Pure silliness inspired by some chat over on Proboards. For eve93 who inspired it - enjoy! Sorcha xox
"And here's for our ass-kicking national hero, Georg von Trapp. A golden oldie for a golden oldie – enjoy!"
The radio presenter's voice segues smoothly into the lively introduction of one of his guilty pleasures – he remembers dancing with Agathe the night of their wedding to this, sock-footed down the stairs, nearly ripping the train of her wedding dress. Neither of them cared. Without permission, his foot starts to tap as he undoes his tie and flings it onto the bed, trying not to think of what Maria would have thought of him standing up for his country.
He wonders if, wherever she is, she realises it was all for her.
The music builds and builds, the Pointer Sisters voices blending together into the chorus and before he knows it, he's dancing the way he used to when he was alone, all stupid eighties disco moves and hand jive, his feet carrying him out of the door to his room and down the stairs. It doesn't matter that the music quickly dies away once he's out of his room – it runs laps in his head, cheering him on as he performs some strange move that Liesl likes down the stairs, bopping his head.
He makes it into the drawing room, pointing around at an imaginary audience and singing the words along, spinning round and round and round and…oh, shit.
"Frau Schmidt," he stops, clapping his hands together and trying not to let the embarrassment show on his face. She stands and stares, her mouth wide enough to swallow his old submarine whole. "Could you make a cake for the children tomorrow?"
It's the first thing he can think of. He disappears before the poor woman can respond.