pandemonium - jegulus

chapter 1: 1

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A warm, bergamot-scented breath ghosts over his lips. "Ya'aburnee."

"Ya'aburnee," he repeats, no more than a whisper, tasting the vowels. "What does it mean?"

"You bury me."

Georgia, January, 2029

✧.* REGULUS
"Okay, okay, another one. Would you rather..." The sentence peters out, which is no surprise given how it is the umpteenth hypothetical Would You RatherRegulus is subjected to hearing today. In the past hour, he has already endured nearly fifty of them, swiftly and wittily exchanged between the Weasley twin brothers, who, at some unspoken moment, seem to have entered a silent contest to make each one as ridiculous as their boundless creativity could muster.

Just a couple of days ago, Barty and Evan had returned from their short scavenger run from an overrun gas station with a small supply of rations and a couple of magazines that had survived a year's worth of constant plundering. The twins had quickly claimed one, a particularly teen-friendly choice their mother had approved of, which turned out to have a page dedicated to hypothetical situations. However, they grew bored of the more palatable ones rather quickly, deciding that some along the lines of "Would you rather smell from your eyes or see from your nose?" were far too mild for their taste and so they branched out to—

"Would you rather bite off and eat your left thumb or right-hand pointer finger?" Fred conjures up on the spot. He breaks off a branch from a shrub to toss it against George's head.
Regulus knows God has been absent for quite some time, especially given their circumstances, but now, as he's forced to survive in this godforsaken world and be subjected to the twins' antics, that divine absence feels like a thumb firmly pressing into a sore spot.

"My left thumb," George replies after ducking, idly swinging the walking stick as they walk through the densely packed cluster of bushes and trees. "I mean, how can I shoot a gun without my right pointer finger?"

"You're not allowed to own a gun," Regulus reminds them.

"Yet," Fred wisely adds. "Not allowed to have a gun yet. Besides, mom never said anything about shooting a gun."

"Loopholes." George nods. "And seeing how there are no laws anymore, we rely on a strict finders keepers principle. Mom also never said anything about finding a gun."

"That's why you two climbed over the walls? To look for a gun?" Regulus asks, feeling a little bepuzzled.

"I don't know, Regulus," Fred drawls as he picks up the pace to walk alongside him, the beginnings of an impish smile tugging onto the corners of his mouth, "why did you leave unannounced at midnight? George?"

"Not sure, Fred," George joins in, taking stride by Regulus' other side. "Looks fishy to me, if you ask."

Regulus picks up the pace, which forces both twins into a brief jog if they wish to keep up. "I am taking the both of you back is what I'm doing."

George shrugs his shoulders. "Yes, you can do that, but you can also pretend none of this happened. You don't tell on us and we don't tell anyone we found you so far out the factory instead of, what was it you were supposed to be doing?"

"Checking the traps." Fred supplies in the same know-it-all gusto that's so characteristically them, curling his first two fingers like rabbit ears for good measure.

At that, Regulus comes to a sudden stop and turns around to face them. "Are you two trying to blackmail me?"

Both twins exchange a sideways glance, unfazed despite the hint of authority in Regulus' voice that has become second nature to him lately. Few would dare blackmail Regulus of all people—certainly not any of the thirty souls taking refuge in the factory they've turned into somewhat of a safe haven. But, of course, as it seems, most of the Weasleys are exceptions to the rule.
"You want to see a trick?" Fred asks in lieu of an answer, causing Regulus' brows to bunch up into a frown.