Ficlet - A Maiden Over
Okay, I grabbed the next spot and hope no one else had picked that spot. I wrote this snippet, whilst listening to the Ashes (which I love) and tried to temper down my knowledge of cricket with Doyle's lack of same. Hope you like it, and sorry if I have done wrong.
Imagine a hot summer’s day. The sky as blue and as clear as the Mediterranean ocean, with the odd dot of white drifting lazily across.
Imagine a hint of a breeze tickling gently at the leaves on the trees.
Imagine the sun, a white-hot shimmering ball casting its spell over everything and everybody, turning once empty fields and beaches into a myriad of colour and noise as people flock to take advantage.
Imagine flashes of white and the sound of cork on willow as the cricketers, as English as fish and chips, chase around after runs or catches.
Imagine a picnic basket, filled to the brim with all sorts of goodies. Ham and tomato sandwiches, crisps, pork pies and sausage rolls lying alongside a couple of bottles of white wine - one empty - and the ubiquitous Swiss roll.
Imagine Doyle lazily sprawled across the tartan blanket that always seems to accompany picnic baskets. He is on his side, one arm supporting his head, and he is watching the cricket despite the fact he doesn’t understand the game.
He is here for one reason and one reason only.
Bodie.
His dark haired partner who loves cricket almost as much as he loves Doyle. He is on strike at the moment. Poised, bat carefully placed, watching as the bowler takes his run up and…
Doyle holds his breath as Bodie swings the willow, the crack of cork on it loud as a gunshot, as Bodie whips it up and over the fielders.
Bodie has the luck of the devil, Doyle decides, as the ball falls just behind the fielder on the border and goes for… Doyle thinks it is a four but he isn’t sure. He looks to the scoreboard for confirmation. He has no idea what the numbers mean, but he knows it goes from 123-3 to 127-3. Four runs then. Or is it overs?
He catches sight of Bodie glancing over before the next ball, and waves. He is rewarded by a Bodie-special smile. Something to tide him over until either the game ends or Bodie gets out. He smiles to himself. Somehow he is picking up some of the lingo.
Another flash of white as the bowler runs towards the batsmen, another crack and a loud yell of something that sounds like ‘OWZAT’, and the referee at the end of the pitch… No, he thinks to himself, he isn’t a ref. That’s football. Umpire! Got it. The Umpire is sticking one finger up. In any other culture or game, he’d be thumped for doing that, Doyle thinks. As it happens, his partner is now walking to him, bat under his arm, sullen expression on his face.
He must be out, thinks Doyle.
‘Thank Christ’, his mind yells happily.
“What a shame, you were doing really well too, Bodie,” he says, his eyes conveying all the love he feels.
Bodie slumps down besides him and reaches straight for the Swiss roll. Typical Bodie. He is disappointed though, and Doyle knows this.
“Never mind, love, you did get 127 overs,” he hazards.
Bodie grins then. “Runs, Doyle. Not overs. There are six balls in an over…”
Doyle interrupts. “And I have two of them. Fancy having an over?”
Without hesitation, the Swiss roll is downed in one; the food is thrown haphazardly into the basket and swept up under one arm, the bat dangling from his other hand.
“Come on then Doyle; let’s go teach you the finer points of cricket and of bowling a maiden over.”
Title: A Maiden Over
Author: probodie
Slash: yes but PG13
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes
Disclaimer: Sadly the boys don’t belong to me; I just like to play with them occasionally.
Notes: This was written for the DIALJ Test Match 2009 challenge. The first word had to be ‘imagine’. Sadly no beta as I think everyone is offline at the moment! Some of my flist on Facebook responded but *cough* have no idea what Pros or slash is *g* Any concrit is gratefully received as I wasnt sure about the POV, if it was correct or not.
Imagine a hot summer’s day. The sky as blue and as clear as the Mediterranean ocean, with the odd dot of white drifting lazily across.
Imagine a hint of a breeze tickling gently at the leaves on the trees.
Imagine the sun, a white-hot shimmering ball casting its spell over everything and everybody, turning once empty fields and beaches into a myriad of colour and noise as people flock to take advantage.
Imagine flashes of white and the sound of cork on willow as the cricketers, as English as fish and chips, chase around after runs or catches.
Imagine a picnic basket, filled to the brim with all sorts of goodies. Ham and tomato sandwiches, crisps, pork pies and sausage rolls lying alongside a couple of bottles of white wine - one empty - and the ubiquitous Swiss roll.
Imagine Doyle lazily sprawled across the tartan blanket that always seems to accompany picnic baskets. He is on his side, one arm supporting his head, and he is watching the cricket despite the fact he doesn’t understand the game.
He is here for one reason and one reason only.
Bodie.
His dark haired partner who loves cricket almost as much as he loves Doyle. He is on strike at the moment. Poised, bat carefully placed, watching as the bowler takes his run up and…
Doyle holds his breath as Bodie swings the willow, the crack of cork on it loud as a gunshot, as Bodie whips it up and over the fielders.
Bodie has the luck of the devil, Doyle decides, as the ball falls just behind the fielder on the border and goes for… Doyle thinks it is a four but he isn’t sure. He looks to the scoreboard for confirmation. He has no idea what the numbers mean, but he knows it goes from 123-3 to 127-3. Four runs then. Or is it overs?
He catches sight of Bodie glancing over before the next ball, and waves. He is rewarded by a Bodie-special smile. Something to tide him over until either the game ends or Bodie gets out. He smiles to himself. Somehow he is picking up some of the lingo.
Another flash of white as the bowler runs towards the batsmen, another crack and a loud yell of something that sounds like ‘OWZAT’, and the referee at the end of the pitch… No, he thinks to himself, he isn’t a ref. That’s football. Umpire! Got it. The Umpire is sticking one finger up. In any other culture or game, he’d be thumped for doing that, Doyle thinks. As it happens, his partner is now walking to him, bat under his arm, sullen expression on his face.
He must be out, thinks Doyle.
‘Thank Christ’, his mind yells happily.
“What a shame, you were doing really well too, Bodie,” he says, his eyes conveying all the love he feels.
Bodie slumps down besides him and reaches straight for the Swiss roll. Typical Bodie. He is disappointed though, and Doyle knows this.
“Never mind, love, you did get 127 overs,” he hazards.
Bodie grins then. “Runs, Doyle. Not overs. There are six balls in an over…”
Doyle interrupts. “And I have two of them. Fancy having an over?”
Without hesitation, the Swiss roll is downed in one; the food is thrown haphazardly into the basket and swept up under one arm, the bat dangling from his other hand.
“Come on then Doyle; let’s go teach you the finer points of cricket and of bowling a maiden over.”
Title: A Maiden Over
Author: probodie
Slash: yes but PG13
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes
Disclaimer: Sadly the boys don’t belong to me; I just like to play with them occasionally.
Notes: This was written for the DIALJ Test Match 2009 challenge. The first word had to be ‘imagine’. Sadly no beta as I think everyone is offline at the moment! Some of my flist on Facebook responded but *cough* have no idea what Pros or slash is *g* Any concrit is gratefully received as I wasnt sure about the POV, if it was correct or not.