Round Robin for the weekend...?
Sep. 24th, 2010 01:58 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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discoveredinalj
It's ever so quiet over here at
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discoveredinalj, and it's grey and wet and windy outside, and... does anyone fancy playing Round Robin for the weekend? *g* I thought maybe we could start from the title of the challenge, and work our way on (for as long as we like if we're still inspired on Monday... *g*) We could play in comments (just as we have in the past, if anyone would like to see how we did it for the May 2007 story!), and I'll try to cut and paste each new addition to the top of the post so that the story's all together - but bear in mind that I do sleep occasionally, so do check the comments rather than the post for the previous installment... *g*To play, just read the story so far (check the comments!) and then write your own wee installment as a new comment. Before you post your comment, give it the next number in the subject header - eg, I'll start off below with Discovered in Scraps of the Past - 1, and the person who carries on should use the next number as their subject header: Discovered in Scraps of the Past - 2 and so on... *g* And if you "Track Post" then you'll be able to read each installment as it comes along... *g*
So...would anyone like to play...?
Discovered in Scraps From the Past
The box in the cupboard taunted him. It had been taunting him almost since he’d met Ray, an old battered tin, once stuffed with shortbread, and at some point inscribed in scratched, childish writing with Keep Out!
Because it was Doyle’s, Bodie’d been keeping out for years, but today, this wet, miserable, grey-encrusted day, with Doyle taking three times as long to fetch the curry as he should have done, Bodie thought that it was time to find out what was inside. Because it was Doyle’s.
He took it from the cupboard, where he’d been looking for cloths to clean his gun whilst he waited, and stood staring for a moment. An energetic man on one leg, kilt leaping around his knees and one hand curled above his head, the other clutching a set of bagpipes which he was apparently playing at the same time, stared back. He didn’t seem to mind that Keep Out! had caught the top of his bearskin and the sleeve of his jaunty red jacket.
Just a quick look, before Doyle got back.
Bodie slid his fingers under the edge of the tin and pulled.
He had expected the usual--bits and bobs from the past, Doyle's childhood. The things that any boy would have collected as his own in the fifties. Instead he found drawings--sketches done in two distinct styles. They filled the tin, different sizes, and different papers--from lined pages from school notebooks to cartridge paper.
Bodie backed up, sat on the edge of the bed. There was an entire history told on paper here. And it was the history of two boys. He recognised Doyle in some of the sketches--a young Doyle, with an unbroken cheekbone. The artist had captured something of the essence of Ray. Another boy was there as well--drawn by Ray? Those sketches were rougher, yet Bodie could recognise the boy as he aged--straight hair, high cheekbones, dark eyes and a thin mouth.
Bodie felt something constrict within him as he went through the sketches, and saw the changes age brought--Doyle with a knife, the dark-haired boy with narrowed eyes and no smile. There was a drawing of Doyle after his cheek was broken. And on the bottom of the tin, below all the sketches, there was a post card. It was from the seaside, like countless other holiday post cards from the sixties--the only splash of colour in the box. Written on the back were the words: Wish you were here.
Nothing else, no signature, no indication if the sender had been a bird... or a fellow. Bodie stared at the card, wishing he could somehow know more. Why did he even have that wish? Because of something he'd discovered about himself. Something interesting. Something new. Something exciting and frightening. He'd realised that he was falling for his partner.
A sound in the hallway had Bodie snapping up his head. Before he could close the box, Doyle loomed in the doorway, carrier bag in one hand. Bodie felt himself flush and he knew he looked as embarrassed as he felt.
There really wasn't much point in him pretending that he hadn't been caught red-handed rifling through Doyle's personal belongings.
"Bang to rights," he said feebly as Doyle remained standing stock-still in the doorway for a too-long moment. Bodie replaced the lid very carefully, put the whole thing down on the bed and then sat with his hands in his lap.
"Not good at following instructions are you?" Doyle said and turned to go towards the kitchen. "That was Keep Out. As in ... Keep your bloody, nosy mitts to yourself."
Bodie got up and padded after him, heart hammering.
"Who was the kid, Doyle?" he asked when he got to the kitchen door. Doyle had his back to him, unpacking the foil containers. The back was very expressive. Doyle was fuming but he was trying not to give in to it. Bodie found he was consumed by the need for more information all of a sudden. "Who wished you were here?" he carried on, and then cleared his throat. "I mean, there."
"Bloody hell!" Doyle burst out and there was a clatter of metal on china that made Bodie wince. "Why couldn't you have just left it alone!"
"Well, I didn't, and I can't pretend I haven't seen it now, can I?" Bodie said, on the defensive. He knew he was in the wrong for rifling through Doyle's private things, but surely Doyle was overreacting?
Doyle turned round. "Have we got any beer in?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer, he pushed past Bodie to get to the fridge.
Bodie put his hands up in mock surrender, ready to call a truce. "Ok, ok, I get it. Shurrup, Bodie," he said.
Doyle shot him a fierce look and then seemed to deflate, pressing his forehead against the side of the fridge. "Bugger," he said, forcefully, and thumped the fridge door.
"No beer?" Bodie asked.
"No brains, have you?" Doyle said with an exasperated glare, but it lacked power. He opened the fridge door again, took out two bottles of Carlsburg, and then rummaged in the drawer for the bottle opener. "He was my brother."
"You haven't got a brother," Bodie said before he could help himself. Bugger.
"Nope." Doyle passed him a beer, and his biriyani on a plate, still in its foil container.
"But you did have..."
"Yeah."
Bodie stood still for a moment, as Doyle vanished into the sitting room again, then followed him. "Go on then - what happened?" It was, after all, too late to be careful now. And it was somehow just the same as the shortbread tin - this was Doyle, and so he should know.
"He was killed," Doyle said, around a mouthful of onion bhaji, "Murdered before he was sixteen, alright?"
Not really, thought Bodie. How could he not have known this? There was more to the story, much more, and from the look on Doyle's face it was going to take more than a few questions to get to the bottom of it.
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Discovered in Scraps of the Past - 1
Date: 2010-09-24 01:02 pm (UTC)Because it was Doyle’s, Bodie’d been keeping out for years, but today, this wet, miserable, grey-encrusted day, with Doyle taking three times as long to fetch the curry as he should have done, Bodie thought that it was time to find out what was inside. Because it was Doyle’s.
He took it from the cupboard, where he’d been looking for cloths to clean his gun whilst he waited, and stood staring for a moment. An energetic man on one leg, kilt leaping around his knees and one hand curled above his head, the other clutching a set of bagpipes which he was apparently playing at the same time, stared back. He didn’t seem to mind that Keep Out! had caught the top of his bearskin and the sleeve of his jaunty red jacket.
Just a quick look, before Doyle got back.
Bodie slid his fingers under the edge of the tin and pulled.
Discovered in Scraps in the Past - 2
Date: 2010-09-24 02:10 pm (UTC)Bodie backed up, sat on the edge of the bed. There was an entire history told on paper here. And it was the history of two boys. He recognised Doyle in some of the sketches--a young Doyle, with an unbroken cheekbone. The artist had captured something of the essence of Ray. Another boy was there as well--drawn by Ray? Those sketches were rougher, yet Bodie could recognise the boy as he aged--straight hair, high cheekbones, dark eyes and a thin mouth.
Bodie felt something constrict within him as he went through the sketches, and saw the changes age brought--Doyle with a knife, the dark-haired boy with narrowed eyes and no smile. There was a drawing of Doyle after his cheek was broken. And on the bottom of the tin, below all the sketches, there was a post card. It was from the seaside, like countless other holiday post cards from the sixties--the only splash of colour in the box. Written on the back were the words: Wish you were here.
Re: Discovered in Scraps in the Past - 2
Date: 2010-09-24 02:59 pm (UTC)Re: Discovered in Scraps from the Past - 3
Date: 2010-09-24 07:19 pm (UTC)Nothing else, no signature, no indication if the sender had been a bird... or a fellow. Bodie stared at the card, wishing he could somehow know more. Why did he even have that wish? Because of something he'd discovered about himself. Something interesting. Something new. Something exiting and frightening. He'd realised that he was falling for his partner.
A sound in the hallway had Bodie snapping up his head. Before he could close the box, Doyle loomed in the doorway, carrier bag in one hand. Bodie felt himself flush and he knew he looked as embarrassed as he felt.
Discovered in Scraps from the Past - 4
Date: 2010-09-24 08:10 pm (UTC)"Bang to rights," he said feebly as Doyle remained standing stock-still in the doorway for a too-long moment. Bodie replaced the lid very carefully, put the whole thing down on the bed and then sat with his hands in his lap.
"Not good at following instructions are you?" Doyle said and turned to go towards the kitchen. "That was Keep Out. As in ... Keep your bloody, nosy mitts to yourself."
Bodie got up and padded after him, heart hammering.
"Who was the kid, Doyle?" he asked when he got to the kitchen door. Doyle had his back to him, unpacking the foil containers. The back was very expressive. Doyle was fuming but he was trying not to give in to it. Bodie found he was consumed by the need for more information all of a sudden. "Who wished you were here?" he carried on, and then cleared his throat. "I mean, there."
"Bloody hell!" Doyle burst out and there was a clatter of metal on china that made Bodie wince. "Why couldn't you have just left it alone!"
Re: Discovered in Scraps of the Past - 1
Date: 2010-09-24 08:19 pm (UTC)Re: Discovered in Scraps in the Past - 2
Date: 2010-09-24 08:20 pm (UTC)Re: Discovered in Scraps from the Past - 4
Date: 2010-09-24 08:20 pm (UTC)Re: Discovered in Scraps from the Past - 4
Date: 2010-09-24 08:56 pm (UTC)Discovered in Scraps from the Past - 5
Date: 2010-09-24 09:37 pm (UTC)Doyle turned round. "Have we got any beer in?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer, he pushed past Bodie to get to the fridge.
Bodie put his hands up in mock surrender, ready to call a truce. "Ok, ok, I get it. Shurrup, Bodie," he said.
Doyle shot him a fierce look and then seemed to deflate, pressing his forehead against the side of the fridge. "Bugger," he said, forcefully, and thumped the fridge door.
"No beer?" Bodie asked.
Re: Discovered in Scraps from the Past - 5
Date: 2010-09-24 11:10 pm (UTC)Re: Discovered in Scraps from the Past - 5
Date: 2010-09-25 11:09 am (UTC)Discovered in Scraps from the Past - 6
Date: 2010-09-25 06:28 pm (UTC)"You haven't got a brother," Bodie said before he could help himself. Bugger.
"Nope." Doyle passed him a beer, and his biriyani on a plate, still in its foil container.
"But you did have..."
"Yeah."
Bodie stood still for a moment, as Doyle vanished into the sitting room again, then followed him. "Go on then - what happened?" It was, after all, too late to be careful now. And it was somehow just the same as the shortbread tin - this was Doyle, and so he should know.
"He was killed," Doyle said, around a mouthful of onion bhaji, "Murdered before he was sixteen, alright?"
Not really, thought Bodie. How could he not have known this? There was more to the story, much more, and from the look on Doyle's face it was going to take more than a few questions to get to the bottom of it.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-25 06:37 pm (UTC)