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summer_of_giles2006-07-26 09:13 am
zandra-x.livejournal.com) wrote in summer_of_giles2006-07-26 09:13 am
Entry tags:
Fic:Four Pairs of Shoes Giles Never Bought and One He Did, Pt II
Title: Four Pairs of Shoes That Giles Never Bought and One He Did
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
zandra_x
Rating: Ranging from G to Adult, individual stories will be rated.
Disclaimer: Joss is Boss.
Notes: Thanks toentrenous88 for the original inspiration for this.
Part I
My thanks toani8 and perri94 for betaing. Any mistakes I claim as my own.
Rated: Adult for drug use.
Four Pairs of Shoes Giles Never Bought and One He Did
Part II
if Giles hadn’t left Ethan...
They were high, of course. When weren’t they? There they were, stumbling up a quiet street on a sunny mid-morning. Ripper thought they were in the East End, the houses looked a bit run down but it wasn’t as bad as some of the neighborhoods he and Ethan had woken up to in the past.
“We need to find a bloody bus or a tube station. Where are we?” Ripper growled at Ethan.
“Well, since I don’t have a bloody compass, I’m not quite sure where we are or how to get out of here. Really, if we go on these late night adventures, one of us should leave a trail of breadcrumbs to find our way back to civilization. Or at least be sober enough to remember the way we came in. I nominate you,” Ethan’s tone was less cross than Ripper’s. He had a headache and didn’t feel up to a quarrel. There wasn’t any tea to be had in the flat they spent the night in (really, how does one not have tea?) and Ethan felt parched and fragile.
The pair continued their slow walk down the pavement in hopes of coming across something they recognized. Ripper lit a joint and after taking several hits passed it to Ethan. “We should ask directions,” Ethan said in a decisive tone.
“Nobody on the bloody street, is there?”
“No, that’s true.”
They walked a little farther. Looking down a side street they were passing, Ripper said, “There’s some people. Is it Sunday?”
“No, I don’t think so. Saturday. Yes, Saturday,” Ethan said.
“Then why are they going into the church?”
“No idea. Let’s capture one and make it tells us where we are,” Ethan said and started moving down the street.
“Rather find a pub and ask,” Ripper said under his breath.
“Yes, well, needs must,”
Ripper took a last inhale on the joint, snuffed out the lighted end and swallowed what was left. He followed Ethan.
As they got closer they saw it was not the church itself that the people, mostly women, were going into but a side door of the building. The open door had a large sign attached which read, Jumble Sale, and below that, in smaller letters, Bring and Buy. And beneath that, an unsteadily drawn arrow below pointed inside.
“Just the thing,” Ethan said and made to join the steady flow of people going inside.
“No, wait. Stop. I’m not going to a Jumble sale,” Ripper grabbed at Ethan’s arm. “Stop being a fucking prat; I want to go home.”
“Tea, Ripper, ‘Bring and Buy’ means cake and where there’s cake, there’s tea. I need strengthening. And who knows what sartorial splendors we might find!”
“Cast off tatty clobber...” Ripper snarled to Ethan’s retreating back. After a moment or two, he grimaced and followed him. The door led to the church’s assembly hall. Ethan headed for the table which had a large tea urn on it.
“Hullo, luv, tea?” the woman behind the table greeted the two scruffy young men.
“Yes, please. Two. And...” Ethan looked over the display of baked goods, “and that delicious-looking currant bun.” He looked at his friend, “Peckish, Ripper?”
Ripper had taken the cup of tea and he was going to snarl a ‘no’ to the question of cake, then reconsidered. “Yeah, get me a scone. Make it two of ‘em.” He was feeling a little hollow and Ethan had obviously decided to stay for a while.
They settled at the end of a long table to eat. Ethan kept whispering to Ripper about the people pawing through the jumble. He’d make up stories describing their lives and the assorted perversions they indulged in. Ripper, fed and tead, feeling better, snickered and leaned in close to his friend.
When they’d finished their tea, Ethan stood and said, “Let’s see if there’s anything worth having here.” He wandered through the room, fingering a fabric here and there. Ripper followed, indulging his friend.
They came across a table filled with shoes. Ethan let out an ‘ahhhhh’ and picked up a pair of women’s black high heels. “Just the thing.” He held one of them up to show Ripper. “Look, luv.”
“It’s a shoe.”
“It’s a very large, ankle-strapped shoe, with just the correct amount of sequins sewn on. It walks delicately, well, as delicately as something this big can, that line between outré fashion and camp.” Ethan turned the shoe around, studying it. “No, on second thought, it’s camp. I think you should buy them. I envision you in them.”
Ripper giggled. “Why me, why not you?”
“Never fit me. Here, try it on.”
Ripper kicked off his right shoe, slipped on the high heel. He tried balancing on it, his hand gripped on Ethan. “See? Perfect,” said Ethan, “and you won’t be wearing socks. We shall have to find you some tights. Black silk, or those patterned ones, or would that be too much? We’ll dress you all up and take you about. The boys at the club...oh, I can see their faces now.
“I’ll look a silly git,” Ripper said, as he swayed and then fell off the shoe.
“With those lovely lashes of yours? You’ll look like a film star.”
“You always talk me in to these things.”
“Ripper, dear, I’m just helping you be the man you were meant to be. In stylish court shoes.” Ethan looked at the price marked on the shoes, “For a mere 50p, you’ll become a legend in some of the grottiest clubs in London. Really, cheap at the price. I’ll wear my dinner jacket. We’ll be divine.”
Ripper, still feeling the effects of his last joint, giggled again and dug into his pocket for the money to buy the shoes.
They asked the woman at the cash box for directions to transit. They found the right bus and as it trudged back to their own neighborhood, Ethan elaborated on what he referred to as “the transformation”. You’ll go, my dear, from grub, albeit a delightfully manly one, to a beautiful, beautiful butterfly. Ripper felt bone-weary and slumped deep in his seat. He let Ethan’s talk wash over him, lulling him to the edge of sleep. It seemed to him that all his life consisted of Ethan’s voice, going on and on, wrapping around him.
They spent the next few days collecting “an ensemble”, as they came to call it. One of their flatmates had sisters, another one could sew; it all began to come together. Despite all their hard work planning Ripper’s debut, they still had time to spend their dole money on pints at the pub where they had bleary squabbles about Ripper’s drag name. ”Ruperta! Are you mad?” “Just a suggestion, dear. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Don’t you think it sounds...posh.” “Tosh is more like it.” Ripper, when Ethan reminded him to, also spent time learning to balance himself on his new shoes.
On the big night they rushed about the flat in preparation. As Ripper struggled into his black silk dress, juggling his joint to avoid sparks flying and trying to adjust the bodice to look less lopsided, Ethan brought out a small bottle and said, “I’ve got something special for tonight.”
“Magic?”
“No, no, when have I had time for magic? This white powder is perfectly mundane, yet, will enliven our evening considerably. Now where did I put that mirror?”
“Wait until my make-up’s done,” Ripper protested. “I don’t want to end up looking like a Picasso, eyebrows everywhere.”
“Yes, perhaps that’s a better idea. The night is young,” Ethan said.
Ripper sat down and Ethan set to work on applying just the right amount of glamour, in just the right colors to set off the dress and shoes. He brushed and blended, all the while telling Ripper how beautiful he was looking, like Ziggy Stardust, darling, only pretty. Again, Ripper felt encircled by Ethan’s voice; it made him feel as though there were no other place in the world but where they were.
“Done!” Ethan said and with a flourish put down the mascara brush. “Go worship your gorgeous self in the looking glass, and I’ll find a small mirror in which to line up our fairy dust.” Ethan left the bedroom and Ripper could hear him up and closing drawers throughout the flat. Ripper stared at himself in the full-length, old mirror. The image it gave back was slightly discolored and wavy, but Ripper thought he looked quite glamorous. Not Elizabeth Taylor, but it’ll turn a few heads in a dark club. He tried to twirl in his new shoes, but tangled up his feet and almost fell.
Ethan came back, put two lines of coke on the hand mirror he had and handed a Ripper a rolled up pound note. Ripper smiled at his lover as he took it.
Ethan smiled back.
Tonight was going to be fun. Bloody fun.
The End
Author:
zandra_xRating: Ranging from G to Adult, individual stories will be rated.
Disclaimer: Joss is Boss.
Notes: Thanks to
entrenous88 for the original inspiration for this.Part I
My thanks to
ani8 and perri94 for betaing. Any mistakes I claim as my own.Rated: Adult for drug use.
Four Pairs of Shoes Giles Never Bought and One He Did
Part II
if Giles hadn’t left Ethan...
They were high, of course. When weren’t they? There they were, stumbling up a quiet street on a sunny mid-morning. Ripper thought they were in the East End, the houses looked a bit run down but it wasn’t as bad as some of the neighborhoods he and Ethan had woken up to in the past.
“We need to find a bloody bus or a tube station. Where are we?” Ripper growled at Ethan.
“Well, since I don’t have a bloody compass, I’m not quite sure where we are or how to get out of here. Really, if we go on these late night adventures, one of us should leave a trail of breadcrumbs to find our way back to civilization. Or at least be sober enough to remember the way we came in. I nominate you,” Ethan’s tone was less cross than Ripper’s. He had a headache and didn’t feel up to a quarrel. There wasn’t any tea to be had in the flat they spent the night in (really, how does one not have tea?) and Ethan felt parched and fragile.
The pair continued their slow walk down the pavement in hopes of coming across something they recognized. Ripper lit a joint and after taking several hits passed it to Ethan. “We should ask directions,” Ethan said in a decisive tone.
“Nobody on the bloody street, is there?”
“No, that’s true.”
They walked a little farther. Looking down a side street they were passing, Ripper said, “There’s some people. Is it Sunday?”
“No, I don’t think so. Saturday. Yes, Saturday,” Ethan said.
“Then why are they going into the church?”
“No idea. Let’s capture one and make it tells us where we are,” Ethan said and started moving down the street.
“Rather find a pub and ask,” Ripper said under his breath.
“Yes, well, needs must,”
Ripper took a last inhale on the joint, snuffed out the lighted end and swallowed what was left. He followed Ethan.
As they got closer they saw it was not the church itself that the people, mostly women, were going into but a side door of the building. The open door had a large sign attached which read, Jumble Sale, and below that, in smaller letters, Bring and Buy. And beneath that, an unsteadily drawn arrow below pointed inside.
“Just the thing,” Ethan said and made to join the steady flow of people going inside.
“No, wait. Stop. I’m not going to a Jumble sale,” Ripper grabbed at Ethan’s arm. “Stop being a fucking prat; I want to go home.”
“Tea, Ripper, ‘Bring and Buy’ means cake and where there’s cake, there’s tea. I need strengthening. And who knows what sartorial splendors we might find!”
“Cast off tatty clobber...” Ripper snarled to Ethan’s retreating back. After a moment or two, he grimaced and followed him. The door led to the church’s assembly hall. Ethan headed for the table which had a large tea urn on it.
“Hullo, luv, tea?” the woman behind the table greeted the two scruffy young men.
“Yes, please. Two. And...” Ethan looked over the display of baked goods, “and that delicious-looking currant bun.” He looked at his friend, “Peckish, Ripper?”
Ripper had taken the cup of tea and he was going to snarl a ‘no’ to the question of cake, then reconsidered. “Yeah, get me a scone. Make it two of ‘em.” He was feeling a little hollow and Ethan had obviously decided to stay for a while.
They settled at the end of a long table to eat. Ethan kept whispering to Ripper about the people pawing through the jumble. He’d make up stories describing their lives and the assorted perversions they indulged in. Ripper, fed and tead, feeling better, snickered and leaned in close to his friend.
When they’d finished their tea, Ethan stood and said, “Let’s see if there’s anything worth having here.” He wandered through the room, fingering a fabric here and there. Ripper followed, indulging his friend.
They came across a table filled with shoes. Ethan let out an ‘ahhhhh’ and picked up a pair of women’s black high heels. “Just the thing.” He held one of them up to show Ripper. “Look, luv.”
“It’s a shoe.”
“It’s a very large, ankle-strapped shoe, with just the correct amount of sequins sewn on. It walks delicately, well, as delicately as something this big can, that line between outré fashion and camp.” Ethan turned the shoe around, studying it. “No, on second thought, it’s camp. I think you should buy them. I envision you in them.”
Ripper giggled. “Why me, why not you?”
“Never fit me. Here, try it on.”
Ripper kicked off his right shoe, slipped on the high heel. He tried balancing on it, his hand gripped on Ethan. “See? Perfect,” said Ethan, “and you won’t be wearing socks. We shall have to find you some tights. Black silk, or those patterned ones, or would that be too much? We’ll dress you all up and take you about. The boys at the club...oh, I can see their faces now.
“I’ll look a silly git,” Ripper said, as he swayed and then fell off the shoe.
“With those lovely lashes of yours? You’ll look like a film star.”
“You always talk me in to these things.”
“Ripper, dear, I’m just helping you be the man you were meant to be. In stylish court shoes.” Ethan looked at the price marked on the shoes, “For a mere 50p, you’ll become a legend in some of the grottiest clubs in London. Really, cheap at the price. I’ll wear my dinner jacket. We’ll be divine.”
Ripper, still feeling the effects of his last joint, giggled again and dug into his pocket for the money to buy the shoes.
They asked the woman at the cash box for directions to transit. They found the right bus and as it trudged back to their own neighborhood, Ethan elaborated on what he referred to as “the transformation”. You’ll go, my dear, from grub, albeit a delightfully manly one, to a beautiful, beautiful butterfly. Ripper felt bone-weary and slumped deep in his seat. He let Ethan’s talk wash over him, lulling him to the edge of sleep. It seemed to him that all his life consisted of Ethan’s voice, going on and on, wrapping around him.
They spent the next few days collecting “an ensemble”, as they came to call it. One of their flatmates had sisters, another one could sew; it all began to come together. Despite all their hard work planning Ripper’s debut, they still had time to spend their dole money on pints at the pub where they had bleary squabbles about Ripper’s drag name. ”Ruperta! Are you mad?” “Just a suggestion, dear. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Don’t you think it sounds...posh.” “Tosh is more like it.” Ripper, when Ethan reminded him to, also spent time learning to balance himself on his new shoes.
On the big night they rushed about the flat in preparation. As Ripper struggled into his black silk dress, juggling his joint to avoid sparks flying and trying to adjust the bodice to look less lopsided, Ethan brought out a small bottle and said, “I’ve got something special for tonight.”
“Magic?”
“No, no, when have I had time for magic? This white powder is perfectly mundane, yet, will enliven our evening considerably. Now where did I put that mirror?”
“Wait until my make-up’s done,” Ripper protested. “I don’t want to end up looking like a Picasso, eyebrows everywhere.”
“Yes, perhaps that’s a better idea. The night is young,” Ethan said.
Ripper sat down and Ethan set to work on applying just the right amount of glamour, in just the right colors to set off the dress and shoes. He brushed and blended, all the while telling Ripper how beautiful he was looking, like Ziggy Stardust, darling, only pretty. Again, Ripper felt encircled by Ethan’s voice; it made him feel as though there were no other place in the world but where they were.
“Done!” Ethan said and with a flourish put down the mascara brush. “Go worship your gorgeous self in the looking glass, and I’ll find a small mirror in which to line up our fairy dust.” Ethan left the bedroom and Ripper could hear him up and closing drawers throughout the flat. Ripper stared at himself in the full-length, old mirror. The image it gave back was slightly discolored and wavy, but Ripper thought he looked quite glamorous. Not Elizabeth Taylor, but it’ll turn a few heads in a dark club. He tried to twirl in his new shoes, but tangled up his feet and almost fell.
Ethan came back, put two lines of coke on the hand mirror he had and handed a Ripper a rolled up pound note. Ripper smiled at his lover as he took it.
Ethan smiled back.
Tonight was going to be fun. Bloody fun.
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*LMAO* That was delightful.
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