Brassed Off Calendar Girls do the Full Monty in Camelot (9/?)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9: Money, Money, Money
The suggestions for fundraising activities became more and more outrageous. Gwaine suggested a naked mud-wrestling competition, which everyone agreed would be a bit too over the top; Sophia suggested a Bridge competition, which everyone thought would be a bit stuffy. “I know, what about the Full Monty,” joked Arthur without thinking.
After band practice on Friday, Arthur looked across at Merlin. Creating an imaginary cup with his hand, and bringing said cup to his lips, he waggled it back and forth-the internationally agreed sign language for “fancy a pint?”-and Merlin raised his eyebrows and thumb, nodding in the affirmative.
Together they toddled over to the Rising Sun with much of the rest of the band. Hearing footsteps behind, Arthur turned and saw Mordred following him, like a puppy, and stopped, Merlin by his side.
"Can I come to the pub with you," asked the boy, large blue eyes almost black in the street lights.
"Won't your mum or dad be here to pick you up soon?"
Mordred shrugged. "I can phone them when I'm ready to go."
"How old are you Mordred?" asked Arthur.
"14"
Arthur shrugged. He'd been going to the pub at that age. Drinking pints, too, as he recalled.
"OK then," he said. Mordred grinned in delight. Arthur didn't think he'd ever seen the boy smile before.
"Thanks!" said Mordred. "No-one ever lets me do anything!"
Arthur bought a pint for himself, an orange juice for Mordred and a vile-looking pink drink for Merlin. How his friend could drink that disgusting stuff in preference to the life-giving nectar of the gods brewed by the Messrs Timothy Taylor & company, Arthur really didn’t know. As Mordred made a bee-line for certain female trombone specialists, Kahill sidled over to Arthur and Merlin, munching his way incongruously through a packet of pork scratchings. Arthur had assumed that Kahill was Muslim, but Kahill was nothing if not a genius at confounding Arthur's expectations.
“All right, loves,” he began in a friendly tone. “I wanted to have a word with you about Mordred.” And he nodded at the disappearing back and mop of unruly curls.
“Mordred?" said Merlin, a puzzled crease appearing between his eyebrows. "What is the problem?”
“I am concerned about him. I have seen the way he looks at you and Arthur in rehearsal. He looks up to you both. Just look out for him, OK? He’s young and impressionable, but thinks he isn’t.”
“I’m not sure I follow you, Kahill,” said Arthur. "What are you implying?"
The older man chuckled enigmatically, his mouth gleaming gold in the dim pub light.
“Just be careful, love,” he said. “He may only be a boy, but he’ll be a man soon. You would do well not to underestimate him.” And he shuffled off, crunching salty snacks as he went.
“What was that all about?” Arthur whispered.
“I have absolutely no idea,” Merlin murmured back.
Merlin and Arthur stood together, quietly, at the busy bar, shoulder to shoulder, backs of their hands together, each leaning back with the other elbow propped up on the bar, holding their drinks and listening to the hum of conversation. Arthur could feel their knuckle hairs touching, and had a profound urge to see how it felt to fit his fingers into the gaps between Merlin's. Hastily he pulled his hand away, and stood up straighter, realising as he did so that he was marring the otherwise perfect symmetry of their stance.
He tuned into the general conversation. It seemed that all was still not well with the Albion band’s finances.
“It’s all very well,” Gwen was saying, gesturing animatedly while she spoke, “but football and concert ticket sales haven’t generated enough funds to cover the costs of the coach for the contest and the new soprano for Perce. What else can we do? Thinking caps on, people.”
Lance gazed at her adoringly. Gwen’s pint of Guinness stood half-finished in front of her, and she had a froth mustache on her upper lip. Lance leaned in and carefully wiped it off with a gentle thumb. Arthur and Merlin exchanged knowing looks. Gwaine mimed sticking a finger down his throat, at which Merlin laughed out loud, stretching his head right back, exposing his long white throat. Arthur, lips twitching unconsciously, coughed and turned away from this arresting sight.
More drinks were quaffed to fuel the thinking caps, and the suggestions for fundraising activities became more and more outrageous. Gwaine suggested a naked mud-wrestling competition, which everyone agreed would be a bit too over the top; Sophia suggested a Bridge competition, which everyone thought would be a bit stuffy.
“I know, what about the Full Monty,” joked Arthur without thinking and everyone stared at him. “You know,” he ploughed on, ignoring an insistent voice in his head that was telling him to shut up, “that movie where all the lads do a strip show to raise a bit of cash? It had Robert Carlyle in it…” perhaps best not to dwell too much, in public, on his teen fantasies about Robert Carlyle. “There are some attractive men in the band aren’t there? We could easily raise a few hundred in ticket sales…”
He’d been joking but with mounting horror he realised that the girls were instantly in favour.
“The boys do the stripping, the girls do the music” said Gwen looking at Lance with sparkling eyes. “Arthur you are a genius. You’ll do it won’t you boys? Who’s in? Let’s have a show of hands. Lance?”
It was clear to Arthur that Lance would do absolutely anything Gwen asked him to - and that Gwen was very much looking forward to the show. Lance raised his hand.
“Hmm, intriguing,” drawled Gwaine, face alarmingly delighted. He looked speculatively round at the other men in the room, and raised his hand. "I'm in!"
Mordred, looking excited, raised his hand too.
"Not you, Mordred," Gwen frowned. Mordred's eyes flattened and Arthur shivered suddenly.
Leon, Percival and Elyan, not to be outdone, raised their hands. Gwen looked pointedly at Arthur.
“Uh-oh,” thought Arthur. Him and his big mouth. He racked his brains for a way out of this self-imposed predicament. He looked over at Merlin, whose face now resembled the Edvard Munch painting “The Scream”, as he silently mouthed “no no no no” over and over again. Arthur girded his loins. If Merlin was going to be such a big girl about it, Arthur was definitely not going to chicken out. He reached out to catch hold of Merlin’s wrist and raised that at the same time as his own, to deafening cheers.
“Come on Merlin,” he said, grinning at his struggling prisoner. “The new boys have got to stick together?” and held onto Merlin’s wrist with a steely grip as the leaner man tried desperately to escape.
“I reckon the girls should do their bit as well, though,” Gwaine said, beaming. “All right girls, we’ll do it IF, and only if, you agree to do something naked in return.” The girls scowled.
But then Mithian nodded.
“OK boys,” she said. “That’s fair. You do The Full Monty, and we’ll do Calendar Girls. You know, that movie where the Womens Institute made a tasteful nude calendar to raise funds. OK Girls?”
The pub went quiet for a moment and then Elena, Gwen and Sophia started to object, all talking at once. Mithian rolled her eyes. “Come on girls, we can do this. It’ll be artistic, tasteful, not full frontal, we can do strategic placement of our instruments, music stands and sheet music. It’ll be fine.” Mordred's eyes were like saucers; Arthur could almost hear Mordred's mind working, and wished he could blank it out.
“Oh all right then,” said Sophia reluctantly. “As long as we get to watch the boys, and we get to choose our photographer that’s fine.”
But as the rest of the band drank to the new venture, Merlin finally wrenched his wrist out of Arthur’s grip, and glared at him accusingly as he stumbled away from the bar and towards the door, breathing heavily. Arthur followed him to the door, touched him on the shoulder to turn him round.
“Hey,” said Arthur, puzzled and a bit concerned. Merlin flinched away from Arthur’s touch as if he’d been scorched. He was actually trembling, Arthur thought. He wasn’t sure what had gone wrong, but somehow he’d made a big mistake.
“FUCK you Arthur. Don’t touch me!” Merlin hissed eventually, voice wobbling, watery eyes flicking to the rest of the group, who hadn’t yet noticed that something was amiss. Arthur winced.
“Merlin, are you OK?” Arthur said softly “I’m sorry I assumed …”
“You… you… presumptuous arse. You bullying prick. You have no fucking idea,” Merlin said tightly, grabbing his coat and putting it on, fumbling in his pocket for his mobile phone. He dialled a number as he stepped outside, Arthur following, concerned.
“Gaius? Can you come and get me? No no it’s ok. I’m ok. Really," but Arthur could hear his voice cracking, could tell that Merlin was definitely not OK. "But now, now would be good. The Rising Sun. Please.” Merlin’s fingers were shaking. His pupils were dilated and he looked on the edge of a full blown panic attack, as if he would pass out any minute.
“Arthur. You have to go. You have to go now,” he said, sounding desperate. “Don’t touch me,” he warned again. Arthur raised his hands above his head.
“Merlin, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not going to leave you out here alone until I know you’re OK. I won’t touch you either, if that’s what you want? Look, no hands.”
“Don’t speak to me either. Arthur bloody Pendragon. Just. Don’t.”
Merlin was juddering, taking gasping breaths, hyperventilating, arms folded round himself. But Arthur did as he had been asked, and stayed an arms’ length away, not looking at Merlin, hands in pockets, not speaking, until Gaius’s lumbering figure appeared from the band room and crossed the street to the pub. Arthur let out the breath he didn’t realise he’d held.
“Merlin my boy? Merlin what happened. OK Merlin, it’s all right now. Just… come to the car.” Merlin had folded in on himself but let Gaius lead him away. Arthur made to follow but Gaius stilled him with a grim shake of his head.
“Just let me know he’s OK,” he whispered to Gaius, who nodded.
Arthur leaned against the wall, letting his head thud against the cold bricks, feeling like he'd somehow snuffed out something delicate before it had ever had a chance to be kindled into life, but he had no idea what he'd done wrong.
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9: Money, Money, Money
The suggestions for fundraising activities became more and more outrageous. Gwaine suggested a naked mud-wrestling competition, which everyone agreed would be a bit too over the top; Sophia suggested a Bridge competition, which everyone thought would be a bit stuffy. “I know, what about the Full Monty,” joked Arthur without thinking.
After band practice on Friday, Arthur looked across at Merlin. Creating an imaginary cup with his hand, and bringing said cup to his lips, he waggled it back and forth-the internationally agreed sign language for “fancy a pint?”-and Merlin raised his eyebrows and thumb, nodding in the affirmative.
Together they toddled over to the Rising Sun with much of the rest of the band. Hearing footsteps behind, Arthur turned and saw Mordred following him, like a puppy, and stopped, Merlin by his side.
"Can I come to the pub with you," asked the boy, large blue eyes almost black in the street lights.
"Won't your mum or dad be here to pick you up soon?"
Mordred shrugged. "I can phone them when I'm ready to go."
"How old are you Mordred?" asked Arthur.
"14"
Arthur shrugged. He'd been going to the pub at that age. Drinking pints, too, as he recalled.
"OK then," he said. Mordred grinned in delight. Arthur didn't think he'd ever seen the boy smile before.
"Thanks!" said Mordred. "No-one ever lets me do anything!"
Arthur bought a pint for himself, an orange juice for Mordred and a vile-looking pink drink for Merlin. How his friend could drink that disgusting stuff in preference to the life-giving nectar of the gods brewed by the Messrs Timothy Taylor & company, Arthur really didn’t know. As Mordred made a bee-line for certain female trombone specialists, Kahill sidled over to Arthur and Merlin, munching his way incongruously through a packet of pork scratchings. Arthur had assumed that Kahill was Muslim, but Kahill was nothing if not a genius at confounding Arthur's expectations.
“All right, loves,” he began in a friendly tone. “I wanted to have a word with you about Mordred.” And he nodded at the disappearing back and mop of unruly curls.
“Mordred?" said Merlin, a puzzled crease appearing between his eyebrows. "What is the problem?”
“I am concerned about him. I have seen the way he looks at you and Arthur in rehearsal. He looks up to you both. Just look out for him, OK? He’s young and impressionable, but thinks he isn’t.”
“I’m not sure I follow you, Kahill,” said Arthur. "What are you implying?"
The older man chuckled enigmatically, his mouth gleaming gold in the dim pub light.
“Just be careful, love,” he said. “He may only be a boy, but he’ll be a man soon. You would do well not to underestimate him.” And he shuffled off, crunching salty snacks as he went.
“What was that all about?” Arthur whispered.
“I have absolutely no idea,” Merlin murmured back.
Merlin and Arthur stood together, quietly, at the busy bar, shoulder to shoulder, backs of their hands together, each leaning back with the other elbow propped up on the bar, holding their drinks and listening to the hum of conversation. Arthur could feel their knuckle hairs touching, and had a profound urge to see how it felt to fit his fingers into the gaps between Merlin's. Hastily he pulled his hand away, and stood up straighter, realising as he did so that he was marring the otherwise perfect symmetry of their stance.
He tuned into the general conversation. It seemed that all was still not well with the Albion band’s finances.
“It’s all very well,” Gwen was saying, gesturing animatedly while she spoke, “but football and concert ticket sales haven’t generated enough funds to cover the costs of the coach for the contest and the new soprano for Perce. What else can we do? Thinking caps on, people.”
Lance gazed at her adoringly. Gwen’s pint of Guinness stood half-finished in front of her, and she had a froth mustache on her upper lip. Lance leaned in and carefully wiped it off with a gentle thumb. Arthur and Merlin exchanged knowing looks. Gwaine mimed sticking a finger down his throat, at which Merlin laughed out loud, stretching his head right back, exposing his long white throat. Arthur, lips twitching unconsciously, coughed and turned away from this arresting sight.
More drinks were quaffed to fuel the thinking caps, and the suggestions for fundraising activities became more and more outrageous. Gwaine suggested a naked mud-wrestling competition, which everyone agreed would be a bit too over the top; Sophia suggested a Bridge competition, which everyone thought would be a bit stuffy.
“I know, what about the Full Monty,” joked Arthur without thinking and everyone stared at him. “You know,” he ploughed on, ignoring an insistent voice in his head that was telling him to shut up, “that movie where all the lads do a strip show to raise a bit of cash? It had Robert Carlyle in it…” perhaps best not to dwell too much, in public, on his teen fantasies about Robert Carlyle. “There are some attractive men in the band aren’t there? We could easily raise a few hundred in ticket sales…”
He’d been joking but with mounting horror he realised that the girls were instantly in favour.
“The boys do the stripping, the girls do the music” said Gwen looking at Lance with sparkling eyes. “Arthur you are a genius. You’ll do it won’t you boys? Who’s in? Let’s have a show of hands. Lance?”
It was clear to Arthur that Lance would do absolutely anything Gwen asked him to - and that Gwen was very much looking forward to the show. Lance raised his hand.
“Hmm, intriguing,” drawled Gwaine, face alarmingly delighted. He looked speculatively round at the other men in the room, and raised his hand. "I'm in!"
Mordred, looking excited, raised his hand too.
"Not you, Mordred," Gwen frowned. Mordred's eyes flattened and Arthur shivered suddenly.
Leon, Percival and Elyan, not to be outdone, raised their hands. Gwen looked pointedly at Arthur.
“Uh-oh,” thought Arthur. Him and his big mouth. He racked his brains for a way out of this self-imposed predicament. He looked over at Merlin, whose face now resembled the Edvard Munch painting “The Scream”, as he silently mouthed “no no no no” over and over again. Arthur girded his loins. If Merlin was going to be such a big girl about it, Arthur was definitely not going to chicken out. He reached out to catch hold of Merlin’s wrist and raised that at the same time as his own, to deafening cheers.
“Come on Merlin,” he said, grinning at his struggling prisoner. “The new boys have got to stick together?” and held onto Merlin’s wrist with a steely grip as the leaner man tried desperately to escape.
“I reckon the girls should do their bit as well, though,” Gwaine said, beaming. “All right girls, we’ll do it IF, and only if, you agree to do something naked in return.” The girls scowled.
But then Mithian nodded.
“OK boys,” she said. “That’s fair. You do The Full Monty, and we’ll do Calendar Girls. You know, that movie where the Womens Institute made a tasteful nude calendar to raise funds. OK Girls?”
The pub went quiet for a moment and then Elena, Gwen and Sophia started to object, all talking at once. Mithian rolled her eyes. “Come on girls, we can do this. It’ll be artistic, tasteful, not full frontal, we can do strategic placement of our instruments, music stands and sheet music. It’ll be fine.” Mordred's eyes were like saucers; Arthur could almost hear Mordred's mind working, and wished he could blank it out.
“Oh all right then,” said Sophia reluctantly. “As long as we get to watch the boys, and we get to choose our photographer that’s fine.”
But as the rest of the band drank to the new venture, Merlin finally wrenched his wrist out of Arthur’s grip, and glared at him accusingly as he stumbled away from the bar and towards the door, breathing heavily. Arthur followed him to the door, touched him on the shoulder to turn him round.
“Hey,” said Arthur, puzzled and a bit concerned. Merlin flinched away from Arthur’s touch as if he’d been scorched. He was actually trembling, Arthur thought. He wasn’t sure what had gone wrong, but somehow he’d made a big mistake.
“FUCK you Arthur. Don’t touch me!” Merlin hissed eventually, voice wobbling, watery eyes flicking to the rest of the group, who hadn’t yet noticed that something was amiss. Arthur winced.
“Merlin, are you OK?” Arthur said softly “I’m sorry I assumed …”
“You… you… presumptuous arse. You bullying prick. You have no fucking idea,” Merlin said tightly, grabbing his coat and putting it on, fumbling in his pocket for his mobile phone. He dialled a number as he stepped outside, Arthur following, concerned.
“Gaius? Can you come and get me? No no it’s ok. I’m ok. Really," but Arthur could hear his voice cracking, could tell that Merlin was definitely not OK. "But now, now would be good. The Rising Sun. Please.” Merlin’s fingers were shaking. His pupils were dilated and he looked on the edge of a full blown panic attack, as if he would pass out any minute.
“Arthur. You have to go. You have to go now,” he said, sounding desperate. “Don’t touch me,” he warned again. Arthur raised his hands above his head.
“Merlin, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not going to leave you out here alone until I know you’re OK. I won’t touch you either, if that’s what you want? Look, no hands.”
“Don’t speak to me either. Arthur bloody Pendragon. Just. Don’t.”
Merlin was juddering, taking gasping breaths, hyperventilating, arms folded round himself. But Arthur did as he had been asked, and stayed an arms’ length away, not looking at Merlin, hands in pockets, not speaking, until Gaius’s lumbering figure appeared from the band room and crossed the street to the pub. Arthur let out the breath he didn’t realise he’d held.
“Merlin my boy? Merlin what happened. OK Merlin, it’s all right now. Just… come to the car.” Merlin had folded in on himself but let Gaius lead him away. Arthur made to follow but Gaius stilled him with a grim shake of his head.
“Just let me know he’s OK,” he whispered to Gaius, who nodded.
Arthur leaned against the wall, letting his head thud against the cold bricks, feeling like he'd somehow snuffed out something delicate before it had ever had a chance to be kindled into life, but he had no idea what he'd done wrong.