Story time! Happy birthday, Hana!
Three times in a row. Honestly. You think they could have let us win one.
I'm not going to complain, though, because we've still got a five-game lead in the AL East. That stands for something. We're playing Baltimore at home tonight, and in one week we're playing them away. I'll be at one of the games, actually, so I'll let you know how that goes next week. It'll be my first time seeing the 2007 team in person, yay!
Oh, and
hanachan01 , I stayed up until two in the morning writing your story. I then slept a bit too late and I almost missed class, but I made it. Well, I didn't almost miss class - I had forty minutes. I was still a bit nervous, though.
I've made this post friends-only because I don't want someone I don't know just taking the story or something. You know how public domain and the internet tend to be...they're good chums by now.
So are Basil (Remington) and Dustin (Thatcher, not Pedroia), the two main characters of my novel and the subjects of this story. Hana persists in slashing them before the novel is finished and she refers to the pairing as 'Bustin,' which alternately disturbs and amuses me. (Her userinfo page even includes them as one of her favorite pairings under 'miscellaneous.')
Here we go, then. Enjoy!
(Note: For the unacquainted, Basil is normally an incredibly serious person and is in possession of one of the best deadpans in the world. This annoys Dustin, who isn't normally an incredibly serious person and has absolutely no deadpan whatsoever. In fact, he's got a tendency to laugh at pretty much everything, but he spends a lot of his time trying to crack Basil up because he knows it'll piss Basil off. It would probably help to know that Basil runs a bank despite being an aristocrat - his cousin has forced his family into dire financial straits, and so as a workaholic he has decided to fix the problem himself. Amazingly enough, he's the oldest son in his family and yet he has a job. At work, though, he refuses to be called by his title because 'aristocrats do not work,' so his co-workers refer to him as 'Mr. Remington.' Since Dustin met him for the first time as he was leaving work, he introduced himself to Dustin as 'Mr. Remington,' which Dustin has called him ever since. Other names of note are William Conrad, one of Basil's school friends from Eton, and Sir Norwood Linsay, Basil's chief financial rival. Basil and Dustin make fun of him when he's not around and even write a song in the second book about how Sir Norwood is actually a courtesan. I don't know why, but I do know that they're a bit tipsy when they do it.)
It was the quietest luncheon they’d had in a long time.
Neither of them had anything to talk about that day. They simply sat there in silence, occasionally looking up at one another but failing to sustain eye contact. Both of them had gone through remarkably uneventful weeks - Basil had been conducting the bank through rather peaceful financial waters for the time being, and Dustin had slaved away in various people’s homes in the morning and had played the piano at the Holloway Inn at night for Hal and Emma’s drunken patrons. Life had settled down for both of them again.
Basil decided to observe the other patrons of the restaurant. His years as Eton’s top satirist had taught him to take note of every little detail he could, presuming it was one he could turn around and transform into an amusing trait, an ability that had been serving him well in the world of high finance. He was considering starting to write again, however, and so he was retuning himself to looking at people in order to find humor value in them. Everyone in the restaurant seemed irritatingly normal to him that day, though, and he sighed and went back to his meal, glancing at Dustin briefly before continuing to eat. He had ordered for Dustin once again simply because the sweep-cum-pianist’s French was notoriously awful - Dustin had been known to order “or-devers” on more than one occasion - and he did not want to cause any confusion, or worse, embarrassment.
As soon as Basil looked down again, Dustin looked up, and they missed one another yet again. He, too, had a mind geared towards humor, and he was intent on using his, as well. He had a bit of a reputation with some of Basil’s friends due to his creation of a fictional word that, when its usage was timed properly, could consistently break Basil’s normally flawless deadpan, but now was definitely not the time to blurt out ‘guvmate’ in a restaurant. If no one else was there, then it would be fine - he would probably even wait until Basil was drinking in the hopes that the beverage would spurt from his nose. Now, though, it would be inappropriate. He picked up his glass of port - Basil had ordered the wine, as it was his favorite and he occasionally treated himself on Fridays - and swirled it around, staring at the small whirlpool forming in the middle with the childlike fascination he had for nearly everything remotely interesting to him. It was incredibly mesmerizing -
“What are you doing?”
Dustin snapped his head back up to find that the voice had come from another table and that the statement pertained to someone else altogether. Basil had looked up from his food, as well, a bit startled by the sudden noise which had risen above the low murmur of the other customers. Since neither of them was involved, they both lost interest quickly and went back to eating, still refusing to speak. Basil took out a small notebook a few seconds later, however, and quickly jotted something down in pencil. He got a good look at the speaker, then frowned and added to his notes. Dustin noticed, understood exactly what Basil was doing - people-watching - and nodded his approval.
Basil saw him and pointed at the book, made a scribbling motion with the pencil and gestured towards the speaker, and then showed Dustin what he had written. It was simple: voice too loud for restaurant; beyond decency.
Dustin stared at the ceiling, stroking his chin. Then he motioned towards the speaker’s companion, a young woman who was evidently not enjoying her time with him - this was clear in her face - and mimed writing in the book.
Basil shrugged. He jotted down one or two notes (daughter distressed; father most embarrassing) and then set his eyes on the waiter who appeared at the table at which his two subjects were currently seated.
“Excuse me, sir,” the waiter said to the older man, “but we request that you use a quieter tone of voice. It is upsetting our other patrons.”
“Patrons? These are customers,” the man rebutted loudly. His daughter cringed. “Patrons are people who support artists.”
Dustin looked at Basil briefly, as Basil was his quasi-patron when it came to his pianism, and smiled a bit. Basil nodded.
“Are you suggesting that our chef is not an artist, sir?” asked the waiter.
The man bristled. “No, not at all - the food is wonderful. Exquisite.”
“Then our customers are patrons, sir, for they are supporting the continued work of an artist.” And with that, the waiter marched cleanly away to serve some people a few tables away, but not before handing Basil his bill.
Basil instantly began writing, adding the phrase waiter with a sharp wit to his notebook. An idea had taken plant in his mind now, which meant that pretty soon he would be getting in touch with William Conrad and giving him something to illustrate. Dustin merely looked on, smiling and nodding, until Basil was done writing his notes, at which point he picked up the pencil himself and scrawled something in his ragged school handwriting on the page.
The man’s having loins.
He grinned and pushed the book back to Basil, who flipped it around to read it. The aristocrat raised his eyebrows and immediately dashed off a reply.
Whose?
Dustin let his eyes find the ceiling again, but this time it was because he knew if he made eye contact with Basil he would lose it immediately. He quickly looked down and answered.
Sir Norwood Linsay’s.
Basil hid a smile with his hand even though he had assumed that Sir Norwood’s name would come up eventually.
Is he enjoying it? was the message he sent back.
Dustin nodded and wrote Absolutely on the page, then handed it back to Basil, who wrote:
He must love the taste of the sauce.
Dustin read the final contribution to the book’s notes, then gave up and made eye contact with Basil. They both broke down immediately, attempting to keep themselves quiet lest they attract the attention of the waiter whom had played a part in their character study. It had been inevitable that it would come to such a point - in fact, both of them had been working towards it entirely on purpose with the intent of forcing the other one into laughing first, which had failed as soon as they had both checked to see how close they were to their breaking points and had found that they were both there. Conveniently, no one else in the restaurant seemed to notice that there were two full-grown men sniggering hysterically over their lunch, so they escaped what could have been a situation that would have been incredibly difficult to explain their way out of.
Oddly enough, it was Dustin who was able to speak first. He pointed at Basil and beamed with delight. “You larfed in public!”
Basil’s countenance shifted rapidly from sheer delight to shock, and from there immediately into an annoyed glower. “Shut up.”
“You really want me to? I tried it.” Dustin sipped at his port. “It only lasted so long, Mister Remington.”
Basil rolled his eyes, but said nothing.
“Oh, are we doin’ that again?” Dustin pretended to be offended.
Basil nodded, then immediately shook his head to indicate that he was being sarcastic.
Dustin cocked his head to one side. “I ain’t followin’, Mister Remington.”
Basil decided to speak again. “That was my intent.” He scanned the restaurant with his eyes before leaning in and lowering his voice. “Should we ask that man if he knows Sir Norwood and, if so, how intimately?”
Dustin had been drinking again, which inevitably meant that the port came out of his nose. At first he was stunned that Basil had stooped to playing dirty in a restaurant, but he then recalled that he had the ability to retaliate. “I’m willin’ to if you are, guvmate.”
Basil snorted in a very undignified manner and shot him a glare. “Again, shut up,” he choked out before breaking down again.
“Excuse me, gentlemen. Are you done here?”
They both saw the shadow of the waiter over their table. “Erm, yes, we are,” Basil replied, quickly paying the bill and handing the waiter a tip. “Thank you.” He stood up and hurriedly walked out of the restaurant, Dustin following him. “Did he just toss us out of the restaurant?”
Dustin shrugged. “I dunno…I mean, ‘e ‘anded us the bill an’ all, but we…well, yeah.”
Basil shook his head. “Never mind it. I don’t think I shall be returning there soon. That chef truly was not much of an artist anyhow.”
There was a brief pause, after which they both began laughing again and walked away from the restaurant for what was likely the last time, Basil with an arm around Dustin’s shoulders.
Nobody enjoyed their Fridays like they did.
EDIT: I have unlocked this post at
hanachan01's request so that she could, in her own words, "pimp it out."
I'm not going to complain, though, because we've still got a five-game lead in the AL East. That stands for something. We're playing Baltimore at home tonight, and in one week we're playing them away. I'll be at one of the games, actually, so I'll let you know how that goes next week. It'll be my first time seeing the 2007 team in person, yay!
Oh, and
hanachan01 , I stayed up until two in the morning writing your story. I then slept a bit too late and I almost missed class, but I made it. Well, I didn't almost miss class - I had forty minutes. I was still a bit nervous, though.
I've made this post friends-only because I don't want someone I don't know just taking the story or something. You know how public domain and the internet tend to be...they're good chums by now.
So are Basil (Remington) and Dustin (Thatcher, not Pedroia), the two main characters of my novel and the subjects of this story. Hana persists in slashing them before the novel is finished and she refers to the pairing as 'Bustin,' which alternately disturbs and amuses me. (Her userinfo page even includes them as one of her favorite pairings under 'miscellaneous.')
Here we go, then. Enjoy!
(Note: For the unacquainted, Basil is normally an incredibly serious person and is in possession of one of the best deadpans in the world. This annoys Dustin, who isn't normally an incredibly serious person and has absolutely no deadpan whatsoever. In fact, he's got a tendency to laugh at pretty much everything, but he spends a lot of his time trying to crack Basil up because he knows it'll piss Basil off. It would probably help to know that Basil runs a bank despite being an aristocrat - his cousin has forced his family into dire financial straits, and so as a workaholic he has decided to fix the problem himself. Amazingly enough, he's the oldest son in his family and yet he has a job. At work, though, he refuses to be called by his title because 'aristocrats do not work,' so his co-workers refer to him as 'Mr. Remington.' Since Dustin met him for the first time as he was leaving work, he introduced himself to Dustin as 'Mr. Remington,' which Dustin has called him ever since. Other names of note are William Conrad, one of Basil's school friends from Eton, and Sir Norwood Linsay, Basil's chief financial rival. Basil and Dustin make fun of him when he's not around and even write a song in the second book about how Sir Norwood is actually a courtesan. I don't know why, but I do know that they're a bit tipsy when they do it.)
It was the quietest luncheon they’d had in a long time.
Neither of them had anything to talk about that day. They simply sat there in silence, occasionally looking up at one another but failing to sustain eye contact. Both of them had gone through remarkably uneventful weeks - Basil had been conducting the bank through rather peaceful financial waters for the time being, and Dustin had slaved away in various people’s homes in the morning and had played the piano at the Holloway Inn at night for Hal and Emma’s drunken patrons. Life had settled down for both of them again.
Basil decided to observe the other patrons of the restaurant. His years as Eton’s top satirist had taught him to take note of every little detail he could, presuming it was one he could turn around and transform into an amusing trait, an ability that had been serving him well in the world of high finance. He was considering starting to write again, however, and so he was retuning himself to looking at people in order to find humor value in them. Everyone in the restaurant seemed irritatingly normal to him that day, though, and he sighed and went back to his meal, glancing at Dustin briefly before continuing to eat. He had ordered for Dustin once again simply because the sweep-cum-pianist’s French was notoriously awful - Dustin had been known to order “or-devers” on more than one occasion - and he did not want to cause any confusion, or worse, embarrassment.
As soon as Basil looked down again, Dustin looked up, and they missed one another yet again. He, too, had a mind geared towards humor, and he was intent on using his, as well. He had a bit of a reputation with some of Basil’s friends due to his creation of a fictional word that, when its usage was timed properly, could consistently break Basil’s normally flawless deadpan, but now was definitely not the time to blurt out ‘guvmate’ in a restaurant. If no one else was there, then it would be fine - he would probably even wait until Basil was drinking in the hopes that the beverage would spurt from his nose. Now, though, it would be inappropriate. He picked up his glass of port - Basil had ordered the wine, as it was his favorite and he occasionally treated himself on Fridays - and swirled it around, staring at the small whirlpool forming in the middle with the childlike fascination he had for nearly everything remotely interesting to him. It was incredibly mesmerizing -
“What are you doing?”
Dustin snapped his head back up to find that the voice had come from another table and that the statement pertained to someone else altogether. Basil had looked up from his food, as well, a bit startled by the sudden noise which had risen above the low murmur of the other customers. Since neither of them was involved, they both lost interest quickly and went back to eating, still refusing to speak. Basil took out a small notebook a few seconds later, however, and quickly jotted something down in pencil. He got a good look at the speaker, then frowned and added to his notes. Dustin noticed, understood exactly what Basil was doing - people-watching - and nodded his approval.
Basil saw him and pointed at the book, made a scribbling motion with the pencil and gestured towards the speaker, and then showed Dustin what he had written. It was simple: voice too loud for restaurant; beyond decency.
Dustin stared at the ceiling, stroking his chin. Then he motioned towards the speaker’s companion, a young woman who was evidently not enjoying her time with him - this was clear in her face - and mimed writing in the book.
Basil shrugged. He jotted down one or two notes (daughter distressed; father most embarrassing) and then set his eyes on the waiter who appeared at the table at which his two subjects were currently seated.
“Excuse me, sir,” the waiter said to the older man, “but we request that you use a quieter tone of voice. It is upsetting our other patrons.”
“Patrons? These are customers,” the man rebutted loudly. His daughter cringed. “Patrons are people who support artists.”
Dustin looked at Basil briefly, as Basil was his quasi-patron when it came to his pianism, and smiled a bit. Basil nodded.
“Are you suggesting that our chef is not an artist, sir?” asked the waiter.
The man bristled. “No, not at all - the food is wonderful. Exquisite.”
“Then our customers are patrons, sir, for they are supporting the continued work of an artist.” And with that, the waiter marched cleanly away to serve some people a few tables away, but not before handing Basil his bill.
Basil instantly began writing, adding the phrase waiter with a sharp wit to his notebook. An idea had taken plant in his mind now, which meant that pretty soon he would be getting in touch with William Conrad and giving him something to illustrate. Dustin merely looked on, smiling and nodding, until Basil was done writing his notes, at which point he picked up the pencil himself and scrawled something in his ragged school handwriting on the page.
The man’s having loins.
He grinned and pushed the book back to Basil, who flipped it around to read it. The aristocrat raised his eyebrows and immediately dashed off a reply.
Whose?
Dustin let his eyes find the ceiling again, but this time it was because he knew if he made eye contact with Basil he would lose it immediately. He quickly looked down and answered.
Sir Norwood Linsay’s.
Basil hid a smile with his hand even though he had assumed that Sir Norwood’s name would come up eventually.
Is he enjoying it? was the message he sent back.
Dustin nodded and wrote Absolutely on the page, then handed it back to Basil, who wrote:
He must love the taste of the sauce.
Dustin read the final contribution to the book’s notes, then gave up and made eye contact with Basil. They both broke down immediately, attempting to keep themselves quiet lest they attract the attention of the waiter whom had played a part in their character study. It had been inevitable that it would come to such a point - in fact, both of them had been working towards it entirely on purpose with the intent of forcing the other one into laughing first, which had failed as soon as they had both checked to see how close they were to their breaking points and had found that they were both there. Conveniently, no one else in the restaurant seemed to notice that there were two full-grown men sniggering hysterically over their lunch, so they escaped what could have been a situation that would have been incredibly difficult to explain their way out of.
Oddly enough, it was Dustin who was able to speak first. He pointed at Basil and beamed with delight. “You larfed in public!”
Basil’s countenance shifted rapidly from sheer delight to shock, and from there immediately into an annoyed glower. “Shut up.”
“You really want me to? I tried it.” Dustin sipped at his port. “It only lasted so long, Mister Remington.”
Basil rolled his eyes, but said nothing.
“Oh, are we doin’ that again?” Dustin pretended to be offended.
Basil nodded, then immediately shook his head to indicate that he was being sarcastic.
Dustin cocked his head to one side. “I ain’t followin’, Mister Remington.”
Basil decided to speak again. “That was my intent.” He scanned the restaurant with his eyes before leaning in and lowering his voice. “Should we ask that man if he knows Sir Norwood and, if so, how intimately?”
Dustin had been drinking again, which inevitably meant that the port came out of his nose. At first he was stunned that Basil had stooped to playing dirty in a restaurant, but he then recalled that he had the ability to retaliate. “I’m willin’ to if you are, guvmate.”
Basil snorted in a very undignified manner and shot him a glare. “Again, shut up,” he choked out before breaking down again.
“Excuse me, gentlemen. Are you done here?”
They both saw the shadow of the waiter over their table. “Erm, yes, we are,” Basil replied, quickly paying the bill and handing the waiter a tip. “Thank you.” He stood up and hurriedly walked out of the restaurant, Dustin following him. “Did he just toss us out of the restaurant?”
Dustin shrugged. “I dunno…I mean, ‘e ‘anded us the bill an’ all, but we…well, yeah.”
Basil shook his head. “Never mind it. I don’t think I shall be returning there soon. That chef truly was not much of an artist anyhow.”
There was a brief pause, after which they both began laughing again and walked away from the restaurant for what was likely the last time, Basil with an arm around Dustin’s shoulders.
Nobody enjoyed their Fridays like they did.
EDIT: I have unlocked this post at
hanachan01's request so that she could, in her own words, "pimp it out."