Fic: Another Sky (8/11)
Another Sky (8/11)
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Nathan Barley
Pairing: Dan/Jones
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1525, this chapter (10232 so far)
Warnings: more mentions of ladies' complaints, vegetarian food, Special Guest Stars
Disclaimer: I own a packet of caramel wafers and totally not these characters. Sometimes I think they own me.
Author's Notes: Hey, illustration!
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
The shower was interesting, to say the least. Claire had pored through every page of Dan’s address book for contacts, skipping those marked with big black frowny faces - she had assumed Jones placed those there as a shorthand for “these are the people Dan has to talk to sometimes, but they make him very sad.” So Dan was there, and Jones, and Claire, and Carys of course, Nathan (in spite of the very large frowny face that had accompanied his name), Jones’ nan, an old coworker of Dan’s, and some sometime bandmates of Jones from that Banana Thing he did. Claire reckoned they sounded like a recording of a herd of dying elephants run through a food processor and served as a puree poured into the ear canal via special brass cones which reverberated at every frequency at once.
So it was a bit of a weird day.
The first gift was from the other two-thirds of Dancing Banana Trees, Vince Noir and Howard Moon. The wrapping paper was meticulously creased, folded, and sellotaped around the gift, then festooned with a seemingly infinite number of curled, colourful ribbons.
“You’ll notice, sir,” mentioned Howard, “that if you carefully lift the sellotape from one corner and slide out the tissue inside, you can re-use the - ”
but whatever remained to be seen of that statement was moot, as Jones immediately tore open the sparkling tissue paper with reckless abandon, and could not stifle his giggles. He held aloft the tiny items that had been concealed inside, beaming.
“Mirrorball booties!” proclaimed Vince, puffing up with pride. “Made them myself!”
“Uhh, Vince,” Dan began.
“Lined with hypoallergenic fleece,” explained Howard. “Functional and comfortable.”
“Wow, uhh, thanks guys,” blinked Dan. “I think I’m going to put on some tea.”
This sort of organized get-together - indeed, more or less most organized get togethers - were not exactly Dan’s scene. It was primarily for this reason that he volunteered himself to retreat to the kitchen and get the food together. Why Vince Noir - the epitome of cool, charming in every social situation, and universally beloved - chose to act as his assistant, was mildly less clear.
Except that Vince and Dan had, in the months since their first meeting, against all odds, become rather good friends.
Vince made Dan sign the inside cover of his book every time he visited Vince’s flat. The first inscription was sincere enough. It read:
Vince,
Thanks for everything.
-Dan
“You can do better than that,” Vince had said, quirking an eyebrow at him. As such, the next inscription read as follows:
Vince,
The publishers tell me that this book is printed using vegetable-based inks. I am also told that it contains no nutritional value. Do not attempt to eat this book.
Love,
Dan
But Vince’s very favourite inscription was this:
Vince,
I can see your nipples through your jumpsuit. Please correct this.
Love,
Dan
---
“This is for you,” said Nana Jones with an impish grin, pressing a small paper bag into Carys’ hands.
“Is... is this drugs?” she asked, eyeing the older woman suspiciously.
“Herbs, love,” smiled Nana Jones. “You make a tea with a spoonful of this every morning, to help with the usual troubles. Settles the stomach, eases - ” and she leaned in extra close before continuing, and whispered “frequent urination.”
“Oh, that’s absolutely lovely,” laughed Carys. “I swear, it’s every five minutes sometimes. So I get up, run to the toilet, and then nothing. Such a bloody nuisance!”
“I know, poppet,” said Nana Jones, patting Carys’ hands with a small chuckle. “I was pregnant once too, back when dinosaurs walked the earth.”
---
When Dan emerged from the refrigerator, he noticed that Vince appeared to be regarding him with intense concentration.
“You’re... looking at me,” he squinted. “Why?”
“I’m trying to decide whether I like your shirt,” he said. “It’s a bit plaid, isn’t it?”
“So?” replied Dan, taking a large plate down from a cupboard.
“Exactly,” nodded Vince. “I think it sort of works. You’ve got the whole, sort of, sad lumberjack thing going. You’d look well cool if you were wearing a big furry hat!”
“No,” Dan shook his head with great solemnity. “Never.”
“Got names picked out yet?” asked Vince, poking through Claire’s kitchen cupboards.
“A few,” replied Dan, painstakingly prying open the corners of the Tesco’s Finest Vegetarian Sandwich Assortment that Claire had got in for nibbles.
“You know, Vince is a lovely name for a boy or a girl,” observed Vince, scrambling on his tiptoes to pluck a jar of Nutella from the very back of the cupboard.
“Are you fucking serious?” asked Dan, carefully slicing each triangle into two smaller triangles.
“Course I am,” said Vince, giving up his search for a teaspoon, getting his finger in instead.
Dan looked up from his task to see Vince lazily sucking the last of the Nutella from his fingertip, eyes rolled back in pure nutsy-chocolate ecstasy. Dan’s eyebrows shot up in such surprise that they nearly left his forehead altogether and blasted through Claire’s kitchen ceiling.
“What?” puzzled Vince.
Dan cleared his throat, turning his attentions once more to the sandwiches.
“Do you reckon it’s going to be weird?” asked Vince, swirling a nearly empty milk jug. “I mean, you nervous?”
“Not really,” shrugged Dan, instinctively reaching for a cigarette, then silently cursing Claire’s non-smoking flat. “No. I mean yeah. Yep. Obviously.”
“I mean, I had to look after the baby animals in the zoo, so if you ever need any advice, just give me and Howard a shout, yeah?” smiled Vince.
“Uhh, I don’t think it’s exactly the same sort of - ”
“Hey Dan, have I ever told you about when I was little and I lived in the forest with Bryan Ferry?” asked Vince.
“Uhh, what,” said Dan. “I thought you grew up in London, didn’t you?”
“Well, yeah,” said Vince, taking an assortment of mugs down from the cupboard, “but before that, I lived in a treehouse with Bryan.”
Dan nodded. It was best, he had learned, not to question Vince’s stories. Most of the time, they were, it turned out, too fantastical to be anything but true.
“Anyway,” Vince continued, filling the kettle, “as you can imagine, Bryan was away a lot of the time, touring and recording with Roxy Music. So most of the time it was just me and the animals, like Nadirah the wise old kiwi, and her scandalously younger boyfriend, Niels.”
“What was Niels, then, an ocelot?” asked Dan, immediately regretting the question.
“Nah, he was a 1980 Fiat Panda,” said Vince.
“Oh,” replied Dan. “Of course.”
“My point is,” said Vince, plopping a teabag in each mug, “I grew up with an absentee foster parent and a bunch of wild animals, and I turned out fucking awesome! Think about it: this kid’s going to have the benefit of two dads, a birth mum, an Aunt Claire, a gran, granddad, great-nan, and two fairy godfathers, who all love him or her very much. So this kid’s upbringing’s clearly going to be well genius!”
“I’ll, umm… I’ll accept that logic,” said Dan.
“Beautiful,” smiled Vince. “Come on, then, huggy bears.”
Dan sighed, and allowed himself to be folded into Vince’s embrace. Vince was warm and smelled like cake - as much as any human could smell like cake, Vince really did smell just like cake. It was uncanny and strange and impossible not to sort of love, just like Vince.
Their embrace was interrupted by the shrill whistle of Claire’s tea kettle.
“Oi Sasha, reckon you could knit one of these in my size?” came Jones’ exuberant voice from the living room.
“We should get back in there,” whispered Dan.
Vince blushed, reaching up to apply a soft kiss to Dan’s cheek.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
---
Jones could just overhear a quiet exchange of words from the kitchen, as Howard handed him a plain, cardboard box - another gift, ostensibly.
Inside the box was one of those little xylophones one gives to small children, whose notes were painted in a rainbow of colours.
“It stands to reason that music may well run in your family, sir,” said Howard, as Vince and Dan returned from the kitchen with a plateful of hummus, avocado, and carrot sandwiches on organic sprouted grain sunflower and oat bread, and endless mugfuls of hot tea.
Jones nodded appreciatively, and gave the instrument a good exploratory bang-about. The colours of the wooden blocks did not match the tones they produced when he struck them with the accompanying hammer; indeed, some clashed quite strangely. But Jones had learned many years ago that most people did not see the colourful light show he did when he heard music. Perhaps he would repaint them to match the way he saw their sounds.
“That is well cool,” he smiled. “Cheers, guys.”
Chapter Nine
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Nathan Barley
Pairing: Dan/Jones
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1525, this chapter (10232 so far)
Warnings: more mentions of ladies' complaints, vegetarian food, Special Guest Stars
Disclaimer: I own a packet of caramel wafers and totally not these characters. Sometimes I think they own me.
Author's Notes: Hey, illustration!
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
The shower was interesting, to say the least. Claire had pored through every page of Dan’s address book for contacts, skipping those marked with big black frowny faces - she had assumed Jones placed those there as a shorthand for “these are the people Dan has to talk to sometimes, but they make him very sad.” So Dan was there, and Jones, and Claire, and Carys of course, Nathan (in spite of the very large frowny face that had accompanied his name), Jones’ nan, an old coworker of Dan’s, and some sometime bandmates of Jones from that Banana Thing he did. Claire reckoned they sounded like a recording of a herd of dying elephants run through a food processor and served as a puree poured into the ear canal via special brass cones which reverberated at every frequency at once.
So it was a bit of a weird day.
The first gift was from the other two-thirds of Dancing Banana Trees, Vince Noir and Howard Moon. The wrapping paper was meticulously creased, folded, and sellotaped around the gift, then festooned with a seemingly infinite number of curled, colourful ribbons.
“You’ll notice, sir,” mentioned Howard, “that if you carefully lift the sellotape from one corner and slide out the tissue inside, you can re-use the - ”
but whatever remained to be seen of that statement was moot, as Jones immediately tore open the sparkling tissue paper with reckless abandon, and could not stifle his giggles. He held aloft the tiny items that had been concealed inside, beaming.
“Mirrorball booties!” proclaimed Vince, puffing up with pride. “Made them myself!”
“Uhh, Vince,” Dan began.
“Lined with hypoallergenic fleece,” explained Howard. “Functional and comfortable.”
“Wow, uhh, thanks guys,” blinked Dan. “I think I’m going to put on some tea.”
This sort of organized get-together - indeed, more or less most organized get togethers - were not exactly Dan’s scene. It was primarily for this reason that he volunteered himself to retreat to the kitchen and get the food together. Why Vince Noir - the epitome of cool, charming in every social situation, and universally beloved - chose to act as his assistant, was mildly less clear.
Except that Vince and Dan had, in the months since their first meeting, against all odds, become rather good friends.
Vince made Dan sign the inside cover of his book every time he visited Vince’s flat. The first inscription was sincere enough. It read:
Vince,
Thanks for everything.
-Dan
“You can do better than that,” Vince had said, quirking an eyebrow at him. As such, the next inscription read as follows:
Vince,
The publishers tell me that this book is printed using vegetable-based inks. I am also told that it contains no nutritional value. Do not attempt to eat this book.
Love,
Dan
But Vince’s very favourite inscription was this:
Vince,
I can see your nipples through your jumpsuit. Please correct this.
Love,
Dan
---
“This is for you,” said Nana Jones with an impish grin, pressing a small paper bag into Carys’ hands.
“Is... is this drugs?” she asked, eyeing the older woman suspiciously.
“Herbs, love,” smiled Nana Jones. “You make a tea with a spoonful of this every morning, to help with the usual troubles. Settles the stomach, eases - ” and she leaned in extra close before continuing, and whispered “frequent urination.”
“Oh, that’s absolutely lovely,” laughed Carys. “I swear, it’s every five minutes sometimes. So I get up, run to the toilet, and then nothing. Such a bloody nuisance!”
“I know, poppet,” said Nana Jones, patting Carys’ hands with a small chuckle. “I was pregnant once too, back when dinosaurs walked the earth.”
---
When Dan emerged from the refrigerator, he noticed that Vince appeared to be regarding him with intense concentration.
“You’re... looking at me,” he squinted. “Why?”
“I’m trying to decide whether I like your shirt,” he said. “It’s a bit plaid, isn’t it?”
“So?” replied Dan, taking a large plate down from a cupboard.
“Exactly,” nodded Vince. “I think it sort of works. You’ve got the whole, sort of, sad lumberjack thing going. You’d look well cool if you were wearing a big furry hat!”
“No,” Dan shook his head with great solemnity. “Never.”
“Got names picked out yet?” asked Vince, poking through Claire’s kitchen cupboards.
“A few,” replied Dan, painstakingly prying open the corners of the Tesco’s Finest Vegetarian Sandwich Assortment that Claire had got in for nibbles.
“You know, Vince is a lovely name for a boy or a girl,” observed Vince, scrambling on his tiptoes to pluck a jar of Nutella from the very back of the cupboard.
“Are you fucking serious?” asked Dan, carefully slicing each triangle into two smaller triangles.
“Course I am,” said Vince, giving up his search for a teaspoon, getting his finger in instead.
Dan looked up from his task to see Vince lazily sucking the last of the Nutella from his fingertip, eyes rolled back in pure nutsy-chocolate ecstasy. Dan’s eyebrows shot up in such surprise that they nearly left his forehead altogether and blasted through Claire’s kitchen ceiling.
“What?” puzzled Vince.
Dan cleared his throat, turning his attentions once more to the sandwiches.
“Do you reckon it’s going to be weird?” asked Vince, swirling a nearly empty milk jug. “I mean, you nervous?”
“Not really,” shrugged Dan, instinctively reaching for a cigarette, then silently cursing Claire’s non-smoking flat. “No. I mean yeah. Yep. Obviously.”
“I mean, I had to look after the baby animals in the zoo, so if you ever need any advice, just give me and Howard a shout, yeah?” smiled Vince.
“Uhh, I don’t think it’s exactly the same sort of - ”
“Hey Dan, have I ever told you about when I was little and I lived in the forest with Bryan Ferry?” asked Vince.
“Uhh, what,” said Dan. “I thought you grew up in London, didn’t you?”
“Well, yeah,” said Vince, taking an assortment of mugs down from the cupboard, “but before that, I lived in a treehouse with Bryan.”
Dan nodded. It was best, he had learned, not to question Vince’s stories. Most of the time, they were, it turned out, too fantastical to be anything but true.
“Anyway,” Vince continued, filling the kettle, “as you can imagine, Bryan was away a lot of the time, touring and recording with Roxy Music. So most of the time it was just me and the animals, like Nadirah the wise old kiwi, and her scandalously younger boyfriend, Niels.”
“What was Niels, then, an ocelot?” asked Dan, immediately regretting the question.
“Nah, he was a 1980 Fiat Panda,” said Vince.
“Oh,” replied Dan. “Of course.”
“My point is,” said Vince, plopping a teabag in each mug, “I grew up with an absentee foster parent and a bunch of wild animals, and I turned out fucking awesome! Think about it: this kid’s going to have the benefit of two dads, a birth mum, an Aunt Claire, a gran, granddad, great-nan, and two fairy godfathers, who all love him or her very much. So this kid’s upbringing’s clearly going to be well genius!”
“I’ll, umm… I’ll accept that logic,” said Dan.
“Beautiful,” smiled Vince. “Come on, then, huggy bears.”
Dan sighed, and allowed himself to be folded into Vince’s embrace. Vince was warm and smelled like cake - as much as any human could smell like cake, Vince really did smell just like cake. It was uncanny and strange and impossible not to sort of love, just like Vince.
Their embrace was interrupted by the shrill whistle of Claire’s tea kettle.
“Oi Sasha, reckon you could knit one of these in my size?” came Jones’ exuberant voice from the living room.
“We should get back in there,” whispered Dan.
Vince blushed, reaching up to apply a soft kiss to Dan’s cheek.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
---
Jones could just overhear a quiet exchange of words from the kitchen, as Howard handed him a plain, cardboard box - another gift, ostensibly.
Inside the box was one of those little xylophones one gives to small children, whose notes were painted in a rainbow of colours.
“It stands to reason that music may well run in your family, sir,” said Howard, as Vince and Dan returned from the kitchen with a plateful of hummus, avocado, and carrot sandwiches on organic sprouted grain sunflower and oat bread, and endless mugfuls of hot tea.
Jones nodded appreciatively, and gave the instrument a good exploratory bang-about. The colours of the wooden blocks did not match the tones they produced when he struck them with the accompanying hammer; indeed, some clashed quite strangely. But Jones had learned many years ago that most people did not see the colourful light show he did when he heard music. Perhaps he would repaint them to match the way he saw their sounds.
“That is well cool,” he smiled. “Cheers, guys.”
Chapter Nine