let's get the seven lines. (bookshop) wrote,
let's get the seven lines.
bookshop

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Have now locked poll from yesterday. Favorite answers from among all you lovely respondants:

sixwhitelies: Harry -- That's just the way it is. And damn it all, Draco wasn't staring at Potter's arse, or his insufferable fringe that despite its length doesn't at all obscure those green eyes from the golden, shiny Snitch...in Potter's left hand. Damnit.

galilei: Harry -- The snitch just gently fluttered over and rested by his elbow. It is true love.

marrtexx: Draco - His underpants give him that extra edge.

zorac: Harry -- Because Draco sucks. No, not like that - get your mind out of the gutter!

mercuryfalling: Draco - The sun bouncing off his hair blinded Harry at the crucial Snitch-grabbing moment.

unravels: Draco -- Because now Draco gets a Firebolt, too, dammit. There can be none of this Harry catching up with him from ACROSS THE PITCH while Draco is already in the dive as in PoA, just because he has better equipment. Grr.

nannyo: Harry -- Because he could fly just that little bit faster...and Draco's sexiness causes drag and a reduction in air speed.

Hee.

disportraited asked me why I made that poll. The answer is that a friend and I have doing a kind of roleplay-by-email for a month or so now, which completely broke down for a bit because we both refused to lose the Quidditch match, haha. Since neither of us trusted the other one to flip a coin, we agreed to settle the matter via way of LJ poll.

Let's face it, Draco never had a fighting chance. :D

Perhaps instead, friend remarked, I should have asked "heads or tails?"


In other news, there have been cicadas everywhere for the last 2 weeks. Everywhere. ALL over the parking lots and sidewalks and in the trees. It's rained a lot and after every rain millions of cicadas are washed away, sadly, and it hasn't exactly been pretty--but it has been memorable. I was walking along this morning wondering why I don't remember this phenomenon happening during any of my previous summers in this town, when it hit me-- that's because it hasn't. These are the cyclical cicadas. You know, the locusts whose eggs hatch once every seven, or once every thirteen, years. Once I realised that, the phenomenon of having to watch where I stepped began to seem a lot less icky and a lot more wondrous. And I wonder:

Where will I be when these cicadas hatch again?
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