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booshslashhavenTitle: A Bit Rubbish: Prologue
Summary: Naboo didn’t get what he wanted for Christmas
Rating: PG-13 for language
Warnings: none
Spoilers: it was a very good party
Length: a paltry 500-ish words but there are more to come, I promise
Disclaimer: I wish Naboo were mine, but sadly he isn’t, and neither are any of the other characters in this story
Notes: The title of this fic sums up my life pretty well at the moment, but I am escaping into smut-land whenever possible. I am actually writing fairly regularly; trouble is I never seem to get anything finished because there is always another Booshy plot-bunny or RL crisis to distract me. However, I am grimly determined to produce some sort of seasonally appropriate fic no matter what, and somebody mentioned Saboo in a Santa hat, and somebody else threw me the idea of a pairing that I haven’t actually written yet, so I have combined the two into what is not going to be an epic Christmas Dinner but might at least be a light snack while you’re waiting for the turkey to be cooked…
A Bit Rubbish: Prologue
Fuck, Naboo thinks wearily, leaning against the kitchen table and surveying the wreckage of his once cosy flat.Why the fuck did I say that we’d throw a Christmas party this year? I should have just bullied Howard into cooking turkey for the four of us as usual. Not let Vince invite half of Camden and then gone mad myself and invited the entire Board of Shamen because it seemed like a good idea at the time. I wasn’t born yesterday. I should’ve known.
There is a groan and a loud snore from the sofa.
Yeah, and I know you did a good job getting rid of the last few paralytics, Bollo, but if you don’t get your act together with the clearing-up tomorrow, I’ll take back what I said about not getting an upgraded familiar. This place is a disaster zone. I don’t even know where to start.
Mechanically, Naboo picks up an empty crisp packet from the table, balls it up and chucks it at the bin.
See that? Missed. Story of my Christmas. Story of my fuckin’ life. Dunno why I bother. He snorts. Saboo would say that a lot of the time I don’t. He was on good form tonight, hardly acknowledged my existence except to insult me but why change the habit of a lifetime? And why – he kicks irritably at the crumpled packet, knocking it under the worktop – why did he have to look so fuckin’ hot in that red jumpsuit and Santa hat? That’s Vince’s job, mind you he was rockin’ the sparkly angel look and I didn’t see Howard complaining…
He glances along the passageway; the light under Vince’s bedroom door has gone out and all is quiet.
All right for some. I know, I shouldn’t begrudge them, they are sort-of my friends I suppose and we’ve been through a lot together, why shouldn’t they get what they want for Christmas? He sighs. C’m’on, Naboo, you plum, it could be worse. You're Naboo, that's who, an' you're self-sufficient. You could be stuck with someone who argues with you the whole time. That bitch of a wife of Dennis’s, honestly, she’s well fit but what else does he see in her? Beats me, always has. She’s never happy, can’t just take the D-Man as he is… well OK, he is pretty hopeless and he can’t take his eyes off a pretty pair of boobs in a tinsel basque, but she didn’t have to hit him quite so hard.
Fuck, what was that?
There’s a scrabbling noise on the roof, and a sudden thud.
Burglars? Better wake Bollo – no, hang on a sec, that click, that’s the latch on the skylight, hear that often enough with those two goin’ out on the roof to snog, but they’re in bed so who was up there?
‘Has – has everybody gone?’ a hoarse and hopeless voice asks from somewhere near the top of the stairs.
‘Most of ’em.’ Naboo detaches himself from the table and clicks the landing light on.
Oh, the poor sod. I should’ve known.
Summary: Naboo didn’t get what he wanted for Christmas
Rating: PG-13 for language
Warnings: none
Spoilers: it was a very good party
Length: a paltry 500-ish words but there are more to come, I promise
Disclaimer: I wish Naboo were mine, but sadly he isn’t, and neither are any of the other characters in this story
Notes: The title of this fic sums up my life pretty well at the moment, but I am escaping into smut-land whenever possible. I am actually writing fairly regularly; trouble is I never seem to get anything finished because there is always another Booshy plot-bunny or RL crisis to distract me. However, I am grimly determined to produce some sort of seasonally appropriate fic no matter what, and somebody mentioned Saboo in a Santa hat, and somebody else threw me the idea of a pairing that I haven’t actually written yet, so I have combined the two into what is not going to be an epic Christmas Dinner but might at least be a light snack while you’re waiting for the turkey to be cooked…
A Bit Rubbish: Prologue
Fuck, Naboo thinks wearily, leaning against the kitchen table and surveying the wreckage of his once cosy flat.Why the fuck did I say that we’d throw a Christmas party this year? I should have just bullied Howard into cooking turkey for the four of us as usual. Not let Vince invite half of Camden and then gone mad myself and invited the entire Board of Shamen because it seemed like a good idea at the time. I wasn’t born yesterday. I should’ve known.
There is a groan and a loud snore from the sofa.
Yeah, and I know you did a good job getting rid of the last few paralytics, Bollo, but if you don’t get your act together with the clearing-up tomorrow, I’ll take back what I said about not getting an upgraded familiar. This place is a disaster zone. I don’t even know where to start.
Mechanically, Naboo picks up an empty crisp packet from the table, balls it up and chucks it at the bin.
See that? Missed. Story of my Christmas. Story of my fuckin’ life. Dunno why I bother. He snorts. Saboo would say that a lot of the time I don’t. He was on good form tonight, hardly acknowledged my existence except to insult me but why change the habit of a lifetime? And why – he kicks irritably at the crumpled packet, knocking it under the worktop – why did he have to look so fuckin’ hot in that red jumpsuit and Santa hat? That’s Vince’s job, mind you he was rockin’ the sparkly angel look and I didn’t see Howard complaining…
He glances along the passageway; the light under Vince’s bedroom door has gone out and all is quiet.
All right for some. I know, I shouldn’t begrudge them, they are sort-of my friends I suppose and we’ve been through a lot together, why shouldn’t they get what they want for Christmas? He sighs. C’m’on, Naboo, you plum, it could be worse. You're Naboo, that's who, an' you're self-sufficient. You could be stuck with someone who argues with you the whole time. That bitch of a wife of Dennis’s, honestly, she’s well fit but what else does he see in her? Beats me, always has. She’s never happy, can’t just take the D-Man as he is… well OK, he is pretty hopeless and he can’t take his eyes off a pretty pair of boobs in a tinsel basque, but she didn’t have to hit him quite so hard.
Fuck, what was that?
There’s a scrabbling noise on the roof, and a sudden thud.
Burglars? Better wake Bollo – no, hang on a sec, that click, that’s the latch on the skylight, hear that often enough with those two goin’ out on the roof to snog, but they’re in bed so who was up there?
‘Has – has everybody gone?’ a hoarse and hopeless voice asks from somewhere near the top of the stairs.
‘Most of ’em.’ Naboo detaches himself from the table and clicks the landing light on.
Oh, the poor sod. I should’ve known.
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