Of Saints
by The Hermit
Disclaimer: I own nothing and have never claimed to.
"Ah, fuck it. There ain't no fuckin' use in it." Murphy MacManus cursed, irritation clearly evident in his tone as well as in his words. But despite his irritation and the curse itself, he tried again. Tried in the vain hope that perhaps he would succeed where he had failed for the past five minutes.
He brought his cupped hand up to his face and, with a flick of his thump, snapped the lighter in an attempt to produce a flame. After a few more flicks it worked, and Murphy was ecstatic. A smile replaced his scowl as he quickly tried to light the cigarette he was oh-so-desperate to smoke. But the second the flame made contact with the paper rolled tobacco, the last of the lighter fluid disappeared and he was left with his empty lighter and an unlit fag.
At first Murphy stared in something akin to disbelief. But he quickly recovered and repeated his earlier declaration, "Ah, fuck it!" He spat the drag into this open palm and crammed it back into its crumpled pack. "Fuckin' lighter." With another muttered curse, he shoved his hands into his pockets and wondered, not for the first time, what the hell was taking Connor so bloody long. Murphy was not known for his patients, and today was no exception.
A good forty minutes passed since Connor had told him to wait outside. That he would be along in a minute. Forty minutes and Murphy was beginning to consider going in there to forcibly retrieve his brother. Church and praying was good and all, but they had been in the church for three hours. Just praying. That may have been good and well for Connor, but Murphy was hungry and needed a smoke so bad his hands were shaking.
Just as he made a move for the door, it swung open and Connor appeared. He said nothing to Murphy, just came up beside him and reached into his pockets for what Murphy guessed was his lighter and cigs. He pulled two out and lit them both, handing one to his brother and pulling from the other with a sigh.
Murphy grinned from ear to ear and gave him a mock bow of appreciation. Cigarette between his teeth and hands out wide as he leaned forward, Murphy said in his best British accent, "Kind sir, you have done me a great act of kindness and I am eternally indebted to you!" It was pathetic at best, more Irish than British and muffled further by the cig in his mouth.
Connor coughed and let his breath go with a slight laugh. "Ya sound like such a fuckin' retard, Murph. "
Murphy shot Connor a glare and straightened. " Ya shouldna be goin' round callin' people retards, when ya yerself is so clearly one. 'N asides, I never 'eard ya do no better, ya bastard." He blew the smoke in Connor's face, a direct challenge.
The lighter haired twin raised an eyebrow, fag hanging casually off his lips, which were smiling mischievously. "Ya want me ta talk like an Englishman?" Murphy nodded curtly and stepped back, as if his brother would need room for the performance. Or perhaps because he would need room to gloat. "Fine." Connor dropped his cig and ground it out with the heel of his boot. "Wha' da ya want me ta say?" Connor regretted the question the instant it passed from behind his lips
His eyes lit up and he grinned at the possibilities. "I think ya-"
"No."
"But-"
"No."
"Con', lemme-"
"No."
"JESUS FUCKIN' CHRIST, CONNOR! LEMME TALK!"
"…alright. No need ta have a fit."
"I want ya ta say, "Private Dick Johnson, reportin' fer duty, Sir. Ready ta fuck da Queen 'n free da Irish." He nodded to himself, thoroughly pleased with his thought.
Connor just looked at Murphy for a minute, then asked, "'Ow da hell did ya think o' dat?"
Murphy just shrugged and motioned for Connor to continue.
The more mature twin rolled his eyes, then came to attention, back straight and shoulders squared. "Private Dick Johnson, reporting for duty, Sir. Ready to fuck the Queen and free the Irish." He saluted his brother, and turned about face. When he whipped around, he had an unlit cigarette between his fingers and a smug look on his face. The accent was perfect, putting Murphy's pathetic butchery to even more shame.
"'Ow did ya do tha?"
He laughed a little at the expression on his twin's face- the shock, the jealousy. Connor knew the question was rhetorical, but nonetheless he answered. "It ain't so difficult ta do. Well, maybe for ye it is…" He pulled out his lighter and lit his second cigarette.
Murphy shook his head in disbelief . "Tha' ain't right. Yer not right. No fuckin' proper Irishmen should be able ta do tha'. T'aint right...I can't do tha' nearly as good."
Connor just shrugged and looked away, muttering to himself, "Ya can't even do yer own accent well."
"Wha' ya say?"
Connor shook his head and patted his brother on the shoulder. "Nuttin'. C'mon, lets git out o' 'ere."
"'Bout fuckin' time. 'M hungry, 'n I gotta fuckin' piss like a god damn race horse."
END! I hope you enjoyed it. Please feel free to leave me a comment, even if it is a negative one. Feed back is always appreciated!!!