Must be a day with a 'y' in it
Apr. 13th, 2022 11:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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120_minutenChallenge: Alternatives Universum: Polizei (vom 03.04.)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Charaktere: Oliver Wood, Bill & Charlie Weasley
Wörter: 1272
A/N: Wo![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
servena zu viel SVU guckt, habe ich zu viel Midsummer Murders geguckt, also biete ich: Oliver und Bill als englische Dorfpolizisten. Wieso auch nicht? :)
Schuld ist, natürlich, Servena. (Und ich bin dankbar, ich habe ewig nichts geschrieben.)
Oliver had been transferred to Puddlemere CID just over two weeks ago and so far he'd learnt that the city itself was as small and unassuming as its name made it sound. The surrounding villages, however, were charming, cozy and populated entirely by vaguely homophobic, blatantly racist pensioners with more money than good sense. In other words, Puddlemere CID was where careers went to die.
"Look alive, Wood!"
But then, of course, there was also his new boss, D.I. William Weasley. A local, maybe five years older than Oliver himself, tattooed, charming, devastatingly handsome and, worst of all, apparently an actually talented investigator.
If that didn't get you out of Puddlemere, nothing would.
Oliver would die surrounded by English pensioners demanding he retrieve their misplaced jewellery.
"Sergeant?"
"Sorry, sir. What did you say?"
Weasley raised one eyebrow. "Still not made peace with calling me Bill, hu? I'll wear you down eventually. – Until then we've got ourselves a murder in Piddleham Grove."
Oliver shook his head disbelievingly. "A murder, sir? What makes you so sure about that?"
"Accidental decapitations are less common than one may think. Especially because the head in question has not been found yet." Somehow, that statement was less disturbing than Weasley's joyous smile as he made it.
Oliver had to amend his initial impression of the villages around Puddlemere with one important addition: Everybody here was legally, certifiably insane. Starting with his boss, who enjoyed murder mysteries perhaps a tat too much, over Dr. Granger, the local coroner with an encyclopedic knowledge of forces necessary for decapitation, to the lovely Mrs. Figg who'd gone out searching for the body because one of her cats had dragged a finger home.
Oliver tapped his pen on the note pad. "So you found him here at around six, went back home and called the police, correct?"
Mrs. Figg nodded. "Exactly. – Poor Charles."
"You know the victim?"
"Oh, no, no, no! Charles is the woodward of Puddlemere Forest and the meadow belongs to that area. Naturally, my cats are not supposed to even come here, because of the birds, you see, and I do try to keep them inside but then little Edward must have snuck past me last night and now there's a body directly on a willow warbler nest… Charles is going to be heart-broken!"
"Okay... And where would I find this Charles?"
"In the woods, of course!" Mrs. Figg beamed but soon faltered under Oliver's incredulous stare. "He lives in Hollyhock Cottage, in the forest. Just down the road over there."
Oliver thought that 'road' was a big name for the dusty hiking trail leading into the forest but wisely refrained from saying so. Instead he thanked Mrs. Figg for her help and went off to find the Detective Inspector.
"Apparently, the crime scene belongs to a woodland conservation area and the local ranger lives in a cottage in the forest. I doubt anybody comes out here too often, so he might be our best bet for a witness or suspect," Oliver explained. "A certain Charles."
"Wonderful!" Weasley seemed genuinely excited by that prospect. "You go and talk to our local recluse, I'll oversee the search for the head."
"Sure." After all, what was one more lunatic on a fine Wednesday like this?
Both Mrs. Figg and D.I. Weasley had neglected to mention how far into the woods the trail actually went. Or that Hollyhock Cottage was little more than a wooden hut.
A wooden hut apparently inhabited by a stocky guy about Oliver's age with flaming red hair the same shade as Weasley's and, apparently, an aversion to wearing shirts while chopping wood. Oliver swallowed.
"Excuse me?"
The man turned around and lowered his axe only marginally. "Hu?"
"Detective Sergeant Oliver Wood, Puddlemere CID. Are you the forest ranger?"
The man raised an eyebrow. "You're Scottish," he drawled. "Bill didn't mention you being Scottish."
"Is that in any way relevant?"
The red-head shrugged. "Guess not. Just, sucks to be you to end up here of all places." He extended the hand currently not holding an axe. "Charlie."
His hand was large and callused and warm and Oliver tried not to imagine this hand roaming down his body – or swinging an axe to decapitate a man.
"Pleasure. Do you have a last name, Charlie?" Or a shirt? Oliver may not have been all that comfortable with English village policing but he was fairly sure that one should not get distracted by the freckles on one's suspect's muscular chest.
Charlie threw his head back and laughed. "Boy, you really are new here, aren't you? – Weasley. This shade of red around here?” He ran a hand through his hair. “It's a Weasley. Fancy a cuppa?"
Without waiting for Oliver's reply, which consisted of incoherent stammering, Charlie grabbed his shirt and went inside, leaving the axe on the little porch.
Oliver stealthily checked the blade for traces of blood and when he couldn't make out any, he followed the man into the cottage with less hesitation than his training demanded. It was probably something in the water.
Mercifully, Charlie was fully dressed now and fiddling with a kettle.
"Weasley?" Oliver repeated for lack of anything intelligent to say. In the dim light of the cottage, he could make out little family resemblance between his suspect and his boss: Where D.I. Weasley was tall and lanky, Charlie was short and broad but they had a similarly wide smile and open face.
"Yup, Bill's my brother. Guess he forgot to mention that. Of course, we all lose track occasionally with six siblings..." He put down two chipped mugs on the small kitchen table between them. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure, Sergeant Wood?"
"We're investigating a murder that took place in the meadow by Piddleham Grove."
"Hu."
"Yes, the victim has not been identified yet, but we're hoping that you have seen or heard something."
Charlie took a seat and gesticulated for Oliver to do the same. "Well, it's a large forest and I don't exactly seek out people, generally speaking…"
"Dr. Granger puts the time of death somewhere between ten and two last night."
Charlie pulled a face. "In that case, you may want to talk to Marcus Flint. He left here around that time."
Oliver jotted the name down. "And what was Mr. Flint's business here?"
Charlie's expression soured even more. "Me, I guess. We… Well. Marcus' father owns the pub in Upper Piddleham and occasionally we… hook up." He shrugged. "Not like there's much choice around here, you know?"
Oliver didn't know, because he hadn't even started looking, but he'd expected as much. "Well, I'll talk to Mr. Flint then. Anything else that could be helpful?"
He was on his way back down the forest trail when his phone rang, Bill Weasley’s name flashing on the screen.
"Sir?"
"You really need to stop calling me that. You still at my brother's?"
"No, he didn't have much to say."
"Yeah, Charlie would be more helpful if we were searching for a lizard, probably." D.I. Weasley chuckled like he hadn't just sent Oliver on a fool's errand. "Anyway, we have identified our victim and the murder weapon. The name is Marcus Flint and he was killed with–"
Oliver groaned. "Let me guess. With an axe?"
"Exactly! Do you want to guess a motive as well while you're at it?"
"How about a lover's quarrel?"
Weasley remained quiet for a second. "What are you saying, Wood?"
"We will need to bring in your brother for questioning, sir."
Fandom: Harry Potter
Charaktere: Oliver Wood, Bill & Charlie Weasley
Wörter: 1272
A/N: Wo
servena zu viel SVU guckt, habe ich zu viel Midsummer Murders geguckt, also biete ich: Oliver und Bill als englische Dorfpolizisten. Wieso auch nicht? :)Schuld ist, natürlich, Servena. (Und ich bin dankbar, ich habe ewig nichts geschrieben.)
Oliver had been transferred to Puddlemere CID just over two weeks ago and so far he'd learnt that the city itself was as small and unassuming as its name made it sound. The surrounding villages, however, were charming, cozy and populated entirely by vaguely homophobic, blatantly racist pensioners with more money than good sense. In other words, Puddlemere CID was where careers went to die.
"Look alive, Wood!"
But then, of course, there was also his new boss, D.I. William Weasley. A local, maybe five years older than Oliver himself, tattooed, charming, devastatingly handsome and, worst of all, apparently an actually talented investigator.
If that didn't get you out of Puddlemere, nothing would.
Oliver would die surrounded by English pensioners demanding he retrieve their misplaced jewellery.
"Sergeant?"
"Sorry, sir. What did you say?"
Weasley raised one eyebrow. "Still not made peace with calling me Bill, hu? I'll wear you down eventually. – Until then we've got ourselves a murder in Piddleham Grove."
Oliver shook his head disbelievingly. "A murder, sir? What makes you so sure about that?"
"Accidental decapitations are less common than one may think. Especially because the head in question has not been found yet." Somehow, that statement was less disturbing than Weasley's joyous smile as he made it.
Oliver had to amend his initial impression of the villages around Puddlemere with one important addition: Everybody here was legally, certifiably insane. Starting with his boss, who enjoyed murder mysteries perhaps a tat too much, over Dr. Granger, the local coroner with an encyclopedic knowledge of forces necessary for decapitation, to the lovely Mrs. Figg who'd gone out searching for the body because one of her cats had dragged a finger home.
Oliver tapped his pen on the note pad. "So you found him here at around six, went back home and called the police, correct?"
Mrs. Figg nodded. "Exactly. – Poor Charles."
"You know the victim?"
"Oh, no, no, no! Charles is the woodward of Puddlemere Forest and the meadow belongs to that area. Naturally, my cats are not supposed to even come here, because of the birds, you see, and I do try to keep them inside but then little Edward must have snuck past me last night and now there's a body directly on a willow warbler nest… Charles is going to be heart-broken!"
"Okay... And where would I find this Charles?"
"In the woods, of course!" Mrs. Figg beamed but soon faltered under Oliver's incredulous stare. "He lives in Hollyhock Cottage, in the forest. Just down the road over there."
Oliver thought that 'road' was a big name for the dusty hiking trail leading into the forest but wisely refrained from saying so. Instead he thanked Mrs. Figg for her help and went off to find the Detective Inspector.
"Apparently, the crime scene belongs to a woodland conservation area and the local ranger lives in a cottage in the forest. I doubt anybody comes out here too often, so he might be our best bet for a witness or suspect," Oliver explained. "A certain Charles."
"Wonderful!" Weasley seemed genuinely excited by that prospect. "You go and talk to our local recluse, I'll oversee the search for the head."
"Sure." After all, what was one more lunatic on a fine Wednesday like this?
Both Mrs. Figg and D.I. Weasley had neglected to mention how far into the woods the trail actually went. Or that Hollyhock Cottage was little more than a wooden hut.
A wooden hut apparently inhabited by a stocky guy about Oliver's age with flaming red hair the same shade as Weasley's and, apparently, an aversion to wearing shirts while chopping wood. Oliver swallowed.
"Excuse me?"
The man turned around and lowered his axe only marginally. "Hu?"
"Detective Sergeant Oliver Wood, Puddlemere CID. Are you the forest ranger?"
The man raised an eyebrow. "You're Scottish," he drawled. "Bill didn't mention you being Scottish."
"Is that in any way relevant?"
The red-head shrugged. "Guess not. Just, sucks to be you to end up here of all places." He extended the hand currently not holding an axe. "Charlie."
His hand was large and callused and warm and Oliver tried not to imagine this hand roaming down his body – or swinging an axe to decapitate a man.
"Pleasure. Do you have a last name, Charlie?" Or a shirt? Oliver may not have been all that comfortable with English village policing but he was fairly sure that one should not get distracted by the freckles on one's suspect's muscular chest.
Charlie threw his head back and laughed. "Boy, you really are new here, aren't you? – Weasley. This shade of red around here?” He ran a hand through his hair. “It's a Weasley. Fancy a cuppa?"
Without waiting for Oliver's reply, which consisted of incoherent stammering, Charlie grabbed his shirt and went inside, leaving the axe on the little porch.
Oliver stealthily checked the blade for traces of blood and when he couldn't make out any, he followed the man into the cottage with less hesitation than his training demanded. It was probably something in the water.
Mercifully, Charlie was fully dressed now and fiddling with a kettle.
"Weasley?" Oliver repeated for lack of anything intelligent to say. In the dim light of the cottage, he could make out little family resemblance between his suspect and his boss: Where D.I. Weasley was tall and lanky, Charlie was short and broad but they had a similarly wide smile and open face.
"Yup, Bill's my brother. Guess he forgot to mention that. Of course, we all lose track occasionally with six siblings..." He put down two chipped mugs on the small kitchen table between them. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure, Sergeant Wood?"
"We're investigating a murder that took place in the meadow by Piddleham Grove."
"Hu."
"Yes, the victim has not been identified yet, but we're hoping that you have seen or heard something."
Charlie took a seat and gesticulated for Oliver to do the same. "Well, it's a large forest and I don't exactly seek out people, generally speaking…"
"Dr. Granger puts the time of death somewhere between ten and two last night."
Charlie pulled a face. "In that case, you may want to talk to Marcus Flint. He left here around that time."
Oliver jotted the name down. "And what was Mr. Flint's business here?"
Charlie's expression soured even more. "Me, I guess. We… Well. Marcus' father owns the pub in Upper Piddleham and occasionally we… hook up." He shrugged. "Not like there's much choice around here, you know?"
Oliver didn't know, because he hadn't even started looking, but he'd expected as much. "Well, I'll talk to Mr. Flint then. Anything else that could be helpful?"
He was on his way back down the forest trail when his phone rang, Bill Weasley’s name flashing on the screen.
"Sir?"
"You really need to stop calling me that. You still at my brother's?"
"No, he didn't have much to say."
"Yeah, Charlie would be more helpful if we were searching for a lizard, probably." D.I. Weasley chuckled like he hadn't just sent Oliver on a fool's errand. "Anyway, we have identified our victim and the murder weapon. The name is Marcus Flint and he was killed with–"
Oliver groaned. "Let me guess. With an axe?"
"Exactly! Do you want to guess a motive as well while you're at it?"
"How about a lover's quarrel?"
Weasley remained quiet for a second. "What are you saying, Wood?"
"We will need to bring in your brother for questioning, sir."
no subject
Date: 2022-04-14 04:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-07-09 11:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-07-12 05:45 pm (UTC)I know that feeling! =D
Vielen, vielen Dank für deinen lieben Kommentar! Ja, bitte nutz den Inspirations-Tag! :)
Wenn es dich motiviert: Du hast mich grade daran erinnert, dass ich da ne halbgare Idee für den nächsten Teil habe. =D