Fanfic that Ate my Brain
May. 1st, 2007 10:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
knights_say_nihThis is the Fic that Ate my Brain
Rated for Swearing, Drug Use, more Swearing. No pairing. Lots of pot and mention of cocaine, but only in the context of Eric Clapton.
IGBY GOES DOWN vs LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE
or
DISENFRANCHIZED TEENAGERS UNITE!
Eric Clapton is playing on the speakers when the door chime rings.
"Fuck, shit, don't steal anything, wait a second," yells someone from the floor behind the counter. Dwayne registers the pot-smell in the air. He finds himself unsurprised. A kid bounces up from behind the counter. Elbows on the table, ragged suit, hoody underneath.
Pot, thinks Dwayne.
Cocaine, sings Eric Clapton.
"How can I be of service, my good man?"
'Igby, no really,' proclaims the 'hello my name is' nametag on his lapel. 'Igby, no really' gives him a shit-eating grin.
"Shit," says Dwayne, and turns away to go look at cds. Igby disappears back down behind the counter.
****
"Are you going to buy anything?"
Igby is cross legged on the counter, making origami out of receipts.
"I mean, it's no skin off my back if you don't. I mean, it's not like I'm making money by the cut, here. This is hardly real estate. There's supposed to be really good money in that, you know. I know. I have all the connections."
You're stoned, thinks Dwayne.
Eric Clapton, wherever he is, agrees with him. The music is no longer playing, but Dwayne feels his emotional support, like a warm, fuzzy, cocaine covered hug, somewhere in the deep dark corners of his psyche.
"I mean, seriously, man, you're looking at the Spice Girls. And whatever you've got to be not at right now, if it's worse than the Spice Girls, then you're in real shit."
Dwayne looks at the cd, then up at Igby.
"Beauty pageant," says Dwayne.
"Shit," says Igby, and blows the little paper crane he's made off his hand. It flies a hand span, then tumbles to the floor in an inglorious, failed arc. It's landed upside down.
"Life is really just one, long beauty pageant," says Dwayne.
"No shit," answers Igby, "are you going to buy anything?"
Seriously, though, he doesn't care.
****
"So who's in the Beauty Pageant?"
Dwayne glances up from the MC Hammer cd he'd been scowling at.
"Are you old enough to be running a store?"
"I was in military school," Igby informs the shop (Dwayne) loftily. "The boss knows I can take care of things. Anyone tries to rob me, I kill them with my pinky."
"What?" asks Dwayne.
"I'm nineteen."
He doesn't look it.
"You were in military school?"
Igby rolls his eyes.
"It was the last option on the list."
Dwayne puts down MC Hammer with more force than needed.
"Hey, watch it. It sucked in the extreme, okay? Trust me, you weren't missing anything. Military school was possible the worst time of my life, and that's saying something.
Dwayne straightens the box of cds, moves to cross the room, and accidentally steps on the origami crane. Igby makes an indignant noise.
He contemplates the crumpled paper under his shoe.
"Ever heard of this guy called Proust?"
****
"You know what I think?"
Dwayne doesn't know what Igby thinks.
"I think this Proust guy was a fucking sanctimonious prick."
Maybe he could have guessed though.
"And your uncle seriously spends his whole life studying this guy?"
"Yeah."
"You know what I think?"
Dwayne laughs, and sets the White Album on the counter.
"Fuck off."
"Joint?"
****
They're both sitting behind the counter, ten minutes later. Dwayne has told Igby about Nietzsche and Igby has told Dwayne about his last girlfriend.
"What kind of name is Sookie?"
"That's what I said."
"Dude."
They sit in silence for a moment, and Dwayne wonders if this is what this is supposed to feel like.
"My grandfather died of a drug overdose."
Igby stirs, sitting up on his knees, evidently moved by this assertion.
"So what, do I feel your forehead?"
His hand is swatted away.
"Heroin. Did you know Nietzsche wrote fourteen books?"
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. We drove around with his corpse in the back of our Volkswagen for a day. He wrote on average a book every two years, from the age he started writing, and died when he was fifty six. Imagine if he had lived today? Average men live to be about eighty. That's twenty four more years, and twelve more books."
"You don't smoke much, do you?"
****
"So he did it?"
The buzz has worn well off.
"Yeah. It was sick. I mean, she was gagging and her face was this chalky colour, like puke, and she had on lipstick. And he just sat there, pushing the thing into her mouth."
Dwayne examines his feet, and fists a hand in his pocket, where they can't see it.
"Cold."
Igby shrugs, and pushes hair out of his face. His eyes are red. It's from the pot.
"Yeah. Well, no. I mean, she wanted him to. I wouldn't have been able to. Perfect fucking Ollie, rises to the bar yet again."
There's a long moment of silence.
"You should call him."
Igby snorts.
"Yeah, right."
"No, man,"
His tone is sharp. Meaningful. Igby looks up at him.
"It sucks. Being the good one. Being older and not in trouble."
Dwayne glances at his watch, to see if people'll be back from dinner yet. Give it an hour. Igby misinterprets the watch-glance as boredom, and snaps,
"Ollie can go fuck himself."
Dwayne shrugs. Not his problem.
****
Igby's asleep on the floor, and the door opens. Dwayne doesn't bother to toe him awake. Whoever it is leaves in a couple of seconds anyways, so he lies back too and closes his eyes.
Next customer that comes in wants to buy something, and Igby accidentally steps on Dwayne's fingers while he's trying to give the girl change. She's in short-shorts and they both stare as she leaves the shop, Igby from where he's standing, and Dwayne from the floor, where he's peering around the edge of the counter.
"I love California," Igby declares happily.
Dwayne grumbles.
****
"I should go," Dwayne points out, from where he's lying now (underneath the table with the boxes of hard-rock on them,) and Igby laughs.
Neither of them move.
****
"You're late."
Dwayne glares up at Igby.
"I know."
"Sooooo."
"What?"
"Are you going to buy anything?"
****
"I took a vow of silence."
"No shit," says Igby, delighted.
"Seven months."
This gets better and better.
"When did you quit?"
Dwayne's eyes are closed.
"This morning."
Igby's eyes go wide.
"I thought you just needed a hals."
Dwayne shakes his head.
"Man, why?"
"Why did I quit?"
"Why did you do it?"
"Wanted to be a fighter pilot."
"Man."
Silence reigns supreme.
"Why did you quit?"
"Colourblind."
Igby whistles, appreciatively. Dwayne just nods.
Yeah.
****
"If you're staying here, you may as well have another joint," Igby points out, he thinks, very reasonably.
What happens, though, is Dwayne climbs back to his feet.
"I'm late."
They both know this. They've been over this.
"So?"
Point to Igby. Dwayne shoots...
"I don't want to worry Olive."
...he scores!
"Fine. Whatever."
****
They don't say 'later,' because there won't be a later. They don't say 'bye' because that's dumb. They don't say 'thanks' because neither of them do. Igby tells Dwayne that the money isn't enough to buy all the cds he's chosen and he has to put one back. Dwayne can't decide between the White Album, Aqualung, Jethro Tull or Credence Clearwater Revival. Igby tells him Aqualung are shit.
Dwayne puts back CCR.
He pays, and walks out, and that's that.
****
That night, Dwayne cries for his grandpa properly. He died that morning, you know.
****
That night, Igby picks up the phone, and dials.
****
That night, Eric Clapton sings 'Cocaine' in the shower, without knowing why.
Rated for Swearing, Drug Use, more Swearing. No pairing. Lots of pot and mention of cocaine, but only in the context of Eric Clapton.
IGBY GOES DOWN vs LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE
or
DISENFRANCHIZED TEENAGERS UNITE!
Eric Clapton is playing on the speakers when the door chime rings.
"Fuck, shit, don't steal anything, wait a second," yells someone from the floor behind the counter. Dwayne registers the pot-smell in the air. He finds himself unsurprised. A kid bounces up from behind the counter. Elbows on the table, ragged suit, hoody underneath.
Pot, thinks Dwayne.
Cocaine, sings Eric Clapton.
"How can I be of service, my good man?"
'Igby, no really,' proclaims the 'hello my name is' nametag on his lapel. 'Igby, no really' gives him a shit-eating grin.
"Shit," says Dwayne, and turns away to go look at cds. Igby disappears back down behind the counter.
****
"Are you going to buy anything?"
Igby is cross legged on the counter, making origami out of receipts.
"I mean, it's no skin off my back if you don't. I mean, it's not like I'm making money by the cut, here. This is hardly real estate. There's supposed to be really good money in that, you know. I know. I have all the connections."
You're stoned, thinks Dwayne.
Eric Clapton, wherever he is, agrees with him. The music is no longer playing, but Dwayne feels his emotional support, like a warm, fuzzy, cocaine covered hug, somewhere in the deep dark corners of his psyche.
"I mean, seriously, man, you're looking at the Spice Girls. And whatever you've got to be not at right now, if it's worse than the Spice Girls, then you're in real shit."
Dwayne looks at the cd, then up at Igby.
"Beauty pageant," says Dwayne.
"Shit," says Igby, and blows the little paper crane he's made off his hand. It flies a hand span, then tumbles to the floor in an inglorious, failed arc. It's landed upside down.
"Life is really just one, long beauty pageant," says Dwayne.
"No shit," answers Igby, "are you going to buy anything?"
Seriously, though, he doesn't care.
****
"So who's in the Beauty Pageant?"
Dwayne glances up from the MC Hammer cd he'd been scowling at.
"Are you old enough to be running a store?"
"I was in military school," Igby informs the shop (Dwayne) loftily. "The boss knows I can take care of things. Anyone tries to rob me, I kill them with my pinky."
"What?" asks Dwayne.
"I'm nineteen."
He doesn't look it.
"You were in military school?"
Igby rolls his eyes.
"It was the last option on the list."
Dwayne puts down MC Hammer with more force than needed.
"Hey, watch it. It sucked in the extreme, okay? Trust me, you weren't missing anything. Military school was possible the worst time of my life, and that's saying something.
Dwayne straightens the box of cds, moves to cross the room, and accidentally steps on the origami crane. Igby makes an indignant noise.
He contemplates the crumpled paper under his shoe.
"Ever heard of this guy called Proust?"
****
"You know what I think?"
Dwayne doesn't know what Igby thinks.
"I think this Proust guy was a fucking sanctimonious prick."
Maybe he could have guessed though.
"And your uncle seriously spends his whole life studying this guy?"
"Yeah."
"You know what I think?"
Dwayne laughs, and sets the White Album on the counter.
"Fuck off."
"Joint?"
****
They're both sitting behind the counter, ten minutes later. Dwayne has told Igby about Nietzsche and Igby has told Dwayne about his last girlfriend.
"What kind of name is Sookie?"
"That's what I said."
"Dude."
They sit in silence for a moment, and Dwayne wonders if this is what this is supposed to feel like.
"My grandfather died of a drug overdose."
Igby stirs, sitting up on his knees, evidently moved by this assertion.
"So what, do I feel your forehead?"
His hand is swatted away.
"Heroin. Did you know Nietzsche wrote fourteen books?"
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. We drove around with his corpse in the back of our Volkswagen for a day. He wrote on average a book every two years, from the age he started writing, and died when he was fifty six. Imagine if he had lived today? Average men live to be about eighty. That's twenty four more years, and twelve more books."
"You don't smoke much, do you?"
****
"So he did it?"
The buzz has worn well off.
"Yeah. It was sick. I mean, she was gagging and her face was this chalky colour, like puke, and she had on lipstick. And he just sat there, pushing the thing into her mouth."
Dwayne examines his feet, and fists a hand in his pocket, where they can't see it.
"Cold."
Igby shrugs, and pushes hair out of his face. His eyes are red. It's from the pot.
"Yeah. Well, no. I mean, she wanted him to. I wouldn't have been able to. Perfect fucking Ollie, rises to the bar yet again."
There's a long moment of silence.
"You should call him."
Igby snorts.
"Yeah, right."
"No, man,"
His tone is sharp. Meaningful. Igby looks up at him.
"It sucks. Being the good one. Being older and not in trouble."
Dwayne glances at his watch, to see if people'll be back from dinner yet. Give it an hour. Igby misinterprets the watch-glance as boredom, and snaps,
"Ollie can go fuck himself."
Dwayne shrugs. Not his problem.
****
Igby's asleep on the floor, and the door opens. Dwayne doesn't bother to toe him awake. Whoever it is leaves in a couple of seconds anyways, so he lies back too and closes his eyes.
Next customer that comes in wants to buy something, and Igby accidentally steps on Dwayne's fingers while he's trying to give the girl change. She's in short-shorts and they both stare as she leaves the shop, Igby from where he's standing, and Dwayne from the floor, where he's peering around the edge of the counter.
"I love California," Igby declares happily.
Dwayne grumbles.
****
"I should go," Dwayne points out, from where he's lying now (underneath the table with the boxes of hard-rock on them,) and Igby laughs.
Neither of them move.
****
"You're late."
Dwayne glares up at Igby.
"I know."
"Sooooo."
"What?"
"Are you going to buy anything?"
****
"I took a vow of silence."
"No shit," says Igby, delighted.
"Seven months."
This gets better and better.
"When did you quit?"
Dwayne's eyes are closed.
"This morning."
Igby's eyes go wide.
"I thought you just needed a hals."
Dwayne shakes his head.
"Man, why?"
"Why did I quit?"
"Why did you do it?"
"Wanted to be a fighter pilot."
"Man."
Silence reigns supreme.
"Why did you quit?"
"Colourblind."
Igby whistles, appreciatively. Dwayne just nods.
Yeah.
****
"If you're staying here, you may as well have another joint," Igby points out, he thinks, very reasonably.
What happens, though, is Dwayne climbs back to his feet.
"I'm late."
They both know this. They've been over this.
"So?"
Point to Igby. Dwayne shoots...
"I don't want to worry Olive."
...he scores!
"Fine. Whatever."
****
They don't say 'later,' because there won't be a later. They don't say 'bye' because that's dumb. They don't say 'thanks' because neither of them do. Igby tells Dwayne that the money isn't enough to buy all the cds he's chosen and he has to put one back. Dwayne can't decide between the White Album, Aqualung, Jethro Tull or Credence Clearwater Revival. Igby tells him Aqualung are shit.
Dwayne puts back CCR.
He pays, and walks out, and that's that.
****
That night, Dwayne cries for his grandpa properly. He died that morning, you know.
****
That night, Igby picks up the phone, and dials.
****
That night, Eric Clapton sings 'Cocaine' in the shower, without knowing why.
