I'm in such a Christmasspirit, it can't possible be healthy )
I've been planning to write a fic for a long time and finally I've gathered to courage/spirit/whatever. Like whoever writes fics to this wonderful area of I love the Boondock Saints, not to mention the twins (swoon). It's not a regular history about the boys, though, they're not going to massacre mobsters just yet, but will include a lot of brotherly love, Christmasssssstuff, explenations of their whereabouts and possibly characterdeath(?). So wrong - I'm not telling you guys if this will happen or not :) Read to find out and review to make me happy. Oh, and by the way, I'd be glad to get some help with my language and spelling errors. I'm not english and have only studiet it for like ... six or seven years, gee ... and to be honest this is also my very first fic, so be nice ... not x)
Disclaimer: Murphy, Connor, their lives, their parent, everything around them belong to Troy Duffy (towtallii rooler of teh werld, like wow) - gracías for making such an arsekicking film (happy face goes here)
Reviews are welcome :D And NOW we begin (read below this line, you, there's nothing left here to go crrazy about ... down!)
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It was the first of December, though the city didn't appear to be celebrating this joyous time of year just yet, but those who'd been living in New York for a while, knew it would only be a matter of time before the Christmas spirit would grasp the citizens; soon Christmas decoration would be hanging all over town, small groups of people of every age would walk from door to door and sing Christmas carols, the shop's show windows would be filled to the brim with their special offers for the season, shops would merrily give younger visitors snacks and sweets to put them in the proper mood and within weeks families would once again gather to celebrate this happy event.
It wasn't snowing though, and it was like the entire city was holding it's breath to burst out in celebration, the moment the first snowflake tenderly would float down from the sky. Until such event, people only had a fierce wind and a delicate layer of frost on everything in sight to keep them company, and after only a short while in the blistering cold, your limbs would feel cold and stiff.
The streets were almost deserted, due to the late hour of the day, but still some people were, more or less, willing to torment themselves by walking the streets. A few cars drove down the streets, the only safe way to evade the icy air.
In a steady march to avoid the cold, two black coated silhouettes, with scarves tightly wrapped around their necks and both hands deeply buried inside their pockets, came trudging.
They'd just left a café, where they shortly had taken a rest, caught their breaths and had a small glass of burning liquor to keep them warm, before they'd continued to reach their destination; their flat a few blocks away.
A fierce gust was keeping them company since they didn't have the profit to use their breaths to nothing, but keeping them selves in motion. Both were having shopping bags hanging from their wrists, filled with food and the plastic handles had started to stretch into thin strings, which would've carved deep marks into the flesh of the carriers if not they'd been wearing those thick coats.
They crossed a road without looking for cars and rather hunchbacked, to protect themselves from the coolness, they walked into a large park had been placed in the middle of the neighbourhood, protected by large buildings.
The many trees there were shattered all over the ground, stood lean and tall in the fierce cold with their leaves and branches covered by a layer ice.. The glittering pond that stretched all the way through the park had thin sheets of ice covering the surface, where the most fleeting touch could lead it to shattering.
The men felt rather relieved walking trough an unspoiled oasis like this, and despite the cold and their clattering teeth, they slowed down a bit and giving themselves a chance to catch their breaths, though unpleasantly cold.
One of the men reached into the inner pocket of his black coat and retrieved a pack of smokes, plucking out two and offered one of them his companion.
"It didn't cross me mind the park could be this pretty at night," mumbled the other one, voice hoarse by the lack of use, though with unmistakably thick accent of Irish, as he pulled away the scarf from his mouth, received the cigarette and lit it. The other one made an approving noise, and followed his brother's gaze across the park. He sighed and looked into the dark sky above them.
"Think we can expect some snow soon 'nough," he said with a matching Irish accent and took a long pull of his cigarette with a stiff grimace to represent an eager smile.
"Hopefully not," scoffed the other and coughed "And if we don't get in soon enough, I'll freeze my arse of standing around out here."
It just occurred to the other, that they'd been standing still, and he could feel his knees starting to shiver. They started to walk again, and approached the exit of the park, when a long awaited phenomenon found place; with a sudden soft breeze carried a wave of fresh snow and overwhelmed both of them in surprise.
"Freshpowder!" the one, who'd drawn out cigarettes, said with a vague mirthful laughter, suddenly forgetting how he was freezing and stood rooted to the spot gazing into the blazing snow.
"For Christ fucking sake, Murph, I'm freezing ta death!" the other shouted angrily, with a bit desperation lingering in his voice.
Murphy, as the he was named, gave his brother a disapproving look, but then continued to walk with a devilish smirk drawn across his face.
"Why, Connor, I didn't know ye turned inta such a sissy when ye were freezing," he grinned, nudging his brother playfully. Connor didn't respond to this, but being twins gave the two of them certain understanding for each others behaviour and Murphy knew he hadn't heard the end of this yet.
After they'd exited the park they crossed a road, walking a few streets further, turned left, walked pass two doors in the solid wall of terraced houses, finally to put out their cigarettes and entering through a loudly creaking door, which led into a narrow stairway painted in horrible grey-greenish colour.
The second they'd crossed the threshold and closed the door properly behind their back, another door at their right were torn up and a man, with a face that in many ways resembled a bulldog's, roared:
"KNOCK OF THAT BLOODY SNOW, YA' CRISPYASSED FAGGETS!" spraying the brother's jacket with spit and foam.
It would've been quite terrifying if not this man, who happened to be the owner and manager of the building, had been about a foot lower than the twins, and had spilled down half a bowl of tomatosoup over his dirty grey tank top, were wearing mismatching socks and his fly wide open.
"Don't come 'ere at act like ya'll own the entire building, ya' punks, Ah've just cleaned the bloody staircase, so don't ya' fuckin' come 'ere and make it all messy again!" he spat, sending their snow covering their combat boots a furious glance, like it had been sludge.
"Well," Connor said, trying to stifle a grin "Merry 1st December ta ye' too, Rhyddich." Murphy let out an artificial cough to cover a snort of laughter, while he was bouncing to get the blood running properly through his veins again.
Rhyddich's eyes were merely slits, as he pointed a fork, with lumps of mashed potatoes to decorate it, directly against Connor's chest.
"Don't be a smartass with me, ya'h prick! The two of ya' is always returnin' in ungodly times 'a day, disturbin' normal people's sleep!" Conner sighed to reveal his voice was shuddering of inner laughter.
"Amen ta that" he replied, teasingly patting the blazing man's shoulder before the brothers hastily started to climb the staircase. Rhyddich waddled to the railing, bellowing after them:
"Be careful, ya' bastards! Ah' could chuck the both of ya' outta here before ye' got the chance to wipe ya asses early mornin'!"
Peeking down from the stair Murphy said mockingly concerned:
"Oh, mr. Rhyddick ye' wouldn't throw out ye' most loyal renters, would you? That'll be a fuckin' ruinous choice ta make!"
Rhyddich snorted and slammed his door forcefully behind him, causing all the doors in the stairway to clatter.
The brothers continued to the fourth story level at the top, laughing under their breaths
"Someone should give that bloke a fuckin' muzzle!" Connor laughed, reaching for the key in his pocket.
"Fuckin' aye, tie him to lamp post or he'll end up biting someone and infect 'em with rabies!" Murphy consented, laughing as hard as his brother. Connor located the key an unlocked the door, leading them into their flat. They stifled their laughter as they entered, still sniggering, though.
Their new home was not nearly as big as the one they'd left in Boston, though a lot cleaner and in a far better condition; the walls where whole, and the floor was covered with carpets to protect their often bare feet from the cold concrete. The furniture was the same, though; still the same old television, same worn out couch, same mattresses (now neatly placed inside a bunk bed to get more free space), same table (packed with empty bottles and an ashtray filled to the brim), chairs and the same kitchen facilities.
They unbuttoned their coats and carelessly threw them and their scarves in a corner, before hanging their matching rosaries on hooks a few feet away from the door.
They both breathed in deeply to warm their lungs.
Though they were born twins, their looks didn't have much in common except for their matching icy-blue eyes; Connor was barely an inch taller than his brother, lean and muscular build, light brown hair and with a tinge of tan lingering in his smooth skin. His slightly more mature features always led people to think that he was the older of the brothers, much to Murphy's annoyance. Murphy was slightly stockier than Connor, yet muscular. His permanently ruffled, dark brown hair, mixed with pale skin and slightly lidded bedroom eyes gave him an irresistible appearance of someone who just got out of bed. Both they had a features and behaviours that complimented them in each of their ways, and both had they lost count of the times they had exploited their charm onto an innocent female.
People, who'd known their father in his youth, said it was hereditary and had followed the MacManus legacy as long as it had existed. The strong faith in Catholicism and the charm had travelled with his side of the family, their mother told them, and the brothers had intended to keep it that way. Also the ability to learn new things quickly was running in their veins, which sure explained why they were polyglots. But the feisty temper, the impulsive actions, the passion for practical jokes, the everlasting cursing and the unfortunate habit to get drunk to often an smoke way to much every day they surely had inherited from their mother's side of the family, and since they'd learned the stoically and controlled nature of their father, they both had started to wonder if their personality and lives would've been different if he had been a part of their youth. Would they then have been beating up impertinent kids from the schoolyard from the age of six, who'd been teasing them about not having a father? Would they've had been able to talk their way through obstacles instead of bluntly knocking them down? Would they then had become the notorious MacManus brother's who everyone either feared or adored? Would they've had such a need for being at each other's side protecting each other's backs? Would they've had travelled to Boston , because Ireland felt to small for them? Would they've become killers and saints?
"Now a nice warm shower is ought ta do the trick," Connor moaned after untying his boots and stretching his stiffening back.
"How about ye' for once stow away the provisions while I'll get the warm water fer once?" Murphy said, slapping his brother's shoulder. Conner snorted; giving his Murphy a long significant glance, which Murphy understood seeing that it had been used frankly in this issue:
Because ye' use all the fuckin' hot water, afore I get a chance ta dip a toe.
"Up yer's," Murphy muttered and grinned sheepishly, emptying his shopping bag on the counter, which separated the tiny auburn-tiled kitchen with the living- and bedroom. Connor mirrored his actions, and stuffed the small fridge with ready-prepared dishes, convenience food and beer. He retrieved a pair of Guinness from the package and chucked on of them to Murphy, before sitting down on one of the chair and pinching his foot that nearly had gone numb during their walk outside.
"Fuckin' hell," he mumbled "if we'd stayed out there a second longer, ye've had to chop me toes off." He gave his twin an accusing look with a flash of playful irony.
"Why, ye' sure ye' don't want me to iron them for ye'?" Murphy retorted teasingly sitting down on the opposite chair, lighting yet another cigarette and gazed into midair. Connor chuckled, before silence fell upon their flat. From time to time the brothers coughed or cleared their throats to make sure they hadn't gone deaf, so intense was the silence, in view of the fact that they was miles from downtown New York.
The road outside was not trafficked enough to make an eternal noise of movements outside their window and the silence began to get the better of them – the difference was way to big from the crowded streets of Boston.
"We really should buy one of them bloody stereos," Connor sighed.
"Aye" Murphy replied "It's killing me too."
Getting out of the chair, Connor looked down the road, hoping to catch a glance of the park, but they were too far away and even if they were able to see one of the frosty trees it would be far to dark to see anything anywhere this time at night.