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3pipeproblemA Frank/Roy drabble, inspired by my own fantasy about how the movie should have ended. 200 words. Does anyone really care how many words are in a drabble?
This does raise the question of where the movie takes place. California? Florida? Tahiti?
"London." Frank's toying with his hat like he's toying with the idea, idly spinning it around on a finger.
"Yes, Frank. A city in England. What about London?" Roy's patient, steering the car with one hand and resting the other beside the window.
Frank leans forward suddenly, as he is apt to do, setting off personal space alarms that Roy mentally stifles. "What if we relocated? The weather there's crap; you wouldn't have to go outside much. And if you did, it'd be raining," he says so brightly, so cheerfully that Roy makes a conscious effort not to scoff.
"And what would we do there?"
"Do?" The word lies there for a second, grows heavy in the silence, weighted by the possibility that is at once an impossibility, burdened by something both of them ignore with conscious effort. When Frank speaks, he sputters a little. "Well, uh, I dunno, Roy, run cons maybe?"
Roy's eyes are hard behind his sunglasses, resolved. Not that it matters to Frank, because the sunglasses are always that way. "Never work."
"Oh." Frank slumps down in the seat, already resigned, not even troubling to ask why, because he hears Roy's excuses all day; what does he need another one for?
This does raise the question of where the movie takes place. California? Florida? Tahiti?
"London." Frank's toying with his hat like he's toying with the idea, idly spinning it around on a finger.
"Yes, Frank. A city in England. What about London?" Roy's patient, steering the car with one hand and resting the other beside the window.
Frank leans forward suddenly, as he is apt to do, setting off personal space alarms that Roy mentally stifles. "What if we relocated? The weather there's crap; you wouldn't have to go outside much. And if you did, it'd be raining," he says so brightly, so cheerfully that Roy makes a conscious effort not to scoff.
"And what would we do there?"
"Do?" The word lies there for a second, grows heavy in the silence, weighted by the possibility that is at once an impossibility, burdened by something both of them ignore with conscious effort. When Frank speaks, he sputters a little. "Well, uh, I dunno, Roy, run cons maybe?"
Roy's eyes are hard behind his sunglasses, resolved. Not that it matters to Frank, because the sunglasses are always that way. "Never work."
"Oh." Frank slumps down in the seat, already resigned, not even troubling to ask why, because he hears Roy's excuses all day; what does he need another one for?
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no subject
Date: 2003-09-21 08:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-21 08:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-21 08:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-21 08:34 pm (UTC)Although I might just magically transport them there and have them doing something British. What, I can't think of right now. Because Frank would hate tea.