Oh, my gosh! Thanks so much for all of your reviews! *shakes head in
pleased but slightly bewildered fashion* Well, here's the update so many
of you have requested . . . I would have updated last night, but my father
was doing computer stuff until one a.m. and by then I was staggering.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything other than David and his locker.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
David unceremoniously stuffed Bill's old clothes into the back of his closet. He doubted that his mother would brave the war zone that was his bedroom floor to look for dirty laundry, and even if she did, there were plenty of lies he could make up to excuse the clothes. He could say that they were just some old rags (which was plausible enough) or that they were for a school play or something. Unfortunately, the boy had not yet come up with a lie that would excuse a strange man sleeping on the couch.
Not that Bill *was* sleeping on the couch. In order to buy himself some thinking time, David had introduced the pirate to his gamecube, and the two were getting well acquainted.
"Hahaharr!" Bill cackled from the living room. "Prepare to meet your maker, scurvy scum!" The pirate was playing "The Two Towers" video game; David had picked it because it was the only game he owned with weapons that wouldn't require a good deal of explanation.
David sat down at the kitchen table, head in hands, trying desperately to think of something, anything, to tell his mother. Could he pass Bill off as a distant relative? Probably not; his mother would obviously know that he wasn't anyone from her side of the family, and Bill looked nothing like David's father. In fact, David thought wryly, with his long hair and rather unruly beard, Bill looked more like a hobo than anything else. And there was no way that Ms. Jones was going to let a hobo stay in the house.
"Oi! Davey! I've died again!" David jumped slightly in his chair, then stood up and walked into the living room. Bill was dressed in an old pair of levis and a sweatshirt with a picture of a beaver on it and the phrase, "It's just one dam thing after another" printed across the bottom. David thought the sweatshirt oddly fitting to the situation.
"It's David," the boy corrected, taking the controller and fiddling with it until Aragorn, son of Arathorn was properly resurrected. "Da-VID." He handed the controller back to the pirate.
David plopped back into his chair and glanced at the clock. It was one in the afternoon. The boy frowned; all he had really accomplished was to make the pirate look less like a complete nutcase and more like a homeless person. Not exactly what David would call progress. He traced invisible patterns on the tabletop, allowing his gaze to drift out the window and come to rest on his old tree-house. It was well-hidden by the leaves of the giant maple it was built in. David blinked and sat up straight. Maybe he wouldn't have to explain things to his mother, after all.
"Hey, Bill," David began, poking his head back into the living room.
"Bootstrap," the pirate said. David blinked, completely thrown. Was the pirate speaking in some kind of code?
"What?" David asked, wrinkling his brow.
"You can call me Bootstrap. It's me nickname," the pirate explained.
"Okaayyyy . . ." David said slowly, choosing not to comment. "I'm going to go outside for a minute. Stay here, okay? I'll be right back."
"Aye aye," Bootstrap saluted with a sarcastic grin, then swore a blue streak when his lapse of concentration cost the King of Gondor his life yet again. The pirate held out the controller with a pleading look on his face. "Wait, lad, can you fix this first?"
*~*~*
David poked his head inside the tree-house. His father had helped him build it when he was eight. He used to hang out up there all the time, but it had been nearly a year since he last been inside.
The floorboards creaked as David straightened as much as the low roof would allow. He tried a few jumps. The floor held. Well, David thought, if the floor could stand a jumping thirteen-year-old, it would probably hold an inert pirate without too much trouble. Allowing himself a grin, David slipped back down to the ground and back inside. He would keep trying to think of something to tell his mother, but if five-thirty rolled around and he was still stumped, he had a backup plan.
"Hey, Bi-Bootstrap, here's the deal: I'll try to think of something to tell my mom about you so she'll let you stay in the house, but if I can't think of anything, you're going to have to spend the night in my old tree-house."
"Tree-house?" Bill pressed the newly-discovered 'pause' button and turned to David with a frown.
"Yeah. It's outside in that big maple tree."
"You want me to sleep in a tree?" Bootstrap looked deeply confused.
"There's a house built in the tree," David explained patiently. "You'll be safe there . . . cars can't climb."
"I see," Bill nodded slowly. "Must I go there now?"
"Nah, keep killing orcs," David waved a hand. "I'll tell you when it's time to go out there." The boy's stomach rumbled. "Hey, are you hungry?"
"Oh, er, no," Bill said hastily, and David raised his eyebrows.
"You haven't eaten all day. You must be starved," the boy said reasonably, but the pirate was shaking his head. "Well, are you thirsty?" More head shaking. David sighed. "You must have a really slow metabolism or something, then."
"Yes, that's it," Bootstrap said vaguely, un-pausing the game. David rolled his eyes and wandered into the kitchen to make a sandwich.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Erg . . . I know that wasn't as long, but I've been feeling a bit under the weather and am going to bed as soon as I finish here.
Tinania Lindaleriel: Thanks a bunch! :)
Kate: Yes he is, muahaha. It has already begun!
Gwendellen Snape: Thanks so much! I'm glad you like it!
Era-lynne: Thanks! Maybe his parents didn't realize the consequences of their name choice . . . or maybe, like you said, they have sadistic senses of humor.
Tauremorna: Thanks! Haven't we all . . .? Well, now it is explained!
Shadow Phenix: Thank you!
Jehan's Muse: I love wordplay, too! I dunno if middle school is *hell* . . . it is just kinda deceptive because teachers try to make you think that what you do in MS is important, and it's not. Darn them!
Kitty the drunken butterfly: I love your name! Thanks for the suggestions! I may use one of them . . . but not yet. ;-)
Wanderlust: thanks so much!
Onua Wingstar: Wow, thanks a bundle!
Billie Jukes: Thanks! You shouldn't have to wait too much longer . . . muahaha!
Whizzothecrunchyfrog: Thanks! And thanks for reviewing my other fic, too!
Eclavadra Abier: okay!
Truffles: thanks!
There! Now I can go to bed! But first, I have one more story for you all.
Once upon a time there was a little periwinkle button with 'go' written on it. The button loved nothing more than to be pressed by people. Sometimes people pressed the button, and the button was happy. But sometimes people didn't, and this made the button very sad.
So don't do it for me. Do it for the button!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything other than David and his locker.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
David unceremoniously stuffed Bill's old clothes into the back of his closet. He doubted that his mother would brave the war zone that was his bedroom floor to look for dirty laundry, and even if she did, there were plenty of lies he could make up to excuse the clothes. He could say that they were just some old rags (which was plausible enough) or that they were for a school play or something. Unfortunately, the boy had not yet come up with a lie that would excuse a strange man sleeping on the couch.
Not that Bill *was* sleeping on the couch. In order to buy himself some thinking time, David had introduced the pirate to his gamecube, and the two were getting well acquainted.
"Hahaharr!" Bill cackled from the living room. "Prepare to meet your maker, scurvy scum!" The pirate was playing "The Two Towers" video game; David had picked it because it was the only game he owned with weapons that wouldn't require a good deal of explanation.
David sat down at the kitchen table, head in hands, trying desperately to think of something, anything, to tell his mother. Could he pass Bill off as a distant relative? Probably not; his mother would obviously know that he wasn't anyone from her side of the family, and Bill looked nothing like David's father. In fact, David thought wryly, with his long hair and rather unruly beard, Bill looked more like a hobo than anything else. And there was no way that Ms. Jones was going to let a hobo stay in the house.
"Oi! Davey! I've died again!" David jumped slightly in his chair, then stood up and walked into the living room. Bill was dressed in an old pair of levis and a sweatshirt with a picture of a beaver on it and the phrase, "It's just one dam thing after another" printed across the bottom. David thought the sweatshirt oddly fitting to the situation.
"It's David," the boy corrected, taking the controller and fiddling with it until Aragorn, son of Arathorn was properly resurrected. "Da-VID." He handed the controller back to the pirate.
David plopped back into his chair and glanced at the clock. It was one in the afternoon. The boy frowned; all he had really accomplished was to make the pirate look less like a complete nutcase and more like a homeless person. Not exactly what David would call progress. He traced invisible patterns on the tabletop, allowing his gaze to drift out the window and come to rest on his old tree-house. It was well-hidden by the leaves of the giant maple it was built in. David blinked and sat up straight. Maybe he wouldn't have to explain things to his mother, after all.
"Hey, Bill," David began, poking his head back into the living room.
"Bootstrap," the pirate said. David blinked, completely thrown. Was the pirate speaking in some kind of code?
"What?" David asked, wrinkling his brow.
"You can call me Bootstrap. It's me nickname," the pirate explained.
"Okaayyyy . . ." David said slowly, choosing not to comment. "I'm going to go outside for a minute. Stay here, okay? I'll be right back."
"Aye aye," Bootstrap saluted with a sarcastic grin, then swore a blue streak when his lapse of concentration cost the King of Gondor his life yet again. The pirate held out the controller with a pleading look on his face. "Wait, lad, can you fix this first?"
*~*~*
David poked his head inside the tree-house. His father had helped him build it when he was eight. He used to hang out up there all the time, but it had been nearly a year since he last been inside.
The floorboards creaked as David straightened as much as the low roof would allow. He tried a few jumps. The floor held. Well, David thought, if the floor could stand a jumping thirteen-year-old, it would probably hold an inert pirate without too much trouble. Allowing himself a grin, David slipped back down to the ground and back inside. He would keep trying to think of something to tell his mother, but if five-thirty rolled around and he was still stumped, he had a backup plan.
"Hey, Bi-Bootstrap, here's the deal: I'll try to think of something to tell my mom about you so she'll let you stay in the house, but if I can't think of anything, you're going to have to spend the night in my old tree-house."
"Tree-house?" Bill pressed the newly-discovered 'pause' button and turned to David with a frown.
"Yeah. It's outside in that big maple tree."
"You want me to sleep in a tree?" Bootstrap looked deeply confused.
"There's a house built in the tree," David explained patiently. "You'll be safe there . . . cars can't climb."
"I see," Bill nodded slowly. "Must I go there now?"
"Nah, keep killing orcs," David waved a hand. "I'll tell you when it's time to go out there." The boy's stomach rumbled. "Hey, are you hungry?"
"Oh, er, no," Bill said hastily, and David raised his eyebrows.
"You haven't eaten all day. You must be starved," the boy said reasonably, but the pirate was shaking his head. "Well, are you thirsty?" More head shaking. David sighed. "You must have a really slow metabolism or something, then."
"Yes, that's it," Bootstrap said vaguely, un-pausing the game. David rolled his eyes and wandered into the kitchen to make a sandwich.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Erg . . . I know that wasn't as long, but I've been feeling a bit under the weather and am going to bed as soon as I finish here.
Tinania Lindaleriel: Thanks a bunch! :)
Kate: Yes he is, muahaha. It has already begun!
Gwendellen Snape: Thanks so much! I'm glad you like it!
Era-lynne: Thanks! Maybe his parents didn't realize the consequences of their name choice . . . or maybe, like you said, they have sadistic senses of humor.
Tauremorna: Thanks! Haven't we all . . .? Well, now it is explained!
Shadow Phenix: Thank you!
Jehan's Muse: I love wordplay, too! I dunno if middle school is *hell* . . . it is just kinda deceptive because teachers try to make you think that what you do in MS is important, and it's not. Darn them!
Kitty the drunken butterfly: I love your name! Thanks for the suggestions! I may use one of them . . . but not yet. ;-)
Wanderlust: thanks so much!
Onua Wingstar: Wow, thanks a bundle!
Billie Jukes: Thanks! You shouldn't have to wait too much longer . . . muahaha!
Whizzothecrunchyfrog: Thanks! And thanks for reviewing my other fic, too!
Eclavadra Abier: okay!
Truffles: thanks!
There! Now I can go to bed! But first, I have one more story for you all.
Once upon a time there was a little periwinkle button with 'go' written on it. The button loved nothing more than to be pressed by people. Sometimes people pressed the button, and the button was happy. But sometimes people didn't, and this made the button very sad.
So don't do it for me. Do it for the button!