(no subject)
So I wrote Special Hell.
It was "inspired" by a later part of this AIM conversation with swmbo. I need to stop throwing around words like "Billy" and "Orlando." They're too dangerous.
Table for Two
"Orlando?"
Billy's voice wormed its way into his brain, disrupting the drunken blur he had going. "Yeah."
"How many left?"
"Bottles? Or people?"
"Bottles."
He tried to lift his head to check, but the room spun around him, so he let it drop back onto the sofa. "Don't know. Two or three, maybe."
"Can't you count 'em?"
"Does that mean I have to open my eyes again?"
"..."
"Billy?"
"Mrmph."
"Billy? You okay, mate?"
"Um ..."
Something in Billy's voice -- and the fact that it sounded muffled and from the general direction of the front hall -- conquered Orlando's drunken inertia. Half-sliding, half-falling, he dragged his liquefied body off the sofa and, after an indeterminate time spent contemplating his knees, managed to make his legs work again. Thank God for walls. They kept a man upright.
He lurched out into the hall and found Billy. Or rather, Billy's legs. The rest of Billy was hidden under a pile of laundry, which was, in turn, under the hall table. "Billy?"
"Is everyone gone?"
Orlando couldn't imagine a more forlorn voice. Billy-under-the-laundry sounded like someone had just killed all of the puppies he had ever owned. At once.
It was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.
The next time he got this drunk, he might have to rethink the whole doubling over with laughter part, because it wasn't so much "doubling over" as "losing balance and pitching head-first onto the floor." Worse, his collapse prompted a rash of quivering giggles from the pile of laundry -- which only made him laugh harder.
"Wanker," the pile of laundry said, after Orlando calmed down a bit.
Orlando pressed his face against the tile, relishing the floor's coolness against his cheek. "Speak for yourself," he said. "I'm not the one buried under a pile of laundry."
Billy's foot flailed halfheartedly and connected with Orlando's shin.
"Ow!"
"No way that hurt, elf-boy."
Orlando thought about it for a second. "Okay, maybe you're..." He trailed off as he rolled over to look at Billy, who was still hidden beneath the clothes. "Why are you under there, anyway?"
"Dom."
"Dom?" Orlando waited for further explanation, but none appeared to be forthcoming. "Huh. Wanker."
"Wanker," the laundry agreed. "Where did he go, anyway?"
"Viggo took him home. Dom has an early call."
The pile of laundry did not appear to find this at all satisfactory, for it gave a great lurch and released a glassy-eyed Billy from its clutches. "I have an early call."
Orlando nodded slowly and struggled to sit up, but the floor was smooth and inviting and difficult to leave. He settled for propping himself up against the wall. "We should do something, you know. Get back at him."
"We should." Billy began the slow process of extricating himself from laundry and furniture, but ended up sprawled on the floor instead. "Christ, I'm pissed."
Orlando nodded again, finding the motion soothing. "I think that's the last time we let Dom decide that fourteen bottles of wine is a good number for an evening."
"We really had that much?"
"We started with seventeen. I think there are two or three left."
"Jesus."
"Yeah," Orlando said, his eyes drifting closed. The rest of his body soon gave in to gravity's insistent tug, and he stretched out parallel to the wall, rejoicing in his return to the sweet, cool tile on the floor. Or he would have rejoiced in it, had he not found his descent blocked by something vaguely squishy. Reaching up behind his head, he quickly identified the obstruction: an unopened, economy-size package of toilet roll.
"Billy?"
"Yeah?"
"Why do you have so much toilet roll sitting in your hall?"
"It was on sale."
Orlando frowned. "But why do you have any toilet roll sitting in your hall?"
"Hadn't gotten around to putting it away yet."
"Oh." He pondered this for a moment. Then, the germ of an idea: "You know ... Viggo took Dom home."
"You just told me that, you git."
"But Dom drove over here tonight." Orlando attempted to sit up again, more successfully this time.
Billy opened one eye and glared at him from his position on the floor. "So Dom's car is still here. Your point?"
Orlando felt what might well be an evil smile creeping across his face. "That Dom's car is still here." Billy's one eye still glared at him, so Orlando continued patiently. "And this is a lot of toilet roll."
Realization hit, and Billy opened both eyes and grinned. "A lot of toilet roll."
***
Thanks to circe_tigana for introducing me to the crazy world of Special Hell in the first place; to swmbo (and Mombo!) for providing fodder for my crazed imagination; and to snarkhunter for insta!beta that got me on the right track. Any remaining mistakes are entirely my fault.
...and now I have to find something in which to wrap Mama Bear's bday present, as I am meeting the parental units in a couple of hours for FREE FOOD. (Well, they're going to pay for it. But I'm not! I kind of love how "my mom's birthday" translates into "nice, free dinner out for Kyl." For the next couple of years, anyway. Until I have, y'know, actual income.) ::hugs everyone::
It was "inspired" by a later part of this AIM conversation with swmbo. I need to stop throwing around words like "Billy" and "Orlando." They're too dangerous.
Table for Two
"Orlando?"
Billy's voice wormed its way into his brain, disrupting the drunken blur he had going. "Yeah."
"How many left?"
"Bottles? Or people?"
"Bottles."
He tried to lift his head to check, but the room spun around him, so he let it drop back onto the sofa. "Don't know. Two or three, maybe."
"Can't you count 'em?"
"Does that mean I have to open my eyes again?"
"..."
"Billy?"
"Mrmph."
"Billy? You okay, mate?"
"Um ..."
Something in Billy's voice -- and the fact that it sounded muffled and from the general direction of the front hall -- conquered Orlando's drunken inertia. Half-sliding, half-falling, he dragged his liquefied body off the sofa and, after an indeterminate time spent contemplating his knees, managed to make his legs work again. Thank God for walls. They kept a man upright.
He lurched out into the hall and found Billy. Or rather, Billy's legs. The rest of Billy was hidden under a pile of laundry, which was, in turn, under the hall table. "Billy?"
"Is everyone gone?"
Orlando couldn't imagine a more forlorn voice. Billy-under-the-laundry sounded like someone had just killed all of the puppies he had ever owned. At once.
It was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.
The next time he got this drunk, he might have to rethink the whole doubling over with laughter part, because it wasn't so much "doubling over" as "losing balance and pitching head-first onto the floor." Worse, his collapse prompted a rash of quivering giggles from the pile of laundry -- which only made him laugh harder.
"Wanker," the pile of laundry said, after Orlando calmed down a bit.
Orlando pressed his face against the tile, relishing the floor's coolness against his cheek. "Speak for yourself," he said. "I'm not the one buried under a pile of laundry."
Billy's foot flailed halfheartedly and connected with Orlando's shin.
"Ow!"
"No way that hurt, elf-boy."
Orlando thought about it for a second. "Okay, maybe you're..." He trailed off as he rolled over to look at Billy, who was still hidden beneath the clothes. "Why are you under there, anyway?"
"Dom."
"Dom?" Orlando waited for further explanation, but none appeared to be forthcoming. "Huh. Wanker."
"Wanker," the laundry agreed. "Where did he go, anyway?"
"Viggo took him home. Dom has an early call."
The pile of laundry did not appear to find this at all satisfactory, for it gave a great lurch and released a glassy-eyed Billy from its clutches. "I have an early call."
Orlando nodded slowly and struggled to sit up, but the floor was smooth and inviting and difficult to leave. He settled for propping himself up against the wall. "We should do something, you know. Get back at him."
"We should." Billy began the slow process of extricating himself from laundry and furniture, but ended up sprawled on the floor instead. "Christ, I'm pissed."
Orlando nodded again, finding the motion soothing. "I think that's the last time we let Dom decide that fourteen bottles of wine is a good number for an evening."
"We really had that much?"
"We started with seventeen. I think there are two or three left."
"Jesus."
"Yeah," Orlando said, his eyes drifting closed. The rest of his body soon gave in to gravity's insistent tug, and he stretched out parallel to the wall, rejoicing in his return to the sweet, cool tile on the floor. Or he would have rejoiced in it, had he not found his descent blocked by something vaguely squishy. Reaching up behind his head, he quickly identified the obstruction: an unopened, economy-size package of toilet roll.
"Billy?"
"Yeah?"
"Why do you have so much toilet roll sitting in your hall?"
"It was on sale."
Orlando frowned. "But why do you have any toilet roll sitting in your hall?"
"Hadn't gotten around to putting it away yet."
"Oh." He pondered this for a moment. Then, the germ of an idea: "You know ... Viggo took Dom home."
"You just told me that, you git."
"But Dom drove over here tonight." Orlando attempted to sit up again, more successfully this time.
Billy opened one eye and glared at him from his position on the floor. "So Dom's car is still here. Your point?"
Orlando felt what might well be an evil smile creeping across his face. "That Dom's car is still here." Billy's one eye still glared at him, so Orlando continued patiently. "And this is a lot of toilet roll."
Realization hit, and Billy opened both eyes and grinned. "A lot of toilet roll."
***
Thanks to circe_tigana for introducing me to the crazy world of Special Hell in the first place; to swmbo (and Mombo!) for providing fodder for my crazed imagination; and to snarkhunter for insta!beta that got me on the right track. Any remaining mistakes are entirely my fault.
...and now I have to find something in which to wrap Mama Bear's bday present, as I am meeting the parental units in a couple of hours for FREE FOOD. (Well, they're going to pay for it. But I'm not! I kind of love how "my mom's birthday" translates into "nice, free dinner out for Kyl." For the next couple of years, anyway. Until I have, y'know, actual income.) ::hugs everyone::