A/N Here you go. The next installment of my Englishmen are Bad at Storytelling collection. (You'd better) Enjoy! :P But really.
This story is dedicated to my best friend IRL, LennaCaslin. She just started writing, but she has a great Guardians of the Galaxy story if any of you like that fandom. Check it out! And review!
Review my story too. Please. I know I'm acting desperate, but I have a … um, lethal condition that is, uh, deadly if I don't get reviews? No, not really, but just pretend I do and give me some reviews anyway :)
Newkirk's moans filled the barracks. Carter winced as an especially pain-filled sound that escaped his friend's lips. He awkwardly patted the Brit on the shoulder. Unlike Carter however, the other men in the room were much less sympathetic. In fact, LeBeau was even glaring at Newkirk.
Carter chastised his uncaring and unrepentant friends. "Hey, Newkirk's really suffering. Have some pity."
A few men laughed out loud. "Pity?" Kinch replied. "He gave up his rights to deserve pity when he ate all of his cookies in one sitting."
Wincing, Newkirk corrected Kinch. "They weren't cookies, mate, they were Chorley Cakes. Not that you Yanks would know the difference. And I 'ad to eat them all at the same time; it was a miracle there were any left after the Germans were through with them, and if I left around in 'ere, who knows 'ow many would disappear?"
LeBeau rolled his eyes. "I would just call it a sad cake*. It was a typical English horror. Dégueulasse*."
Newkirk laughed, then winced in internal torment. Carter leaned over him worriedly. Olsen waved a dismissive hand. "Just leave him alone Carter. He'll be fine tomorrow."
All the response Olsen got from the "injured" man was instructions on where he should put his bloody ideas. The small crowd that had gathered dispersed, leaving Newkirk alone.
After a goodly amount of time, the sheepish face of LeBeau invaded Newkirk's field of vision. Still in too much pain to be surprised, Newkirk groaned, "What do you want, mate?"
LeBeau answered, "I am sorry, mon ami. I did not mean to be callous. I felt that you deserved your stomach cramps for being greedy."
Newkirk shrugged. "It's alright. I really wasn't being gluttonous or anything. Just didn't want me stuff snitched."
A relieved look appeared on the Frenchman's face. "I am very glad you forgive me. You do still deserve it, though." Newkirk smiled.
The friends sat in silence for a moment before LeBeau asked, "I haven't heard one of your ridiculous stories in a while."
"No one's asked for one."
"…"
"Oh, you want me to tell a story? Why didn't you say so? What story do you want?"
LeBeau thought for a moment. "How about La Belle et la Bête*?"
Newkirk furrowed his brow. "The what now? You know, I don't know any nonsense Frenchie stories." Cue the outraged splutter from LeBeau. "Sides, I have a better one then whatever you said. You ever 'eard of the Three Little Pigs?"
"A long time ago, when animals ruled the earth and 'umans didn't exist, three piglets lived with their mum." "Newkirk." "Yes, I know it's not 'istorically correct, but just play along. It's a story." "So the mum got tired of 'er kids waggin' off. She told them to get out there and make a livin' for themselves."
"The first piggy found flat plot of land and decided to settle down. 'e made a nice little 'ouse out of grass." "It's actually straw." "Augh! Carter! You can't sneak up on a man like that. Especially when 'e's dyin'." "You are not dying, Pierre." "Hah! Yes, I am, shut up." "The second little swine made 'is 'ouse out of sticks. The third pig made a 'ouse out of mud." "No, bricks!" "Don't be ridiculous. Pigs can't make bricks." "But they are make houses." "This is a fairytale, mate." "Oh! You are impossible!"
A starvin' wolf is wanderin' around the countryside. 'e sees the first pig in 'is 'ouse, cookin'. The poor fellow 'asn't eaten for days. 'e asks the pig for some food, but the wolf gets a door slammed in 'is face. 'e's so 'ungry that'e decides to break in out of desperation. Unfortunately, the stupid pig made a 'ouse out of grass, so it collapses. And the resident's stove then catches the grass on fire, roasting the rude, unkind pig."
"The wolf can't overcome 'is instincts and eats the pork. Then, 'e realizes what 'e did and decides to let the pig's family know of 'is death. When the wolf comes upon the second pig, days later, all of a sudden 'e felt a sneeze coming on. 'e tried to hold it in, but …" "Vraiment*? Stop trying to make the wolf a hero." "What? No, I'm not." "Oui, you are."
"Anyway, the wolf sneezes and the flimsy 'ouse breaks down, killin' the pig inside with the stone chimney. So as not to waste perfectly good food, the wolf eats 'im too. Now bearin' even worse news, 'e continues on. At last the wolf comes to the third pig's 'ome. 'e knocks a tired paw on the door. When it opens, the third pig is standin' there."
"'e takes one look at the wolf ... and punches 'im in the face! The wolf (out of self-defense, of course), has to fight back, even though he was surprised. When it eventually came to blows, the wolf came out on top. In the kefuffle, he accidently killed the bloke. Of course, 'e couldn't let this food go to waste either, so 'e ate it. And the corker didn't feel hungry for months and months, and 'e lived 'appily for a long time."
LeBeau shook his head. Carter commented, "Wow, Newkirk. I've never heard that version before."
Newkirk grinned. "Of course you 'aven't. Me stories are one of a kind."
*Ironically, a large East Lancashire version of a Chorley Cake is known as a Sad Cake. That's not what LeBeau meant, but it's probably why Newkirk was laughing. Chorley Cakes are shortbread filled with currants. Not too sweet, but pretty good.
*Disgusting; crappy (actually a stronger word then crappy :))
*The Beauty and the Beast
*Really? Indeed?
