Fic: Amber - Prologue (Trial) - Gerrard/Terry; Terry/Lampard
Title: Amber - Prologue (Trial)
Pairing: John Terry/Steven Gerrard; John Terry/Frank Lampard; supporting characters includes Jamie Carragher, Ashley Cole, Joe Cole, Rio Ferdinand, Wayne Bridge, and more.
Author: dieuepargne
Rating: R
Warning: AU
Disclaimer: It’s all just a reflection of creativity.
Summary: Amber is the colour of your energy.
A/N: It’s been such a long time since I wrote a fic, so apologies and so forth for anything that might not be too appealing, writing wise. This is a trial on a three to four part series, dedicated to
diskarte,
mightypretty, and
udontknoowme. I’d like to know what you think so I could either continue or dump it. :) Inspiration credits goes to 311 and their wonderful song, Amber.
Being Anguillan has got to be one of the most frustrating things on earth.
The first moment you step out onto the shore, toes digging deep into the sand, the salty breeze are knocking all your senses down, you were young enough to not understand. Steven could remember the first time he heard a palm tree sing to him, and he wasn’t crazy because each and every local would tell you the same thing. He’s doing what he does best in life, loving and living Anguilla.
‘Stevie,’ a voice, calling, or rather, shouting from a shed by the docks, harbouring everything from locally made wooden boats to travel to the minor islands and cays to privately owned yachts.
The golden haired twenty something watched towards the East, hiding his face from the sun with his right hand as he tries to gain twenty/twenty vision, squinting hard as his other hand reaches behind to the zipper of his wet suit, feet kicking his fins off. He pays no attention to the voice (who by now is rising into dangerous tones); continuing to watch the East before nodding to himself and scoffing, ‘Look whose come to visit.’
James heads out, frustrated that he wasn’t being heard, hands on his hips and he stares down at the younger man below on the shore, ‘Stop taking them via beach entry.’
Steven resisted paying attention, unzipping his wet suit and unhurriedly peeling it off his right shoulder as his attention remains anchored at the Easterly direction.
‘I swear to god, Stevie, they’re animals,’ James sighed, walking along the wooden planks of the docks before finally sitting down at the edge, feet kicking at the buoy underneath him, ‘They won’t stop messing with my head.’
James was still ignored, this time Steven is fully topless, wet suit down to his waist and he’s lugging a tank of oxygen towards the sand, making a coarse dragging noise. By then, James has had enough, ‘Are you fucking listening, Gerrard?’
‘Yeah,’ Steven negligently retorted, screwing the octopus away from the mouth of the tank.
‘Goddamnit, I’m serious,’ James, by this time, was whining and it wasn’t of him to sound like he’s in a little desperado moment, and especially not to Steven, but dealing with tourists has gotten into his head. There are different kinds of tourists, he admitted, but these brats he had to work with daily are beyond infuriating. And he knew the reason why.
Greedy businessmen are overtaking the island. Ever since tourism exploded on the island, the multi nationals are crowding in to try their luck, and it included a lot of spoiled hotel heirs who knew nothing but to spend money away building the biggest and most luxurious resorts - so obviously destroying the island’s natural habitat. But what do they know? They come in, strutting with their designer luggage wheeled behind them, shades as big as their heads covering their eyes, and uniformed white linen over their bodies, only to prove to themselves that money could indeed buy everything.
‘They come up with so many excuses on not carrying all the stuff there alone, and you know how pissy you can get when the BCDs are covered in bloody sand,’ James continued, hesitant to stop talking even when he knew Steven’s mind was completely on something else.
‘Jamie, do us a favour and ring Ash. His boy’s here.’ Steven mumbled, finally screwing close the valve of the tank and then blowing into the regulators, efficiently working his routine like he does that he could close his eyes doing it.
‘What for? That’s not Redknapp,’ James argued, eyes by now on the same direction as Stevie’s, a stunning yacht heading straight for the docks, the Union Jack flowing in wind on top of the sail of the boat, ‘Besides, Ash went off to Anguillita with some mates he’s been hiding from us in Martinique.’
‘And like the arse he is, he left you and me,’ Steven rolls his eyes, before grunting as he takes up both the oxygen tank and the BCD onto his shoulders, climbing his way up towards James, and a minute later he grunts again, putting the container down as he heaves a heavy breath. He turns towards James, ‘What do you mean it’s not him? Look at the boat.’
‘It’s not him; it’s that cousin of his, Frank Lampard.’
‘No shit,’ Steven almost snorted, still fumbling with the regulators to make sure they’re neatly put away before he takes a breath or two.
‘Yeah, apparently, he’s decided to call managing the one in London a fucking bore and head down here to cause trouble just like Redknapp did,’ James gave a hearty laughter at that, shaking his head, ‘When are they all going to learn that they have no talent whatsoever? You heard what he did in London.’
‘Got the hearsay, yeah.’ Steven shrugs, before walking towards the other man and sitting down beside him, looking over at the yacht that is by each passing second, closing in to park.
They both stayed quiet, breathing inaudibly as the arid wind hit against their face, eyes observing the new arrival as the crew started to crowd out and secure the boat. Minutes later, the first out of the boat draws closer towards the sunny outside; unfortunately for James, after betting ten dollars that he would be wearing white was far off from succeeding as he was sporting a blue polo shirt.
‘He’s a strange one,’ James remarks, a small judgmental laugh followed after.
The one in the blue polo peers around, and he wasn’t wearing any shades either; he looked uncomfortable, and kept looking back to see if something would come and attack him from behind. No Louis Vuitton wheeled behind him, just a black Hugo carry on held in his hands. He grabs a mobile from his pocket, looking like he’s checking texts as the two friends from across continues to judge and make a mockery of the newcomers.
Steven watches him while James maintained his ridiculing laughter. This is where the local boy watches the foreign lad, and though they’re English, British, or whatever that is, he knew they were something else than different, where a new word is needed. He was born and bred in Anguilla, just like James. He’s been to England once, when he was six and he remembered not liking it all that much - the weather, in particular. His parents stayed behind, and his grandparents took him back to Anguilla. Unfortunately, no discussion is needed there.
Another man followed the one in blue, but he looks far from alien, he’s too typical to miss. They’re not a rare breed and Steven didn’t need to look twice. Frank James Lampard, heir to the Lampard Hotels, cousin to the powerful Jamie Redknapp, newly declared owner of the most popular resort in the island, The Shore, and others around the Caribbean. After his father is destined to lay motionless on the hospital bed since two strokes, Jamie took over with open arms.
Steven continues to watch them while James gradually lost interest, this time deep in absent little talks that he considers important enough to discuss with his best mate. The one in blue looks lost, looking back at Frank Lampard as he seems to be complaining about something. Frank didn’t look interested on what he had to say, quickly brushing him off as some of the staff from the resort has come to approach him, practically almost kissing the ground he’s walking on. Steven heavily snorted at this.
He stood up slowly as his eyes never miss a moment from watching the one in blue who he feels strangely in tune to. His body had dried up under the hot sun and he’s starting to redden as he shakes it off, his stare aimed at something different for once in the last fifteen minutes. He stares at the clear sky, and then turns his back on James as he starts to walk away, ‘Forget them, let’s go to Shoal.’
NOTES - I don't know who dives or who doesn't or who has this so-called general knowledge, but a little glossary is fine, right? :)
BC/BCD: bouyancy compensator/buoyancy control device - that's the 'jacket' you use where the tank is secured to.
Beach entry: where divers enter the sea through the beach, usually, strapped to their BCD and tank/tanks, so it's a tad bit of an effort while trying to walk on your fins across the sand.
Regulator: where you breath the oxygen from when underwater, it's attached to the valve and the opening on top of the tank.
Octopus: basically, a secondary regulator for safety - but I just call all regulators along with their valves by this name. All the regulators, compression metre, and so forth look like an octopus, simply saying.