Yes, I am starting a new story before I have finished the previous one... A Good Party, 1/?
Title: A Good Party, 1/?
Summary: Some deleted scenes from Dennis’s stag weekend
Rating: This part’s only PG but overall let’s call it NC-17 to be on the safe side
Warnings: references to alcohol and drug-taking; anatomically canon!Naboo just in case that worries anybody although I’m pretty sure by now that it doesn’t
Length: about 2150 words
Spoilers: It was Saboo who organised the whole thing
Disclaimer: These are not my characters. I know them so well, but still I don’t own them and they’re not making me any money, they’re just making me happy. Especially when they are making each other happy too
Notes: Don’t ask me where this came from, I was just innocently re-watching the beach volleyball scene for research purposes and before I knew it I had yet another version of my favourite pairing on my hands. And yes, I know I have now written myself into a huge plot-hole regarding the events surrounding Naboo’s almost-execution. But Tony Harrison assures me there is a perfectly logical explanation for said plot-hole, so one of these days I’ll write myself out of it! Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy the party...
‘It’s been a good party.’
‘It’s been a good party.’
If one more pissed shaman says that to me tonight, I’m going to empty what’s left of my drink over his or her head.
I force a smile; wave Tony Harrison goodnight as Kirk carries him out of the bar.
Thank fuck, the others are finally heading off too. I thought I was going to have to stay up all night.
A heavy hand is laid on my shoulder.
‘It’s been a good party.’
I resist the urge. Dennis is the exception. It is, after all, his party.
‘Thank you,’ I say mildly, my coolness somewhat spoilt by the fact that I then hiccup so hard I have to hold on to the counter rail. I knew that last cocktail of Kirk’s wasn’t a good idea.
‘No, thank you,’ the D-man says earnestly, ‘you did all the work organizing, I just had to turn up. Couldn’t have asked for a better stag.’
‘It’s not over yet.’ I sigh. I’ve still got to survive a champagne breakfast tomorrow, a fishing trip and then a barbecue before we head home.
Right now I’m not sure the fishing trip was such a good idea, but still... there must be someone here who knows a decent magic hangover cure.
Dennis is looking thoughtfully out of the window, at the glittering wavelets on the moonlit sea. ‘Yes, a good party,’ he murmurs, ‘a good party...’
I get the feeling he’s lost the plot. A feeling one often gets when Dennis is in the room.
My heart sinks. The last thing I need now is for him to start on one of his rambling conversations that go precisely nowhere and take hours to get there. Not for the first time, I wonder whether his wife-to-be really knows what she’s letting herself in for.
‘Are you turning in now?’ I ask, hoping he’ll take the hint and go to bed.
‘Yes,’ he says absently, ‘bedtime... Listen, will you do me one more favour before you go?’
‘For you, D-man, anything.’
‘So nice to have someone reliable on the team.’ Dennis is still staring vaguely out of the window.
The silence lengthens; the sea whispers softly in the distance.
I drain my glass; set it down on the bar.
Dennis still says nothing.
‘So... what did you want me to do?’ I smother a yawn. ‘Everyone’s gone to bed happy. I could use some sleep before they all start drinking again.’
The Head Shaman sighs. ‘Not everyone.’
‘Sorry, Den, you’ve lost me there.’
He gestures at the deserted beach. ‘Not everyone.’
I join him at the window, and look where he is pointing.
A small figure is sitting forlornly on one of the abandoned sunbeds.
It’s my turn to sigh. ‘Little plum. What’s his problem?’
And why the fuck, I wonder, should it be my problem?
But I don’t say it. Dennis is the exception.
‘I don’t know, Saboo, I have absolutely no idea, but I do know that I’m too drunk to walk down the beach and find out, and what I’d like,’ Dennis says, more earnest than ever, ‘what I’d really like on my stag, is for everyone to go to bed happy. Or at the very least, not unhappy. Will you do that for me?’
My protest dies on my lips as he turns to me with that helpless, pleading look in his milky-blue eyes, the look I’ve never been able to resist, the look that’s led me to undertake all kinds of ridiculous shamanic tasks against my better judgement.
‘I’ll do my best,’ I say. ‘No promises, but -’
‘That’s all I ask.’ He’s smiling now. ‘Oh, here, meant to give this to you earlier.’
‘What is it?’ I take the small jar he’s holding out.
‘It’s from Methuselah’s new extreme skincare range. Extreme sun lotion. For extreme sunburn. I thought it might come in useful.’
‘Er, thank you.’ I stick it in the pocket of my kimono. ‘Goodnight, Dennis.’
‘Goodnight, Saboo. And good luck.’
I watch him weave across the bar and out of the door; wait a couple of minutes in case he falls over in the lobby, but there’s no crash or cry for help.
Can’t put it off any longer.
I grab the nearest full bottle from behind the bar and set off down the beach.
***
Without his usual voluminous robes, stripped down to just a pair of leaf-patterned beach shorts, Naboo looks smaller and weedier than ever.
‘Fuck off,’ he snarls, as soon as I sit down on the sunbed beside him.
‘No.’ I take the lid off the bottle and take a hefty swig. This is going to be challenging to say the least.
He doesn’t look round. I take another swig.
‘What’re you drinking?’
I peer at the label in the moonlight. ‘Bailey’s.’
‘Out of the bottle? That’s disgustin’... Give it here, then.’
I pass it over, careful not to touch him.
At least he’s not going to tell me it was a good party.
‘Where’s Bollo?’ he asks, after a while.
I take the bottle back. ‘Crashed out under the decks in a pool of ape-sweat. Sleeping like a baby. Well, like a baby gorilla, anyway. He’s not going to be much use to you tonight.’
‘Neither are you.’
‘Well, that’s nice.’ I hand him the drink again. ‘You’re welcome.’
‘You’re only here because Dennis sent you.’
‘True. He doesn’t trust you not to wander off and fall in the sea or something.’
‘I can’t swim.’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Nothing. Everything. I don’t know...’ He puts the bottle down; scrubs angrily at his eyes.
‘Are you crying?’
‘No.’ His shoulders heave.
I pass him my handkerchief. ‘Naboo, this is pathetic, even for you. Get a grip. You’re on an expenses-paid trip to your home planet, on an awesomely well-organized and superbly alcoholic stag weekend with all of your best friends - and me - and you’re wasting perfectly good drinking time by being miserable. What is your problem?’
He waves a hand at the pale sand, the whispering sea, the South Cliffs gleaming in the moonlight.
‘OK, so you don’t like my choice of venue. But is that really worth crying over?’
He blows his nose; scrunches the handkerchief into a ball. ‘I can’t be here,’ he whispers.
‘What are you drivelling on about, you tit? You are here... No, I don’t want that back.’
He tucks the hankie into the waistband of his shorts, and seems to shrink into himself, if that were possible.
I suppose I sounded a bit sharp.
My head’s pounding, and I can’t see how on earth to carry out the task Dennis has set me, and I hate to see a shaman cry. Even this one.
I reach out a hand and touch Naboo’s bare shoulder; he flinches away and cries out, burning hot skin brushing against my fingers.
‘You’ve fried yourself, you idiot.’
He catches his breath, and I try to soften my tone. ‘How did you manage that?’
‘Fell asleep,’ he mutters.
‘Not surprised, you’d had a turban full of tequila.’ I feel a bit guilty about that; it was my reminder of the stag rules that led to Naboo taking that particular punishment.
‘Where is my turban?’ Naboo looks round as though expecting it to just reappear.
‘No idea, I expect someone’ll hand it in, if it hasn’t floated away. I’m not about to go off looking for it at this time of night.’
‘Morning.’
‘Whatever. Listen, Dennis gave me something that might help you.’
He looks suspiciously at the jar in my hand. ‘What is it?’
‘Extreme sun lotion.’
‘For extreme sunburn?’
‘That’s what the big man said. There you go.’
He shakes his head and doesn’t take the cream from me. ‘Can’t.’
‘What, you allergic to it or something?’
‘No, I just - Oh, never mind, I’ll get Bollo to sort it when he wakes up. Cheers.’
‘I could...’ I say, hoping he’ll either refuse or simply not get it.
‘Fanks.’ He turns away, staring out to sea.
I sigh, and undo the lid of the jar.
The cream is cool and slippery and has a faint sweet smell like vanilla; I smear it tentatively over Naboo’s back and shoulders, trying to use just my fingertips and not rub too hard, although to judge by his sharply indrawn breaths I’m not succeeding any too well.
However, after I’ve been at work for a while the burning heat seems to grow less, and I can smooth my whole palm over his skin without him flinching. It seems Methuselah’s product is more than just window-dressing.
‘I’m not used to it,’ he says suddenly.
‘Not used to what? Having a personal slave put suncream on you?’
He shakes his head. ‘The sun. The suns... I’d forgotten how strong they are.’
‘Don’t suppose you’ve built up much resistance, out there on that mudball you live on.’
‘Chance’d be a fine thing.’ He sighs deeply. ‘Most of it hardly even ever gets warm. Fuckin’ useless planet.’
‘You chose it.’
‘Yeah, I know. Didn’t have much on, thought it would be as good as anythin’ else, bein’ the amulet-keeper, an’ it was OK for a bit but...’
‘If you’re looking for sympathy, you’re looking in the wrong place.’
‘’M not. Like anybody ever gets any sympathy from you about anythin’ anyway... I just... You did ask what my problem was. I get homesick sometimes, that’s all. Can’t come back here except for work, under the protection of the Board an’ all that ballcrap. An’ Earth winters are so cold... Ow.’
‘Stay still, for fuck’s sake. I’m trying not to hurt you.’
‘For once.’
I’m not sure whether he muttered that, or whether it was just in my head. I decide to ignore it. ‘You could move to the tropics.’
‘S’pose I could. But there’s the shop - ’
I snort. ‘And those two losers you supposedly employ to run it. Big deal.’
‘They’re my friends,’ he protests, ‘I can’t just leave them. They’re pretty much the only ones I’ve got.’
‘You’ve got us. The Board. We work hard, we play hard...’
‘Bullshit. None of you has ever really - ’
‘Oh, change the fucking record.’ I snatch my hand away; screw the lid of the suncream closed and shove the jar back in my pocket. ‘I really don’t want to listen to any more of your self-pity.’
‘Fine.’ He gets up; turns away, and wanders down the beach towards the pale line of the incoming tide.
He looks very small, and very unhappy.
And he can’t swim.
Fuck it. Dennis, you owe me one for this.
I haul myself to my feet, heave a sigh, and go after Naboo.
He’s standing ankle-deep, head bowed, watching the waves break.
They’re glowing: bright with the gleam and glitter of a myriad tiny noctilucent creatures swirling in the water, a rare event that has something to do with the conjunction of the two moons, though I’m not sure how it works exactly.
‘Phosphorescence,’ I say conversationally, as I step into the water beside him.
‘That’s easy for you to say,’ he lisps.
‘This is harder for me to say: I’m sorry.’
The waves come lapping in, clothing us with light.
He’s knee-deep before he looks round at me. ‘’Pology accepted. Can’t stay mad at anyfink on a night like this.’
A bigger wave breaks.
I hitch up my kimono; Naboo looks down at his wet shorts. ‘P’raps I shouldn’t stay in the sea, either. Did we finish the Baileys?’
‘I think there’s a bit left.’
‘I think we should finish it.’
‘Come on, then.’
The next wave makes my shorts wet, too, and nearly knocks Naboo off his feet; I grab him by the wrist just in time.
He grips my hand as the wave subsides; lets me lead him back up the beach to the sunbed.
We finish the bottle in silence, and sit looking at the stars for a while, picking out the familiar constellations.
The waves whisper in, closer and closer.
‘My feet’re cold,’ he says at length.
‘So are mine. Perhaps it’s time to call it a night.’
‘Yeah, maybe.’
To my surprise, he takes my hand again as we go back to the hotel. I suppose we are both a little unsteady on our feet.
Bollo is still snoring peacefully in the bar; we pull a rug over him and leave him to it. ‘Never wake a sleeping gorilla,’ Naboo whispers. ‘Howard taught me that, back at the zoo.’
The stairs are a challenge; the corridor seems to have got longer.
I stop at the door of my room, fumble the key into the lock. ‘You’re three doors down, think you can get that far?’
He doesn’t answer, just looks at me.
‘Well,’ I hear myself say, ‘we could... that is, if you...’
He gives the smallest of nods.
I open the door.
Summary: Some deleted scenes from Dennis’s stag weekend
Rating: This part’s only PG but overall let’s call it NC-17 to be on the safe side
Warnings: references to alcohol and drug-taking; anatomically canon!Naboo just in case that worries anybody although I’m pretty sure by now that it doesn’t
Length: about 2150 words
Spoilers: It was Saboo who organised the whole thing
Disclaimer: These are not my characters. I know them so well, but still I don’t own them and they’re not making me any money, they’re just making me happy. Especially when they are making each other happy too
Notes: Don’t ask me where this came from, I was just innocently re-watching the beach volleyball scene for research purposes and before I knew it I had yet another version of my favourite pairing on my hands. And yes, I know I have now written myself into a huge plot-hole regarding the events surrounding Naboo’s almost-execution. But Tony Harrison assures me there is a perfectly logical explanation for said plot-hole, so one of these days I’ll write myself out of it! Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy the party...
‘It’s been a good party.’
‘It’s been a good party.’
If one more pissed shaman says that to me tonight, I’m going to empty what’s left of my drink over his or her head.
I force a smile; wave Tony Harrison goodnight as Kirk carries him out of the bar.
Thank fuck, the others are finally heading off too. I thought I was going to have to stay up all night.
A heavy hand is laid on my shoulder.
‘It’s been a good party.’
I resist the urge. Dennis is the exception. It is, after all, his party.
‘Thank you,’ I say mildly, my coolness somewhat spoilt by the fact that I then hiccup so hard I have to hold on to the counter rail. I knew that last cocktail of Kirk’s wasn’t a good idea.
‘No, thank you,’ the D-man says earnestly, ‘you did all the work organizing, I just had to turn up. Couldn’t have asked for a better stag.’
‘It’s not over yet.’ I sigh. I’ve still got to survive a champagne breakfast tomorrow, a fishing trip and then a barbecue before we head home.
Right now I’m not sure the fishing trip was such a good idea, but still... there must be someone here who knows a decent magic hangover cure.
Dennis is looking thoughtfully out of the window, at the glittering wavelets on the moonlit sea. ‘Yes, a good party,’ he murmurs, ‘a good party...’
I get the feeling he’s lost the plot. A feeling one often gets when Dennis is in the room.
My heart sinks. The last thing I need now is for him to start on one of his rambling conversations that go precisely nowhere and take hours to get there. Not for the first time, I wonder whether his wife-to-be really knows what she’s letting herself in for.
‘Are you turning in now?’ I ask, hoping he’ll take the hint and go to bed.
‘Yes,’ he says absently, ‘bedtime... Listen, will you do me one more favour before you go?’
‘For you, D-man, anything.’
‘So nice to have someone reliable on the team.’ Dennis is still staring vaguely out of the window.
The silence lengthens; the sea whispers softly in the distance.
I drain my glass; set it down on the bar.
Dennis still says nothing.
‘So... what did you want me to do?’ I smother a yawn. ‘Everyone’s gone to bed happy. I could use some sleep before they all start drinking again.’
The Head Shaman sighs. ‘Not everyone.’
‘Sorry, Den, you’ve lost me there.’
He gestures at the deserted beach. ‘Not everyone.’
I join him at the window, and look where he is pointing.
A small figure is sitting forlornly on one of the abandoned sunbeds.
It’s my turn to sigh. ‘Little plum. What’s his problem?’
And why the fuck, I wonder, should it be my problem?
But I don’t say it. Dennis is the exception.
‘I don’t know, Saboo, I have absolutely no idea, but I do know that I’m too drunk to walk down the beach and find out, and what I’d like,’ Dennis says, more earnest than ever, ‘what I’d really like on my stag, is for everyone to go to bed happy. Or at the very least, not unhappy. Will you do that for me?’
My protest dies on my lips as he turns to me with that helpless, pleading look in his milky-blue eyes, the look I’ve never been able to resist, the look that’s led me to undertake all kinds of ridiculous shamanic tasks against my better judgement.
‘I’ll do my best,’ I say. ‘No promises, but -’
‘That’s all I ask.’ He’s smiling now. ‘Oh, here, meant to give this to you earlier.’
‘What is it?’ I take the small jar he’s holding out.
‘It’s from Methuselah’s new extreme skincare range. Extreme sun lotion. For extreme sunburn. I thought it might come in useful.’
‘Er, thank you.’ I stick it in the pocket of my kimono. ‘Goodnight, Dennis.’
‘Goodnight, Saboo. And good luck.’
I watch him weave across the bar and out of the door; wait a couple of minutes in case he falls over in the lobby, but there’s no crash or cry for help.
Can’t put it off any longer.
I grab the nearest full bottle from behind the bar and set off down the beach.
***
Without his usual voluminous robes, stripped down to just a pair of leaf-patterned beach shorts, Naboo looks smaller and weedier than ever.
‘Fuck off,’ he snarls, as soon as I sit down on the sunbed beside him.
‘No.’ I take the lid off the bottle and take a hefty swig. This is going to be challenging to say the least.
He doesn’t look round. I take another swig.
‘What’re you drinking?’
I peer at the label in the moonlight. ‘Bailey’s.’
‘Out of the bottle? That’s disgustin’... Give it here, then.’
I pass it over, careful not to touch him.
At least he’s not going to tell me it was a good party.
‘Where’s Bollo?’ he asks, after a while.
I take the bottle back. ‘Crashed out under the decks in a pool of ape-sweat. Sleeping like a baby. Well, like a baby gorilla, anyway. He’s not going to be much use to you tonight.’
‘Neither are you.’
‘Well, that’s nice.’ I hand him the drink again. ‘You’re welcome.’
‘You’re only here because Dennis sent you.’
‘True. He doesn’t trust you not to wander off and fall in the sea or something.’
‘I can’t swim.’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Nothing. Everything. I don’t know...’ He puts the bottle down; scrubs angrily at his eyes.
‘Are you crying?’
‘No.’ His shoulders heave.
I pass him my handkerchief. ‘Naboo, this is pathetic, even for you. Get a grip. You’re on an expenses-paid trip to your home planet, on an awesomely well-organized and superbly alcoholic stag weekend with all of your best friends - and me - and you’re wasting perfectly good drinking time by being miserable. What is your problem?’
He waves a hand at the pale sand, the whispering sea, the South Cliffs gleaming in the moonlight.
‘OK, so you don’t like my choice of venue. But is that really worth crying over?’
He blows his nose; scrunches the handkerchief into a ball. ‘I can’t be here,’ he whispers.
‘What are you drivelling on about, you tit? You are here... No, I don’t want that back.’
He tucks the hankie into the waistband of his shorts, and seems to shrink into himself, if that were possible.
I suppose I sounded a bit sharp.
My head’s pounding, and I can’t see how on earth to carry out the task Dennis has set me, and I hate to see a shaman cry. Even this one.
I reach out a hand and touch Naboo’s bare shoulder; he flinches away and cries out, burning hot skin brushing against my fingers.
‘You’ve fried yourself, you idiot.’
He catches his breath, and I try to soften my tone. ‘How did you manage that?’
‘Fell asleep,’ he mutters.
‘Not surprised, you’d had a turban full of tequila.’ I feel a bit guilty about that; it was my reminder of the stag rules that led to Naboo taking that particular punishment.
‘Where is my turban?’ Naboo looks round as though expecting it to just reappear.
‘No idea, I expect someone’ll hand it in, if it hasn’t floated away. I’m not about to go off looking for it at this time of night.’
‘Morning.’
‘Whatever. Listen, Dennis gave me something that might help you.’
He looks suspiciously at the jar in my hand. ‘What is it?’
‘Extreme sun lotion.’
‘For extreme sunburn?’
‘That’s what the big man said. There you go.’
He shakes his head and doesn’t take the cream from me. ‘Can’t.’
‘What, you allergic to it or something?’
‘No, I just - Oh, never mind, I’ll get Bollo to sort it when he wakes up. Cheers.’
‘I could...’ I say, hoping he’ll either refuse or simply not get it.
‘Fanks.’ He turns away, staring out to sea.
I sigh, and undo the lid of the jar.
The cream is cool and slippery and has a faint sweet smell like vanilla; I smear it tentatively over Naboo’s back and shoulders, trying to use just my fingertips and not rub too hard, although to judge by his sharply indrawn breaths I’m not succeeding any too well.
However, after I’ve been at work for a while the burning heat seems to grow less, and I can smooth my whole palm over his skin without him flinching. It seems Methuselah’s product is more than just window-dressing.
‘I’m not used to it,’ he says suddenly.
‘Not used to what? Having a personal slave put suncream on you?’
He shakes his head. ‘The sun. The suns... I’d forgotten how strong they are.’
‘Don’t suppose you’ve built up much resistance, out there on that mudball you live on.’
‘Chance’d be a fine thing.’ He sighs deeply. ‘Most of it hardly even ever gets warm. Fuckin’ useless planet.’
‘You chose it.’
‘Yeah, I know. Didn’t have much on, thought it would be as good as anythin’ else, bein’ the amulet-keeper, an’ it was OK for a bit but...’
‘If you’re looking for sympathy, you’re looking in the wrong place.’
‘’M not. Like anybody ever gets any sympathy from you about anythin’ anyway... I just... You did ask what my problem was. I get homesick sometimes, that’s all. Can’t come back here except for work, under the protection of the Board an’ all that ballcrap. An’ Earth winters are so cold... Ow.’
‘Stay still, for fuck’s sake. I’m trying not to hurt you.’
‘For once.’
I’m not sure whether he muttered that, or whether it was just in my head. I decide to ignore it. ‘You could move to the tropics.’
‘S’pose I could. But there’s the shop - ’
I snort. ‘And those two losers you supposedly employ to run it. Big deal.’
‘They’re my friends,’ he protests, ‘I can’t just leave them. They’re pretty much the only ones I’ve got.’
‘You’ve got us. The Board. We work hard, we play hard...’
‘Bullshit. None of you has ever really - ’
‘Oh, change the fucking record.’ I snatch my hand away; screw the lid of the suncream closed and shove the jar back in my pocket. ‘I really don’t want to listen to any more of your self-pity.’
‘Fine.’ He gets up; turns away, and wanders down the beach towards the pale line of the incoming tide.
He looks very small, and very unhappy.
And he can’t swim.
Fuck it. Dennis, you owe me one for this.
I haul myself to my feet, heave a sigh, and go after Naboo.
He’s standing ankle-deep, head bowed, watching the waves break.
They’re glowing: bright with the gleam and glitter of a myriad tiny noctilucent creatures swirling in the water, a rare event that has something to do with the conjunction of the two moons, though I’m not sure how it works exactly.
‘Phosphorescence,’ I say conversationally, as I step into the water beside him.
‘That’s easy for you to say,’ he lisps.
‘This is harder for me to say: I’m sorry.’
The waves come lapping in, clothing us with light.
He’s knee-deep before he looks round at me. ‘’Pology accepted. Can’t stay mad at anyfink on a night like this.’
A bigger wave breaks.
I hitch up my kimono; Naboo looks down at his wet shorts. ‘P’raps I shouldn’t stay in the sea, either. Did we finish the Baileys?’
‘I think there’s a bit left.’
‘I think we should finish it.’
‘Come on, then.’
The next wave makes my shorts wet, too, and nearly knocks Naboo off his feet; I grab him by the wrist just in time.
He grips my hand as the wave subsides; lets me lead him back up the beach to the sunbed.
We finish the bottle in silence, and sit looking at the stars for a while, picking out the familiar constellations.
The waves whisper in, closer and closer.
‘My feet’re cold,’ he says at length.
‘So are mine. Perhaps it’s time to call it a night.’
‘Yeah, maybe.’
To my surprise, he takes my hand again as we go back to the hotel. I suppose we are both a little unsteady on our feet.
Bollo is still snoring peacefully in the bar; we pull a rug over him and leave him to it. ‘Never wake a sleeping gorilla,’ Naboo whispers. ‘Howard taught me that, back at the zoo.’
The stairs are a challenge; the corridor seems to have got longer.
I stop at the door of my room, fumble the key into the lock. ‘You’re three doors down, think you can get that far?’
He doesn’t answer, just looks at me.
‘Well,’ I hear myself say, ‘we could... that is, if you...’
He gives the smallest of nods.
I open the door.