Categories > Original > Fantasy > MegaMistake
I wake up to increasingly worried messages from Pottermore, mostly him just asking if I’ve gotten the software, is my dream self awake, and seriously, where the Bloody F am I, why aren’t I answering?
[Fanfiction.net (FFN) messaged Pottermore (PM)!]
FFN: Okay, can we not do this over chat?
PM: FINALLY! Thought you’d died on me.
FFN: Oh, relax. I took a nap. No dream selves, by the way.
FFN: Up for starting a RMC?
PM: Blimey! We haven’t done that since we were into World of Warcraft!
FFN: Grade eight was awesome.
FFN: Yes or no?
PM: YES! Let me get my headset!
I shut down my chat program-judging on the state of the planet, I should probably keep it open-and reach for my headset, which is buried at the back of my computer desk.
RMS stands for Relay Message Chat. It’s common when using online role-playing games, such as when we both embraced the dork side and had an extremely successful account on World of Warcraft. I was an elf, and he was a gorilla or something.
I slid my headset over my ears just in time to hear the end of Pottermore’s sentence.
“-Ficwad’s gonna be on.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. FW’s on?” I ask, adjusting the mic so I’ll get heard.
“I’m already on, brah! Where the unicorn fuck’ve you been?” my cousin shouts.
I cringe. “Language.”
“Oh, bite me. I’m in the Medium. God, this game is such a pain in the ass! Can I quit?” Ficwad asks. “Yeah, sure. Pretty sure your jungle is dust and brimstone by now, but feel free,” PoMo responds. His english accent is as thick as ever. “Don’t be a-ARGH!-homophone!” my cousin shouts. I bite back a few giggles. Malapropisms are miracles.
“You okay?” I ask, hoping my sniggering won’t carry over the line.
“Fan-fucking-tastic! There’s monsters in the Medium, though.”
What? “Are you okay? Are you hurt?!” I shout, double clicking on the Server Player Software. If this game keeps going on, I’ll never see the sunlight again. I’ll turn into Gollum.
“Oh, ree-lax! Y’know how I won’t kill stuff?”
“Yes, I know of that, mostly from your refusal to eat bacon.”
“Well, I’ve changed!”
“That’s-”
“I only kill ugly things! And these monsters are hella ugly!”
“...Counterproductive.”
Pottermore clears his throat. “Not to interrupt the feelings jam, but seeing as we’ve got a meteor shower headed straight for my flat, and I’m not really in the mood to be buggered over by this, straight?” Pottermore snaps.
“Touchy,” I mutter. The software finally loads, and an apartment layout loads. “Yo, PoMo! This yours?” I ask, clicking on a lamp, dragging it off the table and waving it around. “Put that down!” Pottermore snaps, and he runs into the corner of my screen, trying to grab the lamp.
“Dude! I can see you!”
“What’re you doing?” Ficwad asks.
“He’s grabbed a sodding lamp and is waving it around like a Ghostbuster. FOR THE LAST TIME, PUT IT DOWN!” PoMo screeches, and I unclick, letting the lamp crash to the floor.
“How much time do you have on the countdown?” Ficwad asks.
“There’s a countdown?” I ask, answered by twin sighs of defeat. “Okay, there should be a dropdown menu on the side of your screen. Click on it, then drag the two machines into the main screen. It’s easy peasy,” Pottermore explains.
I do as he says, watching him stumble out of the way of falling drywall.
“Did I just break your ceiling?” I ask.
“Well, a little-”
“I am so sorry.”
There’s an explosion from Ficwad’s line. “Man, I fuckin’ love this thing! Y’know my One shot and Two shot rifles?” she asks, sounding excited.
“Yeah?” I respond, watching Pottermore scamper around the screen, turning on the machines, adding Onyx cylinder things to his sylladex, glancing out the window now and then for meteor progress. Buildings up the block are on fire, but he doesn’t seem to care.
“Well, I combined the rifles with other stuff, it’s so sick, the game’s got this feature, and I mixed them with some MCR posters, and the weapon’s called Headfirst for Headshots, and it shoots grenades and...”
I tune her out, making noise at the appropriate intervals. I click around Pottermore’s apartment, looking around.
“PoMo, buddy, this is your apartment?” I ask, with an aggravated sigh from FW for blowing her off.
“What’s it to you?” Pottermore asks, running a hand over his face, watching the thingy that spat out the cylinder spit out a flashing sphere with circles in it.
“Kill you to clean up once in a while?”
“Not funny.”
“Not to you. You don’t have a soul.”
Racing back to his room, Pottermore shouts, “STOP MAKING GINGER JOKES, RACIST TWAT!”
Scrolling some more around PM’s apartment, I ignore him snatching his beloved Harry Potter books off the shelf, eventually wandering into his mom’s room. “PoMo! YOUR MOM’S HOME!” I shout, seeing her asleep in bed.
“Whot? Oh, yeah, yeah, she had a bad day at work, came home. And, er, got wankered. So she’ll be out for a while.” With a few grunts, Pottermore throws the books at the sphere, which absorbs them, lengthening out. “What’s his sprite? Mine’s stupid and I kind of hate it.” Ficwad says, still sounding put out.
“Pottermore, why’s your mum so hot?” I ask. She does have a sort of attractive-older-lady thing going on. I bite my lip, and wait for PM to reply.
“YOU TAKE THAT BACK!” He screams at the ceiling, trying to find me.
“OMG, OMG FFN!” Ficwad shrieks, quite appropriately LMFAO-ing.
“That’s not funny! My mum isn’t fit!” PoMo wails.
“Whatever!” I shout, clicking onto a stuffed animal, swinging it around in a circle until my finger slips off the keypad. The stuffed animal goes flying through the air in an arc, quite beautiful, actually-
Pottermore’s sprite opens it’s eyes, name scrolling across my screen as Harry Pottersprite, and wait a minute-AHH! DUCK! DUCK! DUCK!
The stuffed animal hits poor, poor Pottersprite right in the face, and the sprite absorbs it.
“WHY ON EARTH DID YOU DO THAT?!” Pottermore demands, teeth gritted.
“AHH! I’M SO SORRY! HOW DO I UNDO!”
“You can’t! GOD, YOU BLEEDING IDIOT!”
I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do that! A new name scrolls across the screen, as ‘Harry Primatesprite.’
“Did he combine the sprite with Mr. Bubbles Monkey along with the Harry Potter stuff?” Ficwad asks.
“Yes...yes he did.”
Slamming down the Onyx cylinder onto an arm of the second machine, Pottermore growls into the headset. “I can take it from here. You’ve done enough.”
Well, that’s done. I screwed up his sprite. Fictionpress didn’t raise me as a failure, but that’s what I turned out to be. I watch the machine carve the cylinder into a rabbit and a cage. Pottermore carefully takes the rabbit from the shiny onyx cage, then proceeds to rip it’s head off.
I watch as Pottermore’s entire apartment building disappears in a flash of white light, then meteors pound into the empty lot.
[Fanfiction.net (FFN) messaged Pottermore (PM)!]
FFN: Okay, can we not do this over chat?
PM: FINALLY! Thought you’d died on me.
FFN: Oh, relax. I took a nap. No dream selves, by the way.
FFN: Up for starting a RMC?
PM: Blimey! We haven’t done that since we were into World of Warcraft!
FFN: Grade eight was awesome.
FFN: Yes or no?
PM: YES! Let me get my headset!
I shut down my chat program-judging on the state of the planet, I should probably keep it open-and reach for my headset, which is buried at the back of my computer desk.
RMS stands for Relay Message Chat. It’s common when using online role-playing games, such as when we both embraced the dork side and had an extremely successful account on World of Warcraft. I was an elf, and he was a gorilla or something.
I slid my headset over my ears just in time to hear the end of Pottermore’s sentence.
“-Ficwad’s gonna be on.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. FW’s on?” I ask, adjusting the mic so I’ll get heard.
“I’m already on, brah! Where the unicorn fuck’ve you been?” my cousin shouts.
I cringe. “Language.”
“Oh, bite me. I’m in the Medium. God, this game is such a pain in the ass! Can I quit?” Ficwad asks. “Yeah, sure. Pretty sure your jungle is dust and brimstone by now, but feel free,” PoMo responds. His english accent is as thick as ever. “Don’t be a-ARGH!-homophone!” my cousin shouts. I bite back a few giggles. Malapropisms are miracles.
“You okay?” I ask, hoping my sniggering won’t carry over the line.
“Fan-fucking-tastic! There’s monsters in the Medium, though.”
What? “Are you okay? Are you hurt?!” I shout, double clicking on the Server Player Software. If this game keeps going on, I’ll never see the sunlight again. I’ll turn into Gollum.
“Oh, ree-lax! Y’know how I won’t kill stuff?”
“Yes, I know of that, mostly from your refusal to eat bacon.”
“Well, I’ve changed!”
“That’s-”
“I only kill ugly things! And these monsters are hella ugly!”
“...Counterproductive.”
Pottermore clears his throat. “Not to interrupt the feelings jam, but seeing as we’ve got a meteor shower headed straight for my flat, and I’m not really in the mood to be buggered over by this, straight?” Pottermore snaps.
“Touchy,” I mutter. The software finally loads, and an apartment layout loads. “Yo, PoMo! This yours?” I ask, clicking on a lamp, dragging it off the table and waving it around. “Put that down!” Pottermore snaps, and he runs into the corner of my screen, trying to grab the lamp.
“Dude! I can see you!”
“What’re you doing?” Ficwad asks.
“He’s grabbed a sodding lamp and is waving it around like a Ghostbuster. FOR THE LAST TIME, PUT IT DOWN!” PoMo screeches, and I unclick, letting the lamp crash to the floor.
“How much time do you have on the countdown?” Ficwad asks.
“There’s a countdown?” I ask, answered by twin sighs of defeat. “Okay, there should be a dropdown menu on the side of your screen. Click on it, then drag the two machines into the main screen. It’s easy peasy,” Pottermore explains.
I do as he says, watching him stumble out of the way of falling drywall.
“Did I just break your ceiling?” I ask.
“Well, a little-”
“I am so sorry.”
There’s an explosion from Ficwad’s line. “Man, I fuckin’ love this thing! Y’know my One shot and Two shot rifles?” she asks, sounding excited.
“Yeah?” I respond, watching Pottermore scamper around the screen, turning on the machines, adding Onyx cylinder things to his sylladex, glancing out the window now and then for meteor progress. Buildings up the block are on fire, but he doesn’t seem to care.
“Well, I combined the rifles with other stuff, it’s so sick, the game’s got this feature, and I mixed them with some MCR posters, and the weapon’s called Headfirst for Headshots, and it shoots grenades and...”
I tune her out, making noise at the appropriate intervals. I click around Pottermore’s apartment, looking around.
“PoMo, buddy, this is your apartment?” I ask, with an aggravated sigh from FW for blowing her off.
“What’s it to you?” Pottermore asks, running a hand over his face, watching the thingy that spat out the cylinder spit out a flashing sphere with circles in it.
“Kill you to clean up once in a while?”
“Not funny.”
“Not to you. You don’t have a soul.”
Racing back to his room, Pottermore shouts, “STOP MAKING GINGER JOKES, RACIST TWAT!”
Scrolling some more around PM’s apartment, I ignore him snatching his beloved Harry Potter books off the shelf, eventually wandering into his mom’s room. “PoMo! YOUR MOM’S HOME!” I shout, seeing her asleep in bed.
“Whot? Oh, yeah, yeah, she had a bad day at work, came home. And, er, got wankered. So she’ll be out for a while.” With a few grunts, Pottermore throws the books at the sphere, which absorbs them, lengthening out. “What’s his sprite? Mine’s stupid and I kind of hate it.” Ficwad says, still sounding put out.
“Pottermore, why’s your mum so hot?” I ask. She does have a sort of attractive-older-lady thing going on. I bite my lip, and wait for PM to reply.
“YOU TAKE THAT BACK!” He screams at the ceiling, trying to find me.
“OMG, OMG FFN!” Ficwad shrieks, quite appropriately LMFAO-ing.
“That’s not funny! My mum isn’t fit!” PoMo wails.
“Whatever!” I shout, clicking onto a stuffed animal, swinging it around in a circle until my finger slips off the keypad. The stuffed animal goes flying through the air in an arc, quite beautiful, actually-
Pottermore’s sprite opens it’s eyes, name scrolling across my screen as Harry Pottersprite, and wait a minute-AHH! DUCK! DUCK! DUCK!
The stuffed animal hits poor, poor Pottersprite right in the face, and the sprite absorbs it.
“WHY ON EARTH DID YOU DO THAT?!” Pottermore demands, teeth gritted.
“AHH! I’M SO SORRY! HOW DO I UNDO!”
“You can’t! GOD, YOU BLEEDING IDIOT!”
I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do that! A new name scrolls across the screen, as ‘Harry Primatesprite.’
“Did he combine the sprite with Mr. Bubbles Monkey along with the Harry Potter stuff?” Ficwad asks.
“Yes...yes he did.”
Slamming down the Onyx cylinder onto an arm of the second machine, Pottermore growls into the headset. “I can take it from here. You’ve done enough.”
Well, that’s done. I screwed up his sprite. Fictionpress didn’t raise me as a failure, but that’s what I turned out to be. I watch the machine carve the cylinder into a rabbit and a cage. Pottermore carefully takes the rabbit from the shiny onyx cage, then proceeds to rip it’s head off.
I watch as Pottermore’s entire apartment building disappears in a flash of white light, then meteors pound into the empty lot.
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