Bob the Skull / 32. Variety

Jun 16, 2007 11:57

Title: Some Enchanted Evening
Fandom: The Dresden Files (tv-verse)
Characters: Bob, Harry
Prompt: 32. Variety
Word Count: 1,396
Rating: G
Summary: "The play's the thing, wherein we catch the conscience of the king."
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files do not belong to me. Just passing through.
Table: Here There be Ghosts


"Going somewhere, I see," observed Bob conversationally.

Harry finished buttoning his dress shirt and tucked the tail into his trousers. "Gee, what gave it away, Bob?"

"You're wearing a suit."

"Sometimes it's a necessary evil." He unhooked his suit jacket from the back of a chair and shrugged into it.

"Your tie is crooked."

Harry paused long enough to glance in the mirror and tug the knot a bit to the left. "Better?"

"It will do." Bob walked a slow circle around Harry, imperiously observing the finished ensemble with a critical eye. "There's dried blood on your sleeve."

"I know. The cleaners couldn't get it out. They gave me a discount, though. I can live with that," replied Harry as he collected his wallet from the dresser and slipped it into his pocket.

Bob arched an inquisitive eyebrow at the small white envelope that Harry picked up next. "Is that . . .? Are those . . .?" He blinked his astonishment. "You're going to the theater?"

"Yup."

"The legitimate theater? As in a stage with lights and scenery and orchestra? Live actors performing before an audience?"

"That's right. Something wrong with that?"

"Only that you never go to the theater. Not unless it’s the kind where your shoes adhere to the floor and the audience throws popcorn."

"First time for everything, Bob. And this is a celebration."

"Oh?" Bob frowned. "And what, pray, is there to celebrate?"

"Just about everything. The bills are paid, the rent's caught up -- and paid three months in advance - and there's actually food in the ice box. Best of all, the case is solved and no one got themselves killed or beaten into the pavement. Namely me." Harry grinned. "I can't think of a better reason, can you?"

"No, I suppose not," Bob grudgingly admitted. Envious, he watched as Harry slipped the ticket envelope into his jacket pocket. "I take it that your enthusiastically grateful client wishes to reward you with an evening on the town, then."

Harry patted the tickets. "Front row seats to the hottest show in town," he confirmed.

"And the floor show afterward?"

"Floor show?"

"Dinner? A bit of dancing? Perhaps a tumble or two in the lady's boudoir? She was quite comely, as I recall."

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Bob. It's nothing like that." Harry jerked a nod at the grim grinning artifact sitting on a bookshelf against the wall. "Back into your skull."

"What?"

"You heard me." Harry pointed for added emphasis. "In. I'm running late as it is."

Bob bristled, clearly offended and more than a little wounded by the abrupt command. "Just because I assumed that you and the lady would be ending the evening with--"

"It's not a request, Bob."

The ghost stiffened to his full, lean height as if he'd been physically slapped. Several snide parting remarks came immediately to mind and were dismissed just as quickly. In truth, Bob could find no words to adequately describe his hurt at being so callously dismissed.

Instead, he obediently turned and vanished.

~ ~ ~

"Whoa. This place is big."

Harry struggled along the theater aisle, swimming upstream against a steady flow of men in suits and women in glittering dress. Their voices created a tide of sound that rose and fell in crescendos of excitement and anticipation. Behind him, in the orchestra pit at the foot of the stage, the musicians began to quietly file in through a side door toward their seats.

Time was running out.

A small boy in a tidy little suit pushed past Harry on an urgent mission. From the throng, his mother called over the clamor, "Don't take too long, Terry! The play's about to start."

Harry fell into step a few feet behind, allowing the smaller minnow in the sea to guide him unerringly to his own destination.

This close to curtain, the men's restroom was practically deserted while the women's lounge across the hall was packed with chattering bodies spilling out the door. Harry shook his head as he hurried past. Now there was an ancient mystery that no wizard had ever been able to decipher.

Once safely inside the theater's male bastion, Harry moved with deliberate calm, taking his time as he waited for the most opportune moment. After what seemed an eternity, the boy who had entered with him completed his business with a quick pass of his small hands under running water before he shot out the door, forgetting to dry them in his haste.

Alone at last, thought Harry with relief. Slipping the strap of the knapsack from his shoulder, he placed the bag on the marble counter and peered down at the skull nestled within.

"Come on out, Bob."

The empty eye sockets briefly glowed a fiery red before a flash of orange and black shot out of the bag. The swirl of energies left the grim sorcerer in its wake, standing at inflexible attention before Harry.

"Your servant," said Bob with stiff formality. "What would you have of me?"

Harry couldn't blame the old spook for being pissed. He probably could have handled things better but he hadn't wanted to risk ruining the surprise.

"Look around you, Bob."

With a curt nod, the ghost glanced around at the ornate room with its tiled floors, marble counters, bright mirrors, and porcelain fixtures.

"We're in a men's lavatory."

"That's right."

"I don't see any dead bodies. There isn't any blood and I detect no residual magics. No demons lurking behind the stalls." He glanced down at the floor with some distaste. "They could use a better floor cleaner."

"I'll be sure to mention it."

"I'm not in the mood for guessing games, Harry," said Bob irritably. "Is there something here you wished me to analyze?"

As if in direct response to Bob's question, the overhead lighting began to flash. Off. On. Off. On.

"Ahhhhh. A poltergeist, then?" the ghost surmised.

"Nope." Harry cinched the knapsack closed, securing Bob's skull, and snatched it off of the counter. "Five minutes to curtain. Come on." He fished a ticket stub from his pocket and glanced at the seating. "Think you can find your way to 25D without drawing attention to yourself or scaring the crap out of anyone?"

"Curtain call? Did you say--?" As the lights flashed another warning - Off. On. Off. On. - Bob's eyes grew wide in astonishment. "This is the theater!"

"No, this is the john," said Harry with a grin. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Out there's the theater and we'd better get our asses in gear or we're gonna miss the first act. They won't seat you once the overture starts."

"I don't understand. The tickets . . . your lady friend . . ."

"She said to tell my 'genealogy expert' thanks for helping crack the case. So thanks, Bob. I couldn't have solved this one without you." Harry reached for the door handle. "Oh yeah, and we've got an open invite for backstage if we want it."

"I assumed she was your date for the evening."

"Kinda hard for her to be in two places at once. She's the female lead." Harry ushered the astonished ghost out into the now nearly deserted corridor.

"You're taking me to a play?"

"Damn. Nothing gets by you, does it, Bob?"

"I haven't been a play in . . . in . . . I can't even remember when." If there was a glimmer of moisture in Bob's eyes, he was quick to dash it away with a swipe of his spectral hand. "Harry . . ."

"You're welcome." As the house lights began to dim, Harry flashed their tickets at the usher standing at the head of the aisle. Made it!

"Fourth back, last two seats at the end of the row," said the usher helpfully. "Enjoy the show, gentlemen."

"Thanks. Come on, Bob."

As they hurried to their seats, Bob's head swiveled this way and that like an eager child as he tried to take everything in. The sights! The sounds! The theater!

Settling into place at the end of their row, Bob finally thought to ask, "What are we seeing?"

"Beauty and the Beast." Harry smirked. "Kind of appropriate, don'tcha think?"

"Only if you're referring to yourself as the Beast," quipped Bob happily as the overture began to play.

fandom: dresden files, author: cyloran

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