Latin Is The Language Of Whores (1/?)
"Oi, Mum, what smells?" asked Ron, scrunching his nose in distaste.
"Don't you worry about that, Ronald," Mrs. Weasley replied, scrubbing vigorously at a pot-- by hand, not magic.
"But Mum, it stinks!" Ron cried, getting another whiff. It reminded him rather unpleasantly of the smell the lawn gnomes rubbed off onto his hands when he threw them.
"Vermin," supplied Rorschach, head bowed low over a bowl of his sister's cooking, "often stink up family homes. Advise extermination at next opportunity."
Ron gave his... "Uncle" a strange look. "Right," he said, turning back to his mother. "Maybe we should ask Fred and George-- they might have something to do with it. Stupid wankers."
"Ronald!" exclaimed Mrs Weasley, scandalized. "That's no way to talk about your brother! We have to accept our siblings for who they are."
Ron stared at his mum for a long moment, before his eyes dragged over to Uncle Rorschach, mind not wanting to make the connection. Because-- urgh. Just-- urgh. Hermione was never going to marry him now. "Right Mum," he said, and turned to go start degnoming the garden. Maybe if he started smelling like his uncle, he'd get desensitized.
Ideas for future ficlets, as I have the strange urge to keep writing in this crack!universe: first meetings and dinner.
Feel free to prompt me for more crack ideas, though no guarantee I will do them.
