"Come on, we've gotta."
All four men of the strange family of rooms Sixteen and Nineteen of the Red Dragon Inn had shared their hours' pleasure. Artemis was secure in his closet cot; the use of spare rooms would probably be vital in the coming weeks, for the Lees, but they would manage.
"I'm reasonably certain she threw things at the last people to do this."
The journey was over. Renfield still felt adrift, in some ways; Mike was to be a part of his life, now, in some capacity. Even - and likely - if it wasn't to be often, in the future, he liked to believe it would be permanent, anyway. For tonight, he would push aside worries for Guy, worries for Robert, worries for Mike, and indeed, even for himself, and go...
...well, Harold called it 'trolling'.
It made him feel like a sneaking boy again, which he felt was never a bad thing in which to indulge oneself. Even if he was heavily armed. He had missed Harold. It was only proper to go on an outing together.
The West End was dark, and the wee hours bothered him not a jot. He was about to be terribly rude.
"Nah, she won't. She loves us, dude. Are you sure this is the right window?"
"If it isn't, we'll be lucky to only be in for percussive communication."
"Hope you practiced your ducking."
Renfield raised an eyebrow at Harold; it was utterly suggestive, and got a laughing snort.
"Okay, okay. Point taken. Let's get this moving."
"Are you quite certain I can't--"
"No 'Santa Drives a Pickup', dude. I just can't deal with that this year. Please. We agreed on this."
Renfield indulged himself in a theatric pout.
"I will get you another sock monkey if you don't make me sing that song."
He paused. "Deal."
"Thank fuck for that. Okay. You start. Country boy."
Harold gave him a little push in the back; even silly, Renfield would not do these things in half measures. So, he drew himself up, hands clasped at front, cleared his throat and he began to... not-quite-sing. It was the only thing they could both agree on that wasn't Christmas music, of which Harold was apparently sick.
"Now, a red Solo cup is the best receptacle for barbecues, tailgates, fairs and festivals, and you sir, do not have a pair of testicles, if you prefer drinking from glass." He extended an explanatory finger in his strange, slightly twanged serenade that Harold began singing with him. "A red Solo cup is cheap and disposable, and in 14 years they are decomposable. And unlike my home, they are not foreclosable; Freddie-Mac can kiss my ass."
He was hoping for scandal in his sister's room. Perhaps laughter. The window shimmied its way open, and Renfield was relieved to catch a glimpse of black hair instead of blonde. It was then he considered it was very rude to wake the baby, but the matter was already begun, and Renfield was giggling as Harold loudly began the chorus.
"Red solo cup, I fill you up! Let's have a party---"
And then there was fruit cake.
It socked Harold in the shoulder, spraying in a hail of crumbs and nuts and possibly some manner of preserved fruit that can never quite be named, and while Renfield wasn't expecting it, he thought the noise Harold made was probably a fine bonus.
"--dude!"
Harold was laughing, but he was shocked. He picked up a large chunk of cake and pitched it back into the window; the noise Audrey made was more than enough to make it clear to both of them that she now wanted some manner of trophy, and with that Harold grabbed Renfield's hand and ran. Yet another projectile confection, larger and perhaps more stale from what he could tell in the moonlight, issued from the window, sailing by Renfield's head; going wide, much to his relief.
"Oh, man, I so know what I'm getting that girl for Christmas. She needs a slingshot, she'd get a better aim out that window, and fuck, never doing offbeat Christmas carols ever again--"
Harold was just... talking, talking the whole way, and it reminded Renfield of Ray, and perhaps of Mike in a sideways fashion, and it made him happy. It didn't seem like either of them knew how far they'd be running, it wasn't as though she'd given chase. It didn't matter. They were long since down the street and still giggling like boys when Renfield reflected that it was quite a way to announce his return.
"--anyway, if she didn't recognize us, we were never there, okay?"
((Audrey used with permission and love.))
All four men of the strange family of rooms Sixteen and Nineteen of the Red Dragon Inn had shared their hours' pleasure. Artemis was secure in his closet cot; the use of spare rooms would probably be vital in the coming weeks, for the Lees, but they would manage.
"I'm reasonably certain she threw things at the last people to do this."
The journey was over. Renfield still felt adrift, in some ways; Mike was to be a part of his life, now, in some capacity. Even - and likely - if it wasn't to be often, in the future, he liked to believe it would be permanent, anyway. For tonight, he would push aside worries for Guy, worries for Robert, worries for Mike, and indeed, even for himself, and go...
...well, Harold called it 'trolling'.
It made him feel like a sneaking boy again, which he felt was never a bad thing in which to indulge oneself. Even if he was heavily armed. He had missed Harold. It was only proper to go on an outing together.
The West End was dark, and the wee hours bothered him not a jot. He was about to be terribly rude.
"Nah, she won't. She loves us, dude. Are you sure this is the right window?"
"If it isn't, we'll be lucky to only be in for percussive communication."
"Hope you practiced your ducking."
Renfield raised an eyebrow at Harold; it was utterly suggestive, and got a laughing snort.
"Okay, okay. Point taken. Let's get this moving."
"Are you quite certain I can't--"
"No 'Santa Drives a Pickup', dude. I just can't deal with that this year. Please. We agreed on this."
Renfield indulged himself in a theatric pout.
"I will get you another sock monkey if you don't make me sing that song."
He paused. "Deal."
"Thank fuck for that. Okay. You start. Country boy."
Harold gave him a little push in the back; even silly, Renfield would not do these things in half measures. So, he drew himself up, hands clasped at front, cleared his throat and he began to... not-quite-sing. It was the only thing they could both agree on that wasn't Christmas music, of which Harold was apparently sick.
"Now, a red Solo cup is the best receptacle for barbecues, tailgates, fairs and festivals, and you sir, do not have a pair of testicles, if you prefer drinking from glass." He extended an explanatory finger in his strange, slightly twanged serenade that Harold began singing with him. "A red Solo cup is cheap and disposable, and in 14 years they are decomposable. And unlike my home, they are not foreclosable; Freddie-Mac can kiss my ass."
He was hoping for scandal in his sister's room. Perhaps laughter. The window shimmied its way open, and Renfield was relieved to catch a glimpse of black hair instead of blonde. It was then he considered it was very rude to wake the baby, but the matter was already begun, and Renfield was giggling as Harold loudly began the chorus.
"Red solo cup, I fill you up! Let's have a party---"
And then there was fruit cake.
It socked Harold in the shoulder, spraying in a hail of crumbs and nuts and possibly some manner of preserved fruit that can never quite be named, and while Renfield wasn't expecting it, he thought the noise Harold made was probably a fine bonus.
"--dude!"
Harold was laughing, but he was shocked. He picked up a large chunk of cake and pitched it back into the window; the noise Audrey made was more than enough to make it clear to both of them that she now wanted some manner of trophy, and with that Harold grabbed Renfield's hand and ran. Yet another projectile confection, larger and perhaps more stale from what he could tell in the moonlight, issued from the window, sailing by Renfield's head; going wide, much to his relief.
"Oh, man, I so know what I'm getting that girl for Christmas. She needs a slingshot, she'd get a better aim out that window, and fuck, never doing offbeat Christmas carols ever again--"
Harold was just... talking, talking the whole way, and it reminded Renfield of Ray, and perhaps of Mike in a sideways fashion, and it made him happy. It didn't seem like either of them knew how far they'd be running, it wasn't as though she'd given chase. It didn't matter. They were long since down the street and still giggling like boys when Renfield reflected that it was quite a way to announce his return.
"--anyway, if she didn't recognize us, we were never there, okay?"
((Audrey used with permission and love.))