Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2009-02-03 12:06 am
ptahrrific) wrote2009-02-03 12:06 am
Entry tags:
Strangers With Candy: Why Should I Care? part 4
Title: Why Should I Care? (4/?)
Series: Strangers With Candy
Pairings: Seamus/OMC; Chuck/Geoffrey
Rating: PG-13
Contents: Language; Jerri.
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stellar_dust
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use.
Summary: Jerri gives Seamus some advice. Whether he wants it or not.
Previous chapters here.
Why Should I Care?
Part Four
"Ah, little Seamus Noblet," purred Jerri as Seamus stepped into her office, leaving the door open. "What did you want to see me about?"
The last time Seamus had seen Jerri Blank in person had been when Dad had brought her home to give her round-the-clock violin lessons. He had regarded her with—not fear, exactly, but the kind of fascinated horror that children reserve for particularly ugly gargoyles. (Dad was the truly scary one. And Jerri, for all her complaining, ultimately followed Dad's orders.)
Those months had been punctuated by moments of heart-stopping envy. That had been the year Dad forgot to get Seamus a Christmas present, spending the day with Jerri and the old violin that Seamus wasn't allowed to touch.
He had seen her again in the mug shots when all the papers were covering the burning of the original Flatpoint High building, in articles which Mom had valiantly tried to shield him from but which he couldn't help coming across, not when another of the culprits had been his father. It hadn't been the last time she made news, either, so her face had remained fresh in Seamus' mind.
Twenty years later she looked much the same. Her hair was dyed an atrocious blonde with thick grey roots, and her face had more lines and fewer teeth, but her expressions were unforgettable.
"It's about the grade on my last paper," said Seamus, trying to pretend he couldn't see the expanse of bony chest revealed by Jerri's unreasonably low neckline.
"I see, I see. Why don't you . . . have a seat." She fluttered mascara-clogged eyelashes in his direction.
"I know you're the TA that graded it," continued Seamus, sitting down and fishing out the paper. "You put me down for a D, but there are only a couple of corrections, so I just wanted to know why . . . ."
"Ah, Seamus," interrupted Jerri, with the air of a grand old duchess who is weary of the plebian world. "Seamus, Seamus, Seamus. It must be so upsetting, to get a grade like this when your own father is a teacher. How . . . disappointing."
"You're not just doing this because Dad flunked you three times in a row, are you?"
"Why, Seamus! I'm hurt that you would even consider such a thing. This has nothing to do with your father. It's about . . . you."
"Good. Look, I just want to know what I should have done here to get a decent grade."
Jerri leaned forward, revealing even more of her unappetizing front. "The question is," she corrected, voice suddenly low and husky, "what would you do for a decent grade?"
Oh. Oh. Seamus shook his head. "Ms. Blank, you're trying to seduce me."
"Would you like me to seduce you?" purred Jerri. "Is that what you're trying to tell me?"
"No. No, I really would not."
The endlessly bizarre woman narrowed her eyes in what she doubtlessly assumed was a threatening manner. "What'samatter?" she snapped. "You some kind of faggot?"
Seamus spread his hands. "Guilty as charged."
"Oh." Jerri sat back, pouting for all the world like a grumpy four-year-old. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised."
"Did you seriously give me a terrible grade to get me to have sex with you?"
"Well . . ." Jerri wrung her hands, genuinely distraught. "No. Well, yes. But I had a good excuse!"
"What's your excuse?"
"I really, really wanted sex."
Seamus groaned. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't go file a report about this right now."
The gargoyle-esque face screwed up in concentration, then brightened. "Ooh, I know this one! Because the administration processes complaints with the speed of a drunk turtle, so it wouldn't make any difference anyway?"
She had a point there.
"Which means," concluded Jerri triumphantly, "that you're going to have to find some other way of bribing me, or I will flunk your firm little ass."
"I'm still not sleeping with you."
"There are . . . other methods of persuasion."
"Like what?"
Jerri looked coquettishly at him. "I like cake."
§
It only took Seamus a few more weeks to discover that he could shout Jerri into submission without bothering to offer something in return. And then he realized who must have shouted at her in the same way, twenty years earlier.
So, before the next paper, he baked her a cake.
He had never made one of these without George's help, and he was sure that the others had tasted much better, but Jerri's eyes widened as she took the first bite. "Sweet one-eyed Jesus, this is scrumptious!" she exclaimed, not bothering to swallow first. "Did you make this yourself?"
"It isn't my recipe," admitted Seamus. "Someone else taught me how."
"Well, whoever this girl is," said Jerri, "you get her barefoot, pregnant and—wait, it isn't your mom, is it?"
"Um, no."
"Oh, good. That could've gotten pretty disturbing. As I was saying—gay or not, you get this girl barefoot, pregnant, and in your kitchen as soon as possible."
"First," said Seamus, "it was a guy, not a girl. And second, he's way too young for me. You know what that means, right?"
"'Too young,'" repeated Jerri thoughtfully, squinting first with one eye and then the other. "'Too young' . . . nope, that's a beast I can truly say I have never come across."
"Didn't think so. But he is. He's too trusting, too innocent—oh, he'll defend himself sometimes, but it's not enough—he's not so strong that I couldn't break him, if I tried."
He didn't add: It scares me. Part of me wants to break him, just to make it stop.
Jerri regarded him with a kind of calm appraisal.
"Let me tell you something, Seamus," she said conspiratorially, putting a wizened arm around his shoulder. "If I avoided relationships with anyone I might possibly hurt, the fine doctors at Flatpoint Medical Center might never have learned how to deal with a fractured tibia. Sometimes, you just have to say, Hang the consequences and grab the bull by the horns! Or one of the various other parts of a bull that I have grabbed in my time. Why, I remember this one show in Tijuana—"
"Some other time," interrupted Seamus. "I, uh, have to go study. Enjoy the cake."
§
Seamus woke reluctantly. The more awake he grew, the more acutely aware he became that his head felt like it had been run over with a steamroller.
He squinted at the clock, willing the numbers to stop dancing and line up in their proper order, whatever that might happen to be. Late. Too late. A morning class had been and gone. His shift that afternoon began in . . . some number of minutes which was not a lot.
With a herculean effort he dragged himself to the kitchen, all of his thoughts focused on coffee and instant oatmeal.
Over the hum of the microwave, his phone beeped.
Seamus picked it up and flipped it open, squinting at the tiny screen. A couple of blurs of about the right size and shape to be the words "1 new text" greeted him.
Read it later. Coffee.
He was halfway through the first gulp when an image from the night before flashed into his mind. Leaning over the back of his ratty couch and looking out at the stars, phone at his ear, saying something very emphatic and undoubtedly very slurred.
Uh-oh.
Blinking frantically in the hopes that his vision would return faster, Seamus grabbed his phone again, pressing the button that allowed him to read "1 new text". A second later he let out a loud groan.
If you want to talk, said the text, call me when you're sober. If not, don't worry--I'll pretend that conversation never happened.
Well, if George was willing to forget it, why should Seamus care what he had—
—oh, who was he kidding? Of course he was going to call.
§
"I'm a jackass."
George raised his eyebrows. "No arguments here."
They stood at the edge of the beach near the Good Time Island bridge, the sound of the traffic and the distant commotion of the island mixing with the lapping of little waves on the sand.
"And I'm not gonna lie: I still don't remember anything I said the other night. But I'm sorry."
"If you don't remember it, how do you know you're sorry?"
"Because I was really, really drunk, and therefore it was probably really, really stupid. Have mercy on a guy and tell me what it was?"
George shrugged. "To be honest, most of it was pretty incoherent. Although you mentioned a couple of times that you really wanted to wear a dress."
Seamus' heart skipped a beat. "I did not."
"Yep. A fancy one, with lots of ruffles. And you seemed pretty insistent that I remember it."
"Christ," muttered Seamus, beginning to pace. "Yeah, I would have been. I—I was giving you ammo, okay? Incentive for me not to mess with you, for fear that you'll tell the world about my embarrassing secret fetish. I've never even dressed in drag, that's how secret it is."
"Were you planning on messing with me again?"
At the 'again', Seamus winced. "Wasn't planning on giving myself the chance."
"Ah."
"And then I knocked back a few too many and forgot all about that. Forgot pretty much everything, except that I miss you. Did I mention that?"
"In detail."
"Uh-oh. Did I—?"
"You were talking about my thighs when I hung up."
"Oh, no."
"Yep. Listen, Seamus—I'm not interested in casual sex, okay? I'm not holding out for a ring, here, but I don't do friends-with-benefits, either. I swear I'm not judging—if that's your thing, more power to you—but it's not for me." George took a step backward.
"Wait!" It took all of Seamus' willpower not to lunge after him. "It's not about that! I mean, yeah, the sex was good—but I miss hanging out with you, and your jokes, and making food—I picked up a crock pot, did I mention that when I called?" (George shook his head.) "Well, I did. And I have no idea what to do with it. I've been living on canned soup and TV dinners, it's terrible. I miss you, George. Not your thighs or anything else. You."
He stopped, breathless. The younger man looked thoroughly startled.
"Right," said Seamus at last. "Now that I've completely embarrassed myself, you can go."
George bit his lip. "Actually . . . do you have plans tonight?"
"Nothing special, why?"
"You wanna cross the bridge, find a club, dance for a while?" He jerked his head in the direction of the brightly lit island.
"With you?"
"Yeah. With me."
"Just to dance?"
"If you think you're getting lucky tonight—"
"No, no, of course not!" interrupted Seamus, before George could start to back away again. "Please. I want to. Let's dance."
________
A/N: A couple of pictures from this 'verse are up. For your perusal: five-year-old George William of Alpha Squad 7, and George and Seamus visiting NYC.
Series: Strangers With Candy
Pairings: Seamus/OMC; Chuck/Geoffrey
Rating: PG-13
Contents: Language; Jerri.
Beta:
stellar_dustDisclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use.
Summary: Jerri gives Seamus some advice. Whether he wants it or not.
Previous chapters here.
Why Should I Care?
Part Four
"Ah, little Seamus Noblet," purred Jerri as Seamus stepped into her office, leaving the door open. "What did you want to see me about?"
The last time Seamus had seen Jerri Blank in person had been when Dad had brought her home to give her round-the-clock violin lessons. He had regarded her with—not fear, exactly, but the kind of fascinated horror that children reserve for particularly ugly gargoyles. (Dad was the truly scary one. And Jerri, for all her complaining, ultimately followed Dad's orders.)
Those months had been punctuated by moments of heart-stopping envy. That had been the year Dad forgot to get Seamus a Christmas present, spending the day with Jerri and the old violin that Seamus wasn't allowed to touch.
He had seen her again in the mug shots when all the papers were covering the burning of the original Flatpoint High building, in articles which Mom had valiantly tried to shield him from but which he couldn't help coming across, not when another of the culprits had been his father. It hadn't been the last time she made news, either, so her face had remained fresh in Seamus' mind.
Twenty years later she looked much the same. Her hair was dyed an atrocious blonde with thick grey roots, and her face had more lines and fewer teeth, but her expressions were unforgettable.
"It's about the grade on my last paper," said Seamus, trying to pretend he couldn't see the expanse of bony chest revealed by Jerri's unreasonably low neckline.
"I see, I see. Why don't you . . . have a seat." She fluttered mascara-clogged eyelashes in his direction.
"I know you're the TA that graded it," continued Seamus, sitting down and fishing out the paper. "You put me down for a D, but there are only a couple of corrections, so I just wanted to know why . . . ."
"Ah, Seamus," interrupted Jerri, with the air of a grand old duchess who is weary of the plebian world. "Seamus, Seamus, Seamus. It must be so upsetting, to get a grade like this when your own father is a teacher. How . . . disappointing."
"You're not just doing this because Dad flunked you three times in a row, are you?"
"Why, Seamus! I'm hurt that you would even consider such a thing. This has nothing to do with your father. It's about . . . you."
"Good. Look, I just want to know what I should have done here to get a decent grade."
Jerri leaned forward, revealing even more of her unappetizing front. "The question is," she corrected, voice suddenly low and husky, "what would you do for a decent grade?"
Oh. Oh. Seamus shook his head. "Ms. Blank, you're trying to seduce me."
"Would you like me to seduce you?" purred Jerri. "Is that what you're trying to tell me?"
"No. No, I really would not."
The endlessly bizarre woman narrowed her eyes in what she doubtlessly assumed was a threatening manner. "What'samatter?" she snapped. "You some kind of faggot?"
Seamus spread his hands. "Guilty as charged."
"Oh." Jerri sat back, pouting for all the world like a grumpy four-year-old. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised."
"Did you seriously give me a terrible grade to get me to have sex with you?"
"Well . . ." Jerri wrung her hands, genuinely distraught. "No. Well, yes. But I had a good excuse!"
"What's your excuse?"
"I really, really wanted sex."
Seamus groaned. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't go file a report about this right now."
The gargoyle-esque face screwed up in concentration, then brightened. "Ooh, I know this one! Because the administration processes complaints with the speed of a drunk turtle, so it wouldn't make any difference anyway?"
She had a point there.
"Which means," concluded Jerri triumphantly, "that you're going to have to find some other way of bribing me, or I will flunk your firm little ass."
"I'm still not sleeping with you."
"There are . . . other methods of persuasion."
"Like what?"
Jerri looked coquettishly at him. "I like cake."
It only took Seamus a few more weeks to discover that he could shout Jerri into submission without bothering to offer something in return. And then he realized who must have shouted at her in the same way, twenty years earlier.
So, before the next paper, he baked her a cake.
He had never made one of these without George's help, and he was sure that the others had tasted much better, but Jerri's eyes widened as she took the first bite. "Sweet one-eyed Jesus, this is scrumptious!" she exclaimed, not bothering to swallow first. "Did you make this yourself?"
"It isn't my recipe," admitted Seamus. "Someone else taught me how."
"Well, whoever this girl is," said Jerri, "you get her barefoot, pregnant and—wait, it isn't your mom, is it?"
"Um, no."
"Oh, good. That could've gotten pretty disturbing. As I was saying—gay or not, you get this girl barefoot, pregnant, and in your kitchen as soon as possible."
"First," said Seamus, "it was a guy, not a girl. And second, he's way too young for me. You know what that means, right?"
"'Too young,'" repeated Jerri thoughtfully, squinting first with one eye and then the other. "'Too young' . . . nope, that's a beast I can truly say I have never come across."
"Didn't think so. But he is. He's too trusting, too innocent—oh, he'll defend himself sometimes, but it's not enough—he's not so strong that I couldn't break him, if I tried."
He didn't add: It scares me. Part of me wants to break him, just to make it stop.
Jerri regarded him with a kind of calm appraisal.
"Let me tell you something, Seamus," she said conspiratorially, putting a wizened arm around his shoulder. "If I avoided relationships with anyone I might possibly hurt, the fine doctors at Flatpoint Medical Center might never have learned how to deal with a fractured tibia. Sometimes, you just have to say, Hang the consequences and grab the bull by the horns! Or one of the various other parts of a bull that I have grabbed in my time. Why, I remember this one show in Tijuana—"
"Some other time," interrupted Seamus. "I, uh, have to go study. Enjoy the cake."
Seamus woke reluctantly. The more awake he grew, the more acutely aware he became that his head felt like it had been run over with a steamroller.
He squinted at the clock, willing the numbers to stop dancing and line up in their proper order, whatever that might happen to be. Late. Too late. A morning class had been and gone. His shift that afternoon began in . . . some number of minutes which was not a lot.
With a herculean effort he dragged himself to the kitchen, all of his thoughts focused on coffee and instant oatmeal.
Over the hum of the microwave, his phone beeped.
Seamus picked it up and flipped it open, squinting at the tiny screen. A couple of blurs of about the right size and shape to be the words "1 new text" greeted him.
Read it later. Coffee.
He was halfway through the first gulp when an image from the night before flashed into his mind. Leaning over the back of his ratty couch and looking out at the stars, phone at his ear, saying something very emphatic and undoubtedly very slurred.
Uh-oh.
Blinking frantically in the hopes that his vision would return faster, Seamus grabbed his phone again, pressing the button that allowed him to read "1 new text". A second later he let out a loud groan.
If you want to talk, said the text, call me when you're sober. If not, don't worry--I'll pretend that conversation never happened.
Well, if George was willing to forget it, why should Seamus care what he had—
—oh, who was he kidding? Of course he was going to call.
"I'm a jackass."
George raised his eyebrows. "No arguments here."
They stood at the edge of the beach near the Good Time Island bridge, the sound of the traffic and the distant commotion of the island mixing with the lapping of little waves on the sand.
"And I'm not gonna lie: I still don't remember anything I said the other night. But I'm sorry."
"If you don't remember it, how do you know you're sorry?"
"Because I was really, really drunk, and therefore it was probably really, really stupid. Have mercy on a guy and tell me what it was?"
George shrugged. "To be honest, most of it was pretty incoherent. Although you mentioned a couple of times that you really wanted to wear a dress."
Seamus' heart skipped a beat. "I did not."
"Yep. A fancy one, with lots of ruffles. And you seemed pretty insistent that I remember it."
"Christ," muttered Seamus, beginning to pace. "Yeah, I would have been. I—I was giving you ammo, okay? Incentive for me not to mess with you, for fear that you'll tell the world about my embarrassing secret fetish. I've never even dressed in drag, that's how secret it is."
"Were you planning on messing with me again?"
At the 'again', Seamus winced. "Wasn't planning on giving myself the chance."
"Ah."
"And then I knocked back a few too many and forgot all about that. Forgot pretty much everything, except that I miss you. Did I mention that?"
"In detail."
"Uh-oh. Did I—?"
"You were talking about my thighs when I hung up."
"Oh, no."
"Yep. Listen, Seamus—I'm not interested in casual sex, okay? I'm not holding out for a ring, here, but I don't do friends-with-benefits, either. I swear I'm not judging—if that's your thing, more power to you—but it's not for me." George took a step backward.
"Wait!" It took all of Seamus' willpower not to lunge after him. "It's not about that! I mean, yeah, the sex was good—but I miss hanging out with you, and your jokes, and making food—I picked up a crock pot, did I mention that when I called?" (George shook his head.) "Well, I did. And I have no idea what to do with it. I've been living on canned soup and TV dinners, it's terrible. I miss you, George. Not your thighs or anything else. You."
He stopped, breathless. The younger man looked thoroughly startled.
"Right," said Seamus at last. "Now that I've completely embarrassed myself, you can go."
George bit his lip. "Actually . . . do you have plans tonight?"
"Nothing special, why?"
"You wanna cross the bridge, find a club, dance for a while?" He jerked his head in the direction of the brightly lit island.
"With you?"
"Yeah. With me."
"Just to dance?"
"If you think you're getting lucky tonight—"
"No, no, of course not!" interrupted Seamus, before George could start to back away again. "Please. I want to. Let's dance."
________
A/N: A couple of pictures from this 'verse are up. For your perusal: five-year-old George William of Alpha Squad 7, and George and Seamus visiting NYC.
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Oh, and i read somewhere that you're 21. IS that true, cos you've got so much talent as such a (relatively) young age.
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And, yep, turned 21 last October ^_^
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hahaha! (lol, I love The Graduate). I'm really loving this story, too :)
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Thanks!
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So well put!
WIN for self-affirmative!Seamus! And I love the recurrence of cross-dressing in Seamus's mind. The Madame Precious dream, his mother's wedding dress (which I hadn't really thought of that way but I guess is connected) and finally a confession.
Seeing George's
thighsconfidence and patience not only makes me love him more, but I can't stop thinking about his upbringing and how fantastic (literally) his childhood was.Thanks for another wonderful installment:)
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Good catch re: the wedding dress. We haven't seen the last of it.
I keep writing bits and pieces about George's upbringing. Someday I'll get them organized enough to post =P
*Jon voice* No, thank you!
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Jerri is sufficiently creepy. Props for that.
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Thanks!
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Thanks!
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And you're only 21?!?
*impressed as hell, actually*
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...and, yeah ^_^;
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Jerri's voice was spot on and awesome, unsurprisingly.
*waits for more*
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Thanks =D
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Your Jerri was PERFECT, I could picture her saying everything.
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Thanks ^_^
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i heart this. i heart you. you're so funny. i heart your Jerri. so cute and sweet and did i mention funny!
"Well . . ." Jerri wrung her hands, genuinely distraught. "No. Well, yes. But I had a good excuse!"
"What's your excuse?"
"I really, really wanted sex."
pfft. i grinned.
great chapter. moarsoonplz.
Kagaya
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Thank you =D
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♥!!
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Seamus is kind of asking for it sometimes. But he's shaping up, little by little.
Thanks!
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Oh, Jerri XD
Also, it is rather sweet to see that while Seamus did pick up his father's jerkiness, he does try to fight it (doesn't succeed that often, but he is trying.)
You write Jerri really well. For some reason, she seems a lot like an ugly, really stupid puppy to me. Especially when she is pouting about something.
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she seems a lot like an ugly, really stupid puppy to me.
This. Exactly this. She may be horrible, but, well, she's still a puppy, so you can't help feeling just a little sorry for the poor ugly thing.