Pyknic: having a round build or body structure.
April 1, 1999
The first of April dawned bright and clear, one of the first really fine spring days. Birds sang in the trees all along the winding paths of Canary Park. Bicycles sped past in a flurry of streaming ribbons. Familes gathered under trees whose buds were just starting to pop with blankets and picnic baskets in hand. And on the benches lining the path sat a few solitary people: an old woman happily throwing bread crumbs to the pigeons, a teenage boy dressed like he'd just stepped out of the fifties reading an intimidatingly thick Russian novel, and a young man dressed in an odd assortment of baggy athletic shorts, polished dress shoes, a reptilian-looking jacket, and a knitted cap pulled low over his head.
It was the young man in the strange ensemble that caught the park officer's eye – not because he suspected the kid of anything, no one came to Canary park in the middle of the afternoon to cause trouble. But endless cycling of the twisting paths with the most exciting thing being warning some highly suspicious picnickers not to litter made him very interested in the colorful youth.
So the rather squat security guard decided to take an extra break, bought a donut at the vendor he'd been eyeing across the street all morning, and plunked himself down on the bench beside the kid. He was wondering how best to broach conversation, savoring the heavenly pastry, when the young man turned to him with a wide grin and stuck out a hand.
"Hey, mate," he said cheerfully. "Name's Ebenezer Lump. Herd tell of your fine establishment in the BWB monthly. Came all the way from Wales to have a peek"
"Erm, really?" the security guard said, taken aback. "What's the BWB?"
The young man looked comically offended. "Top of the list and he doesn't even know what the BWB is? Honestly. Why it's the Bird-Watchers of Britain! We're only the most well-campaigned natural avian devotees group in Little Grazing. At least tell me you know what we've sighted in your excellent park."
The plump security guard shook his head cautiously, licking the powdered sugar off his doughy fingers.
The young man heaved a dramatic sigh and smacked his forehead with his palm.
"The purple-chirping magpie? Ringing any bells?"
"Um, was it on the news?" the guard asked, conjuring up a half-listened-to story on the radio this morning that he was almost sure had dropped the name.
"I should think so," the young man said incredulously. "It's one of the rarest spottings on our register. Want to see what it cost to get our last picture of the thing?"
The youth leaned in and pulled up the side of his knitted cap. The security guard recoiled in horror, staring at the gaping black chasm where an ear must once have been.
"That, er, wow! Must have hurt! Sorry to dash, but I'm needed at water fountain C across the way!"
And the round little security guard waddled off as quickly as he could, glancing over his shoulder at the waving, bird-avid young man.
A little bit after the security guard disappeared, a harried-looking mother pushing a baby stroller and clutching an armload of shopping and diaper bags stumbled to the bench beside Ebenezer Lump. He flashed her broad grin, scooping up some of her fallen shopping.
"Thank you, sir," the woman said gratefully.
"Not at all, not at all. Name's Albert Rutlinger. Just got off a year-long voyage around the world…"
It was one of the best April Fool's jokes he'd ever played. But all he could think about as he spun the wild tales of a hundred other people was how much he didn't want to be George Weasley today.
A/N: This prompt didn't lend itself greatly to my goal but I was bound and determined that today could feature no one but a Weasely twin. It was a bit sad at the end there, wasn't it? Oh. Well, I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.