My first attempt at both Black Books and non-script style fanfic writing, so please go easy on me!
Fran sighed rather over-dramatically and glared at the doorknob.
She'd tried opening it, twisting it both ways, opening it, pushing and pulling it, kicking the door in a well-chosen point, kicking it again out of sheer frustration, turning away as if she'd given up and then suddenly turning round trying to take it by surprise, and picking the lock with a safety pin. She knew that it couldn't have actually been locked of course, because although Bernard had used to lock the door every night and every day if she didn't stop him (either out of paranoia or sheer bloody-mindedness) Manny had put a stop to that by eating the key. But she'd tried picking the lock anyway.
She glared at it again, because it was better than nothing.
Eventually she realised it wasn't actually better than nothing, because not only was it pissing it down with rain and she was getting wet and cold, very cold, she was feeling pretty stupid too.
She gave the doorknob one last fierce look and went to the window; hitching up her skirt and slipping open the latch. She hoisted herself up.
"And you can shut up too!" she growled at the doorknob. The thing was laughing at her. It was. Stupid inanimate bloody doorknob.
----------------------------------------------------
"Aaaand – pivot, twist, pirouette!"
Manny grabbed his partner with a rather sweaty hand and for the first time in his life, did a pirouette.
He glowed with pride. And he hadn't even tripped over the stagelight this time.
He bet Bernard couldn't pirouette.
He knew Bernard couldn't pirouette.
Fran had assured him that all the girls loved a man who could dance. Well, he could dance. He could pirouette. And Bernard couldn't.
He stood still for a moment, beaming at this revelation, when his young and rather pretty partner tripped over him straight into the stagelight.
----------------------------------------------------
Fran fell headfirst from the window. Luckily – possibly – she landed on something soft and rather hairy.
Her first thought was that they'd never had a hearthrug in the shop before. Her second one, on observing the stench and the fact the thing was actually warm was that they'd never kept a dead animal in the shop before, or indeed any animal at all.
This thought made her get up sharpish.
But from a distance, she could see that it wasn't a hearthrug or dead animal. Alright, probably not a hearthrug or dead animal. In fact, it looked like Bernard.
"Bernard?" she asked gently.
No reply.
"Bernard!" she yelled, and knelt down beside him and shouted down his ear. "BER-NARD!"
No response. That was the second time this morning something had ignored her completely, even when she'd glared at it!
Maybe he was dead. She poked him a bit with the tip of her finger, then with her foot. Bernard groaned.
Wow, he must have been drunk last night. He hadn't even made it to the chair.
"Manny?" she called. "MANNY! WHERE ARE YOU?"
Then she groaned and slapped a hand to her head. The dance classes! Manny wouldn't be back for at least another half hour! Which meant she had to deal with the comatose Bernard.
Firstly she tried the age-old remedy again, kicking him as hard as possible where it hurt most. This prompted another moan, nothing more, though it did a lot to satisfy her.
Fran stood back and raised a critical eyebrow. Now, how to go about this -?
A wicked grin crept over her face, which under normal conditions would have made Bernard run and hide in the next room.
"Excuse me sir," she said, picking a random book off the shelf and bending over him, "could you tell me how much this copy of A History Of Parrots will cost?"
"AAAARGH!" roared Bernard, going from horizontal to vertical in a matter of seconds. "CUSTOMERSALLBASTARDSGETOUTGETOUTDONTSELLBOOKSHERE!" He attempted to throttle Fran, but she had been ready for this and promptly hit him over the head with the full 2056 pages of A History Of Parrots. Not too hard though. She didn't want him unconscious again.
"Ow," he moaned regretfully, rubbing his head. "Fran?"
Fran nodded.
"What the hell are you doing here? You're not meant to be here till – till –" he tried to remember what time she was actually meant to be there, but his alcohol-saturated brain gave out on him. "Till some other time," he finished lamely.
"Twelve. I know. Check your watch."
Bernard frowned.
"Here, look at mine." She showed him. "See?"
"Where the hell's Manny? He should have woken me up hours ago! And got me an aspirin," he added, looking hopefully at Fran.
"Don't look at me, I'm not going to get one for you. And Manny's at a dance class."
"Dance class? Manny can dance?"
"No, he can't, which is why I told him to get dancing lessons."
"But –" Bernard tried to think, a task which was proving difficult without aspirin and general soberness. "Why would Manny want to learn to dance?"
"To get girls," Fran explained. "He's desperate for a girlfriend, poor thing, and he asked me how to get one. So I told him women like men who can dance, so he's gone off to learn. It's quite sweet actually."
Bernard blinked.
"Girls? Manny knows girls?" A thought occurred to him. "I don't know girls!"
Fran scowled.
"Apartfromyouofcourse."
Fran smiled, but it wasn't a nice smile. Oh no.
That was it. Bernard had a bloody awful headache, his tongue was furry and tasted of sick, Fran had woken him from blissful unconsciousness and Manny was dancing? Not on his watch.
"I'll show him for showing independent thought!" He stomped outside.
Fran waited, mentally counting to ten.
"Argh!" came the cry from outside and Bernard skidded back through doorway. "MY EYES! MY EYES! S'TOOBLOODYBRIGHT!!!"
----------------------------------------------------
"Now, Manny? Manny, are you paying attention?"
Manny nodded obediently.
The dance instructor sighed.
"Now – I know you've not quite mastered the steps –" She took a side glance at Manny's ex-partner, who was being taken away on stretcher by the paramedics. "But the fact is, we don't have anyone else to play the male lead next week. Would you do it?
Manny's face lit up with an almost-manic grin. "I'll just go practice then!" he told her, and went away skipping.
Oh well, thought the instructor. At least someone quite that naïve won't complain about wearing the leotard.
----------------------------------------------------
Two figures skidded round the bend of the reception of the Mrs Prettypoint Academy of Dance.
"Are you sure this is it?" asked one. It was presumably human, but hidden beneath two long-sleeved black woolly jumpers, a black balaclava, black scarf, black bobble hat and huge black sunglasses.
"Yes, this is where Manny told me he was going," Fran answered. She paused. "Bernard, please take the stuff off."
"No."
"Bernard, you look ridiculous." She thought about it. "Well, more so than usual, I mean."
"Not taking it off. Can't let sunlight touch my skin."
"Bernard, we're indoors."
"That's just where it's going to get you! Where you least expect it." He tried to give her a meaningful look. Unfortunately, the balaclava, scarf and sunglasses got in the way, so all she saw were his eyebrows waggling up and down, albeit meaningfully.
"Bernard…"
"I don't care what you say. I am not taking these off."
"Do it or…or…" She thought about it. "I'll hide all your cigarettes!"
There was a grunt from under the balaclava. Two hands reached out from beneath the jumpers and unwound the scarf and balaclava, gradually revealing Bernard's face. Actually, thought Fran, given that it was a kind of dirty ashtray yellow it might have been better to let him keep the things on, and hide it from innocent and unwary eyes.
"The sunglasses stay though."
"Alright," agreed Fran.
They headed off towards the office area of Reception. Bernard grinned to himself. It was just as well he hadn't told her about the bulletproof vest. You never knew what was waiting for you in the outside world. Alright, generally it was actually a lot safer than the inside world of the bookshop, due to the continued presence of Manny, but that was no reason not to take precautions.
They crossed the carpet to the desk, where a bored-looking woman was filing her nails.
"Excuse me, we're looking for…a guy called Manny?" asked Fran.
The lady raised one elegant eyebrow.
"Manny, you must remember him, he'd have signed in this morning."
"Dopey smile, walks like an ape, looks like the Missing Link?" Bernard suggested helpfully.
The lady shook her head. "I'm sorry sir, but without a surname we won't be able to find him."
"Erm…" Fran looked at Bernard, who shrugged.
"Hmm…I know it begins with a B…" He caught Fran's look. "What? He's only worked for me for the last five years or so, don't expect me to know him."
"Well I guess we go back then," said Fran.
"No! I'm going to search every room if I have to, to teach him a lesson he won't forget in a hurry."
"This building has three storeys."
"I don't care!"
"You can't even remember what lesson you want to teach him, can you?"
Bernard looked at his feet. "No," he admitted. "But that's not going to stop me!"
Just then, two paramedics rushed past, carrying a young girl on a stretcher.
Bernard and Fran exchanged looks.
"Manny!"
----------------------------------------------------
It had been a good day for Manny.
He'd learnt to pirouette, got a star role in the next performance, and, best of all, hadn't been hit, kicked or injured in any way by Bernard all day.
He was whistling as he stepped off the stage into the dimly-lit corridor backstage. In fact, he was so happy, he didn't realise when something stuck a leg out in his path.
"OW!" he cried as he tripped.
"That," said a menacing voice from the shadows, "was for whatever you did this morning. Or didn't do."
"Ow," Manny said again plaintively in case his point hadn't been made the first time, then he recognised the voice. "Bernard? What are you doing here?"
There was no reply. Instead, the full works of A History Of Parrots crashed down on his head. Manny saw stars as he went down.
"Heheheh."
"I do think you're a bit hard on Manny sometimes," said Fran, snatching the book.
Bernard shrugged. "I'm hungover! What do you expect?"
"Well, you might have used a paperback."
Manny stirred from the floor and tried to stand up, but his leg didn't seem to be working properly. It hurt a lot.
"Ow."
Fran frowned and leaned in to get a closer look at Manny. "Manny, why are you wearing a leotard?"
"It's for the dancing!"
"Manny…" Fran shook her head. "Manny, what exact kind of dancing are you learning here."
"Balett!"
"You mean ballet?"
"Yes!"
Fran tried to think of the best way she could put this. "Manny," she said kindly, "you do realise that when I said dancing, I didn't mean ballet?"
"You didn't?"
"Noooo."
Bernard shifted impatiently and grabbed Manny by the hand. "Come on Manny, let's get you back to where you belong!"
"I don't want to go back! Noooo!" Manny grabbed at a railing from the wall and hung on. "I'm happy here! I'm not going back and you can't make me!"
"Come – on – Manny!"
"Besides, I can't walk."
"What the hell are you talking about now?" demanded Bernard.
Manny sat back and pouted. "My leg won't work. You did something funny to it before."
"I only hit you with a book!" Bernard exclaimed, confused.
"No, it was before when you tripped me up and I said ow."
"Just try standing up," Fran urged.
Manny did so, and immediately fell back with a strangled cry of pain, that sounded just a little like a dying duck, with a hint of drowned squirrel thrown in. "Told you so."
"So, I hit him with a 2000 page hardback book and he's fine, but breaks his leg when I trip him up?" Bernard frowned while trying to make sense of Manny's "unique" (possibly part-ape) physiology.
Fran shrugged. "Looks like."
Then the dance instructor came round the corner. "No loitering in the auditorium. You all, shoo!"
"But mi-iss, I've broken my leg," Manny whined from the floor.
The dance instructor paled. "You what?"
"Broken my leg miss." Manny pointed. "Just there miss."
"But this is terrible!" cried the dance instructor. "We'll never find a new lead in time! He was the be- least worst – well, the only male dancer we had!"
"Might I suggest a replacement?" asked Fran sweetly.
"Oh no – no! I am not, I repeat not dancing!" Bernard backed away from the two females closing in on him.
"Well he would fit the leotard…" mused the dance instructor.
"No! You can't"
"Serves you right for breaking Manny's leg," said Fran.
"You broke Manny's leg?" The dance instructor suddenly looked extremely threatening, which to be fair was a very difficult task for a small lady in a pink frilly tutu. "Well then, you can either take his place…" she licked her lips. "Or compensate. We would have to agree a fee of course, but I can't imagine it would be low…"
"Noooo!" howled Bernard. He rounded in on Fran. "This is all your fault!" he yelled as he was being dragged away by the dance instructor.
Fran cackled evilly.
----------------------------------------------------
How will Bernard find life in a leotard?
Wait for the next chapter to find out!
And, I promise you Bernard won't be the only one finding himself a new hobby :-)
P.S. Sorry if that chapter was a little slow, I'm hoping the next one will be better, with Bernard in ballet scenes, plus more of Manny. Please review!
Fran sighed rather over-dramatically and glared at the doorknob.
She'd tried opening it, twisting it both ways, opening it, pushing and pulling it, kicking the door in a well-chosen point, kicking it again out of sheer frustration, turning away as if she'd given up and then suddenly turning round trying to take it by surprise, and picking the lock with a safety pin. She knew that it couldn't have actually been locked of course, because although Bernard had used to lock the door every night and every day if she didn't stop him (either out of paranoia or sheer bloody-mindedness) Manny had put a stop to that by eating the key. But she'd tried picking the lock anyway.
She glared at it again, because it was better than nothing.
Eventually she realised it wasn't actually better than nothing, because not only was it pissing it down with rain and she was getting wet and cold, very cold, she was feeling pretty stupid too.
She gave the doorknob one last fierce look and went to the window; hitching up her skirt and slipping open the latch. She hoisted herself up.
"And you can shut up too!" she growled at the doorknob. The thing was laughing at her. It was. Stupid inanimate bloody doorknob.
----------------------------------------------------
"Aaaand – pivot, twist, pirouette!"
Manny grabbed his partner with a rather sweaty hand and for the first time in his life, did a pirouette.
He glowed with pride. And he hadn't even tripped over the stagelight this time.
He bet Bernard couldn't pirouette.
He knew Bernard couldn't pirouette.
Fran had assured him that all the girls loved a man who could dance. Well, he could dance. He could pirouette. And Bernard couldn't.
He stood still for a moment, beaming at this revelation, when his young and rather pretty partner tripped over him straight into the stagelight.
----------------------------------------------------
Fran fell headfirst from the window. Luckily – possibly – she landed on something soft and rather hairy.
Her first thought was that they'd never had a hearthrug in the shop before. Her second one, on observing the stench and the fact the thing was actually warm was that they'd never kept a dead animal in the shop before, or indeed any animal at all.
This thought made her get up sharpish.
But from a distance, she could see that it wasn't a hearthrug or dead animal. Alright, probably not a hearthrug or dead animal. In fact, it looked like Bernard.
"Bernard?" she asked gently.
No reply.
"Bernard!" she yelled, and knelt down beside him and shouted down his ear. "BER-NARD!"
No response. That was the second time this morning something had ignored her completely, even when she'd glared at it!
Maybe he was dead. She poked him a bit with the tip of her finger, then with her foot. Bernard groaned.
Wow, he must have been drunk last night. He hadn't even made it to the chair.
"Manny?" she called. "MANNY! WHERE ARE YOU?"
Then she groaned and slapped a hand to her head. The dance classes! Manny wouldn't be back for at least another half hour! Which meant she had to deal with the comatose Bernard.
Firstly she tried the age-old remedy again, kicking him as hard as possible where it hurt most. This prompted another moan, nothing more, though it did a lot to satisfy her.
Fran stood back and raised a critical eyebrow. Now, how to go about this -?
A wicked grin crept over her face, which under normal conditions would have made Bernard run and hide in the next room.
"Excuse me sir," she said, picking a random book off the shelf and bending over him, "could you tell me how much this copy of A History Of Parrots will cost?"
"AAAARGH!" roared Bernard, going from horizontal to vertical in a matter of seconds. "CUSTOMERSALLBASTARDSGETOUTGETOUTDONTSELLBOOKSHERE!" He attempted to throttle Fran, but she had been ready for this and promptly hit him over the head with the full 2056 pages of A History Of Parrots. Not too hard though. She didn't want him unconscious again.
"Ow," he moaned regretfully, rubbing his head. "Fran?"
Fran nodded.
"What the hell are you doing here? You're not meant to be here till – till –" he tried to remember what time she was actually meant to be there, but his alcohol-saturated brain gave out on him. "Till some other time," he finished lamely.
"Twelve. I know. Check your watch."
Bernard frowned.
"Here, look at mine." She showed him. "See?"
"Where the hell's Manny? He should have woken me up hours ago! And got me an aspirin," he added, looking hopefully at Fran.
"Don't look at me, I'm not going to get one for you. And Manny's at a dance class."
"Dance class? Manny can dance?"
"No, he can't, which is why I told him to get dancing lessons."
"But –" Bernard tried to think, a task which was proving difficult without aspirin and general soberness. "Why would Manny want to learn to dance?"
"To get girls," Fran explained. "He's desperate for a girlfriend, poor thing, and he asked me how to get one. So I told him women like men who can dance, so he's gone off to learn. It's quite sweet actually."
Bernard blinked.
"Girls? Manny knows girls?" A thought occurred to him. "I don't know girls!"
Fran scowled.
"Apartfromyouofcourse."
Fran smiled, but it wasn't a nice smile. Oh no.
That was it. Bernard had a bloody awful headache, his tongue was furry and tasted of sick, Fran had woken him from blissful unconsciousness and Manny was dancing? Not on his watch.
"I'll show him for showing independent thought!" He stomped outside.
Fran waited, mentally counting to ten.
"Argh!" came the cry from outside and Bernard skidded back through doorway. "MY EYES! MY EYES! S'TOOBLOODYBRIGHT!!!"
----------------------------------------------------
"Now, Manny? Manny, are you paying attention?"
Manny nodded obediently.
The dance instructor sighed.
"Now – I know you've not quite mastered the steps –" She took a side glance at Manny's ex-partner, who was being taken away on stretcher by the paramedics. "But the fact is, we don't have anyone else to play the male lead next week. Would you do it?
Manny's face lit up with an almost-manic grin. "I'll just go practice then!" he told her, and went away skipping.
Oh well, thought the instructor. At least someone quite that naïve won't complain about wearing the leotard.
----------------------------------------------------
Two figures skidded round the bend of the reception of the Mrs Prettypoint Academy of Dance.
"Are you sure this is it?" asked one. It was presumably human, but hidden beneath two long-sleeved black woolly jumpers, a black balaclava, black scarf, black bobble hat and huge black sunglasses.
"Yes, this is where Manny told me he was going," Fran answered. She paused. "Bernard, please take the stuff off."
"No."
"Bernard, you look ridiculous." She thought about it. "Well, more so than usual, I mean."
"Not taking it off. Can't let sunlight touch my skin."
"Bernard, we're indoors."
"That's just where it's going to get you! Where you least expect it." He tried to give her a meaningful look. Unfortunately, the balaclava, scarf and sunglasses got in the way, so all she saw were his eyebrows waggling up and down, albeit meaningfully.
"Bernard…"
"I don't care what you say. I am not taking these off."
"Do it or…or…" She thought about it. "I'll hide all your cigarettes!"
There was a grunt from under the balaclava. Two hands reached out from beneath the jumpers and unwound the scarf and balaclava, gradually revealing Bernard's face. Actually, thought Fran, given that it was a kind of dirty ashtray yellow it might have been better to let him keep the things on, and hide it from innocent and unwary eyes.
"The sunglasses stay though."
"Alright," agreed Fran.
They headed off towards the office area of Reception. Bernard grinned to himself. It was just as well he hadn't told her about the bulletproof vest. You never knew what was waiting for you in the outside world. Alright, generally it was actually a lot safer than the inside world of the bookshop, due to the continued presence of Manny, but that was no reason not to take precautions.
They crossed the carpet to the desk, where a bored-looking woman was filing her nails.
"Excuse me, we're looking for…a guy called Manny?" asked Fran.
The lady raised one elegant eyebrow.
"Manny, you must remember him, he'd have signed in this morning."
"Dopey smile, walks like an ape, looks like the Missing Link?" Bernard suggested helpfully.
The lady shook her head. "I'm sorry sir, but without a surname we won't be able to find him."
"Erm…" Fran looked at Bernard, who shrugged.
"Hmm…I know it begins with a B…" He caught Fran's look. "What? He's only worked for me for the last five years or so, don't expect me to know him."
"Well I guess we go back then," said Fran.
"No! I'm going to search every room if I have to, to teach him a lesson he won't forget in a hurry."
"This building has three storeys."
"I don't care!"
"You can't even remember what lesson you want to teach him, can you?"
Bernard looked at his feet. "No," he admitted. "But that's not going to stop me!"
Just then, two paramedics rushed past, carrying a young girl on a stretcher.
Bernard and Fran exchanged looks.
"Manny!"
----------------------------------------------------
It had been a good day for Manny.
He'd learnt to pirouette, got a star role in the next performance, and, best of all, hadn't been hit, kicked or injured in any way by Bernard all day.
He was whistling as he stepped off the stage into the dimly-lit corridor backstage. In fact, he was so happy, he didn't realise when something stuck a leg out in his path.
"OW!" he cried as he tripped.
"That," said a menacing voice from the shadows, "was for whatever you did this morning. Or didn't do."
"Ow," Manny said again plaintively in case his point hadn't been made the first time, then he recognised the voice. "Bernard? What are you doing here?"
There was no reply. Instead, the full works of A History Of Parrots crashed down on his head. Manny saw stars as he went down.
"Heheheh."
"I do think you're a bit hard on Manny sometimes," said Fran, snatching the book.
Bernard shrugged. "I'm hungover! What do you expect?"
"Well, you might have used a paperback."
Manny stirred from the floor and tried to stand up, but his leg didn't seem to be working properly. It hurt a lot.
"Ow."
Fran frowned and leaned in to get a closer look at Manny. "Manny, why are you wearing a leotard?"
"It's for the dancing!"
"Manny…" Fran shook her head. "Manny, what exact kind of dancing are you learning here."
"Balett!"
"You mean ballet?"
"Yes!"
Fran tried to think of the best way she could put this. "Manny," she said kindly, "you do realise that when I said dancing, I didn't mean ballet?"
"You didn't?"
"Noooo."
Bernard shifted impatiently and grabbed Manny by the hand. "Come on Manny, let's get you back to where you belong!"
"I don't want to go back! Noooo!" Manny grabbed at a railing from the wall and hung on. "I'm happy here! I'm not going back and you can't make me!"
"Come – on – Manny!"
"Besides, I can't walk."
"What the hell are you talking about now?" demanded Bernard.
Manny sat back and pouted. "My leg won't work. You did something funny to it before."
"I only hit you with a book!" Bernard exclaimed, confused.
"No, it was before when you tripped me up and I said ow."
"Just try standing up," Fran urged.
Manny did so, and immediately fell back with a strangled cry of pain, that sounded just a little like a dying duck, with a hint of drowned squirrel thrown in. "Told you so."
"So, I hit him with a 2000 page hardback book and he's fine, but breaks his leg when I trip him up?" Bernard frowned while trying to make sense of Manny's "unique" (possibly part-ape) physiology.
Fran shrugged. "Looks like."
Then the dance instructor came round the corner. "No loitering in the auditorium. You all, shoo!"
"But mi-iss, I've broken my leg," Manny whined from the floor.
The dance instructor paled. "You what?"
"Broken my leg miss." Manny pointed. "Just there miss."
"But this is terrible!" cried the dance instructor. "We'll never find a new lead in time! He was the be- least worst – well, the only male dancer we had!"
"Might I suggest a replacement?" asked Fran sweetly.
"Oh no – no! I am not, I repeat not dancing!" Bernard backed away from the two females closing in on him.
"Well he would fit the leotard…" mused the dance instructor.
"No! You can't"
"Serves you right for breaking Manny's leg," said Fran.
"You broke Manny's leg?" The dance instructor suddenly looked extremely threatening, which to be fair was a very difficult task for a small lady in a pink frilly tutu. "Well then, you can either take his place…" she licked her lips. "Or compensate. We would have to agree a fee of course, but I can't imagine it would be low…"
"Noooo!" howled Bernard. He rounded in on Fran. "This is all your fault!" he yelled as he was being dragged away by the dance instructor.
Fran cackled evilly.
----------------------------------------------------
How will Bernard find life in a leotard?
Wait for the next chapter to find out!
And, I promise you Bernard won't be the only one finding himself a new hobby :-)
P.S. Sorry if that chapter was a little slow, I'm hoping the next one will be better, with Bernard in ballet scenes, plus more of Manny. Please review!