5 Second Fic
Beckett wanders down the halls of his newly purchased manor house. Every lord has a manor house. It is a fact. Even new lords have manor houses. So. He is wandering through the halls as tight as an owl, rather informally dressed, and taking swigs of a very fine cab sauv. He can hear Mr. Mercer before he reaches the study.
'That sound, Mr. Mercer, is obnoxious.' He declares as he pushes open the door. Mr. Mercer merely raises an eyebrow and stops writing. Beckett leers.
'Don't leer sir. It's not a good look for you.'
'Sush, you! I have a question.'
'Oh. Dear.'
'Question one, and you must answer truthfully, I shall know if you don't.'
'Quite.'
'Stop being an obnoxious twit.'
'No, sir. That's your job.'
'If I wasn't drunk I'd hit you. But I am. Which means I couldn't hit a broad side of a barn in broad day light. Now. Question.' The lord is slumped in a chair and pointing vigorously, if precariously, in Mercer's direction. 'What is your favourite colour?'
'Yellow.'
'Really?' Beckett seems unsure. Mr. Mercer just stares. 'Never mind! Next question. What is your favourite wine?'
'Merlot.'
'Excellent. I do declare. Last question. If about four hundred or so people were just massacred what would be your reaction?'
'Shame, that.'
Beckett laughs for a second. Then stops. 'Times when I remember that you're insane.'
'Yes, well, it happens to the best of us, sir.'
'Damnit, man.' Here Beckett pauses. 'I had a purpose to those inquiries. I forget it now.'
'Would sir care for some water?'
'No. Why would I?'
'You just drank an entire bottle of wine in the space of three quarters of an hour and you skipped dinner.'
Beckett scowls for a minute before nodding consent. He again thinks - if I wasn't drunk I'd hit him.
'Sir, I'd appreciate it if you would keep violent thoughts concerning my person to yourself. I don't want to have to hurt you.'
Beckett wants to reply wittily but the room is looking a little blurry so he stands, sort of, and tells Mr. Mercer he is off, don't worry about him, he'll be fiiiine.
'Mr. Mercer.'
'Sir?'
'Why am I in Kensington covered in blue paint and wearing my wife's wig?'
'Do you want the truth?'
'No. No. Probably not. And Mr Mercer.'
'Sir?'
'No one has to know, right?'
'Right, sir.'
----
And I'm officially done with being bored. Tralala.
'That sound, Mr. Mercer, is obnoxious.' He declares as he pushes open the door. Mr. Mercer merely raises an eyebrow and stops writing. Beckett leers.
'Don't leer sir. It's not a good look for you.'
'Sush, you! I have a question.'
'Oh. Dear.'
'Question one, and you must answer truthfully, I shall know if you don't.'
'Quite.'
'Stop being an obnoxious twit.'
'No, sir. That's your job.'
'If I wasn't drunk I'd hit you. But I am. Which means I couldn't hit a broad side of a barn in broad day light. Now. Question.' The lord is slumped in a chair and pointing vigorously, if precariously, in Mercer's direction. 'What is your favourite colour?'
'Yellow.'
'Really?' Beckett seems unsure. Mr. Mercer just stares. 'Never mind! Next question. What is your favourite wine?'
'Merlot.'
'Excellent. I do declare. Last question. If about four hundred or so people were just massacred what would be your reaction?'
'Shame, that.'
Beckett laughs for a second. Then stops. 'Times when I remember that you're insane.'
'Yes, well, it happens to the best of us, sir.'
'Damnit, man.' Here Beckett pauses. 'I had a purpose to those inquiries. I forget it now.'
'Would sir care for some water?'
'No. Why would I?'
'You just drank an entire bottle of wine in the space of three quarters of an hour and you skipped dinner.'
Beckett scowls for a minute before nodding consent. He again thinks - if I wasn't drunk I'd hit him.
'Sir, I'd appreciate it if you would keep violent thoughts concerning my person to yourself. I don't want to have to hurt you.'
Beckett wants to reply wittily but the room is looking a little blurry so he stands, sort of, and tells Mr. Mercer he is off, don't worry about him, he'll be fiiiine.
'Mr. Mercer.'
'Sir?'
'Why am I in Kensington covered in blue paint and wearing my wife's wig?'
'Do you want the truth?'
'No. No. Probably not. And Mr Mercer.'
'Sir?'
'No one has to know, right?'
'Right, sir.'
----
And I'm officially done with being bored. Tralala.