Three special drabbles for Workington.
Title: I Hate That Fucking Song
Author: cheryl_bites
Team of Choice: Workington
Prompt: [hey ya]
Pairing: José Mourinho/Bobby Robson (but you can pretend it’s platonic... :p)
Rating: PG
(Still on cancer at the moment, I’m afraid :/ Will hopefully cheer up by next week.)
The year was 1992. José’s hair was doing something quite alarming. Bobby's shell suit would in any other decade have borne a warning sign reading “Danger: Visual Atrocity”, and, indeed, would have benefited greatly from its presence.
Their background music was the march of a thousand tin soldiers, punctuated by abrasive screeching. Its climax: an irritated German fumes, as one who has just locked his keys in the car, “I’m serious as cancer/When I say that rhythm is a dancer!”
José hates that stupid song with the same virulent ferocity as when he first heard that the mister had melanoma.
Title: Superstar
Author: cheryl_bites
Team of Choice: Workington
Prompt: [hey ya]
Pairing: José Mourinho/Didier Drogba (but you can again pretend it is platonic...)
Rating: G
José is still puzzling over the question of why Didi was born a futbolista and not, say, one of those rap-things, given that he has Cheekbones of Doom™, magnificent teeth, a total lack of musical ability (José is a soft rock fan) and divine sartorial insouciance, right down to the almost unheard of ability to wear a baseball hat backwards without looking like a tit. It is a mystery, and sometimes he thinks it’s a crying shame that it’s him that’s supposed to be the style icon and not Didi. Considering how vain he is, this says quite a lot.
Title: Don’t Try To Fight
Author: cheryl_bites
Team of Choice: Workington
Prompt: [hey ya]
Pairing: José Mourinho/Roman Abramovich (...but not this one)
Rating: PG
(Note on context: according to Jojo, he met Abramovich at the start of March and they talked amicably. I don’t believe a word of it.)
Against all the laws of probability, Roman and José ended up in the same lift. There was silence. There were furtive glances. Roman fiddled with his fingernails; José fixed him with a predatory stare. When there were four floors left, Mourinho made his move; advancing on the blushin’ Russian, he raised one hand and gently took hold of his face.
KLONK: Roman’s bodyguard, a post-September 2007 purchase, jumped on José and wrestled him to the ground. Bawling at the man as he helped pick up the flattened Special One, Roman reflected that perhaps this relationship just wasn’t meant to be.
[ADDENDUM: here is photographic proof of Didier Drogba wearing a baseball hat backwards without looking like a tit. Note that you are not allowed to disagree with this assessment.]
Author: cheryl_bites
Team of Choice: Workington
Prompt: [hey ya]
Pairing: José Mourinho/Bobby Robson (but you can pretend it’s platonic... :p)
Rating: PG
(Still on cancer at the moment, I’m afraid :/ Will hopefully cheer up by next week.)
The year was 1992. José’s hair was doing something quite alarming. Bobby's shell suit would in any other decade have borne a warning sign reading “Danger: Visual Atrocity”, and, indeed, would have benefited greatly from its presence.
Their background music was the march of a thousand tin soldiers, punctuated by abrasive screeching. Its climax: an irritated German fumes, as one who has just locked his keys in the car, “I’m serious as cancer/When I say that rhythm is a dancer!”
José hates that stupid song with the same virulent ferocity as when he first heard that the mister had melanoma.
Title: Superstar
Author: cheryl_bites
Team of Choice: Workington
Prompt: [hey ya]
Pairing: José Mourinho/Didier Drogba (but you can again pretend it is platonic...)
Rating: G
José is still puzzling over the question of why Didi was born a futbolista and not, say, one of those rap-things, given that he has Cheekbones of Doom™, magnificent teeth, a total lack of musical ability (José is a soft rock fan) and divine sartorial insouciance, right down to the almost unheard of ability to wear a baseball hat backwards without looking like a tit. It is a mystery, and sometimes he thinks it’s a crying shame that it’s him that’s supposed to be the style icon and not Didi. Considering how vain he is, this says quite a lot.
Title: Don’t Try To Fight
Author: cheryl_bites
Team of Choice: Workington
Prompt: [hey ya]
Pairing: José Mourinho/Roman Abramovich (...but not this one)
Rating: PG
(Note on context: according to Jojo, he met Abramovich at the start of March and they talked amicably. I don’t believe a word of it.)
Against all the laws of probability, Roman and José ended up in the same lift. There was silence. There were furtive glances. Roman fiddled with his fingernails; José fixed him with a predatory stare. When there were four floors left, Mourinho made his move; advancing on the blushin’ Russian, he raised one hand and gently took hold of his face.
KLONK: Roman’s bodyguard, a post-September 2007 purchase, jumped on José and wrestled him to the ground. Bawling at the man as he helped pick up the flattened Special One, Roman reflected that perhaps this relationship just wasn’t meant to be.
[ADDENDUM: here is photographic proof of Didier Drogba wearing a baseball hat backwards without looking like a tit. Note that you are not allowed to disagree with this assessment.]