*:･ﾟ heartbeat of thunder.

Never one to pass on a challenge, Gideon made a beeline to the gnome with a wide, cheeky smile plastered across his face. “Don’t mind if I do,” he called back to Dorcas. Within second he grabbed the scrambling gnome, who seemed quite displeased to be in this particular predicament. Gideon held the gnome firmly and then began spinning—at least five time to get proper momentum. He then launched the grumpy thing well across the fence, quite far away, and Gideon couldn’t help but think his mother would be terribly proud.

“Ya see that?”

Dorcas, previously confident that Gideon would utterly fail just as she did, instantly deflated as she watched the gnome fly across the fence. She crossed her arms across her chest, huffing as he turned back towards her. Dorcas had been at this for hours, and here Gideon rolls up, putting all of her work to shame. “Whatever, that’s just beginner’s luck,” she grumbled. 

“Constant persistence, Meadowes,” Gideon replied in his worst rendition of Alastor Moody. He then burst into a fit of laughter only to stop when he realized the absurdity of his behavior, albeit all in good fun. It was still near his birthday, after all, and he deserved fun in the form of smoking pot during breakfast and then venturing into the world on his day off. 

Dorcas cracked a grin at the poor impersonation, amused nonetheless. “Alright, Moody, maybe you should take a stab at it, since you seem to be such an expert.” She made an elaborate show of stepping aside, presenting the gnome to Gideon. “Go on then, Prewett, show us amateurs how it’s done.” 

“Okay, that’s the best point anyone’s made so far.” And it was. Leather was certainly edgier than plain ol’ denim, wasn’t it? Why was she even asking this question in the first place? “Denim is, like, um— What are those American things? With the hats and the cactuses?”

“Don’t know why you even bothered asking anyone else,” Dorcas grinned, “Obviously, I’m the fashion expert around here.” Confusion quickly flashed over her expression before she finally deciphered what Marlene was referring to. “Oh! You mean cowmen, right? I think that’s what the muggles call them. Or maybe it’s horseboys? Bullboys? Horsemen? Y’know what, I think I’m gonna stop there because obviously I don’t have a fuckin’ clue.”

“The key’s to swing the gnome around a few times before tossing it. You’ll get it further with the momentum.” 

“I’ve tried that!” Dorcas said, frustration evident in her voice. She straightened up from her crouched position on the ground, wiping the sweat that had accumulated on her brow. “These damn gnomes just keep running back!”

“Oh, for goodness –” Greta came to a halt as the sole of her shoe adhered to the pavement, thanks to a piece of discarded gum, “Must not like peppermint.”

“Merlin, it’s not that hard to throw things away properly,” Dorcas grumbled, slowing her steps as their conversation was interrupted. “I mean, the garbage bin is right there!”

“Uh, yeah,” Marlene snorted, eyes wide and grin twisted audaciously to the right corner of her face. As if any other opinion was an option. “The fringe is a duh. The real question is this: denim or leather.”

“Oh, leather, definitely,” Dorcas said, confident in her answer. “Denim’s nice an’ all, but leather just screams bad-ass. And who’d say no to looking like a bad-ass?” 

“’S not midnight yet,” Fabian sniffed through pursed lips, shaking his head. “And even so,” he added pointedly, making a show of shaking back his sleeve to take a squinted peak at his watch, “I’ve got some time after that before it’s official, according to the birth certificate. Still a few hours left to be a young hooligan.”

“Who says you have to stop?” Dorcas questioned, a wide grin on her face. “Being a hooligan, that is. S’far as I’m concerned, getting into trouble doesn’t have an age limit. If anything, I think that it being your birthday gives you a free pass to wreak all the havoc you’d like.”