I saw this prompt and my fingers twitched... whoops? I've never really written a fic before but... lol I tried: --- His plan was perfect; the capture and replacement of Percival Graves’ was a thing of beauty. The man himself made it easy. He lacked the meaningful interactions with his colleagues and had rarely contacted family or the few friends he possessed. It was perfect. He had thought through all of the minute details and all the steps in his cunning plan went flawlessly. Except… he had forgotten one, tiny, detail. He didn’t account for (with much self-loathing and many a ‘I made a huge mistake’s’) the amount of work, more specifically, paperwork that was involved with the position. He was quickly realising that he actually had to do this job correctly, lest someone would become suspicious in the early stages of this (not so) brilliant plan.
It was with great trepidation, and admittedly some regret, that he approached Graves’ – his – desk (and the visibly growing mound of paperwork) for the unforeseeable future. As he settled into the plush leather of the seat, he removed the form with the most tick boxes and the least writing on it, ushering a silent prayer that this whole affair was a lot simpler than it looked… What am I actually looking at here?
He read and reread the form once, twice, thrice and more but none of the terms made sense, he didn’t know what this form was even for! Notice of Contravention? Alright, a form for ‘covert diligence and no-maj obliviations’. That much Grindelwald understood but… all these numbers… what do they mean? ‘What the bloody hell does 81406.01 refer to? What does 51779.41 have to do with anything?! You'd think that the forms with tickboxes would be a easier to deal with... apparently not.
As the pile grew, he felt as if he was shrinking, he hadn’t felt this way since his childhood. It was wrought with perilous escapades, which, more often than not involved his enraged mother catching him red-handed with the cookie jar for the umpteenth time that week. He shakes his head slightly, if his mother could see him now, he had no doubt she would be brandishing that evil wooden spoon or one of her comfy slippers (which was decidedly not comfy when it was repeatedly smacked against one’s backside, but, that is neither here nor there).
He spends another painful hour trying to look productive before he just can’t take it anymore. He stands a little shakily and briskly slams open his office door. He aggressively makes his way to where his prisoner is being held. The murderous aura he exumes doesn't need to be fakes, nor does he need to feign the stormy expression that crosses his face. A few of the newer recruits to the division bodily throw themselves into empty offices, under desks, one even manages to look as if they're trying to become one with a corridor pillar (No, Jerry, stop shimmying up the damn thing! For god's sakes don't be obscene!).The rest of the aurors scatter as if the fires of hell were decending upon them, trying to make themselves as scarce as possible. Grindelwald pays them no mind, his thoughts elsewhere, mostly on the increasing dread of returning to that godforsaken desk he's inadvertantly shackled himself to.
---
To be continued...? Assuming I didn't do too terribly. hahahaa...
Re: Humor. GrindelGraves VS Paperwork [fill] [p1/?]
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His plan was perfect; the capture and replacement of Percival Graves’ was a thing of beauty. The man himself made it easy. He lacked the meaningful interactions with his colleagues and had rarely contacted family or the few friends he possessed. It was perfect. He had thought through all of the minute details and all the steps in his cunning plan went flawlessly. Except… he had forgotten one, tiny, detail. He didn’t account for (with much self-loathing and many a ‘I made a huge mistake’s’) the amount of work, more specifically, paperwork that was involved with the position. He was quickly realising that he actually had to do this job correctly, lest someone would become suspicious in the early stages of this (not so) brilliant plan.
It was with great trepidation, and admittedly some regret, that he approached Graves’ – his – desk (and the visibly growing mound of paperwork) for the unforeseeable future. As he settled into the plush leather of the seat, he removed the form with the most tick boxes and the least writing on it, ushering a silent prayer that this whole affair was a lot simpler than it looked… What am I actually looking at here?
He read and reread the form once, twice, thrice and more but none of the terms made sense, he didn’t know what this form was even for! Notice of Contravention? Alright, a form for ‘covert diligence and no-maj obliviations’. That much Grindelwald understood but… all these numbers… what do they mean? ‘What the bloody hell does 81406.01 refer to? What does 51779.41 have to do with anything?! You'd think that the forms with tickboxes would be a easier to deal with... apparently not.
As the pile grew, he felt as if he was shrinking, he hadn’t felt this way since his childhood. It was wrought with perilous escapades, which, more often than not involved his enraged mother catching him red-handed with the cookie jar for the umpteenth time that week. He shakes his head slightly, if his mother could see him now, he had no doubt she would be brandishing that evil wooden spoon or one of her comfy slippers (which was decidedly not comfy when it was repeatedly smacked against one’s backside, but, that is neither here nor there).
He spends another painful hour trying to look productive before he just can’t take it anymore. He stands a little shakily and briskly slams open his office door. He aggressively makes his way to where his prisoner is being held. The murderous aura he exumes doesn't need to be fakes, nor does he need to feign the stormy expression that crosses his face. A few of the newer recruits to the division bodily throw themselves into empty offices, under desks, one even manages to look as if they're trying to become one with a corridor pillar (No, Jerry, stop shimmying up the damn thing! For god's sakes don't be obscene!).The rest of the aurors scatter as if the fires of hell were decending upon them, trying to make themselves as scarce as possible. Grindelwald pays them no mind, his thoughts elsewhere, mostly on the increasing dread of returning to that godforsaken desk he's inadvertantly shackled himself to.
---
To be continued...? Assuming I didn't do too terribly. hahahaa...