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monaboyd Jan. 29th, 2004 10:30 pm)
mctaggart-pegg.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Jan. 29th, 2004 10:30 pm)Title: Anyone Have a Scottish-English Dictionary? Part Deux
Author: Pippin (McTaggart_Pegg@hotmail.com)
Pairing: implied BB/DM (if you choose to read it that way--or not, your call)
Rating: Somewhere between PG and R for language, I guess? Will take suggestions on this one.
Warning: !Superdialect! Dialect thicker than 3-day old porridge. If you don't like dialect, GO AWAY. Please do not complain to me that I'm writing Billy with a thick accent--that is the point, and I will laugh at you. This is supposed to be fun.
Disclaimer: Don't know 'em, never met 'em, this is all lies. (*sigh*)
Summary: Billy, liquor, and a ruler--but not like that. Oh, and Dom shows up.
Feedback: Yes please. Pretty please. I've discovered I'm a feedback junkie.
For those who were interested in a continuation of Scottish-English Dictionary, I hope you like, and thank you so much for requesting! I sat down to write the reunion, and Billy refused to co-operate. Thanks to him, there will now be a Part Trois. Btw, this is un-beta'd--if there are any Scottish readers out there who would like to beta and make sure I'm not messing up your lovely (if odd) language, please let me know.
Billy sat on the sofa in the quiet apartment. He leaned forward, studying the empty bottles lined up on the coffee table in front of him. Carefully rearranged them, tongue sticking out just slightly between his teeth. Symmetry. Had to have symmetry. Two empty beer bottles two inches apart. Then the empty Scotch bottle after an interval of four inches. Another four inches, another two empty beer bottles. He nudged them apart a fraction.
The phone rang. Billy ignored it, as he had all day.
Shite.
Problem.
Nothing else to drink. They were all empty.
More beer. No. Can't maintain symmetry with five beer bottles. More Scotch? Fuck, yeah. He lurched to his feet, made his way over to the old stereo cabinet that Elijah had picked up at some flea market and proudly declared a liquor cabinet. Tugged at the stiff door; nearly went arse over teakettle when it gave with a groan. Peered inside, pushed bottles around. Fuckety-fuck. No more Scotch. Oh, wait--no, not Scotch. Bourbon. Same shape bottle, though. That'll do. Just turn all the labels away, and still preserve symmetry.
Billy walked back to the sofa, completely unaware he was listing hard to starboard. Sank ungracefully down, unscrewed the lid of the bourbon bottle, took a swig. He shuddered, muttered, "Ach, tha's shite." Took another gulp to numb the taste of the first.
The phone rang again. Billy ignored it again. This time, though, the answering machine arbitrarily kicked in. There was an ear-piercing shriek--Elijah and his sodding flea-market finds--and then Elijah's voice. Damned thing made him sound like a parakeet.
"Billy? Billy, it's 'Lij."
No fuck. Master of the pishing obvious, he was.
"Billy, if you're there, pick up before this thing cuts me off. Listen, I've got good news, I just got a phone--" Three clicks and a shriek, and that was the end of 'Lij.
Billy snorted. "Didnae talk fast enou', ded ye? Serves ye reet, ye noostalgic bugger. Buyin' shite older then ye are. Should hae goat a new machine, no anoother fuckin' phoane."
Immediately forgetting Elijah and his vintage technology, Billy returned his concentration to the bottles. Bourbon bottle wasn't empty. Not that much left, really--it would be a shame if it wasn't empty like the others, wouldn't it? Fuck, yeah. He took another pull, shuddered again. "Fuckin' 'ell." Carefully moved two beer bottles to the side. Put the bourbon bottle in its future place to test measurements. Measurements? Yeah. Need a ruler. Or a tape measure. Did 'Lij own one? Probably had an antique wooden ruler once owned by Lincoln fuckin' Abraham. He paused. That wasn't right, was it? Staggered to his feet again, made his way over to 'Lij's desk. Pulled open the little stationary drawer. Pens, pencils, Sharpies, porn, paperclips--aha! Ruler! Victory! Hail the conquering fuckin' hero! Wait a minute--
Porn?
Billy looked again. Giggled. Closed the drawer again. Stupid place to keep porn. Should be in the bathroom. Or the bedroom. He sniggered, yanked the drawer open, pulled out the magazine. Quite tame, really, compared to some of Dom's. He went to Elijah's room, only glancing off the wall once. Which wasn't that bad when you thought about it, considering he was probably getting a wee bit tight. Just a wee bit.
He looked around Elijah's bedroom. Decided to slide the magazine under his pillow, leaving one corner artfully peeking out. Stood in the middle of the room, staring at the plastic ruler in his hand. Plastic? Should be wood. Wood's ruler should be wood. Snickered at his own joke. That was a good one--original, that was. Have to remember that one. Now--what did he need the ruler for?
Billy wandered back out to the living room. The phone started to ring again as he was passing. Without even registering that he was doing it, he yanked the wire out of the wall. Then looked at it. Oops. Didn't break it, did he? No? Good. 'Lij'd be annoyed. Don't want to annoy 'Lij, he's supplying the bottles.
Bottles! Yes! That's what the ruler was for. He stumbled back to the sofa, sat down. Started on his left. Okay. Beer bottle is...he squinted, tried to steady his wavering hands. Two and three-quarter inches wide. Space in between should be exactly half. Half of two and three-quarters is one and--one and--fuck. What's half of three-quarters? Bugger it. Space in between should be exactly two and three-quarter inches wide.
He paused to take another drink. There, that one went down smoother. Bourbon going down smooth? If he were sober he might consider that a problem. But since he was a little sloshed, he wouldn't worry about it.
Billy carefully moved the second beer bottle. Just right. Now--Scotch bottle can stay at four inches. Don't give a rat's hairy arse how wide the Scotch bottle is. And the bourbon--uh oh. Not ready for it yet, it's not empty. Took a long swig, but there was still some left. He shrugged and slid his abandoned glass over. Upended the bottle over it. There was still enough left to fill the tumbler to the rim and slop a bit on the coffee table. "Ach weel." He moved the glass out of the way, smearing the trail of liquor the whole distance. Using the ruler, he carefully, obsessively, precisely placed his bottles.
Finished.
Billy leaned back, contemplating them.
Maybe a beer bottle between the two taller liquor bottles? Ah, shite--he could have used that fifth beer after all! Well, nothing for it now--have to drink another one, because his arrangement won't ever look right without it, now that the idea has presented itself.
Billy struggled for a full ten seconds before managing to lever himself to his feet once again. "Do ye need anythin' else wheel ye're oop, ye daftie bamstick?" Wandered to the kitchen, pulled a beer out of the fridge. Took a couple tries to twist the cap off. "Ah, goat ye, ye bastirt." Drank. Tried to think if there was anything else he wanted before sinking into the sofa again. Nope. Nothing.
He resumed his place in front of the bottles. Upon a second study, Billy decided they definitely needed that fifth beer bottle. Raised his brown stubby (because of course 'Lij had to buy old-fashioned beer for fuck's sake) in a mock salute to himself. "Heer's lookin' oop yer Aunt Fanny." Started to down it.
Just then there was a loud banging on the door. Billy ignored it like he had the phone.
The racket continued.
Finally, just to make it stop, he yelled, "It's bloodeh weel oopen!"
A familiar-sounding voice shouted back, "No, it's not, you stupid Jock! Get off your arse and come unlock it!"
Billy slowly struggled to his feet. "Might as weel niver set doon agin," he grumbled under his breath.
"Come on, Boyd, shift your arse!"
"Ach, keep yer kilt oan, Ah'm coomin'!"
He made his way, one arm up to the side for fending off aggressive walls, to the door. Turned the deadbolt, unhooked the latch, opened the door.
Dom stood there, barely keeping a grip on four large pieces of luggage, and apparently also his temper.
"Dom!" Billy just stood there, stupefied.
"Billy," he ground out, "Would you either take some of this or get the fuck out of the way?"
Billy shuffled to the side.
"Oh, thanks a ton, you prick." Dom edged through the door, banging his elbow in the process. "Ow, bloody hell!" As Billy closed the door behind him, he unceremoniously dumped all his bags on the floor. "And just where the fuck have you been?" he demanded, rubbing what was sure to be an impressive bruise.
Billy had recovered somewhat, and now staggered back towards the living room. "Ah'm glad ye're heer. Ah need ye tae drink soom boorbon. An' mebbe soom beer. Ah'm no sure yet."
Dom threw his hands wide in a universal "What the fuck??" gesture. It went unappreciated, though, as Billy was already tumbling into the sofa.
"An' ye can get oop nex' time, too."
"Get up for what?" Dom walked in, looked at Billy's sculpture, and the ruler laying beside it. Raised an eyebrow.
"Beer. Or boorbon. Nae, boorbon's heer. Or hide th' poorn."
"What porn?" He was bewildered, like he'd wandered into a conversation halfway through. Or an alternate universe. One or the other. "And why the hell are you legless at five in the afternoon? Have you even sobered up since we talked?"
"Aye, o' coorse. But Ah needed another boattle. No Scotch, thoo. So's boorbon. Heer, have soom." He unsteadily pushed the brimming glass in Dom's direction.
"Where's the rest of it?"
"No rest. All goan." He picked up the bourbon bottle and waved it for emphasis. "Ach, shite--noo look wha' ye've made meh do." He picked up the ruler and started measuring again.
Dom stared at him for a moment. Picked up the bourbon glass, walked to the kitchen, and poured it down the drain. Returned for the beer bottle and drank the last few mouthfuls. "Here you go, Bill--another empty for you."
Billy looked up at it with a watery, grateful smile. "Ach, mah wee Dom. Ye brought meh mah boattle. Ye're the berries, so ye are."
Dom sat on the sofa, watched as Billy began rearranging the bottles with exaggerated precision. "So why didn't you come pick me up at the airport today? Or at least send a car? You know what it's like trying to get a cab at that bloody airport."
"But ye're no coomin' todeh--ye're coomin' tomorrah," he replied with the inescapable logic of the sincerely intoxicated, as he concentrated on his distances.
"I left a message, telling you I found an earlier flight. I thought you wanted me to come get you."
"Ah ded. An' heer ye are. Wha' a bran new mate ye are. But ye didnae leave a mehssage."
"I did too--I told you my flight number and what time I was arriving. And since when the fuck am I new? God, did you even check the machine?"
"Uh oh," Billy said, putting a finger on his nose. "It's th' machine. Possessed. It oanly answers when it wants tae, an' ef it doesnae like yer mehssage-poof!" His fingers fluttered in the air like falling sparks from a firework. "An' Ah seid 'bran new'. Ye noo--braw. Fuckin' awesoom."
"Fuck. I wasted an hour waiting for you. I called but there was no answer, I thought you were on your way."
"Ahh, Ah'm soorry, Dom. I promis' Ah'll be theer tomorrah."
"Billy--"
"Aye, Dom?"
"Never mind," he sighed. He went to the kitchen and poured a tall glass of water. Returned and handed it to Billy. "Drink that, or you're going to be a fucking mess later."
"Okeh, Dom."
Dom sat again, next to Billy, and watched as he swallowed every last drop. "Thank you, Bill."
"Anythin' fer ye, Dom, ye noo tha'."
Dom smiled. "Anything but a hug apparently. I haven't seen you in yonks, and you don't even have a hug for your best mate?"
"Hell, Ah'd sook yer tadger fer ye ef ye wanted--jest doan make meh stan' oop agin."
Dom choked on a laugh. "Don't make promises you don't intend to keep, Bills. But I won't make you get up. C'mere." He pulled Billy back against the sofa, left his arm around Billy's shoulders. "I think you'd best sleep this off for a bit."
Billy leaned his head against Dom's shoulder. "Ah doan need tae sleep. Ah need tae fix mah boattles."
"Fix your bottles later, if you have to. And when you sober up, we're going to have ourselves a little chat."
"Boot wha'?"
"About you, Billy-boy. And about my three-day bender, remember? I need your advice."
"Righ'. Okeh. Boot wha'?"
"Shut up and close your eyes, Bill."
"Okeh. Dom?"
"Yes, Bills?"
"Thanks fer coomin' tae get meh."
"Shut yer coupon, Bills."
"Ooh, Mr. What-Th'-Fuck'-Is-A-Coupon is learnin'."
Dom held him as he slept.
Author: Pippin (McTaggart_Pegg@hotmail.com)
Pairing: implied BB/DM (if you choose to read it that way--or not, your call)
Rating: Somewhere between PG and R for language, I guess? Will take suggestions on this one.
Warning: !Superdialect! Dialect thicker than 3-day old porridge. If you don't like dialect, GO AWAY. Please do not complain to me that I'm writing Billy with a thick accent--that is the point, and I will laugh at you. This is supposed to be fun.
Disclaimer: Don't know 'em, never met 'em, this is all lies. (*sigh*)
Summary: Billy, liquor, and a ruler--but not like that. Oh, and Dom shows up.
Feedback: Yes please. Pretty please. I've discovered I'm a feedback junkie.
For those who were interested in a continuation of Scottish-English Dictionary, I hope you like, and thank you so much for requesting! I sat down to write the reunion, and Billy refused to co-operate. Thanks to him, there will now be a Part Trois. Btw, this is un-beta'd--if there are any Scottish readers out there who would like to beta and make sure I'm not messing up your lovely (if odd) language, please let me know.
Billy sat on the sofa in the quiet apartment. He leaned forward, studying the empty bottles lined up on the coffee table in front of him. Carefully rearranged them, tongue sticking out just slightly between his teeth. Symmetry. Had to have symmetry. Two empty beer bottles two inches apart. Then the empty Scotch bottle after an interval of four inches. Another four inches, another two empty beer bottles. He nudged them apart a fraction.
The phone rang. Billy ignored it, as he had all day.
Shite.
Problem.
Nothing else to drink. They were all empty.
More beer. No. Can't maintain symmetry with five beer bottles. More Scotch? Fuck, yeah. He lurched to his feet, made his way over to the old stereo cabinet that Elijah had picked up at some flea market and proudly declared a liquor cabinet. Tugged at the stiff door; nearly went arse over teakettle when it gave with a groan. Peered inside, pushed bottles around. Fuckety-fuck. No more Scotch. Oh, wait--no, not Scotch. Bourbon. Same shape bottle, though. That'll do. Just turn all the labels away, and still preserve symmetry.
Billy walked back to the sofa, completely unaware he was listing hard to starboard. Sank ungracefully down, unscrewed the lid of the bourbon bottle, took a swig. He shuddered, muttered, "Ach, tha's shite." Took another gulp to numb the taste of the first.
The phone rang again. Billy ignored it again. This time, though, the answering machine arbitrarily kicked in. There was an ear-piercing shriek--Elijah and his sodding flea-market finds--and then Elijah's voice. Damned thing made him sound like a parakeet.
"Billy? Billy, it's 'Lij."
No fuck. Master of the pishing obvious, he was.
"Billy, if you're there, pick up before this thing cuts me off. Listen, I've got good news, I just got a phone--" Three clicks and a shriek, and that was the end of 'Lij.
Billy snorted. "Didnae talk fast enou', ded ye? Serves ye reet, ye noostalgic bugger. Buyin' shite older then ye are. Should hae goat a new machine, no anoother fuckin' phoane."
Immediately forgetting Elijah and his vintage technology, Billy returned his concentration to the bottles. Bourbon bottle wasn't empty. Not that much left, really--it would be a shame if it wasn't empty like the others, wouldn't it? Fuck, yeah. He took another pull, shuddered again. "Fuckin' 'ell." Carefully moved two beer bottles to the side. Put the bourbon bottle in its future place to test measurements. Measurements? Yeah. Need a ruler. Or a tape measure. Did 'Lij own one? Probably had an antique wooden ruler once owned by Lincoln fuckin' Abraham. He paused. That wasn't right, was it? Staggered to his feet again, made his way over to 'Lij's desk. Pulled open the little stationary drawer. Pens, pencils, Sharpies, porn, paperclips--aha! Ruler! Victory! Hail the conquering fuckin' hero! Wait a minute--
Porn?
Billy looked again. Giggled. Closed the drawer again. Stupid place to keep porn. Should be in the bathroom. Or the bedroom. He sniggered, yanked the drawer open, pulled out the magazine. Quite tame, really, compared to some of Dom's. He went to Elijah's room, only glancing off the wall once. Which wasn't that bad when you thought about it, considering he was probably getting a wee bit tight. Just a wee bit.
He looked around Elijah's bedroom. Decided to slide the magazine under his pillow, leaving one corner artfully peeking out. Stood in the middle of the room, staring at the plastic ruler in his hand. Plastic? Should be wood. Wood's ruler should be wood. Snickered at his own joke. That was a good one--original, that was. Have to remember that one. Now--what did he need the ruler for?
Billy wandered back out to the living room. The phone started to ring again as he was passing. Without even registering that he was doing it, he yanked the wire out of the wall. Then looked at it. Oops. Didn't break it, did he? No? Good. 'Lij'd be annoyed. Don't want to annoy 'Lij, he's supplying the bottles.
Bottles! Yes! That's what the ruler was for. He stumbled back to the sofa, sat down. Started on his left. Okay. Beer bottle is...he squinted, tried to steady his wavering hands. Two and three-quarter inches wide. Space in between should be exactly half. Half of two and three-quarters is one and--one and--fuck. What's half of three-quarters? Bugger it. Space in between should be exactly two and three-quarter inches wide.
He paused to take another drink. There, that one went down smoother. Bourbon going down smooth? If he were sober he might consider that a problem. But since he was a little sloshed, he wouldn't worry about it.
Billy carefully moved the second beer bottle. Just right. Now--Scotch bottle can stay at four inches. Don't give a rat's hairy arse how wide the Scotch bottle is. And the bourbon--uh oh. Not ready for it yet, it's not empty. Took a long swig, but there was still some left. He shrugged and slid his abandoned glass over. Upended the bottle over it. There was still enough left to fill the tumbler to the rim and slop a bit on the coffee table. "Ach weel." He moved the glass out of the way, smearing the trail of liquor the whole distance. Using the ruler, he carefully, obsessively, precisely placed his bottles.
Finished.
Billy leaned back, contemplating them.
Maybe a beer bottle between the two taller liquor bottles? Ah, shite--he could have used that fifth beer after all! Well, nothing for it now--have to drink another one, because his arrangement won't ever look right without it, now that the idea has presented itself.
Billy struggled for a full ten seconds before managing to lever himself to his feet once again. "Do ye need anythin' else wheel ye're oop, ye daftie bamstick?" Wandered to the kitchen, pulled a beer out of the fridge. Took a couple tries to twist the cap off. "Ah, goat ye, ye bastirt." Drank. Tried to think if there was anything else he wanted before sinking into the sofa again. Nope. Nothing.
He resumed his place in front of the bottles. Upon a second study, Billy decided they definitely needed that fifth beer bottle. Raised his brown stubby (because of course 'Lij had to buy old-fashioned beer for fuck's sake) in a mock salute to himself. "Heer's lookin' oop yer Aunt Fanny." Started to down it.
Just then there was a loud banging on the door. Billy ignored it like he had the phone.
The racket continued.
Finally, just to make it stop, he yelled, "It's bloodeh weel oopen!"
A familiar-sounding voice shouted back, "No, it's not, you stupid Jock! Get off your arse and come unlock it!"
Billy slowly struggled to his feet. "Might as weel niver set doon agin," he grumbled under his breath.
"Come on, Boyd, shift your arse!"
"Ach, keep yer kilt oan, Ah'm coomin'!"
He made his way, one arm up to the side for fending off aggressive walls, to the door. Turned the deadbolt, unhooked the latch, opened the door.
Dom stood there, barely keeping a grip on four large pieces of luggage, and apparently also his temper.
"Dom!" Billy just stood there, stupefied.
"Billy," he ground out, "Would you either take some of this or get the fuck out of the way?"
Billy shuffled to the side.
"Oh, thanks a ton, you prick." Dom edged through the door, banging his elbow in the process. "Ow, bloody hell!" As Billy closed the door behind him, he unceremoniously dumped all his bags on the floor. "And just where the fuck have you been?" he demanded, rubbing what was sure to be an impressive bruise.
Billy had recovered somewhat, and now staggered back towards the living room. "Ah'm glad ye're heer. Ah need ye tae drink soom boorbon. An' mebbe soom beer. Ah'm no sure yet."
Dom threw his hands wide in a universal "What the fuck??" gesture. It went unappreciated, though, as Billy was already tumbling into the sofa.
"An' ye can get oop nex' time, too."
"Get up for what?" Dom walked in, looked at Billy's sculpture, and the ruler laying beside it. Raised an eyebrow.
"Beer. Or boorbon. Nae, boorbon's heer. Or hide th' poorn."
"What porn?" He was bewildered, like he'd wandered into a conversation halfway through. Or an alternate universe. One or the other. "And why the hell are you legless at five in the afternoon? Have you even sobered up since we talked?"
"Aye, o' coorse. But Ah needed another boattle. No Scotch, thoo. So's boorbon. Heer, have soom." He unsteadily pushed the brimming glass in Dom's direction.
"Where's the rest of it?"
"No rest. All goan." He picked up the bourbon bottle and waved it for emphasis. "Ach, shite--noo look wha' ye've made meh do." He picked up the ruler and started measuring again.
Dom stared at him for a moment. Picked up the bourbon glass, walked to the kitchen, and poured it down the drain. Returned for the beer bottle and drank the last few mouthfuls. "Here you go, Bill--another empty for you."
Billy looked up at it with a watery, grateful smile. "Ach, mah wee Dom. Ye brought meh mah boattle. Ye're the berries, so ye are."
Dom sat on the sofa, watched as Billy began rearranging the bottles with exaggerated precision. "So why didn't you come pick me up at the airport today? Or at least send a car? You know what it's like trying to get a cab at that bloody airport."
"But ye're no coomin' todeh--ye're coomin' tomorrah," he replied with the inescapable logic of the sincerely intoxicated, as he concentrated on his distances.
"I left a message, telling you I found an earlier flight. I thought you wanted me to come get you."
"Ah ded. An' heer ye are. Wha' a bran new mate ye are. But ye didnae leave a mehssage."
"I did too--I told you my flight number and what time I was arriving. And since when the fuck am I new? God, did you even check the machine?"
"Uh oh," Billy said, putting a finger on his nose. "It's th' machine. Possessed. It oanly answers when it wants tae, an' ef it doesnae like yer mehssage-poof!" His fingers fluttered in the air like falling sparks from a firework. "An' Ah seid 'bran new'. Ye noo--braw. Fuckin' awesoom."
"Fuck. I wasted an hour waiting for you. I called but there was no answer, I thought you were on your way."
"Ahh, Ah'm soorry, Dom. I promis' Ah'll be theer tomorrah."
"Billy--"
"Aye, Dom?"
"Never mind," he sighed. He went to the kitchen and poured a tall glass of water. Returned and handed it to Billy. "Drink that, or you're going to be a fucking mess later."
"Okeh, Dom."
Dom sat again, next to Billy, and watched as he swallowed every last drop. "Thank you, Bill."
"Anythin' fer ye, Dom, ye noo tha'."
Dom smiled. "Anything but a hug apparently. I haven't seen you in yonks, and you don't even have a hug for your best mate?"
"Hell, Ah'd sook yer tadger fer ye ef ye wanted--jest doan make meh stan' oop agin."
Dom choked on a laugh. "Don't make promises you don't intend to keep, Bills. But I won't make you get up. C'mere." He pulled Billy back against the sofa, left his arm around Billy's shoulders. "I think you'd best sleep this off for a bit."
Billy leaned his head against Dom's shoulder. "Ah doan need tae sleep. Ah need tae fix mah boattles."
"Fix your bottles later, if you have to. And when you sober up, we're going to have ourselves a little chat."
"Boot wha'?"
"About you, Billy-boy. And about my three-day bender, remember? I need your advice."
"Righ'. Okeh. Boot wha'?"
"Shut up and close your eyes, Bill."
"Okeh. Dom?"
"Yes, Bills?"
"Thanks fer coomin' tae get meh."
"Shut yer coupon, Bills."
"Ooh, Mr. What-Th'-Fuck'-Is-A-Coupon is learnin'."
Dom held him as he slept.
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And no need to demand--part 3 is on it's way...within a few days, I hope. :)
Thanks very much!
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Porn?
*LOL* that part cracked me up, hell, the whole thing cracked me up. I demand more too! ;)
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And we'll just have to wait and see what happens between the boys...I have no idea where it's leading yet! :)
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youre bloody brilliant.