MAKING AMENDS -
A conversation on the beach, wine included. Turns out those guys are pretty funny! Written for hendercats who was enduring a day without laptop, and posted at my journal in March 2007.
Making Amends
"What happened to your glasses? You've no need of them any longer, then?"
Sawyer turned a page, and without a glance he replied, "Don't you ever say 'hello', Magpie? Always just materialize out of nowhere and start your gabbin'?"
Desmond shifted where he stood, still looking down at the man who refused to look up. "Sorry, brother. Guess I'm still not used to this - all of the people. So... hello, and where are your glasses?"
"Don't need 'em," Sawyer said, turning another page, not because he was ready to, but because he was sure it was annoying. Then, still without raising his eyes, he turned the book around for Desmond to see. "Large print edition. Anything else?" He pretended to settle back into reading again, hoping the persistant Limey would get the hint.
"I'm Scottish, you know, not English. There's a difference, yeah?"
"There's a difference and who cares, yeah?" Sawyer shot back without taking the time to wonder how Desmond had known what he had been thinking. When Desmond continued to stand there, blocking the dying light, Sawyer finally looked up. "Something I can do you for, Scottie?"
"Aye." Desmond squatted down in front of Sawyer. "You can take this, along with my apologies. I dinna realize the whiskey was yours." He held a bottle out towards Sawyer, who took it, read the label and rolled his eyes heavenward.
"You've gotta be kidding me! You think Dharma Initiative Brand Merlot is a fair exchange for a bottle of sixty year old Scotch?" Sawyer folded his arms across his chest, looking for the world like a petulant five year old. All that was lacking was the pout, and he was working up to that.
"No brother, not at all. But it's what I've got and it goes along wi' these." Now Desmond offered up something that really did make Sawyer's mouth water. Two of the biggest, fattest Cuban cigars that he had ever laid eyes on. "Do you smoke, pal?"
"Only after sex," Sawyer smirked, "or when my plane crashes on an island of mystery, I get kidnapped and beaten to within an inch of my life by leftovers from some good science gone bad movie and some strange soundin' bastards steal my previously stolen sixty year old MacCutcheon because they think I'm a goner. Then I smoke - hell yeah, I do."
"Right," Desmond said, sitting himself down upon the sand. "What do you say we give it a go?"
"The sex, or the drinkin' and the smokin'?"
Desmond laughed, cracked open the Merlot and handed it to Sawyer. "Let's start with the drinkin' and the smokin', Southern Man, and leave the rest for another time."
~
Making Amends
"What happened to your glasses? You've no need of them any longer, then?"
Sawyer turned a page, and without a glance he replied, "Don't you ever say 'hello', Magpie? Always just materialize out of nowhere and start your gabbin'?"
Desmond shifted where he stood, still looking down at the man who refused to look up. "Sorry, brother. Guess I'm still not used to this - all of the people. So... hello, and where are your glasses?"
"Don't need 'em," Sawyer said, turning another page, not because he was ready to, but because he was sure it was annoying. Then, still without raising his eyes, he turned the book around for Desmond to see. "Large print edition. Anything else?" He pretended to settle back into reading again, hoping the persistant Limey would get the hint.
"I'm Scottish, you know, not English. There's a difference, yeah?"
"There's a difference and who cares, yeah?" Sawyer shot back without taking the time to wonder how Desmond had known what he had been thinking. When Desmond continued to stand there, blocking the dying light, Sawyer finally looked up. "Something I can do you for, Scottie?"
"Aye." Desmond squatted down in front of Sawyer. "You can take this, along with my apologies. I dinna realize the whiskey was yours." He held a bottle out towards Sawyer, who took it, read the label and rolled his eyes heavenward.
"You've gotta be kidding me! You think Dharma Initiative Brand Merlot is a fair exchange for a bottle of sixty year old Scotch?" Sawyer folded his arms across his chest, looking for the world like a petulant five year old. All that was lacking was the pout, and he was working up to that.
"No brother, not at all. But it's what I've got and it goes along wi' these." Now Desmond offered up something that really did make Sawyer's mouth water. Two of the biggest, fattest Cuban cigars that he had ever laid eyes on. "Do you smoke, pal?"
"Only after sex," Sawyer smirked, "or when my plane crashes on an island of mystery, I get kidnapped and beaten to within an inch of my life by leftovers from some good science gone bad movie and some strange soundin' bastards steal my previously stolen sixty year old MacCutcheon because they think I'm a goner. Then I smoke - hell yeah, I do."
"Right," Desmond said, sitting himself down upon the sand. "What do you say we give it a go?"
"The sex, or the drinkin' and the smokin'?"
Desmond laughed, cracked open the Merlot and handed it to Sawyer. "Let's start with the drinkin' and the smokin', Southern Man, and leave the rest for another time."
~