AN: Belated 'MURICA DAY! And we had no fireworks because the weather sucked.
Disclaimer: Wait, if I'm not Roc or Jim Butcher, and if you're not Roc or Jim Bucther, then who's flying the plane?
Title: Or Other Forms of Entertainment
Words: 338
Summary: Harry makes one exception to the rule and he still mucks it all up.
"You ever wanted the trees cleared back or somethin'?" I said.
Michael was staring at the trees that graced his yard, his mouth hanging open as charred branches and leaves fell the ground. The smell of smoke and burned wood mingled with the heavenly smells that came from the grill.
The fireworks had went really well up until I was done playing tag with the kids, had a magical emergency involving Robin Goodfellow (yes, that Puck), and drank some of Mac's finest.
A tired wizard made a wizard with bad aim and focus.
I mean, the damage wasn't even that bad, the tree tops were a little singed. And their neighbor's house was perfectly fine for now. And that one tree needed some branches cut down anyway...
"Smooth, Harry," Thomas said. He raised his pint of chilled McAnnally's. "All hail the walking fire hazard!"
Charity's lips became a dangerous thin line and she tightly gripped a metal spatula in one hand. She wasn't saying anything.
Murphy was finishing her burger. "Still beats having fireworks with my family." She licked some ketchup off her fingers and went to go check on the kids while the rest of us adults remained vaguely catatonic, dragonish angry, slightly drunk, or highly bemused.
Her hair was curled and she was wearing a pretty blue sundress that showed off her legs. It was really nice how the fabric would swish around her thighs like that, 'cause her legs were nice to look at. They were all lean and muscley, and seeing her in a fight was really wow and it was really...
"Oh, Harry." Thomas snapped his fingers in front of my face. "Oh, my poor, poor brother who gets easily distracted by fair cops."
"Shaddup," I slurred. I pointed a finger at him. "You suck. Michael, doesn't he suck?"
"He hasn't burned down a part of my property," Michael eventually said in a hoarse voice.
"Techni—techni—what-ever," I stumbled over. "Trees can grow back."
"Unlike your dignity," Thomas muttered over the rim of his bottle.
"I heard that!"