeez, it was so annoying. So I tossed a little something in the cauldron and went to the loo. By the time I came back, her face and hair and robes were this horrid puke green colour, and Snape had given her detention for like, two weeks.” She shrugs, “and ever since then, she’s hated my guts.”

Oi, sounds like Trudes had it bad for Pip! Either that, or she just forgot her quill. “Well, she was a budding prankster, even from early one. She just needed our expert guidance, y’see. So it was just annoying, as opposed to absolutely brill.”

“I guess,” she shrugs, “I just got so fed up. I mean, it would be one thing if it was just that one day that she was doing it. But it was every class! And not just Potions! I mean, every class! Seriously, I just couldn’t take it anymore.”

I laugh, patting her shoulder. “Oh Pip.”

“Oh, me.” she smiles, “What d’you mean, ‘ohPip’? Am I missing something?”

I shrug. “Just sayin’! Now, you done with your waffles so’s we can go regurgitate ‘em watchin’ awful horror?”

“You bet!” she grins, motioning the vamp with the check, “My treat, boss!”

“Much obliged,” I say. “I got next.”

“Sure, sure.” She says, slapping down the galleons and smiling at the waitress. “Back to mine, then?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“C’mon, mate.” She smiles, tugging me up outta my chair, “Let’s go! Ashley and Cheryl await!”

“Yy-ashley!” I screech.

She doubles up laughin’, causin’ the shady Knockturn characters to give us the eye.

“Ready?” she asks, linking arms with me.

We step up to the door and I stop. “Let me oht noo!”

She laughs and then scrunches up her face as we apparate back to her flat. As soon as we’re inside, she heads over to the telly and starts rifling around for the movie.

“Actually, since we’re already here,” I say, “we could just stick around here. I figure I could scrounge up the fixin’s for somethin’ absolutely disgustin’ lookin’. Like make some egg pusstard.”

She looks horrified, “Oh, jesus, seriously? Okay, well, help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” I say, rubbing my hands and stepping into the…erm…looks like arson in here.

“Do you cook with a blow-torch?” I call out.

“Sometimes,” she calls from the next room, “Help yourself to drinks too.”

I open up the ice box and look in. Beer. Beer. Butterbeer. Beer. Butter. Beer. More beer.”

“You got any beer?” I call.

“Oh, shit, am I out already?” she says, coming in looking annoyed, “I swear, that stuff drinks itself.”

“Cannibals,” I note, taking out a box of juice.

“You said it….Hey!” she says, peering into the fridge, “There’s plenty of beer in here. You had me worried.” She pulls a bottle out and reaches for a bottle opener on the counter, pops the top off and takes a big swig.

“That’s the oldest tree in Pottersville,” I say, punching the straw into the box. “I mean…Bedford Falls.”

“No, you mean Pottersville.” She grins, “Don’t you know where you live?”

“Hot dog!”

She laughs, and lights the burner, “I wish I had a million dollars!”

“Sorry, you’re not getting a raise.”

She pokes me a couple times, “Yeah yeah. Aren’t you supposed to be grossing me out with your culinary disgustingness?”

“Yes. Eggs. Sugar. Milk. And it’s time to make some puss!”