SIXTY-TWO. Misunderstood.
"To be great is to be misunderstood." - R.W. Emerson
The majority of Denny’s personal life choices ended up becoming misunderstood matters. He was well accustomed to this, long before the purchase of his boat. He had considered a yacht, as most self-absorbed, overly wealthy men tend to purchase yachts for social endeavors. However, a yacht would be foolish - a yacht would definitely lead to a party with a lot of young socialites, and Denny would end up arrested for some form of sexual solicitation - he felt certain that if a bathroom faux pas could incite a trial, then certainly a situation filled with young women wouldn’t bode well for him. And so, after hours of perusing the internet and speaking briefly with his not-son - as, Donny did happen to know something of boats since his actual father did work aboard a cranberry bog, and Donny is determined to fit into the cookie-cutter mold of his paternal gene pool - Denny Crane purchased a boat.
He didn’t pop the cork of a bottle of champagne to christen his boat. Instead, he toasted to it with his customary glass of scotch. He and Alan were seated comfortably at the helm of the ship; it was the closest thing to balcony a ship could provide. Denny did, however, have to lie in order to get Alan aboard the boat. It’s a known fact amongst the few that Alan holds dear - meaning, Denny, really - that Alan tends to be pansy and thereby gets sick at any moment out of the norm. Naturally, Alan would be the time to suffer from seasickness. Denny had assured him the boat would stay docked. It’s not as if their newly acquired positions in the Coast Guard made them ship captain’s or anything - no, it was rather that Denny was surprisingly adept at winning friends and influencing people, without having read the book, but rather by seducing women in positions of power, both literally and figuratively. If the Mad Cow patrol was only giving him approximately six years to live, then damn it all, he was going to live indeed.
Alan appeared rather certain that he might be the one to die first when the boat initially lurched across the Boston harbor; in fact, it wouldn’t be long before he went into a historical reenactment of the Boston Tea Party, only he’d be tossing his cookies instead of tea. Denny came prepared with the magical white tablets of Dramamine to cure the motion sickness. He didn’t bother to read the side effects as he was certain the main one would be Alan whining. At least Alan wouldn’t be stable enough to stand atop his usual soapbox - that was certainly ten points Denny deserved to award himself. He toasted the ship with scotch in one hand, cigar in the other. Alan toasted the boat with his hand shaking, yet somehow still holding his glass of water, and a white tablet working its way down and around the lump in his throat. “To the S.S. Schmidt,” Alan said wearily.
“Do you even know what it stands for?” Denny said, not bothering to remove the cigar from his mouth until Alan managed to shake his head in either a no or dizzy state. “It’s not for the woman or the position. It’s an acronym. S.C.H.M.I.D.T. - Sexually Charged Heroes Mischievously Inspire Dramatic Travels. Colbert came up with it. He thought it was witty. We’re picking him up in New York.” And at this Alan blanched. “We’re sailing to New York?”
“Don’t worry; you took your medicine. You won’t feel a thing.” And Denny paused for a moment of rare self-reflection. “Don’t take that to a gay place. We won that trial. I’m straight as an arrow, sailing aboard a boat in-” He didn’t really know where he was going with that, but he stopped nonetheless as he noticed Alan’s eyelids drooping to a close. “Damn side effects. Should’ve read the bottle. Alright, in we go.” Somehow, he awkwardly managed to help Alan to his feet and into the inside of the boat - it was similar to a yacht, in fact, he might have actually purchased a yacht but persuaded certain people to make the registration and receipt state boat for his own purposes. If the paper says it’s a boat, then it must be a boat. Regardless, the inside was plush, decorated in Denny’s usual self-loving taste with pictures of himself everywhere, and his initials adorned every possible surface.
Alan wandered sleepily to the bed. They’d grown accustomed to sharing a bed in a purely platonic sense as Denny would forever insist that his relationship with Alan was in no way sexually charged. However, when he started to leave to go back to the helm, Alan’s sleepy, panicked eyes did actually strike some variety of nerve that he would later deny. The boat would be fine for now, he assumed - he hadn’t really bothered to do much research about the actual mechanics of it. He got into bed and rolled his eyes when Alan instinctively curled closer, mumbling something about the S.S. Schmidt liking him about as much as its namesake. “That’s why she can only be handled by Captain Denny Crane,” he said, but his comment fell on deaf ears as Alan had already fallen into a contented sleep.
ooc: because alan_shore put thoughts in my head.
The majority of Denny’s personal life choices ended up becoming misunderstood matters. He was well accustomed to this, long before the purchase of his boat. He had considered a yacht, as most self-absorbed, overly wealthy men tend to purchase yachts for social endeavors. However, a yacht would be foolish - a yacht would definitely lead to a party with a lot of young socialites, and Denny would end up arrested for some form of sexual solicitation - he felt certain that if a bathroom faux pas could incite a trial, then certainly a situation filled with young women wouldn’t bode well for him. And so, after hours of perusing the internet and speaking briefly with his not-son - as, Donny did happen to know something of boats since his actual father did work aboard a cranberry bog, and Donny is determined to fit into the cookie-cutter mold of his paternal gene pool - Denny Crane purchased a boat.
He didn’t pop the cork of a bottle of champagne to christen his boat. Instead, he toasted to it with his customary glass of scotch. He and Alan were seated comfortably at the helm of the ship; it was the closest thing to balcony a ship could provide. Denny did, however, have to lie in order to get Alan aboard the boat. It’s a known fact amongst the few that Alan holds dear - meaning, Denny, really - that Alan tends to be pansy and thereby gets sick at any moment out of the norm. Naturally, Alan would be the time to suffer from seasickness. Denny had assured him the boat would stay docked. It’s not as if their newly acquired positions in the Coast Guard made them ship captain’s or anything - no, it was rather that Denny was surprisingly adept at winning friends and influencing people, without having read the book, but rather by seducing women in positions of power, both literally and figuratively. If the Mad Cow patrol was only giving him approximately six years to live, then damn it all, he was going to live indeed.
Alan appeared rather certain that he might be the one to die first when the boat initially lurched across the Boston harbor; in fact, it wouldn’t be long before he went into a historical reenactment of the Boston Tea Party, only he’d be tossing his cookies instead of tea. Denny came prepared with the magical white tablets of Dramamine to cure the motion sickness. He didn’t bother to read the side effects as he was certain the main one would be Alan whining. At least Alan wouldn’t be stable enough to stand atop his usual soapbox - that was certainly ten points Denny deserved to award himself. He toasted the ship with scotch in one hand, cigar in the other. Alan toasted the boat with his hand shaking, yet somehow still holding his glass of water, and a white tablet working its way down and around the lump in his throat. “To the S.S. Schmidt,” Alan said wearily.
“Do you even know what it stands for?” Denny said, not bothering to remove the cigar from his mouth until Alan managed to shake his head in either a no or dizzy state. “It’s not for the woman or the position. It’s an acronym. S.C.H.M.I.D.T. - Sexually Charged Heroes Mischievously Inspire Dramatic Travels. Colbert came up with it. He thought it was witty. We’re picking him up in New York.” And at this Alan blanched. “We’re sailing to New York?”
“Don’t worry; you took your medicine. You won’t feel a thing.” And Denny paused for a moment of rare self-reflection. “Don’t take that to a gay place. We won that trial. I’m straight as an arrow, sailing aboard a boat in-” He didn’t really know where he was going with that, but he stopped nonetheless as he noticed Alan’s eyelids drooping to a close. “Damn side effects. Should’ve read the bottle. Alright, in we go.” Somehow, he awkwardly managed to help Alan to his feet and into the inside of the boat - it was similar to a yacht, in fact, he might have actually purchased a yacht but persuaded certain people to make the registration and receipt state boat for his own purposes. If the paper says it’s a boat, then it must be a boat. Regardless, the inside was plush, decorated in Denny’s usual self-loving taste with pictures of himself everywhere, and his initials adorned every possible surface.
Alan wandered sleepily to the bed. They’d grown accustomed to sharing a bed in a purely platonic sense as Denny would forever insist that his relationship with Alan was in no way sexually charged. However, when he started to leave to go back to the helm, Alan’s sleepy, panicked eyes did actually strike some variety of nerve that he would later deny. The boat would be fine for now, he assumed - he hadn’t really bothered to do much research about the actual mechanics of it. He got into bed and rolled his eyes when Alan instinctively curled closer, mumbling something about the S.S. Schmidt liking him about as much as its namesake. “That’s why she can only be handled by Captain Denny Crane,” he said, but his comment fell on deaf ears as Alan had already fallen into a contented sleep.
ooc: because alan_shore put thoughts in my head.