Fic - Christmas Care
Author: halfapint
Title: Christmas Care
My challenge: Write a fic about Much set in the future.
Rating: Erm, PG? XD
Notes: In this universe, Much is a young man, studying drama at university and works part time at a care home for old people (specifically war veterans and families). He left home against his father’s wishes to pursue his dream and, after being rejected from a drama school, ended up working part time in an old people’s home (mostly due to prompting from Eve), with another part time job at the supermarket, to help pay his way through uni. ^_^ He’s taken it upon himself to look after the senile Robin. (I should probably also note that, in the last five minutes, he’s ended up in a love triangle with Allan and Will and also fancies the knickers off Eve. Just saying~)
The key point is that he isn't usually treated very well in this universe - Robin takes him for granted still (more so, actually), Allan tends to not notice anything and winds him up, and he doesn't get on well with his family. I hope this meets the criteria?
Sorry it’s not my best effort, I’ll revisit it but for now I wanted to get at least ONE of my fics up before the deadline. -_-;; I've been too ill to do anything but lie in bed moaning so... yeah?
I'm also 527 words over. Go me. -_-;; Bah, humbug, it's late, I'm ill. Forgive me? The other one (when, one day, it is finished being written/posted) will easily be in the word limit. Sorry again. I kinda forgot about the word limit part. ^_^;; Even if it no longer counts as a ficathon piece, hopefully it's still alright for the comm...?
Competition: NO! It's awful. >_>
Much Miller, struggling drama student, single man, care home worker, trundled into work feeling completely miserable. Once again, no one in his family had bothered to call, no one had bothered to send a letter or an email or even a text message, despite his mini-bombardment of said greetings.
“It’s Christmas Eve, for God’s sake!” he muttered under his breath, taking off his wellies and swapping them for a pair of boots, lest Robin accidentally shuffle too close and break his toes again.
Of course, he mused, it would probably fit today quite well.
He carried on down the warm terracotta hallway, brushing past one of the nurses with his head down and his thoughts getting gloomier by the second. He wasn’t looking forward to spending another Christmas alone, watching It’s A Wonderful Life and munching on ham sandwiches (because, as he pointed out to himself every year, what’s the point in getting a giant turkey if one person is going to eat it?).
“Maybe I should just invite Robin to my place, or invite myself back tomorrow. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do…”
“Much!” a cheery voice called from behind him.
He stopped and sighed, really not wanting to put up with Djaq because he knew he’d just end up snapping at her or something, if his mood got any worse. Nevertheless, duty bound, he turned and pulled on a fake smile to greet the nurse.
“Djaq. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you too, my friend!” she almost sang, her accent making the words sound slightly strange. He knew that she was Muslim but she seemed to love the Christmas celebrations more than anyone he knew. He didn’t quite understand it. She was wearing a horrendous bright green woollen jumper (probably made by Marian, he later realised) that was covered in small brown blobs he assumed were reindeer and oddly shaped Christmas trees. She also had silver fairy wings and a Santa hat on, which further added to the visual abuse. She was also hauling around a giant red bag, which, he assumed, meant that she was this year’s designated Santa.
He was a bit surprised when she dove into the bag, pulled out a gold and silver wrapped box and thrust it into his hands, causing him to drop his wellies and cover the floor in mud. She didn’t notice.
“Now don’t you go opening it till tomorrow, alright?” she grinned, hugging him and then running on her merry way. Much was more than slightly confused, but also felt that maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all. He looked at the box in his hands and smiled.
At least someone cared about him.
He bent down to pick up his footwear when his belly started grumbling, and he realised he hadn’t had breakfast yet. The day was beginning to deteriorate once again but at least, he mused, he knew the reason for his grumpiness. He was always foul tempered when hungry.
He plodded down to the dining room/bingo hall/cafeteria, occasionally shaking the box (it made no sound) and wondering what the hell was in it. He set it down on one of the tables and grabbed a bowl of cold and rather lumpy porridge, coating it with an inch of sugar just to make it edible. He also dumped half a cup of sugar in his coffee, which he knew had barely any caffeine in it because it was bad for the residents of the home. Few people were in the hall with him (just the cooks and the weird admin girl who liked to accuse people of being spies) so he settled down by himself, contentedly munching his way through the paste-like substance.
One particular mouthful proved to be too gooey for his throat to handle and he started to choke, slapping his chest in an effort to dislodge the offending porridge, and a heavy handed whack to his back allowed him to breath again. Much turned around to thank his well-timed hero, and found himself staring into the grinning face of Allan A Dale.
And he’d thought the day had been starting to look up.
Allan perched himself on the chair beside Much, resting his chin on one hand as he spoke.
“Y’alright, mate?”
“’M fine,” Much mumbled, spooning another mouthful of porridge into his mouth. Maybe, he hoped, if I ignore him and carry on eating, he’ll take the hint and leave? I can’t be putting up with him today…
“Good! Got anything planned for tomorrow?” Allan asked, not waiting for an answer. Everyone knew what Much was doing, anyway - the same thing he’d done last year, be alone and miserable.
“’Cause I was thinking, if you’re not spending it with your folks or anyone, you could come over mine or something.”
Much dropped his spoon. He turned, slowly, and faced Allan, who, for once in his life, actually looked shy and bashful (like he so often pretended to be) and was he actually blushing? Allan started talking again.
“I mean, we can watch some films and open presents and stuff because my folks are all staying in London and I really don’t fancy the trip down so it was just gonna be me by myself and I wasn’t sure if you were interested and I have a really small turkey if you want some but if you don’t want to-”
“That’d be nice,” Much smiled, cutting Allan off softly.
Allan beamed.
“But,” Much said sternly, raising a finger and stopping Allan from speaking for another moment. “I am doing the cooking. I remember the cookie incident.”
Allan faked a groan and tried to look endearing, but that moment had passed. “Muuuch, I thought I told you that I thought the eggs were fine, I’d eaten some the day before and I wasn’t ill-”
“And you gave them to old people with lousy immune systems and sensitive stomachs. You may be able to eat like you’re a dustbin, but others can’t.”
Allan grumbled a little, but the effect was spoiled by the fact he couldn’t stop grinning.
“Fine, you can cook. But,” he replied, copying Much’s gesture. “This means that when we’re both finished here, we’re going to yours, grabbing your stuff and you’re staying at mine for the night as WELL as tomorrow.”
He finished his comment with a failed attempt at an evil laugh, and it deteriorated into a chuckle.
“I think I can live with that,” Much answered, smiling a lot more now. Allan brushed his hand through his hair, smiled, and got up.
“Ok, I’ll see you here later then?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer he was gone, off to the land of incontinent old men and war stories that would make you gnaw your arm off.
Much’s smile widened. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad day after all.
When he finished his breakfast, he made his way to Robin’s flat without encountering anyone else. He knocked, as usual (although they’d both long discovered it was utterly pointless to do so) and walked in to find Robin in the lounge, watching a programme on World War Two aircraft.
“This,” he wheezed, pointing an old wrinkled hand at the TV set, “is a mockery! What would some young’un know about a fine aeroplane like that one? Why don’t they have someone who flew one on there talking about it? I could tell you a thing or two about the engineering of a Spitfire!”
“A Merry Christmas and a good afternoon to you, too, Mr Hood,” Much replied, smile still adorning his face. For once, it appeared, Robin picked up on it.
“You been laid, boy?”
Much blushed furiously and looked vaguely scandalised. How could old men be so… so… blunt about this stuff? He’d always thought they were supposed to be prudish.
Or maybe Robin just wasn’t normal. Much was beginning to wonder… He decided to pretend Robin hadn’t made the comment.
“I’ve just come to make sure you’ve got everything you need for tomorrow, Robin. You’re having dinner in the hall, remember? So please don’t try to cook this year.”
Much cringed at the memory of the previous year, when Robin had nearly burnt the home down because he’d forgotten he’d put a turkey in the oven and gone off to find Marian in the cafeteria instead of keeping an eye on things.
“Oh, don’t worry about that!” the older man waved his hand to dismiss it. “I’ve got everything, and if I need anything we’ve forgotten then Miss Djaq won’t object to fetching it for me. God knows she’s been running round all week. Besides,” he grinned, “I think you’ve covered every situation, and I’m only going to have to be alone tomorrow.”
He turned the television off and stretched his stick-thin legs out across his leg rest. “No, tomorrow I will finally win Marian over.” He looked over at his part-time carer, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, Much… Maybe there is something you could get me before you go home for the holiday…”
Much rolled his eyes good naturedly. He’d been waiting for this.
Here we go again.
Title: Christmas Care
My challenge: Write a fic about Much set in the future.
Rating: Erm, PG? XD
Notes: In this universe, Much is a young man, studying drama at university and works part time at a care home for old people (specifically war veterans and families). He left home against his father’s wishes to pursue his dream and, after being rejected from a drama school, ended up working part time in an old people’s home (mostly due to prompting from Eve), with another part time job at the supermarket, to help pay his way through uni. ^_^ He’s taken it upon himself to look after the senile Robin. (I should probably also note that, in the last five minutes, he’s ended up in a love triangle with Allan and Will and also fancies the knickers off Eve. Just saying~)
The key point is that he isn't usually treated very well in this universe - Robin takes him for granted still (more so, actually), Allan tends to not notice anything and winds him up, and he doesn't get on well with his family. I hope this meets the criteria?
Sorry it’s not my best effort, I’ll revisit it but for now I wanted to get at least ONE of my fics up before the deadline. -_-;; I've been too ill to do anything but lie in bed moaning so... yeah?
I'm also 527 words over. Go me. -_-;; Bah, humbug, it's late, I'm ill. Forgive me? The other one (when, one day, it is finished being written/posted) will easily be in the word limit. Sorry again. I kinda forgot about the word limit part. ^_^;; Even if it no longer counts as a ficathon piece, hopefully it's still alright for the comm...?
Competition: NO! It's awful. >_>
Much Miller, struggling drama student, single man, care home worker, trundled into work feeling completely miserable. Once again, no one in his family had bothered to call, no one had bothered to send a letter or an email or even a text message, despite his mini-bombardment of said greetings.
“It’s Christmas Eve, for God’s sake!” he muttered under his breath, taking off his wellies and swapping them for a pair of boots, lest Robin accidentally shuffle too close and break his toes again.
Of course, he mused, it would probably fit today quite well.
He carried on down the warm terracotta hallway, brushing past one of the nurses with his head down and his thoughts getting gloomier by the second. He wasn’t looking forward to spending another Christmas alone, watching It’s A Wonderful Life and munching on ham sandwiches (because, as he pointed out to himself every year, what’s the point in getting a giant turkey if one person is going to eat it?).
“Maybe I should just invite Robin to my place, or invite myself back tomorrow. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do…”
“Much!” a cheery voice called from behind him.
He stopped and sighed, really not wanting to put up with Djaq because he knew he’d just end up snapping at her or something, if his mood got any worse. Nevertheless, duty bound, he turned and pulled on a fake smile to greet the nurse.
“Djaq. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you too, my friend!” she almost sang, her accent making the words sound slightly strange. He knew that she was Muslim but she seemed to love the Christmas celebrations more than anyone he knew. He didn’t quite understand it. She was wearing a horrendous bright green woollen jumper (probably made by Marian, he later realised) that was covered in small brown blobs he assumed were reindeer and oddly shaped Christmas trees. She also had silver fairy wings and a Santa hat on, which further added to the visual abuse. She was also hauling around a giant red bag, which, he assumed, meant that she was this year’s designated Santa.
He was a bit surprised when she dove into the bag, pulled out a gold and silver wrapped box and thrust it into his hands, causing him to drop his wellies and cover the floor in mud. She didn’t notice.
“Now don’t you go opening it till tomorrow, alright?” she grinned, hugging him and then running on her merry way. Much was more than slightly confused, but also felt that maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all. He looked at the box in his hands and smiled.
At least someone cared about him.
He bent down to pick up his footwear when his belly started grumbling, and he realised he hadn’t had breakfast yet. The day was beginning to deteriorate once again but at least, he mused, he knew the reason for his grumpiness. He was always foul tempered when hungry.
He plodded down to the dining room/bingo hall/cafeteria, occasionally shaking the box (it made no sound) and wondering what the hell was in it. He set it down on one of the tables and grabbed a bowl of cold and rather lumpy porridge, coating it with an inch of sugar just to make it edible. He also dumped half a cup of sugar in his coffee, which he knew had barely any caffeine in it because it was bad for the residents of the home. Few people were in the hall with him (just the cooks and the weird admin girl who liked to accuse people of being spies) so he settled down by himself, contentedly munching his way through the paste-like substance.
One particular mouthful proved to be too gooey for his throat to handle and he started to choke, slapping his chest in an effort to dislodge the offending porridge, and a heavy handed whack to his back allowed him to breath again. Much turned around to thank his well-timed hero, and found himself staring into the grinning face of Allan A Dale.
And he’d thought the day had been starting to look up.
Allan perched himself on the chair beside Much, resting his chin on one hand as he spoke.
“Y’alright, mate?”
“’M fine,” Much mumbled, spooning another mouthful of porridge into his mouth. Maybe, he hoped, if I ignore him and carry on eating, he’ll take the hint and leave? I can’t be putting up with him today…
“Good! Got anything planned for tomorrow?” Allan asked, not waiting for an answer. Everyone knew what Much was doing, anyway - the same thing he’d done last year, be alone and miserable.
“’Cause I was thinking, if you’re not spending it with your folks or anyone, you could come over mine or something.”
Much dropped his spoon. He turned, slowly, and faced Allan, who, for once in his life, actually looked shy and bashful (like he so often pretended to be) and was he actually blushing? Allan started talking again.
“I mean, we can watch some films and open presents and stuff because my folks are all staying in London and I really don’t fancy the trip down so it was just gonna be me by myself and I wasn’t sure if you were interested and I have a really small turkey if you want some but if you don’t want to-”
“That’d be nice,” Much smiled, cutting Allan off softly.
Allan beamed.
“But,” Much said sternly, raising a finger and stopping Allan from speaking for another moment. “I am doing the cooking. I remember the cookie incident.”
Allan faked a groan and tried to look endearing, but that moment had passed. “Muuuch, I thought I told you that I thought the eggs were fine, I’d eaten some the day before and I wasn’t ill-”
“And you gave them to old people with lousy immune systems and sensitive stomachs. You may be able to eat like you’re a dustbin, but others can’t.”
Allan grumbled a little, but the effect was spoiled by the fact he couldn’t stop grinning.
“Fine, you can cook. But,” he replied, copying Much’s gesture. “This means that when we’re both finished here, we’re going to yours, grabbing your stuff and you’re staying at mine for the night as WELL as tomorrow.”
He finished his comment with a failed attempt at an evil laugh, and it deteriorated into a chuckle.
“I think I can live with that,” Much answered, smiling a lot more now. Allan brushed his hand through his hair, smiled, and got up.
“Ok, I’ll see you here later then?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer he was gone, off to the land of incontinent old men and war stories that would make you gnaw your arm off.
Much’s smile widened. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad day after all.
When he finished his breakfast, he made his way to Robin’s flat without encountering anyone else. He knocked, as usual (although they’d both long discovered it was utterly pointless to do so) and walked in to find Robin in the lounge, watching a programme on World War Two aircraft.
“This,” he wheezed, pointing an old wrinkled hand at the TV set, “is a mockery! What would some young’un know about a fine aeroplane like that one? Why don’t they have someone who flew one on there talking about it? I could tell you a thing or two about the engineering of a Spitfire!”
“A Merry Christmas and a good afternoon to you, too, Mr Hood,” Much replied, smile still adorning his face. For once, it appeared, Robin picked up on it.
“You been laid, boy?”
Much blushed furiously and looked vaguely scandalised. How could old men be so… so… blunt about this stuff? He’d always thought they were supposed to be prudish.
Or maybe Robin just wasn’t normal. Much was beginning to wonder… He decided to pretend Robin hadn’t made the comment.
“I’ve just come to make sure you’ve got everything you need for tomorrow, Robin. You’re having dinner in the hall, remember? So please don’t try to cook this year.”
Much cringed at the memory of the previous year, when Robin had nearly burnt the home down because he’d forgotten he’d put a turkey in the oven and gone off to find Marian in the cafeteria instead of keeping an eye on things.
“Oh, don’t worry about that!” the older man waved his hand to dismiss it. “I’ve got everything, and if I need anything we’ve forgotten then Miss Djaq won’t object to fetching it for me. God knows she’s been running round all week. Besides,” he grinned, “I think you’ve covered every situation, and I’m only going to have to be alone tomorrow.”
He turned the television off and stretched his stick-thin legs out across his leg rest. “No, tomorrow I will finally win Marian over.” He looked over at his part-time carer, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, Much… Maybe there is something you could get me before you go home for the holiday…”
Much rolled his eyes good naturedly. He’d been waiting for this.
Here we go again.