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schmericaThis is completely random. And also the first writing I have done in close to a month that wasn't forced for birthdays or challenges.
I spent a ridiculous time on google resarching something for this, by the way. And I got no definitive answer! *shakes tiny fist* But, uh, you won't notice it anyway, so it doesn't matter.
*****
Two weeks at Fraser's cabin, and Ray had already learned plenty.
Dominoes. Canasta. Gin rummy. Cribbage. Pinochle. Every single old person game in the world, Ray was practically an expert on it now.
Ray had know there was a lot of weird stuff shut up inside Fraser's head, but he hadn't realized Hoyle's Rules of Games was part of it.
Of course, he was learning a lot of other stuff, too, sure -- useful stuff, even, like what stuff he could do and what would get himself killed and make Fraser really disappointed in him, or how to chop wood and take care of the firestove and keep the place warm, or how to hunt and skin and butcher, all that funky crazy hermit mountain man stuff Fraser'd learned when he was a week old. Kids learn things a hell of a lot easier than guys on the wrong side of thirty-five, so it wasn't like Ray was picking any of it up all that quick, but still, it was something, something important, him carrying his own weight.
That was the day, though. And the thing about up here was that the days weren't all that long, still. There was a fucking lot of night to fill.
No TV. No radio. No movies. No magazines, no going out for a drive or a walk down to the corner. And there was only so long you could sleep.
Fraser showed him how to whittle and Ray managed something that looked like a deformed pumpkin. Fraser told him stories that were probably supposed to be funny or have some kind of point or moral or something. There were a couple of books, but besides Fraser's dad's journals, which were private and everything, the two or three books all had print small enough to hurt Ray's eyes, even when he was wearing his glasses and even when there was a lot better light than the lamps there. The type didn't seem to bother Fraser, though, and he read aloud out of Robinson Crusoe until Ray began to act out elaborate ways to kill himself using only his sleeping bag and pillow.
So. Cards and dominoes and dice. For someone who didn't gamble or bet, Fraser sure knew a whole lot of cutthroat games pretty damn well. Ray had watched his grammy and grandpop playing pinochle against his great-uncles at every Saturday night dinner for ten years. Fraser wasn't fooling anybody with that "nice friendly game" crap. Nobody was more evil than old people when it came to winning, and these were the oldest of the old people games. There was a reason Ray hadn't ever learned any of these before.
Ray could feel it starting to get to him. Sitting there across from Fraser while Fraser smirked a little and scribbled down their scores, Ray could tell. All it would take would be a stinky pipe, a gut hanging over his belt, and a horseshoe pit out in the snow, and Ray would become his grandpop. He'd smell funny all the time and he wouldn't be able to talk about anything except politics and Grammy's golabki. Ray didn't think he could take it.
"So what you're saying," Fraser says, furrowing his brow, "is that all this was a defensive move, on your part?"
"Nah, see, Fraser--" Ray sits up on top of the blankets, stretching his arms out behind him. "It wasn't a defensive move, it was a survival strategy." He grins at Fraser, who is lying still on the floor, hands tucked thoughtfully behind his head.
"A survival strategy," Fraser repeats, sounding a little doubtful.
"Right," Ray says, "cause if we're doing this--" He makes a gesture between their naked bodies to demonstrate. "Then we can't be doing that. I found something else for us to do at night."
"You know, Ray, there's no reason we can't do both," Fraser points out, of course. Mr. Logic.
Ray widens his eyes a little, faking looking real surprised. "You wanna play hearts while we're doing it? Kind of kinky there, Fraser. Specially for our second time."
Fraser comes close to rolling his eyes at that. Ray scoots back down, lying besides him and says, "Guess you gotta make it worth my while first, huh?"
And look at that: Fraser without anything to say. Ray wins!
Bingo.
I spent a ridiculous time on google resarching something for this, by the way. And I got no definitive answer! *shakes tiny fist* But, uh, you won't notice it anyway, so it doesn't matter.
*****
Two weeks at Fraser's cabin, and Ray had already learned plenty.
Dominoes. Canasta. Gin rummy. Cribbage. Pinochle. Every single old person game in the world, Ray was practically an expert on it now.
Ray had know there was a lot of weird stuff shut up inside Fraser's head, but he hadn't realized Hoyle's Rules of Games was part of it.
Of course, he was learning a lot of other stuff, too, sure -- useful stuff, even, like what stuff he could do and what would get himself killed and make Fraser really disappointed in him, or how to chop wood and take care of the firestove and keep the place warm, or how to hunt and skin and butcher, all that funky crazy hermit mountain man stuff Fraser'd learned when he was a week old. Kids learn things a hell of a lot easier than guys on the wrong side of thirty-five, so it wasn't like Ray was picking any of it up all that quick, but still, it was something, something important, him carrying his own weight.
That was the day, though. And the thing about up here was that the days weren't all that long, still. There was a fucking lot of night to fill.
No TV. No radio. No movies. No magazines, no going out for a drive or a walk down to the corner. And there was only so long you could sleep.
Fraser showed him how to whittle and Ray managed something that looked like a deformed pumpkin. Fraser told him stories that were probably supposed to be funny or have some kind of point or moral or something. There were a couple of books, but besides Fraser's dad's journals, which were private and everything, the two or three books all had print small enough to hurt Ray's eyes, even when he was wearing his glasses and even when there was a lot better light than the lamps there. The type didn't seem to bother Fraser, though, and he read aloud out of Robinson Crusoe until Ray began to act out elaborate ways to kill himself using only his sleeping bag and pillow.
So. Cards and dominoes and dice. For someone who didn't gamble or bet, Fraser sure knew a whole lot of cutthroat games pretty damn well. Ray had watched his grammy and grandpop playing pinochle against his great-uncles at every Saturday night dinner for ten years. Fraser wasn't fooling anybody with that "nice friendly game" crap. Nobody was more evil than old people when it came to winning, and these were the oldest of the old people games. There was a reason Ray hadn't ever learned any of these before.
Ray could feel it starting to get to him. Sitting there across from Fraser while Fraser smirked a little and scribbled down their scores, Ray could tell. All it would take would be a stinky pipe, a gut hanging over his belt, and a horseshoe pit out in the snow, and Ray would become his grandpop. He'd smell funny all the time and he wouldn't be able to talk about anything except politics and Grammy's golabki. Ray didn't think he could take it.
"So what you're saying," Fraser says, furrowing his brow, "is that all this was a defensive move, on your part?"
"Nah, see, Fraser--" Ray sits up on top of the blankets, stretching his arms out behind him. "It wasn't a defensive move, it was a survival strategy." He grins at Fraser, who is lying still on the floor, hands tucked thoughtfully behind his head.
"A survival strategy," Fraser repeats, sounding a little doubtful.
"Right," Ray says, "cause if we're doing this--" He makes a gesture between their naked bodies to demonstrate. "Then we can't be doing that. I found something else for us to do at night."
"You know, Ray, there's no reason we can't do both," Fraser points out, of course. Mr. Logic.
Ray widens his eyes a little, faking looking real surprised. "You wanna play hearts while we're doing it? Kind of kinky there, Fraser. Specially for our second time."
Fraser comes close to rolling his eyes at that. Ray scoots back down, lying besides him and says, "Guess you gotta make it worth my while first, huh?"
And look at that: Fraser without anything to say. Ray wins!
Bingo.
Tags:
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(no subject)
27/5/05 05:07 (UTC)Bingo.
HAH! I love this. Particularly Ray's observations of old people. Dead on!
(no subject)
28/5/05 05:15 (UTC)Actually, I learned a bunch of those card games from my grandparents, and they're all totally crazy and perfectionist. Actually, my research on google was partly trying to figure out if Ray's Polish grandparents were as likely to go off to old people clubs and play obsessive pinochle as my non-Polish great-grandparents. Google seems to think all European immigrant love pinochle, though. Hee.
(no subject)
27/5/05 05:15 (UTC)(no subject)
28/5/05 05:15 (UTC)(no subject)
27/5/05 08:00 (UTC)(no subject)
28/5/05 05:16 (UTC)(no subject)
27/5/05 10:43 (UTC)The type didn't seem to bother Fraser, though, and he read aloud out of Robinson Crusoe until Ray began to act out elaborate ways to kill himself using only his sleeping bag and pillow.
HEE!
(no subject)
27/5/05 13:55 (UTC)(no subject)
28/5/05 05:16 (UTC)(no subject)
28/5/05 05:16 (UTC)(no subject)
28/5/05 22:11 (UTC)Now I want the in-between scene. I need some vicarious steamy sex in my life, and you, Pearl, are just the person to provide it.
er:
28/5/05 22:13 (UTC)Re: er:
28/5/05 22:19 (UTC)(no subject)
27/5/05 10:58 (UTC)(no subject)
28/5/05 05:17 (UTC)(no subject)
27/5/05 11:12 (UTC)(no subject)
28/5/05 05:17 (UTC)(no subject)
27/5/05 12:11 (UTC)Bingo.
FANTASTIC
(no subject)
28/5/05 05:17 (UTC)Bingo!
27/5/05 12:32 (UTC)Re: Bingo!
28/5/05 05:18 (UTC)(no subject)
27/5/05 13:24 (UTC)(no subject)
28/5/05 05:18 (UTC)(no subject)
27/5/05 14:59 (UTC)This was wonderful!
(no subject)
28/5/05 05:18 (UTC)(no subject)
27/5/05 19:25 (UTC)(no subject)
28/5/05 05:18 (UTC)yay!
27/5/05 20:09 (UTC)Re: yay!
28/5/05 05:19 (UTC)Ray is really kind of amazing with the self control here, I think. Most of us probably would start making out with Fraser five minutes into the trip.
(no subject)
28/5/05 17:58 (UTC)*heart*
(no subject)
28/5/05 22:18 (UTC)