P is for Philipp
Written for
shiorikazen . Happy belated birthday!
Title: P is for Philipp
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story. Except for the teacher, that is.
Notes: I finished this before I realised that 'Philipp' [spelt as it is] is not exactly an uncommon name in Germany, but it was too late and I had no time to change anything due to the dateline. Here's the original. Please do excuse this particular detail, and assume that the teacher is foreign or something. ><
Thanks to
jay_ay90 for the read-through and beta.
The letter ‘ P’ is the beginning of many things, and many words…
“New dish, guys!” Arne sang out, brandishing a huge plastic container filled to the top with tiny pita sandwiches.
“Wow. You had time to prepare food in between all that training?” Timo remarked incredulously, lifting up the box to peer through the translucent bottom at its contents.
Bastian smirked and nudged Lukas in the ribs. “Hey, ever considered a full-time job as the team cook? I’m sure we’ll all sponsor you to feed our hungry selves.”
“Definitely,” the striker agreed, following Bastian’s line of thought. “And we’ll throw in a nice pink apron too, courtesy of the team. With ruffles and all that. Won’t we, guys?”
“When you’re done with your comments, I’m sure there’ll still be some crumbs left for you two,” Arne answered dryly, waving a hand vaguely in the direction of the container, which was already making its way swiftly away down the row of seats furthest away from the two.
“Hey!”
“Pass that here!”
“Right, then.” Out of the corner of his eye, Arne could see Miroslav staring at him with an odd expression, face steadily turning redder and redder with every chew, and he turned away quickly, swallowing a laugh. “Anyway, I call them ‘pequito pockets’.”
“Why such an unusual name?” Jens asked as he bit into the soft bread.
“Well, despite being small in size, they sure do pack a punch,” Arne explained, shooting a sharp glance at Philipp sitting behind him, who raised an eyebrow in return, “ and contain plenty of ingredients; like some veggies, for example, chicken, and a dash of my special, homemade sauce, which - ”
“Hothothothothot!”
“Get out of the way!”
“Water, now!”
Philipp grinned as the rest of the team stumbled to the water cooler at the back of the bus, pushing and shoving each other. “ - contains liberal amounts of chilli, among other things. Too bad the team’s not able to handle it.”
“Nice working with you too.” Arne laughed, leaning over his seat to slap his palm on Philipp’s outstretched one. “By the way, how did you know so many of them had such a low tolerance for spicy food?”
“Pranksters never reveal their secret methods of investigation. Anyway, it worked, didn’t it?” his fellow defender replied thickly, mouth full of tomato and bread.
“Alright, I get the picture. Don’t spray it all over the bus.”
…among them pranksters, pita bread, and ‘pequito pockets’…
“Got it? Oh, and Phil, don’t be too disappointed if it doesn’t enter the pocket on your first go,” Melanie finished, patting her younger brother on the shoulder. “It took me at least five tries to accomplish that when I first played pool.”
The teen laughed. “I’m not you, ‘sis. Seen it thousands of times…I’m sure I can manage something as simple as that!”
“Oh really?” she said sceptically, leaning back against the wall. “Let’s see how you handle it.”
“It’s easy,” he replied, leaning forward casually to demonstrate. “Just align the stick with the ball, add a little force, and let it fly…”
_
“It flew, alright! Up off the table, through the window - made out of pure glass, I might add - with a sharp crack, and out the third floor of the building!”
“Thank you, Melanie,” came her brother’s voice amidst the eruption of giggles, and she turned to see Philipp glowering at her from the doorway of the living room, which set them all off again. “I’m sure that’s exactly how I would like to be remembered by all your friends - my fourteen year old self and his terrible attempts at pool.”
“Anyway,” he continued, walking over to Nicola and slinging an arm over her shoulder, “I’m much, much better at it now.”
…not to mention pool, and definitely pride…
Ever since he was little, Philipp had always wanted a pony.
It all started with a trip to the zoo. Somewhere in between looking at the otters and stopping at the ice-cream stand, the family realised that their youngest had disappeared. Splitting into groups, they began to search worriedly through the large crowd, trying to keep panic at bay. They found him at last, still at the petting zoo with the gentle grey pony.
Of course, Philipp knew better than to pester his parents for one - they had enough to deal with as it was, and with the limited space in their garden, he seriously doubted it would be a good idea. Nevertheless, a pony always remained at the top of every Christmas and birthday wish list he made, and he tried to drop hints whenever he could.
Finally, many years later, he had one. Well, not a pony, exactly, more of a horse…after all, he was twenty-three. She definitely came with a price, though. He sighed. It wasn’t like him to indulge; yet, as he stroked Surabaja’s soft chestnut coat, he couldn’t help but think it was worth the expense.
…also patience and ponies, as well as persistence…
The teacher’s eyes scanned the room during break time, noticing a new student among the large group of five year olds. She smoothed her hair back, picked up a pen and her class list from her desk, and made to approach the boy. Rather small for his age, but that grin of his was undeniably adorable…
“Hello! You’re new here, aren’t you? What’s your name?”
The boy swallowed the remainder of his sandwich, licking the last traces of peanut butter off his finger. “Philipp,” came the reply.
“Oh? A nice name, and it does suit you very well.”
“Thank you…oh, and it’s spelt with a double ‘p’ at the end, okay? Everyone always gets that part wrong.”
“Of course, dear,” she said, quickly correcting her mistake on the register. “Let’s get your hands washed, and then we’ll see about getting you a nametag…”
“Okay.”
…peanut butter, and most of all, the name Philipp.
shiorikazen . Happy belated birthday!
Title: P is for Philipp
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story. Except for the teacher, that is.
Notes: I finished this before I realised that 'Philipp' [spelt as it is] is not exactly an uncommon name in Germany, but it was too late and I had no time to change anything due to the dateline. Here's the original. Please do excuse this particular detail, and assume that the teacher is foreign or something. ><
Thanks to
jay_ay90 for the read-through and beta.
The letter ‘ P’ is the beginning of many things, and many words…
“New dish, guys!” Arne sang out, brandishing a huge plastic container filled to the top with tiny pita sandwiches.
“Wow. You had time to prepare food in between all that training?” Timo remarked incredulously, lifting up the box to peer through the translucent bottom at its contents.
Bastian smirked and nudged Lukas in the ribs. “Hey, ever considered a full-time job as the team cook? I’m sure we’ll all sponsor you to feed our hungry selves.”
“Definitely,” the striker agreed, following Bastian’s line of thought. “And we’ll throw in a nice pink apron too, courtesy of the team. With ruffles and all that. Won’t we, guys?”
“When you’re done with your comments, I’m sure there’ll still be some crumbs left for you two,” Arne answered dryly, waving a hand vaguely in the direction of the container, which was already making its way swiftly away down the row of seats furthest away from the two.
“Hey!”
“Pass that here!”
“Right, then.” Out of the corner of his eye, Arne could see Miroslav staring at him with an odd expression, face steadily turning redder and redder with every chew, and he turned away quickly, swallowing a laugh. “Anyway, I call them ‘pequito pockets’.”
“Why such an unusual name?” Jens asked as he bit into the soft bread.
“Well, despite being small in size, they sure do pack a punch,” Arne explained, shooting a sharp glance at Philipp sitting behind him, who raised an eyebrow in return, “ and contain plenty of ingredients; like some veggies, for example, chicken, and a dash of my special, homemade sauce, which - ”
“Hothothothothot!”
“Get out of the way!”
“Water, now!”
Philipp grinned as the rest of the team stumbled to the water cooler at the back of the bus, pushing and shoving each other. “ - contains liberal amounts of chilli, among other things. Too bad the team’s not able to handle it.”
“Nice working with you too.” Arne laughed, leaning over his seat to slap his palm on Philipp’s outstretched one. “By the way, how did you know so many of them had such a low tolerance for spicy food?”
“Pranksters never reveal their secret methods of investigation. Anyway, it worked, didn’t it?” his fellow defender replied thickly, mouth full of tomato and bread.
“Alright, I get the picture. Don’t spray it all over the bus.”
…among them pranksters, pita bread, and ‘pequito pockets’…
“Got it? Oh, and Phil, don’t be too disappointed if it doesn’t enter the pocket on your first go,” Melanie finished, patting her younger brother on the shoulder. “It took me at least five tries to accomplish that when I first played pool.”
The teen laughed. “I’m not you, ‘sis. Seen it thousands of times…I’m sure I can manage something as simple as that!”
“Oh really?” she said sceptically, leaning back against the wall. “Let’s see how you handle it.”
“It’s easy,” he replied, leaning forward casually to demonstrate. “Just align the stick with the ball, add a little force, and let it fly…”
_
“It flew, alright! Up off the table, through the window - made out of pure glass, I might add - with a sharp crack, and out the third floor of the building!”
“Thank you, Melanie,” came her brother’s voice amidst the eruption of giggles, and she turned to see Philipp glowering at her from the doorway of the living room, which set them all off again. “I’m sure that’s exactly how I would like to be remembered by all your friends - my fourteen year old self and his terrible attempts at pool.”
“Anyway,” he continued, walking over to Nicola and slinging an arm over her shoulder, “I’m much, much better at it now.”
…not to mention pool, and definitely pride…
Ever since he was little, Philipp had always wanted a pony.
It all started with a trip to the zoo. Somewhere in between looking at the otters and stopping at the ice-cream stand, the family realised that their youngest had disappeared. Splitting into groups, they began to search worriedly through the large crowd, trying to keep panic at bay. They found him at last, still at the petting zoo with the gentle grey pony.
Of course, Philipp knew better than to pester his parents for one - they had enough to deal with as it was, and with the limited space in their garden, he seriously doubted it would be a good idea. Nevertheless, a pony always remained at the top of every Christmas and birthday wish list he made, and he tried to drop hints whenever he could.
Finally, many years later, he had one. Well, not a pony, exactly, more of a horse…after all, he was twenty-three. She definitely came with a price, though. He sighed. It wasn’t like him to indulge; yet, as he stroked Surabaja’s soft chestnut coat, he couldn’t help but think it was worth the expense.
…also patience and ponies, as well as persistence…
The teacher’s eyes scanned the room during break time, noticing a new student among the large group of five year olds. She smoothed her hair back, picked up a pen and her class list from her desk, and made to approach the boy. Rather small for his age, but that grin of his was undeniably adorable…
“Hello! You’re new here, aren’t you? What’s your name?”
The boy swallowed the remainder of his sandwich, licking the last traces of peanut butter off his finger. “Philipp,” came the reply.
“Oh? A nice name, and it does suit you very well.”
“Thank you…oh, and it’s spelt with a double ‘p’ at the end, okay? Everyone always gets that part wrong.”
“Of course, dear,” she said, quickly correcting her mistake on the register. “Let’s get your hands washed, and then we’ll see about getting you a nametag…”
“Okay.”
…peanut butter, and most of all, the name Philipp.