incendiarystory (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} incendiarystory) wrote,@ 2004-12-01 20:09:00 |
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Why Sleep When I'll Only Dream - CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
A Stranger In A Strange Slang
The fact that the hostel had a bar built into its downstairs lobby was very conducive to Scott's schedule. He and the Australians had barely even got down the stairs before Ian, who seemed to be the leader only because he walked in the front said, "Oi! Blokes! How 'bout a shout here before we rack off to the water hole?"
"If the shout is yours," another, Shamus, responded.
"Oi!" Ian said back.
Shamus pounded Ian on the shoulder, "that's a mate! Yeah, I'll have a bash."
Scott stared blankly. If he wasn't mistaken, he had understood the Hungarians more than he understood this group he had associated himself with willingly. They all talked like they were straight out of a Foster's commercial. Luckily he had a link to his own language, the third Aussie, Nigel, had taken it upon himself to serve as a translator.
He had told Scott that while all of his friends were educated, they someone acted like a bunch of "Joe Bloggs." When Scott had stared blankly at this too, Nigel had tried about three other synonyms before finally saying, "you know, regular working class guys." With that Scott's face flashed recognition and Nigel had exhaled. He probably figured it was going to be hard work bringing along a "Yank".
Ian had joked, "he probably just wants us to speak the Queen's English, the wog."
"Oi, he's not a wog, he's just a seppo," Nigel said, "and if you wanna get into a biffo, you call him a yob again. Yank don't speak the Queen's English neither, eh mate?" Nigel elbowed Scott in the ribs.
"Bloody right," Scott said, trying to pick up the slang.
"Bloody right?" Ian had broke out laughing, "knackers on this one, right blokes? True blue!"
"True blue!" Shamus had said, responding as if it was a huddle before a football game. "We'll turn him into a ratbag yet."
"What on Earth are they saying," Scott whispered to Nigel. Nigel responded, "it's not important."
It hadn't taken much translation to understand Ian's offer at the bar. He had bought the first round of shots. The shot practically glowed green. "What is it?" Scott asked. "Don't be a piker!" Ian had responded.
Almost immediately upon drinking it, Scott felt a sensation like he never had from a shot before. His legs suddenly began to feel heavy and his head was swimming. "Strong stuff," he said. "Tastes like bloody kero," Nigel agreed, "it's blodgy!".
"You dag!" Ian said, "this is bloody absinthe! I asked the barkeep and she'll be apples."
Scott looked over to the semi-circular brown bar and saw the bartender was clearly a man. "What is he talking about?" he whispered again to Nigel.
"Look at the two poofers!" Ian had said.
"Sod off!" Nigel responded, "and drink with the flies!"
"Ooooh," the two others responded in a way that reminded Scott of kindergarteners. Really bald, really buff kindergartener who might snap his neck if he made the comparison. Nigel talked to Scott as though he was five years old and he was the one not yet ready for a grade, "what he said was that this is absinthe and it's legal here in Germany."
"That's what I bloody said," Ian responded, "I'm onto a good lurk, eh mates?"
"Doesn't this stuff make you hallucinate?" Scott asked.
"Naw, this is the weak stuff, the fair dinkum's only available in Holland." Ian responded. He called for another round.
Scott couldn't tell this was the weak stuff, he was already "pissed" after it was suddenly his "shout" the third time around. He had bought a round of "longies" upon request. Well, in the tone that the Australians had used it was more an order than a request.
Scott wasn't sure he was just drunk. But he was told he was drunk after the thrid round by the Australians and he was in no position to deny it - he couldn't speak their language.
"Oi!" Ian said looking at the sign behind the bar in neon yellow marker in English and German, "how's about a spot of karaoke?"
"Karaoke?" Shamus said, "you're bloody mad!"
"Think of the sheilas!" Ian said, "and then tell me I'm bloody mad."
And women there had been. Women of every nationality. Of course, they didn't understand the Australians either. It had amazed Scott, however, how many more words they used that he had understood when there was "spunk" around. He must have been getting drunk because he now understood what they were saying.
Ian had somehow ended up with a blond on his lap and she was begging him to sing a song. "What says it blokes?" Ian looked at the three of them in turn. "Yeah," Shamus said, "fair go." Ian looked directly at Scott. Scott felt the pressure building but was able to deny him with a, "you three go, I'll watch the table."
The three Australians hissed at him.
"Alright, it depends on the song. But I'll do it if it's something I know," Scott had finally said.
"That's a corker they, eh?" Ian elbowed Shamus and gave a look of surprise.
Ian called over to the waitress in a way that caused the blond on his lap to look exasperated and leave. Ian didn't even seem to notice. He asked her for a list of songs they could sing. She handed it to him and walked away. "Did you see the funbags on her?" he joked.
Ian handed the list over to Scott. Scott looked the list over and say almost nothing that he knew. "Sorry guys," Scott said, "I don't know any of these. Oh wait, I know one, 'Romeo & Juliet.'"
Ian looked at him with glassy eyes, "you really are a poffer, eh mate?"
It having been earlier explained to him what a poffer was, Scott insisted that he was straight. "It's just a really good song."
"Ah, we were just taking the piss out of you," Shamus said, "but those lezzos singing it and all that."
"That's not an Indigo Girls song...well it wasn't at first..." Scott said, "it's Dire Straits."
"What an earbasher!" Ian quipped, "we don't need the bloody history, just sing the bloody tune!"
"Sod off!" Scott responded, finally picking up the slang a little bit. He just hoped Ian took it as a joke because he seemed to be getting more belligerent as the night wore on. The last thing he wanted was a beer bottle broken over his head.
"Yeah, well, I decided I'm going to sing it. Alone. There's someone I want to dedicate it to." Scott said in as much as an indignant voice as the slurred sounds coming out of his mouth would form.
"Who, Sir Elton John?" Ian said laughing.
"There's this woman Emily who I'm supposed to meet her in Berlin tomorrow. Well, she's not just any girl, she's my ex-girlfriend." Scott shared the entire story as best as he could in his condition.
Now it seemed to be Nigel's turn to throw the insult of "poofer." No sheila's worth getting that much in a bunch about."
Shamus this time said to Nigel, "give the lad his sport. Remember Jennifer?" He elbowed Nigel in the ribs and rubbed his bald head.
"Balls and all, mate," Ian said seeming to gain a modicum of respect and nodding his head, "balls and all."
The group sat through some terrible renditions of songs by people who barely spoke English before it came time for the Australians to sing. Scott thought to himself that they were ones to question his sexual preference when they were singing Kylie Minogue. When he had finally gotten their choice out of them, Ian had defended his song by saying, "she's a national treasure, mate."
Eventually the pressure was taken off Scott because he began to get nervous more about singing than the song choice. By the time he got up to the stage he was mumbling something about Emily, not even realizing what he was saying. The Australians were interrupting him by telling him to get on with the song. He began to sing and it was as if he had cast some magic incantation.
Suddenly standing less than five feet away from him approaching the front row of seats at a rapid pace was Emily. There something was wrong with her appearance. She was wearing jeans for one thing. But more importantly, there was an expression on her face that matched what he had seen on Elenka on the train from Budapest.
He nearly dropped the microphone and ran to her. He finished the song staring in her direction, barely able to keep his voice. Emily, or the woman who looked like her seemed to be crying as she sat down at an empty table. Now he wondered if the absinthe had been full strength because he had to be hallucinating.
But when he finished and the woman ran up to him and hugged him so tightly that he finally did drop the microphone, he knew he was still in Germany and not in The Netherlands.
Chapter Word Count: 1474
Daily Word Count: 1474
Total Word Count: 67127
The fact that the hostel had a bar built into its downstairs lobby was very conducive to Scott's schedule. He and the Australians had barely even got down the stairs before Ian, who seemed to be the leader only because he walked in the front said, "Oi! Blokes! How 'bout a shout here before we rack off to the water hole?"
"If the shout is yours," another, Shamus, responded.
"Oi!" Ian said back.
Shamus pounded Ian on the shoulder, "that's a mate! Yeah, I'll have a bash."
Scott stared blankly. If he wasn't mistaken, he had understood the Hungarians more than he understood this group he had associated himself with willingly. They all talked like they were straight out of a Foster's commercial. Luckily he had a link to his own language, the third Aussie, Nigel, had taken it upon himself to serve as a translator.
He had told Scott that while all of his friends were educated, they someone acted like a bunch of "Joe Bloggs." When Scott had stared blankly at this too, Nigel had tried about three other synonyms before finally saying, "you know, regular working class guys." With that Scott's face flashed recognition and Nigel had exhaled. He probably figured it was going to be hard work bringing along a "Yank".
Ian had joked, "he probably just wants us to speak the Queen's English, the wog."
"Oi, he's not a wog, he's just a seppo," Nigel said, "and if you wanna get into a biffo, you call him a yob again. Yank don't speak the Queen's English neither, eh mate?" Nigel elbowed Scott in the ribs.
"Bloody right," Scott said, trying to pick up the slang.
"Bloody right?" Ian had broke out laughing, "knackers on this one, right blokes? True blue!"
"True blue!" Shamus had said, responding as if it was a huddle before a football game. "We'll turn him into a ratbag yet."
"What on Earth are they saying," Scott whispered to Nigel. Nigel responded, "it's not important."
It hadn't taken much translation to understand Ian's offer at the bar. He had bought the first round of shots. The shot practically glowed green. "What is it?" Scott asked. "Don't be a piker!" Ian had responded.
Almost immediately upon drinking it, Scott felt a sensation like he never had from a shot before. His legs suddenly began to feel heavy and his head was swimming. "Strong stuff," he said. "Tastes like bloody kero," Nigel agreed, "it's blodgy!".
"You dag!" Ian said, "this is bloody absinthe! I asked the barkeep and she'll be apples."
Scott looked over to the semi-circular brown bar and saw the bartender was clearly a man. "What is he talking about?" he whispered again to Nigel.
"Look at the two poofers!" Ian had said.
"Sod off!" Nigel responded, "and drink with the flies!"
"Ooooh," the two others responded in a way that reminded Scott of kindergarteners. Really bald, really buff kindergartener who might snap his neck if he made the comparison. Nigel talked to Scott as though he was five years old and he was the one not yet ready for a grade, "what he said was that this is absinthe and it's legal here in Germany."
"That's what I bloody said," Ian responded, "I'm onto a good lurk, eh mates?"
"Doesn't this stuff make you hallucinate?" Scott asked.
"Naw, this is the weak stuff, the fair dinkum's only available in Holland." Ian responded. He called for another round.
Scott couldn't tell this was the weak stuff, he was already "pissed" after it was suddenly his "shout" the third time around. He had bought a round of "longies" upon request. Well, in the tone that the Australians had used it was more an order than a request.
Scott wasn't sure he was just drunk. But he was told he was drunk after the thrid round by the Australians and he was in no position to deny it - he couldn't speak their language.
"Oi!" Ian said looking at the sign behind the bar in neon yellow marker in English and German, "how's about a spot of karaoke?"
"Karaoke?" Shamus said, "you're bloody mad!"
"Think of the sheilas!" Ian said, "and then tell me I'm bloody mad."
And women there had been. Women of every nationality. Of course, they didn't understand the Australians either. It had amazed Scott, however, how many more words they used that he had understood when there was "spunk" around. He must have been getting drunk because he now understood what they were saying.
Ian had somehow ended up with a blond on his lap and she was begging him to sing a song. "What says it blokes?" Ian looked at the three of them in turn. "Yeah," Shamus said, "fair go." Ian looked directly at Scott. Scott felt the pressure building but was able to deny him with a, "you three go, I'll watch the table."
The three Australians hissed at him.
"Alright, it depends on the song. But I'll do it if it's something I know," Scott had finally said.
"That's a corker they, eh?" Ian elbowed Shamus and gave a look of surprise.
Ian called over to the waitress in a way that caused the blond on his lap to look exasperated and leave. Ian didn't even seem to notice. He asked her for a list of songs they could sing. She handed it to him and walked away. "Did you see the funbags on her?" he joked.
Ian handed the list over to Scott. Scott looked the list over and say almost nothing that he knew. "Sorry guys," Scott said, "I don't know any of these. Oh wait, I know one, 'Romeo & Juliet.'"
Ian looked at him with glassy eyes, "you really are a poffer, eh mate?"
It having been earlier explained to him what a poffer was, Scott insisted that he was straight. "It's just a really good song."
"Ah, we were just taking the piss out of you," Shamus said, "but those lezzos singing it and all that."
"That's not an Indigo Girls song...well it wasn't at first..." Scott said, "it's Dire Straits."
"What an earbasher!" Ian quipped, "we don't need the bloody history, just sing the bloody tune!"
"Sod off!" Scott responded, finally picking up the slang a little bit. He just hoped Ian took it as a joke because he seemed to be getting more belligerent as the night wore on. The last thing he wanted was a beer bottle broken over his head.
"Yeah, well, I decided I'm going to sing it. Alone. There's someone I want to dedicate it to." Scott said in as much as an indignant voice as the slurred sounds coming out of his mouth would form.
"Who, Sir Elton John?" Ian said laughing.
"There's this woman Emily who I'm supposed to meet her in Berlin tomorrow. Well, she's not just any girl, she's my ex-girlfriend." Scott shared the entire story as best as he could in his condition.
Now it seemed to be Nigel's turn to throw the insult of "poofer." No sheila's worth getting that much in a bunch about."
Shamus this time said to Nigel, "give the lad his sport. Remember Jennifer?" He elbowed Nigel in the ribs and rubbed his bald head.
"Balls and all, mate," Ian said seeming to gain a modicum of respect and nodding his head, "balls and all."
The group sat through some terrible renditions of songs by people who barely spoke English before it came time for the Australians to sing. Scott thought to himself that they were ones to question his sexual preference when they were singing Kylie Minogue. When he had finally gotten their choice out of them, Ian had defended his song by saying, "she's a national treasure, mate."
Eventually the pressure was taken off Scott because he began to get nervous more about singing than the song choice. By the time he got up to the stage he was mumbling something about Emily, not even realizing what he was saying. The Australians were interrupting him by telling him to get on with the song. He began to sing and it was as if he had cast some magic incantation.
Suddenly standing less than five feet away from him approaching the front row of seats at a rapid pace was Emily. There something was wrong with her appearance. She was wearing jeans for one thing. But more importantly, there was an expression on her face that matched what he had seen on Elenka on the train from Budapest.
He nearly dropped the microphone and ran to her. He finished the song staring in her direction, barely able to keep his voice. Emily, or the woman who looked like her seemed to be crying as she sat down at an empty table. Now he wondered if the absinthe had been full strength because he had to be hallucinating.
But when he finished and the woman ran up to him and hugged him so tightly that he finally did drop the microphone, he knew he was still in Germany and not in The Netherlands.
Chapter Word Count: 1474
Daily Word Count: 1474
Total Word Count: 67127
