Richard II Modern AU (part of the extra adventures of these dorks)
“How did I ever let you talk me into this?” Richard shrieks. He’s looking at a monstrous contraption with such outraged dismay that it must account for the shit-eating grin on Bagot’s face. “We’re all going to cram into that... that… thing and drive all the way from San Francisco to Nevada?”
Bagot pats a stripe of purple feathers on the car’s hood and speaks soothing words.
“Don’t listen, baby. He doesn’t mean it.”
He bought the Corvair for just under $3,000 on Craigslist, running, but with thrashed paint and a filthy interior and missing passenger seat in front. He dyed enough chicken feathers to glue them in psychedelic swirls all over the outside, and cleaned up the inside just enough to tolerate the thought of sitting in it. Where the front passenger seat should be sits an untidy heap of gear for their camp.
“When you said we were going to take your car, I assumed it would be something, you know, suitable.”
“We’re arriving in style, bro,” Bagot laughs. “This isn’t just a car. It’s art! We’re gonna be the life of the party, as usual. We have a reputation to uphold!”
“We? Me, is more like it. I’m the one with the reputation, and I certainly didn’t earn it by driving around in something like this. You don’t need to resort to cheap, ugly gimmicks to get the sort of reputation I have.”
“Sure, you don’t,” Bagot scoffs.
“Oh, right. I forgot that you are one of them, Bagot.”
“Meee-oooww!” squeals Bushy, making clawing motions in the air.
Bagot rolls his eyes.
“I’m so done with you, Richard.”
Richard cackles and pets Bagot’s goatee, with his face close.
“You won’t be done with me until I’m done with you, and you know it.”
“While you two lovebirds are busy doing… whatever it is you’re doing… I’m just going to admire this enormous cock,” Bushy says, looking toward the faded, 5 ft. tall plastic rooster tied to the car’s roof. “I feel like I’ve seen it before. Was it once on a sign for something?”
Bagot eagerly turns back to the car.
“Yeah. It was on top of a big sign for this old chicken restaurant that went out of business a few years ago.”
“It was by the freeway, right? I remember it! I never ate there, but it looked like a really funky place and I was sad when I drove by last year and saw it closed, and the chicken was gone.”
“Me too! Well, guess what I found this spring?”
“No!”
“Yep, it was the rooster, sitting in the yard of an antiques store near Angels Camp.”
“Oh my god! And you bought it?”
“I sure did, and thus was born the idea for a Burning Man art car.”
"How are we even going to fit in that thing," Richard moans.
Bagot throws one arm around Richard's shoulders and the other around Bushy's and squeezes them tightly against himself.
"Togetherness, man!"
He kisses Bushy dramatically on the cheek but Richard tears himself away before Bagot can turn his head and he smooches thin air.
"I already can't stand the whole thing, and we haven't even left the city yet. I'm not going to go. Why break my perfect record of not going?"
" Come on, Richard. It'll be fun. There's naked girls... boys... plenty of booze and weed..."
"That's a typical weekend at my house."
Bushy can't help laughing at that.
"Mark Zuckerberg might be there."
"Ugh, now you're just insulting me."
Bagot steps over to the curb and picks up Richard's little suitcase, pops the car's trunk, and tosses it in, then shoves Richard toward the open car door. Bushy scurries to the other side, gets in, and reaches out to Richard. Bagot pushes him through the door while Bushy grabs his arms and drags him onto the seat. Bagot slides into the driver's seat, spins the key in the ignition, and the automotive monster lumbers grudgingly into the street. In a little while they roll into Edward's apartment complex. He's supposed to meet them in the parking lot, but he's not there so Bagot honks the horn. Instead of the usual sound, "cock-a-doodle-doo" pierces the air.
Richard buries his face in his hands and slithers down in the seat.
"I can't believe this is happening," he groans.
Edward still doesn't show up, so Bagot makes the car crow again, and again, and again until Richard finally whips out his phone and shouts as he dials, "Oh for chrissakes, Bagot! Stop that!"
Richard runs out of patience for Edward's dumbfounded expression when he finally gets there. He throws open the door and orders, "Don't just stand there. Get in so we can get the hell out of here before someone sees."
Bagot puts his bag in the trunk and gives him a little shove, too.
"Go on, bro. It's gonna be awesome."
Richard has to admit that being sandwiched between Bushy and Edward is a small perk that almost offsets his cramped legs, and the feeling that he might, truly, be melting as they enter the sweltering Central Valley with a broken air conditioner. He feels a trickle run between his shoulder blades, and the faint scent of Edward's fresh sweat makes him wish there were just a bit more room in the backseat, no matter how inappropriate it might be at the moment. But it's all too impractical right now, too hot and sticky, and fantasizing about what he'd like to do if they were somewhere else only nips his happier mood in the bud.
It gets cooler as they ascend the Sierras, and everyone's mood improves. Bushy starts a round of "100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall," and Bagot joins right in. The contagious song soon affects Edward and at some point, even Richard chimes in. They're all singing enthusiastically and laughing when Bagot throws the old clunker into a turn and they hear a "thunk" on top of the car, and watch as the rooster tumbles over the edge of the mountain.
"Fuck!" Bagot screams, and the car screeches to a halt on a narrow strip of dirt overlooking a steep slope covered thickly in brush. They can't see the rooster anywhere. Edward examines the broken tie downs in disbelief.
"You just strapped it on? It didn't occur to you that it would stay up better if it was firmly attached?"
"I didn't want to ruin the statue with bolt holes through the foot." Bagot looks so sheepish that Edward does not say what he wanted to say next.
"Oh, we're better off without that dumb cluck. Let's just get back on the road," Richard says.
"No. Let's look for it."
"Look for it? We can't see any trace of it. It could be anywhere down there and we could be looking for it for days."
"It can't have gone too far."
"Bagot, if I wanted to go looking for a big plastic cock I'd just root around in my dresser for a while."
Bushy claps his hand over his mouth, looking between Bagot and Richard with a wicked mixture of shock and delight. Edward regards Bagot with horror because it looks like he's about to cry. Bushy moves over and pats his back.
"I'll help you look."
He peers anxiously over his shoulder to assess the slope to decide if this is really a good idea, after all.
"Even if you can find it, you won’t have enough hands to get it up."
"Ah, a problem you know well. Look, Richard, we'll figure something out," Bagot snaps.
"I'll help, too," Edward offers, to keep the peace.
"I won't," says Richard, dialing his phone. "And you're not going to, either."
After a few minutes on the phone, Richard has arranged for his driver to come pick him up in his limousine.
"You're coming home with me, Edward. Get your things from the car."
"No, I'm not. I'm going to help Bagot and Bushy."
"You can't be serious. You're never going to find that thing. Besides, there are rattlesnakes and God knows what else down there. Why risk it? It's pointless.”
"We won't know if we don't try. And it means a lot to Bagot."
The three of them glare coldly at Richard, but he just shrugs his shoulders and quips as he sits down to wait under a shady tree, "Fine, Edward. Do what you want. But I'll never let you forget the time you chose Bagot's cock over mine."
Notes
The chicken is based on a real place that I used to drive by a few times a year that closed down (as you can see, the real thing is a lot bigger than I made it in the story). When I was driving in the Gold Country earlier this year, I saw the chicken in the yard of what looked like a junk or antiques shop. I wanted to write a story about it. I was reading an article, Why the Rich Love Burning Man, and thinking about Si!Richard, who is definitely not a burner for any reason, but Hipster Bagot goes to Burning Man and, somehow this whole stupid thing popped into my head and was too ridiculous to not write.
Richard’s shaky empire begins to crumble. [previous chapters here]
Edward waits near the door when Richard walks into the White Hart main entrance. As usual, he's showing up around 10:00 with a Starbucks latte, headphones encasing his brain in music. Edward grabs his elbow before he can get past. Richard pulls the headphones off tugs his arm out of Edward's hand with an offended snort.
"Richard, you didn't answer my texts. I was hoping you'd get here earlier. Quick, I need to talk to you. There's people..."
He breezes toward the elevator without noticing the eyes of everyone in the lobby, the security guards, the business supply vendors trying to drum up business with free doughnuts, the employees waiting for the elevators, all turn on him through veiled lids. The small crowd at the elevator dissipates with a murmur as he arrives, Edward at his heels, then there's a "ding" and the doors open. They ride silently to the top floor and walk down a spacious, unnaturally quiet hallway to Richard's sunlit suite in the corner. READ MORE
I cannot concentrate today, but this is what I’m working on.
“Don't worry, Edward. I've already spoken to ourattorneys and they're going to handle this investigation. They said everything's under control, and are working the spin with our PR department. Lighten up! Do you have any idea what the media was like when Anne died? And what they've said forever about Robert and me?"
Edward is too aware. He's followed Richard in the news for as long as he can remember, and stifles an urge to throw himself at Richard's feet, begging him to run away together before another word punctures the membrane between them and the dreadful future.
"When you're someone like me, they're always out to get you. I've been fending off attacks since I was ten. It's best not to give them what they want, and keep doing what I want. This is just one more thing and we'll put them in their place, like the others."
Edward shakes his head and opens his mouth, but before he can reply, they hear a tremulous knock at the door. It sounds like the way Richard's assistant knocks, but halting, as if hoping no one will hear it. Edward's heart sinks.
"Come in!" Richard shouts as he deletes unnecessary messages from his inbox with a giddy little flourish.
A young woman enters, wearing Gap jeans and a thrift store blouse so conservative and ordinary, it's cool. Her undercut is dyed jet black to match her clunky plastic eyeglass frames. Edward finds himself irritated with her pierced nostril, which is empty because Richard thinks the horseshoe ring she usually wears is tacky. She refuses to wear the diamond stud he gave her for Christmas, so she wears nothing at all to work. To Edward, it's just an indecent, uncovered orifice, but the harder he tries to avoid looking at it, the more he notices it. Perhaps it's just a distraction from what he knows she must be about to say. His attention has fallen headfirst into the tiny hole when she begins to speak.
"Mr. Plantagenet, there are some people who've been waiting to see you. I've tried everything to get them to leave but they showed me their ID, and they're--"
"That's fine, Jeannette, let them in. I'll see them now."
Chapter Summary: Richard returns to a crisis that his friends have been trying to manage in his absence, and fails to appreciate that this might just be the tip of the iceberg.
Notes: Here is where it gets sad. This is the equivalent of the Welsh Beach Scene, (which is going to finish in the next chapter, which will also be the equivalent of the Flint Castle scene). I'd rate this chapter at about a Teen level-- there's a little bit of vague sex stuff, but it's important, plot-wise, and not explicit at all.Two characters die.
"What the hell is this?" Bagot stomps into the room and slams a magazine down on the table in Green's office, where he's having coffee with Bushy. Bushy startles and his phone rattles against the cup.
"Christ, Bagot!" he says. "There's no need to scare the crap out of me."
"You know what'll scare the crap out of you?" he points to the Wired Magazine's cover. Green tilts his head a little to get a better view. The lead story leaps out at them: Inside the Black Heart of White Hart's New App.
"Holy shit!" Green yelps and thumbs through the magazine till he reaches the story. Bushy reads over his shoulder and both of them are sick and speechless by the time they reach the end. Already they can hear turmoil in the corridor outside, and phones are beginning to ring.
"We need to get Richard back here," Green says in a measured voice that disguises his fear, but Bushy is already dialing. The phone doesn't even ring, just goes straight to voicemail.
"Richard, you are never around when anyone needs you!" he yells while waiting for the recorded message to finish playing, and after the beep, all but squeals into the phone, "Richard! You need to get back immediately. There's this Wired story and it's really bad."
"What do we do now?" Bagot wonders.
"Wait for Richard, I guess?" Green answers.
"He'd better call back soon," Bushy grimaces, as the phone on Green's desk rings and excited chatter floats in from the corridor. "In the meantime, we should lock the door."
But an hour passes, then two hours, and still they have not heard from Richard. They've unplugged Green's desk phone. Each time one of their mobile phones buzzes, they collectively leap to see if it's Richard's or Edward's number, and direct it to voicemail when it is not. Bushy calls Isabella, but she hasn't been able to reach him, either. They all stare significantly at Bushy's phone long after he has touched the button to end the call, until he draws himself up to his full, diminutive height, takes a deep breath and says, "Well, we'd better come up with a plan."
shredsandpatches replied to your link:Enrage your enemies by sending them an envelope...
You can include a reference somewhere to his having done it in the past! BECAUSE HE SO WOULD.
YES! YOU'RE RIGHT! I COULD CERTAINLY REFER TO IT AS SOMETHING HE ONCE DID, AND I THINK I WILL. WOW NOW I WANT TO QUIT MY JOB AND SPEND MY ENTIRE LIFE WRITING THIS CRAZY FIC!!!!!!!!!!
I bet he sent some to Henry once, and it's going to come up at the trial-- a moment of comic relief during an otherwise miserable, grueling, and heartbreaking affair.
Summary: Edward plans a road trip to Las Vegas and it goes horribly awry. They make a new friend along the way.
Notes: I'd rate this "Teen" or thereabouts in terms of sex.
(Chapters 1-6)
The needle has been perilously low on the gauge for miles, and as the car begins to slow, Edward pumps furiously on the pedal, desperate for any small miracle that might mean he won't have to tell Richard that they have run out of gas. And that they are lost. On an unpaved road, somewhere deep in the wilds of Nevada, with sunset approaching. Rubber crunches more quietly on the gravel, more slowly, and gradually stops altogether.
The change in momentum rouses Richard from dozing against the passenger side window.
"Why are we stopping?"
Edward cringes and stares at the steering wheel.
"Come on, what are you doing?"
Edward turns his head away and makes himself very small. He wishes he could evaporate. Richard leans over him and looks at the fuel gauge.
"What the fuck, Edward! Did we run out of gas? We did, didn't we! Jesus fucking Christ!"
The blood beats against Edward's cheeks and a roaring sound fills his ears. His posture contains all the answers Richard needs. Richard throws open the door, hurls himself out, then slams it shut. He pounds on the hood with his fist and screams into the window.
"God damn it, Edward! I leave it up to you to plan one goddamned thing. One motherfucking thing! I need a break from all the shit I'm getting because of John Gaunt, I said. Plan us a different sort of getaway, I said. And you do this! Fuck, Edward! Do you even have any idea where we are? Shouldn't we be almost to Las Vegas by now?"
"Richard, I told you we were going to take the long way, via Reno and backroads. You wanted an adventure. I planned one."
"Oh, this is an adventure, all right!" Richard kicks a rock far into the sagebrush. "I'm guessing you didn't plan this, though. Where the hell are we?"
Edward fumbles with a topographic map for a minute and finally points to a spot. There's some place named Gabbs over here, another place named Ione over there-- both are practically microscopic dots of nothing on the map-- and they are smack dab in the middle of absolutely nowhere between them. There's sand dunes on the other side of the mountains to their right, and nothing but sagebrush and alkali as far as the eye can see to the left.
"I think we're here."
"You think? You don't know?"
Edward shakes his head, unable to meet Richard's eyes.
Summary: Richard has help getting over an unaccustomed pang of guilt.
Notes: Explicit sex. (Chapters 1-5)
Richard sits on the middle of his bed. A couple of candles offer the only light against black windows and he wraps himself in a corner of the disheveled comforter against the cool touch of night. Through the open door he hears some dreamy techno pop music drifting down the hall.
"Isabella must have her door open," he thinks.
Edward returns, wearing Richard's blue cotton robe, with two glasses of water. His hands are full, so he tries to kick the door closed, but doesn't use enough force and it only goes halfway. He offers Richard a glass.
Richard says, "No thanks."
He looks down, focusing on the comforter's stitching, fearing that Edward can read his thoughts. Edward sets the glass on the nightstand and joins Richard on the bed.
"What's wrong? You look sad. That was good, wasn't it?"
"I loved it."
"It doesn't look like you did."
Richard doesn't reply.
"Gaunt was old and had a bad heart. There was nothing you could have done. It's not your fault." He can't look Richard in the eye when he speaks the half truth, and rubs his knee reassuringly instead. "I'm sorry I couldn't make you feel better."
They sit uncomfortably for a moment, shoulders barely touching, held apart by Richard's misery expanding between them. Finally, Richard speaks, his voice small. Edward holds his breath to hear it better.
"I don't tell you often enough how much I enjoy being with you."
Edward still can't look at Richard, and stares at the comforter more intently.
"Well, I'll take that as a compliment on my skill, then."
"That's not what I mean." Now Richard isn't looking at Edward, either, and he struggles to speak. "I mean, I enjoy being with you."
promptmeshakespeare Shakespeare Advent Event Day 17: Turkey
Play: Richard II-- Silicon Dick AU (this takes place not too long after the events in Chapter 2)
"Hello?"
"Hello, dear."
"Mom! How are you?"
"Oh, I'm fine, sweetie, and so is your dad. I'm calling to find out if you're coming home for Christmas."
Edward fidgets with the phone on his ear while he considers his answer.
"Um...Well...Actually, Mom, Richard invited me to his cabin at Tahoe for Christmas."
"And you're going to go." Her matter of fact tone makes it sound like a challenge.
"Well...ummm...yeah...He's kind of my..."
"He's kind of what? Your boss? And this is a work thing?"
"No, Mom, it's not for work."
"Oh, stop beating around the bush, Edward. You'd rather spend the holidays with your new boyfriend than with your own family."
Edward doesn't answer, because, in fact, he wants nothing more than to spend the Christmas holiday snuggled up with Richard in a snowed-in cabin in the Sierras, but he doesn't want to hurt his mother's feelings.
"He's not my boyfriend, mom. I don't know what he is."
"Oh, stop it, honey. You can bring him too, you know."
"Dad?"
"Well, your dad might still want him to sleep in the guest room, but as long as.."
"Mom, I--"
"You know it's OK with me. But your dad is old fashioned."
"Well, that's why I'd rather go to Tahoe." Edward surprises himself with the words. His mother falls silent .
"Mom?"
He hears a sniffle on the other end.
"Mom, what's wrong?"
"I haven't seen you since last May," she says, her voice husky with emotion. He can picture her face, and knows she's wiping tears with her sleeve. A fierce longing to be hugged by his mother seizes him.
"OK, Mom, I'll be there Christmas Eve."
"Oh, honey! Really? I'll make pork chops and macaroni and cheese and we can stay up late watching reruns of Friends!" Her delight ignites his, and suddenly he wants nothing more than to eat his mother's cooking and laugh at shows they've seen together a million times.
"What else is new, Mom?"
"Well, there's these turkeys that have been terrorizing our neighborhood."
"Turkeys? Terrorizing?"
"Yeah, you know that flock that used to live in the cemetery? Well, they've expanded and taken over all the streets around it. They're in the street all the time, in people's driveways, they roost on roofs and attack people on their way to their cars."
"Seriously, Mom? They're just birds. How bad could it be?"
"Well, one of them tried to peck your dad when he was walking from the car to the house and it's only because he whacked the bird with his umbrella that he didn't get attacked."
"God, mom, that's ridiculous."
"Honey, really, your dad's not the only one. Almost everyone on our street has had the same thing happen. They hold up traffic and attack cars, even."
"I'll take care of it when I come, Mom. Don't worry."
"Oh, sweetie, thank you. I know you will!" Edward went to Stanford, and his mom trusts that he has learned everything he needs to combat wild turkeys.
Edward rolls up to the modest, three bedroom, ranch-style house in a Central Valley subdivision around 4:30 PM on Christmas Eve. He can't go directly to his parents' driveway because there is a flock of about 20 turkeys ambling across the street, in no particular hurry. He stops for them, but they don't seem flustered, so he honks his horn. One or two of the small, young ones scurry, but the rest completely ignore him.
Their size surprises him. They are as big as medium-sized dogs, and, when he sees them pecking around on the neighbors' lawns, look, from a distance, very much like tiny dinosaurs. "Jurassic Park" meets "Honey I Shrunk the Kids". The largest male places himself between Edward's car and the rest of the flock, and even runs out to attack the tires.
"Fuck!" Edward thinks.
Eventually enough of the flock has passed that Edward can continue into his parents' driveway, but more turkeys block him on his way to the door. A huge male approaches him as he lugs his suitcase up the walkway, its bald head blue with rage.
He swings his suitcase at it. "Get away!" he shouts. The bird retreats for a moment, but charges as soon as the suitcase has stopped moving. Edward scoots quickly aside, landing in front of the door and pressing the bell frantically. The turkey advances, feathers fluffed, wings scraping the ground menacingly, making jabs at his legs with its powerful beak. He pounds on the door with his fists.
"MOM! MOTHER! MAAAMAAAA!!!"
The door opens, and his mother folds him in her arms. He tugs the suitcase inside and the slams the door in the turkey's face.
Later that night, wrapped in blankets on his childhood bed, he calls Richard, in a cabin that must, he thinks, have icicles and snow and a crackling fire like cabins in Christmas cards do. Richard laughs softly, and, Edward realizes, tenderly.
"You had to run from turkeys?"
"Well, they were huge, Richard. You should see them."
Richard makes a faint noise Edward can't decipher, part laugh, part snort, part indescribable emotion, then speaks slowly, quietly.
