send me a made-up fic title and i'll tell you what i would write to go with it
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Title: changing the notes
Fandom: The League of Gentlemen
Characters: Les McQueen, y/n
Premise: You find Les in the pub after he gave away all his saving to Creme Brûlée.
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Excerpt: [actually more a full mini drabble oops]
Three beers down and he was starting to feel slightly better, the alcohol brain fuzz covering up the hurt and the feeling of foolishness that Les had been feeling for a good chunk of the afternoon. The disappointment however wasn’t budging.
He had left the mechanics and went straight to the pub, he ignored the looks from the regulars who were clearly confused by the 80’s get up and the guitar case. He’d sat himself in the back corner and kept himself to himself, trying to people watch to keep himself from dwelling on how much of a shit business it was. The music in the pub was always dreary but it seemed more so than usual on that afternoon.
He picked up his glass and tipped his head back, getting the dregs of the pint. When he tipped his head back forward he was surprised to see someone sat opposite him. He offered a smile, wanting to be polite and they smiled back.
“Sorry, my friends and I spotted you and i’ve been designated to come and find out a, why you’re dressed like a terrible ABBA tribute, and b. why you look like you’re about to possible jump off the nearest cliff.”
Les looked at his new table partner and blinked, processing their words. “Let me get another drink and i’ll be with you.”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having!”
Les looked back and blinked, nodding as he approached the bar, ordering two pints of the cheapest larger there.
Heading back to the table he spotted his table partner eyeing up his case.
“Guitar.” He said, sitting back down. “I used to play in a band, was meant to be reuniting but they fucked me over…” “Damn… they let you get dressed up and everything… I guess they’re not your mates then. What band was it?.” Les nodded, taking a drink. For the first time ever he felt nervous to say who he used to play for- he wasn’t sure he could take another blow.
“You might have heard of us… Creme Brûlée. We did Eurovision… Heats.” Les took another drink, averting his eyes over his glass. He was bracing for defeat when his table partner spoke.
“Oh! Voodoo lady!” Their face lit up and Les had to match their expression. His new table partner laughed gently, “It’s one of my favourite more obscure records.”
Les laughed and he felt himself smile properly for the first time that day. Perhaps it wasn’t such a shit business after all.
