Bros and Flamingos
Who: Denny, Barney, Alan Shore.
What: Alan's ill-timed arrival.
When: Afternoon.
Where: The Balcony.
Rating: F for Flamingos
Status: Incomplete
Denny Crane was the happiest he'd been since before he could remember. For the first time in weeks, he was finally going to see his best friend and fellow flamingo, Alan Shore! Alan had phoned ten minutes ago and said he was on his way from the airport, to get the brandy ready, and to pull out a few cigars. No sweat; Denny Crane never ran out of the good things in life.
He looked in the cabinet for brandy: three bottles. Check. Cigars: three whole boxes. Check. Denny opened the doors to the balcony and pushed a second chair outside. He looked at his boxers, to make sure they were the ones with the bulls-eye on the rear, for a man's choice of boxers can determine the way a whole evening goes, and Denny wanted this evening to go very, very well.
However, once all the necessary preparations had been made, Alan still was nowhere to be found. Denny sat down. He shuffled his feet. No Alan. He picked up his cigar and twirled it between his fingers. No Alan. Denny Crane had been called many things, but patient was never one of them, and he just couldn't stand to wait alone for his friend.
He went over to the table and picked up his phone. He fiddled with the address book. Shirley? No, not since she hooked up with Sack. Donny? No, the number didn't work anymore, he just didn't know how to delete it. Karl Rove? Nope, he was either in prison or trying to avoid it. Barney Stinson? He was-- wait, why not Barney? He was even in town.
He dialed the number and waited anxiously for Barney to pick up.
What: Alan's ill-timed arrival.
When: Afternoon.
Where: The Balcony.
Rating: F for Flamingos
Status: Incomplete
Denny Crane was the happiest he'd been since before he could remember. For the first time in weeks, he was finally going to see his best friend and fellow flamingo, Alan Shore! Alan had phoned ten minutes ago and said he was on his way from the airport, to get the brandy ready, and to pull out a few cigars. No sweat; Denny Crane never ran out of the good things in life.
He looked in the cabinet for brandy: three bottles. Check. Cigars: three whole boxes. Check. Denny opened the doors to the balcony and pushed a second chair outside. He looked at his boxers, to make sure they were the ones with the bulls-eye on the rear, for a man's choice of boxers can determine the way a whole evening goes, and Denny wanted this evening to go very, very well.
However, once all the necessary preparations had been made, Alan still was nowhere to be found. Denny sat down. He shuffled his feet. No Alan. He picked up his cigar and twirled it between his fingers. No Alan. Denny Crane had been called many things, but patient was never one of them, and he just couldn't stand to wait alone for his friend.
He went over to the table and picked up his phone. He fiddled with the address book. Shirley? No, not since she hooked up with Sack. Donny? No, the number didn't work anymore, he just didn't know how to delete it. Karl Rove? Nope, he was either in prison or trying to avoid it. Barney Stinson? He was-- wait, why not Barney? He was even in town.
He dialed the number and waited anxiously for Barney to pick up.