Fic -- A Mighty Need
Title: A Mighty Need
Rating: G
Word Count: 520
Characters: Roscoe Dillon and Hartley Rathaway
Warnings: None.
Notes: Silly little ficlet set in an old RPverse. Inspired by the prompt: "Imagine your favorite character always getting their name spelled wrong at Starbucks, no matter how simple a name it is".
“They’re not going to spell it wrong this time!” Hartley insisted with desperate faith, and Roscoe looked grim as they strode up to the local Starbucks.
“They will. They always do. And this time there will be blood.”
“I really really hope that’s a figure of speech….” Hartley sighed. With Roscoe you never could tell, and his facial expressions alone had been known to terrify the unfortunates who’d gotten on his bad side.
“I want a coffee,” Roscoe said bluntly when he reached the head of the line, and before the employee could ask him if wanted a venti or a dark roast, he reiterated “Give me a coffee. Please,” with a fierce scowl.
“Right away, sir,” the worker squeaked. "And what name should I put on the cup?“
"Roscoe. Ros-coe,” he replied impatiently, just waiting for the mistake. The employee scribbled something on the cup, but try as he might, Roscoe couldn’t see what it was. He snorted and waited for the young man to return with whatever he’d get.
“Ever thought that maybe you should cut back on the coffee?” Hartley suggested, and Roscoe silently gave him a look which indicated that perhaps they should have this discussion another time. Hartley made a mental note to keep more decaf in the office and let the matter drop.
“Here you go, sir!” the employee said with a slight quaver in his voice as he handed over a frothy hazelnut brew. Roscoe didn’t care about the coffee at all, and his eyes immediately went to the name written on the cup: R-O-S-S-C-O-E.
“This is spelled wrong,” he said with quiet menace, and Hartley facepalmed. There was going to be a scene.
Roscoe reached into his pocket and Hartley hissed “if you pull out a top, so help me..!”, but instead he brought out a business card.
“This is how you spell it. Next time, I’ll give you the card with my order so you can get it right,” he instructed with surprising calmness.
“Yes sir. Sorry sir,” the employee replied in embarrassment, but seemed relieved that there was no yelling or threats to get him fired.
“Thank you,” Roscoe said primly, in a tone that many saw as supercilious but Hartley knew to be his way of expressing politeness.
“That went surprisingly well,” Hartley said with some confusion as they walked back to work, and Roscoe grinned.
“They did spell it wrong, so I was correct. Like always.”
“I thought you were mad about that!”
“I am. But I can hardly demolish the place these days, now can I? I’ve got a legitimate job and I pay taxes, and need to get my coffee somewhere…even if it does taste like swill.”
“Right…” Hartley replied. "Listen, you go ahead and get back to the office. I just remembered I have to pick up some bread for James at the bakery.“
"Of course,” Roscoe said with a raised eyebrow, and kept walking. Hartley dashed back in the direction of the Starbucks, and once inside he pulled out his trusted device used for detecting traces of explosives. One could never be too sure.
Rating: G
Word Count: 520
Characters: Roscoe Dillon and Hartley Rathaway
Warnings: None.
Notes: Silly little ficlet set in an old RPverse. Inspired by the prompt: "Imagine your favorite character always getting their name spelled wrong at Starbucks, no matter how simple a name it is".
“They’re not going to spell it wrong this time!” Hartley insisted with desperate faith, and Roscoe looked grim as they strode up to the local Starbucks.
“They will. They always do. And this time there will be blood.”
“I really really hope that’s a figure of speech….” Hartley sighed. With Roscoe you never could tell, and his facial expressions alone had been known to terrify the unfortunates who’d gotten on his bad side.
“I want a coffee,” Roscoe said bluntly when he reached the head of the line, and before the employee could ask him if wanted a venti or a dark roast, he reiterated “Give me a coffee. Please,” with a fierce scowl.
“Right away, sir,” the worker squeaked. "And what name should I put on the cup?“
"Roscoe. Ros-coe,” he replied impatiently, just waiting for the mistake. The employee scribbled something on the cup, but try as he might, Roscoe couldn’t see what it was. He snorted and waited for the young man to return with whatever he’d get.
“Ever thought that maybe you should cut back on the coffee?” Hartley suggested, and Roscoe silently gave him a look which indicated that perhaps they should have this discussion another time. Hartley made a mental note to keep more decaf in the office and let the matter drop.
“Here you go, sir!” the employee said with a slight quaver in his voice as he handed over a frothy hazelnut brew. Roscoe didn’t care about the coffee at all, and his eyes immediately went to the name written on the cup: R-O-S-S-C-O-E.
“This is spelled wrong,” he said with quiet menace, and Hartley facepalmed. There was going to be a scene.
Roscoe reached into his pocket and Hartley hissed “if you pull out a top, so help me..!”, but instead he brought out a business card.
“This is how you spell it. Next time, I’ll give you the card with my order so you can get it right,” he instructed with surprising calmness.
“Yes sir. Sorry sir,” the employee replied in embarrassment, but seemed relieved that there was no yelling or threats to get him fired.
“Thank you,” Roscoe said primly, in a tone that many saw as supercilious but Hartley knew to be his way of expressing politeness.
“That went surprisingly well,” Hartley said with some confusion as they walked back to work, and Roscoe grinned.
“They did spell it wrong, so I was correct. Like always.”
“I thought you were mad about that!”
“I am. But I can hardly demolish the place these days, now can I? I’ve got a legitimate job and I pay taxes, and need to get my coffee somewhere…even if it does taste like swill.”
“Right…” Hartley replied. "Listen, you go ahead and get back to the office. I just remembered I have to pick up some bread for James at the bakery.“
"Of course,” Roscoe said with a raised eyebrow, and kept walking. Hartley dashed back in the direction of the Starbucks, and once inside he pulled out his trusted device used for detecting traces of explosives. One could never be too sure.