Big Bang Fic: The Red Leather Trousers Escapade (10/17)
Title: The Red Leather Trousers Escapade (10/17)
Author: wingedflight21
Rating: K+
Word Count: ~24K
Disclaimer: The Chronicles of Narnia do not, never have, and most likely never will belong to me.
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Occurs in an AU of The Silver Chair.
Author's Notes: A huge thanks to snitchnipped, rthstewart, and especially accidentalsquid as well as anyone else who helped me through these last few months and numerous chapters.
Summary: An assassination attempt gone wrong sends Jill and Eustace off to solve the mystery behind the attacks, all while playing dead. SCAUverse.
-X-
Chapter Nine
-X-
It was early - much, much too early - by the time Eustace lead Jill back to their room. Lead - because after the confrontation with Isak, the two of them had joined the gang at the table for drinks and Jill had experienced for herself the delights of Halua’s alcoholic beverages. Lead - because while Eustace had stuck to simple and less alcoholic beers for the rest of the night, Jill had apparently felt it necessary to prove that she could hold her drink as well as any of the rest of them. Lead - because while his head had begun to clear as they stepped out of the tavern, Jill was nearly walking in a circle.
She dropped onto the bed as soon as they made it into the room, babbling on about the size of a duck’s beak. “He said - he - he said,” she continuously insisted, “A duck’s beak is a measure of the duck’s intell - in - intelli - smarts.”
“Jill,” he said, and closed the door too fast, losing his balance and tripping over his own foot to fall against the wall. “Jill. You are drunk.”
“No,” she retorted, “You are.”
Yes, he supposed he was, now that he thought of it. It took effort to think at the moment - he would much rather let the thoughts drift by than go chasing after them. The thoughts went sideways through his head, left to right as though he was reading; Eustace wondered whether they would all fall out into the open air if he tipped his head at just the right angle.
“‘Member Rilian,” he began slowly.
“At that feast?”
“With the moose.”
They snickered at the memory of a recently crowned king attempting to hold his own against an already well inebriated male moose. If Eustace remembered correctly - and despite his intoxication, he was certain he did - Rilian had failed miserably, passed out, and spent the next morning sick in his chambers. Eustace had been the one to find him curled up against the foot of his bed, cursing anything alcoholic and calling for an immediate law against out-drinking the king of Narnia.
“You are just as drunk,” Eustace told Jill.
She scowled up at him, nose wrinkling. “I have no wish to ban drinks,” she said, and rolled further onto the bed. “In fact, I am quite in favour of them, actually.” She squinted, rubbed at her eyes, and squinted again. “Eustace, were you really wearing those all night?”
“Wearing what?” And then he recalled, for the first time in hours, his trousers.
“Eustace!” she exclaimed, “Eustace of the red leather trousers. They shall write ballads about you. Ballads about your trousers.”
He had been so embarrassed by them before, but now he found them absolutely hilarious. Once he started laughing, it felt like he would not ever stop. The trousers - the red leather trousers - those hilarious, red leather trousers!
“They are rather terrible,” Jill was saying, “Really terrible, terrible red trousers, those are. Terrible.”
“I could take them off,” he offered.
-X-
Lucy - This is Eustace cutting in because I was reading Jill’s draft and I really do have to protest. I know that if I scrap this page, she’s just going to bite off my head and write it again but it really is unfair because it makes it seem like certain things happened that night and absolutely nothing did. Honest to Aslan, nothing happened. The opposite of anything happening happened, which is to say, that nothing did. Nothing at all. It was a completely ordinary night in which the two of us happened to share a mattress because there was only one and I was still wounded and Jill was tired of sleeping on the floor. But that doesn’t mean anything happened. By the Lion, Jill and I shared a blanket each night that entire journey up through Ettinsmoore in search of Rilian - and before you get any funny ideas, nothing happened then, either. And even if anything did happen, it would be none of your business. Besides, she’s my wife, so hush up. Although she wasn’t at the time. But the point still stands. So mind your own business, please and thank you. - Eustace
Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Epilogue|
Author: wingedflight21
Rating: K+
Word Count: ~24K
Disclaimer: The Chronicles of Narnia do not, never have, and most likely never will belong to me.
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Occurs in an AU of The Silver Chair.
Author's Notes: A huge thanks to snitchnipped, rthstewart, and especially accidentalsquid as well as anyone else who helped me through these last few months and numerous chapters.
Summary: An assassination attempt gone wrong sends Jill and Eustace off to solve the mystery behind the attacks, all while playing dead. SCAUverse.
-X-
Chapter Nine
-X-
It was early - much, much too early - by the time Eustace lead Jill back to their room. Lead - because after the confrontation with Isak, the two of them had joined the gang at the table for drinks and Jill had experienced for herself the delights of Halua’s alcoholic beverages. Lead - because while Eustace had stuck to simple and less alcoholic beers for the rest of the night, Jill had apparently felt it necessary to prove that she could hold her drink as well as any of the rest of them. Lead - because while his head had begun to clear as they stepped out of the tavern, Jill was nearly walking in a circle.
She dropped onto the bed as soon as they made it into the room, babbling on about the size of a duck’s beak. “He said - he - he said,” she continuously insisted, “A duck’s beak is a measure of the duck’s intell - in - intelli - smarts.”
“Jill,” he said, and closed the door too fast, losing his balance and tripping over his own foot to fall against the wall. “Jill. You are drunk.”
“No,” she retorted, “You are.”
Yes, he supposed he was, now that he thought of it. It took effort to think at the moment - he would much rather let the thoughts drift by than go chasing after them. The thoughts went sideways through his head, left to right as though he was reading; Eustace wondered whether they would all fall out into the open air if he tipped his head at just the right angle.
“‘Member Rilian,” he began slowly.
“At that feast?”
“With the moose.”
They snickered at the memory of a recently crowned king attempting to hold his own against an already well inebriated male moose. If Eustace remembered correctly - and despite his intoxication, he was certain he did - Rilian had failed miserably, passed out, and spent the next morning sick in his chambers. Eustace had been the one to find him curled up against the foot of his bed, cursing anything alcoholic and calling for an immediate law against out-drinking the king of Narnia.
“You are just as drunk,” Eustace told Jill.
She scowled up at him, nose wrinkling. “I have no wish to ban drinks,” she said, and rolled further onto the bed. “In fact, I am quite in favour of them, actually.” She squinted, rubbed at her eyes, and squinted again. “Eustace, were you really wearing those all night?”
“Wearing what?” And then he recalled, for the first time in hours, his trousers.
“Eustace!” she exclaimed, “Eustace of the red leather trousers. They shall write ballads about you. Ballads about your trousers.”
He had been so embarrassed by them before, but now he found them absolutely hilarious. Once he started laughing, it felt like he would not ever stop. The trousers - the red leather trousers - those hilarious, red leather trousers!
“They are rather terrible,” Jill was saying, “Really terrible, terrible red trousers, those are. Terrible.”
“I could take them off,” he offered.
-X-
Lucy - This is Eustace cutting in because I was reading Jill’s draft and I really do have to protest. I know that if I scrap this page, she’s just going to bite off my head and write it again but it really is unfair because it makes it seem like certain things happened that night and absolutely nothing did. Honest to Aslan, nothing happened. The opposite of anything happening happened, which is to say, that nothing did. Nothing at all. It was a completely ordinary night in which the two of us happened to share a mattress because there was only one and I was still wounded and Jill was tired of sleeping on the floor. But that doesn’t mean anything happened. By the Lion, Jill and I shared a blanket each night that entire journey up through Ettinsmoore in search of Rilian - and before you get any funny ideas, nothing happened then, either. And even if anything did happen, it would be none of your business. Besides, she’s my wife, so hush up. Although she wasn’t at the time. But the point still stands. So mind your own business, please and thank you. - Eustace
Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Epilogue|