Memorabilia [2/2]
anonymous
April 11 2009, 01:34:42 UTC
For reasons the intern can't even begin to fathom, Mr. Jones steers them unerringly toward a set of luxury condos. They don't even bother to get out of the car - just sit there in the parking lot.
"Sir?" he asks. "What the hell are we doing here? This doesn't look like a tea party."
Mr. Jones slouches forward in his seat and leans on the steering wheel. The keys are still in the ignition. Despite the intern's heroic efforts, Creedence is still blasting much too loudly out of the speakers - it ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no military son.
"This used to be a wharf," he says.
Something in his voice makes the intern refrain from telling him that it definitely isn't a wharf now. That, and he isn't quite desperate enough to get himself fired yet. "The Tea Party?" he hazards.
"Right there." Mr. Jones points with absolute precision. "There's replicas out by the bridge, but it's not quite the same." A slow, almost fond smile slowly crosses his face, far different from the wide grins and manic energy the intern has come to associate with him. "England was pissed."
"We did throw his tea overboard." The intern tries to glance at the clock without being obvious about it. Dinner's probably going to be McDonald's too. "Mr. Jones?"
"Al."
He ignores that. "What was so bad about that tea bagging thing? Aside from...you know, the name."
Mr. Jones slouches back in his seat, arms folded. "Because it wasn't about taxes and tea back then," he says. "Not all of it. Not really."
The intern sighs. In some ways, he's used to Mr. Jones, who is often very silly and who treats strange things with deadly seriousness and who can talk about the American Revolution as if he was there - and who still doesn't have a real job at the White House, at least as far as anyone's been able to determine.
"They're not hurting anything," he says at last. "The tea bagging people, I mean."
Mr. Jones makes a noise like, "Hrm."
"I'm not saying I agree with them," he adds hastily, because he wants to keep his job, as insane as it occasionally is - not that anyone's really likely to fire him for disagreeing as long as he doesn't ramble about it all over the newspapers. "But they're not changing the Tea Party, you know? They're just doing their own thing with it."
"Hrm," says Mr. Jones.
"We have to work together, right? Even with the people who pick names like...you know. That's the point. Changing things, just with more talking and less throwing drinks overboard."
There is a long, long silence. Creedence wanders through a couple different songs. The intern wishes he didn't sound quite so much like his old political science professor; he wonders if it'd be rude to pull out his Blackberry, or to take a nap.
"What's your name again?" Mr. Jones asks suddenly.
The intern is too used to this to take offense. Besides, he knows Mr. Jones knows everyone. He's just terrible with names. Like that incident last week, the one they're both damn lucky Mrs. Clinton thought was funny.
"Terrell," he says. "Just like the last time I told you."
"Right," Mr. Jones says, which means he's just going to forget it again tomorrow, and finally glances at his watch. "What do you say we go home?"
There's something very very old in his smile, but Terrell the intern decides to ignore that.
"No McDonald's for dinner," he says instead.
They get Burger King. He spends the next week gorging himself on salad and vowing to never mention tax protests ever again.
*
While he's at the White House, he never does figure out what Mr. Jones does, or what his title is, or how he gets away with forgetting everyone's name. He also never figures out how anyone can get so worked up over something like tea bagging, especially with a name like...like that.
But when he winds up in Boston some decades later, chairing a conference full of diplomats and politicians and trying to remember which granddaughter likes the Red Sox and which wouldn't know a baseball if it fell on her head - when he wanders out by where the luxury condos used to be and sees Mr. Jones peering where a wharf used to be and looking exactly the same even after all these years -
OP once again!
anonymous
April 11 2009, 02:33:42 UTC
Again a quick post!
Well I first off all have to congratulate you on turning a request about conservatives' "tea bagging" into a call for bipartisanship - truly amazing stuff.
"Because it wasn't about taxes and tea back then," he says. "Not all of it. Not really."
God, this was by far my favorite part, because no, no it wasn't all about taxes and tea then, despite what some believe today. They were the straws that broke the camel's back and to just sum up the Boston Tea Party and the subsequent revolution as simply being about taxes and tea - well I can understand why Alfred's upset.
But then - "But they're not changing the Tea Party, you know? They're just doing their own thing with it."
Oh, do I have some love for Terrell the Intern! Especially explaining that maybe in their own ridiculous way, they're just expressing their opinion - after all, being able to express such opinions is a integral part of being in America.
And the ending, just guh. Just Terrel the Intern wondering who Alfred is and what he does and why he can talk about American history as if he knows firsthand and then seeing him years later unchanged was an absolutely lovely procession and I'm such a sucker for humans becoming aware that anthropomorphic countries exist.
Again, it was a surprisingly evocative piece considering the request was about tea bagging of all things. Just so many things were perfect! Alfred dragging Terrell the Intern to Boston just to remininsce, McDonalds and Burger King, England, Mrs. Clinton. Beautiful, I say!
Oh, writer!anon you've made me so very very happy. Is there anything I can do to repay such a lovely offering? ♥
asdjialsd I'm so relieved you liked this. :D And you don't have to do anything! I love writing fills about America and his history - since uh, not very old as countries go, but there's a lot of complicated stuff in there - and this was such a great prompt.
I almost went the funnier route. hehehe teabagging *bricked*
Re: OP once again!
anonymous
April 12 2009, 03:11:15 UTC
Of course the whole fic is freaking amazing but "it ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no military son" was a perfect touch especially because so many people misunderstand that song. Kudos, anon, kudos!
Re: Memorabilia [2/2]
anonymous
April 12 2009, 03:17:06 UTC
This is just lovely. It's hard for me to pinpoint the exact reasons why I liked it so much...it definitely has something to do with the intern character and the way you voiced him -- his was such a great lens to view Alfred's reactions to the situation through. I loved the last little ending section, too.
Re: Memorabilia [2/2]
anonymous
April 12 2009, 07:27:38 UTC
Beautifully done.
Honestly, I was expecting someone going all "Lets bash those the people with their silly tea parties!!11! HOW DARE THEY question the democrats!!!111" kind of fill. (You know, poor spelling, bad grammar, and stupid crap like that.
But you did a excellent job of keeping and intellectual and amusing at the time. The intern was an brilliant add in the mix.
Tea-bagging, now I feel like I am back in high school again. XD
"Sir?" he asks. "What the hell are we doing here? This doesn't look like a tea party."
Mr. Jones slouches forward in his seat and leans on the steering wheel. The keys are still in the ignition. Despite the intern's heroic efforts, Creedence is still blasting much too loudly out of the speakers - it ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no military son.
"This used to be a wharf," he says.
Something in his voice makes the intern refrain from telling him that it definitely isn't a wharf now. That, and he isn't quite desperate enough to get himself fired yet. "The Tea Party?" he hazards.
"Right there." Mr. Jones points with absolute precision. "There's replicas out by the bridge, but it's not quite the same." A slow, almost fond smile slowly crosses his face, far different from the wide grins and manic energy the intern has come to associate with him. "England was pissed."
"We did throw his tea overboard." The intern tries to glance at the clock without being obvious about it. Dinner's probably going to be McDonald's too. "Mr. Jones?"
"Al."
He ignores that. "What was so bad about that tea bagging thing? Aside from...you know, the name."
Mr. Jones slouches back in his seat, arms folded. "Because it wasn't about taxes and tea back then," he says. "Not all of it. Not really."
The intern sighs. In some ways, he's used to Mr. Jones, who is often very silly and who treats strange things with deadly seriousness and who can talk about the American Revolution as if he was there - and who still doesn't have a real job at the White House, at least as far as anyone's been able to determine.
"They're not hurting anything," he says at last. "The tea bagging people, I mean."
Mr. Jones makes a noise like, "Hrm."
"I'm not saying I agree with them," he adds hastily, because he wants to keep his job, as insane as it occasionally is - not that anyone's really likely to fire him for disagreeing as long as he doesn't ramble about it all over the newspapers. "But they're not changing the Tea Party, you know? They're just doing their own thing with it."
"Hrm," says Mr. Jones.
"We have to work together, right? Even with the people who pick names like...you know. That's the point. Changing things, just with more talking and less throwing drinks overboard."
There is a long, long silence. Creedence wanders through a couple different songs. The intern wishes he didn't sound quite so much like his old political science professor; he wonders if it'd be rude to pull out his Blackberry, or to take a nap.
"What's your name again?" Mr. Jones asks suddenly.
The intern is too used to this to take offense. Besides, he knows Mr. Jones knows everyone. He's just terrible with names. Like that incident last week, the one they're both damn lucky Mrs. Clinton thought was funny.
"Terrell," he says. "Just like the last time I told you."
"Right," Mr. Jones says, which means he's just going to forget it again tomorrow, and finally glances at his watch. "What do you say we go home?"
There's something very very old in his smile, but Terrell the intern decides to ignore that.
"No McDonald's for dinner," he says instead.
They get Burger King. He spends the next week gorging himself on salad and vowing to never mention tax protests ever again.
*
While he's at the White House, he never does figure out what Mr. Jones does, or what his title is, or how he gets away with forgetting everyone's name. He also never figures out how anyone can get so worked up over something like tea bagging, especially with a name like...like that.
But when he winds up in Boston some decades later, chairing a conference full of diplomats and politicians and trying to remember which granddaughter likes the Red Sox and which wouldn't know a baseball if it fell on her head - when he wanders out by where the luxury condos used to be and sees Mr. Jones peering where a wharf used to be and looking exactly the same even after all these years -
Oh, he thinks.
That's why.
Reply
Well I first off all have to congratulate you on turning a request about conservatives' "tea bagging" into a call for bipartisanship - truly amazing stuff.
"Because it wasn't about taxes and tea back then," he says. "Not all of it. Not really."
God, this was by far my favorite part, because no, no it wasn't all about taxes and tea then, despite what some believe today. They were the straws that broke the camel's back and to just sum up the Boston Tea Party and the subsequent revolution as simply being about taxes and tea - well I can understand why Alfred's upset.
But then - "But they're not changing the Tea Party, you know? They're just doing their own thing with it."
Oh, do I have some love for Terrell the Intern! Especially explaining that maybe in their own ridiculous way, they're just expressing their opinion - after all, being able to express such opinions is a integral part of being in America.
And the ending, just guh. Just Terrel the Intern wondering who Alfred is and what he does and why he can talk about American history as if he knows firsthand and then seeing him years later unchanged was an absolutely lovely procession and I'm such a sucker for humans becoming aware that anthropomorphic countries exist.
Again, it was a surprisingly evocative piece considering the request was about tea bagging of all things. Just so many things were perfect! Alfred dragging Terrell the Intern to Boston just to remininsce, McDonalds and Burger King, England, Mrs. Clinton. Beautiful, I say!
Oh, writer!anon you've made me so very very happy. Is there anything I can do to repay such a lovely offering? ♥
Reply
I almost went the funnier route. hehehe teabagging *bricked*
Reply
Reply
Reply
Really awesome fic, anon. ♥ ♥
Reply
Reply
Honestly, I was expecting someone going all "Lets bash those the people with their silly tea parties!!11! HOW DARE THEY question the democrats!!!111" kind of fill. (You know, poor spelling, bad grammar, and stupid crap like that.
But you did a excellent job of keeping and intellectual and amusing at the time. The intern was an brilliant add in the mix.
Tea-bagging, now I feel like I am back in high school again. XD
Reply
Reply
Well done! :D
Reply
Leave a comment