It is very odd... and I am so pleased that you like it, because I adore writing it in all its absurdity.
The boy with the glasses, Jeremy noticed, had a rather unpleasant-looking scar on his head. 'Good', he thought viciously. 'Little git, spying on me all the bloody time.' "Excuse me, but what the bloody hell are you doing behind those bushes? Conducting a threesome?" Hammond, having strolled over to check poor Harriet was not suffering too much at the hands of Darth Idiot, buried his face in his hands and thanked every known and unknown power in the universe that he'd managed to convince May to stay with the custard creams. "And speaking of threesomes..." said Clarkson, grinning at Richard. He thanked them again, profusely.
"Jeremy, could you please for once think about other people? There are five people and one dog who could very well be scarred for life by hearing you say such things."
Jeremy raised an eyebrow. "These three idiots are playing detective, and we are the possible criminals, so forgive me if I don't care what mental scars they develop from encounters with me."
The boy with the round glasses cleared his throat and shot Jeremy a glare with his worryingly green eyes. They were the sort of eyes hypnotists had, which was not a good thing at all. "We are not 'playing detective'. I happened to spot that, er, you happen to have a very nice purse, and Hermione would like to have it."
"This?" said Jeremy, holding out the glittery Superbabe purse he had mocked Harriet for in their first conversation.
Richard burst out laughing. "Jeremy, is that yours?"
Jeremy glared. "No, it's hers. I thought we might need money. Like money for a nice warm bed," he said, grinning a horrible horrible grin that showed all his teeth. Richard worried that he might say something along the lines of 'all the better to eat you with' next, but he didn't. And then Richard realised he had just been thinking of himself as Little Red Riding Hood, which was slightly worrying.
He decided to glare at Jeremy instead of focussing on thoughts of himself as a fairytale character. "But you kept it, didn't you, Clarkson, you didn't give it back; so you're a thief, as well as a fan of glittery girl-things. What's next, Clarkson? You 'borrowed' her eyeshadow because you thought she might need it to keep out the cold?"
"It's fine, er, keep it," said Harriet.
"But what if I sign it? Then you can show all your friends that the divine Jeremy Clarkson actually touched one of your things!"
"My friends aren't exactly fans of yours..." Harriet trailed off, looking suspiciously at the triumvirate of hedge-lurking loonies. Suddenly a Eureka-type expression flashed across her face. "You - my - Clarkson - my purse is the Horcrux!" she exclaimed.
Scarhead-boy exchanged glances with his friends. Frizzy-girl pulled out what appeared to be a stick of wood. "Obliv-"
However, before she could finish the sentence, a hand had been clapped over her mouth by Jeremy. "Before you start turning me into a frog, or whatever it is you're planning on doing, could one of you please explain what a Horcrux is? Because the only thing that comes to mind is 'hideous fashion mistake'."
Richard snorted. "You care about fashion!"
Jeremy snatched the stick from Frizzy-girl. "Higgledy-jiggledy-piggledy!" he cried, pointing it at Richard. Nothing happened. "This is broken," said Jeremy, handing it back to Frizzy-girl.
(Ahem. I may have a) insulted your Superbabe purse; b) presumed your friends dislike Clarkson; and c) made your Superbabe purse into a Horcrux. This is what happens when you write really weird things. Also, I am very sorry.)
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The boy with the glasses, Jeremy noticed, had a rather unpleasant-looking scar on his head. 'Good', he thought viciously. 'Little git, spying on me all the bloody time.' "Excuse me, but what the bloody hell are you doing behind those bushes? Conducting a threesome?" Hammond, having strolled over to check poor Harriet was not suffering too much at the hands of Darth Idiot, buried his face in his hands and thanked every known and unknown power in the universe that he'd managed to convince May to stay with the custard creams. "And speaking of threesomes..." said Clarkson, grinning at Richard. He thanked them again, profusely.
"Jeremy, could you please for once think about other people? There are five people and one dog who could very well be scarred for life by hearing you say such things."
Jeremy raised an eyebrow. "These three idiots are playing detective, and we are the possible criminals, so forgive me if I don't care what mental scars they develop from encounters with me."
The boy with the round glasses cleared his throat and shot Jeremy a glare with his worryingly green eyes. They were the sort of eyes hypnotists had, which was not a good thing at all. "We are not 'playing detective'. I happened to spot that, er, you happen to have a very nice purse, and Hermione would like to have it."
"This?" said Jeremy, holding out the glittery Superbabe purse he had mocked Harriet for in their first conversation.
Richard burst out laughing. "Jeremy, is that yours?"
Jeremy glared. "No, it's hers. I thought we might need money. Like money for a nice warm bed," he said, grinning a horrible horrible grin that showed all his teeth. Richard worried that he might say something along the lines of 'all the better to eat you with' next, but he didn't. And then Richard realised he had just been thinking of himself as Little Red Riding Hood, which was slightly worrying.
He decided to glare at Jeremy instead of focussing on thoughts of himself as a fairytale character. "But you kept it, didn't you, Clarkson, you didn't give it back; so you're a thief, as well as a fan of glittery girl-things. What's next, Clarkson? You 'borrowed' her eyeshadow because you thought she might need it to keep out the cold?"
"It's fine, er, keep it," said Harriet.
"But what if I sign it? Then you can show all your friends that the divine Jeremy Clarkson actually touched one of your things!"
"My friends aren't exactly fans of yours..." Harriet trailed off, looking suspiciously at the triumvirate of hedge-lurking loonies. Suddenly a Eureka-type expression flashed across her face. "You - my - Clarkson - my purse is the Horcrux!" she exclaimed.
Scarhead-boy exchanged glances with his friends. Frizzy-girl pulled out what appeared to be a stick of wood. "Obliv-"
However, before she could finish the sentence, a hand had been clapped over her mouth by Jeremy. "Before you start turning me into a frog, or whatever it is you're planning on doing, could one of you please explain what a Horcrux is? Because the only thing that comes to mind is 'hideous fashion mistake'."
Richard snorted. "You care about fashion!"
Jeremy snatched the stick from Frizzy-girl. "Higgledy-jiggledy-piggledy!" he cried, pointing it at Richard. Nothing happened. "This is broken," said Jeremy, handing it back to Frizzy-girl.
(Ahem. I may have a) insulted your Superbabe purse; b) presumed your friends dislike Clarkson; and c) made your Superbabe purse into a Horcrux. This is what happens when you write really weird things. Also, I am very sorry.)