...and then there wasn't.
anonymous
November 19 2009, 20:14:32 UTC
"This really isn't on, you know."
Pete Brampton flicks a glance over his shoulder to the source of the voice and sees a new bloke in the corner. Early twenties, he'd say, blonde and sitting there calm as anything. From the other sofa, the Bitch moans.
"What ain't?" Harry, his best mate, sneers. The newbie cocks an eyebrow.
"This." He says as though it was obvious, waving towards the cannabis, the Bitch and the cheap porno playing on the telly.
"Care to be more el-a-bo-rate?" Pete asks him. It's a deliberate mockery of the guy's posh accent, but he doesn't seem to care. Just raises an eyebrow, like he's seen all this before.
He points to the Bitch. "For starters, that is no way to treat a lady."
"Lady? You're having a fucking laugh, mate." Harry scoffs. Pete grins, but the new bloke carries on as though nothing was said.
"Second, I don't like drugs. The 60s were a while back, and I'd rather not have more crackheads giving me insomnia than I can help. The knives over on that table are another thing I don't like. Who did you last use them on? Some homeless back-alley whore? A kid?"
"Listen, mate-"
"No. You listen to me, because I'm giving you an ultimatum, and given that I doubt you ever paid enough attention in school to get beyond basic vocabulary, that means that you're not getting another chance, so I'd suggest you hear me out."
Pete laughs. "Mate, I've not got the fucking time for this shit. Now, I'd appreciate it if you could get the fuck out of my house."
"You don't want to hear my offer?"
"Nope." He signals to Harry, who stands. Hours at the gym have moulded the man into muscle and bone and little else besides, and he's quite keen on targets that aren't wimpy little crack addicts. The man cocks his head and seems to consider him for a moment.
"Shame."
What happens next is lightning-fast. Before Pete has time to blink, Harry's crumpled, falling to the floor with a red face and a high-pitched squeak. The next thing Pete sees is a fist flying towards his face. Then the ceiling. It's a shite ceiling. Mould and all that. Should've redecorated. Then there's Blondie's face.
"I did say no second chances."
"Fucker."
"Quite." He grins, brushing off his hands, wiping a trace of blood off on the sofa cushion. It's then that Pete realises he's broken his nose.
"Son of a-" Blondie glares at him for the first time then, and cuts him off.
"Not quite. Gents?"
Then there's police and lights and handcuffs, and through it all there's Blondie's face, smirking at him.
Re: ...and then there wasn't.
anonymous
November 20 2009, 01:38:20 UTC
OP!Anon says NO PROB! I still liked you story and it was not what imagined but still VERY nice! :) Oh gosh, i'd make a guess to who blondie is but i don't wanna get it wrong. "-.-
Re: ...and then there wasn't.
anonymous
November 20 2009, 09:51:23 UTC
This anon absolutely loves this fill, especially in the kind of style you've written it in. Also, the way Arthur treats them with this sort of uppity kind of badass!gentlemen attitude is just so England.
Pete Brampton flicks a glance over his shoulder to the source of the voice and sees a new bloke in the corner. Early twenties, he'd say, blonde and sitting there calm as anything. From the other sofa, the Bitch moans.
"What ain't?" Harry, his best mate, sneers. The newbie cocks an eyebrow.
"This." He says as though it was obvious, waving towards the cannabis, the Bitch and the cheap porno playing on the telly.
"Care to be more el-a-bo-rate?" Pete asks him. It's a deliberate mockery of the guy's posh accent, but he doesn't seem to care. Just raises an eyebrow, like he's seen all this before.
He points to the Bitch. "For starters, that is no way to treat a lady."
"Lady? You're having a fucking laugh, mate." Harry scoffs. Pete grins, but the new bloke carries on as though nothing was said.
"Second, I don't like drugs. The 60s were a while back, and I'd rather not have more crackheads giving me insomnia than I can help. The knives over on that table are another thing I don't like. Who did you last use them on? Some homeless back-alley whore? A kid?"
"Listen, mate-"
"No. You listen to me, because I'm giving you an ultimatum, and given that I doubt you ever paid enough attention in school to get beyond basic vocabulary, that means that you're not getting another chance, so I'd suggest you hear me out."
Pete laughs. "Mate, I've not got the fucking time for this shit. Now, I'd appreciate it if you could get the fuck out of my house."
"You don't want to hear my offer?"
"Nope." He signals to Harry, who stands. Hours at the gym have moulded the man into muscle and bone and little else besides, and he's quite keen on targets that aren't wimpy little crack addicts. The man cocks his head and seems to consider him for a moment.
"Shame."
What happens next is lightning-fast. Before Pete has time to blink, Harry's crumpled, falling to the floor with a red face and a high-pitched squeak. The next thing Pete sees is a fist flying towards his face. Then the ceiling. It's a shite ceiling. Mould and all that. Should've redecorated. Then there's Blondie's face.
"I did say no second chances."
"Fucker."
"Quite." He grins, brushing off his hands, wiping a trace of blood off on the sofa cushion. It's then that Pete realises he's broken his nose.
"Son of a-" Blondie glares at him for the first time then, and cuts him off.
"Not quite. Gents?"
Then there's police and lights and handcuffs, and through it all there's Blondie's face, smirking at him.
Bastard.
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OP!Anon says thanks!
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All in all, awesome job, anon!
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And thankyou!
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