Fic: ‘Tis the Season: one of those days
Title: ‘Tis the Season: one of those days
Fandom: Gilmore Girls & Once Upon a Time (OUaT)
Rating: (G)
Time Period: Season 1 or before.
Summary: It's a long day.
Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q.).
I think this is a crossover but I'm not sure. I just had fun writing this. However, I'm crediting folks to be sure as well as putting a quick ‘n’ dirty disclaimer.
Disclaimer
All characters contained herein are the intellectual property of Edward Kitsis & Adam Horowitz + Amy Sherman-Palladino; I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by them.
_______________________
Snow falls as she looks at the folder in her hands. Name. Photo. Charge. All there. All precise. Now to find who she was after.
As she puts the folder away, people stroll by, hands in pockets or holding their groceries; sometimes, a couple might walk past, hand in hand, glowing from love and the clothes the weather obliges them to wear.
If she hadn't promised to do a favour by bringing this guy in, she'd be home, sipping hot chocolate with extra cinnamon instead of sitting here, freezing. So, gloves and scarf … there they were and ---
“You can't park here.”
“Excuse me?”
“You can't park there. Can't you see the sign?”
Sign?
Oh.
“You mean the sign I couldn't see in this light due to the weather?”
There was a slight pause as the sign's visibility was checked. “You can't park here.”
Time for a neatly thrown loop. In other words: ending this conversation, sanity intact. “Where can I park?”
“Excuse me?”
“Where can I park?” She gestures at the sign. “I can't park here so where can I park?”
“Anywhere there's not a sign.”
“What … about …” She points two inches beyond the sign. “... there?”
He peers at where she points and then turns back to her, “It's not near the sign.” he shrugs.
She grins, starts her car and drives to where she'd pointed, parks and leaves her car locked. “Any sign?”
He shakes his head.
“Diner? Restaurant? Takeaway?”
“Which one?”
“Which one ... what?”
“Which one do you want?”
“Of restaurant, diner or takeaway?”
“Yes.”
“Diner.”
He glances about briefly before pointing. She regards the sign on the building where he points.
“That says hardware.”
He lowers his arm. “It's Luke's.”
“Is it good?”
“Everyone in town eats, and drinks, there.”
“Do you eat there?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you … what did you say your name was?”
“Kirk.”
“Thanks, Kirk.”
He nods and crosses the road; she slips into Williams Hardware. Loosening her scarf, she slides into a seat and starts pulling the gloves from her hands.
“What'll you have?”
“Hot chocolate.”
He pauses. “What did you say?”
“Hot chocolate?”
“Coming right up.” He directs a firm look at a brunette woman sitting by the window. “Anything else?”
“Extra cinnamon, please?”
“It'll be with you shortly.”
She nods as he walks away, ripping the order from the pad he carries and stalking into the kitchen behind the counter. Pulling a napkin free, she takes a pen from her jacket and starts to draw. Her car is just outside here, the diner a few metres from that. She places an X where she and Kirk spoke.
“You could buy a postcard.”
She looks up, pulling her blonde hair back. “Excuse me?”
“You could buy a postcard,” the brunette says, nursing a mug. “Or,” she continues as she sits, the mug held carefully, “you could buy a map although,” she adds before sipping, “there's no use in buying a map if you're drawing one and that,” she nods at the napkin, “is terrible.”
“Thanks,” the blonde says as she caps her pen. The man sets the mug of hot chocolate before her with a saucer of reddish brown spice and a teaspoon.
“You're welcome.” He nods at the saucer. “I didn't know how much extra to put on so I gave you your own cinnamon so you can put it on to taste.” His head slightly shifts so he regards the brunette. “Are you troubling her?”
“How could you think that?”
“Easily,” he replies, dryly. “You don't know how to mind your own business. I'll be,” he nods at the counter, “over there if you need anything else.”
“I know where you'll be.”
“I wasn't talking to you,” he retorts before walking away.
“So,” the brunette sits, shifting the chair, “I'm wondering what brings you to our town. Oh,” she adds, “I'm Lorelai.”
“Emma,” she replies as she picks up her mug, cradling it for its warmth before she sips.
“What brings you to our town?”
“I'm looking for someone. His last name's Dose.”
“Luke!”
The rag pauses. “What?” He scowls.
Ignoring his scowl, Lorelai waves him over. “You might wanna hear this.”
Stifling a sigh, he pockets the rag and wanders over; straightening a salt shaker, he stands next to the table, crossing his arms. “What should I hear?”
“She's,” Lorelai points at Emma, “looking for someone called Dose.”
“Dose?” He pauses, eyes widening very slightly. “Do you mean D-o-o-s-e?”
“D-o-o-s-e?”
“It's pronounced dough-see. Taylor Doose?”
Emma blinks once then twice. “You know him?”
The door opens; Luke's eyes zoom in then he shakes his head disgustedly. “Speak of the devil ...”
Emma's eyes swivel towards the door, taking n the grey-haired man who entered. That wasn't the man in the photo she had …
“Someone to see you Taylor.”
Emma waves her hand to catch Lke's disgusted gaze. “That's no--” She begins; only Lorelai hears her, who leans closer. “That's not him.”
“Luke, that's ---”
“Yes?” The grey-haired man looks at Luke. “You know, you could put some holly in here. It'd really lend the diner some holiday spirit.”
“Luke, that's ---”
Hands on his hips, Luke turns to face Taylor. “This is a diner, Taylor, not som---”
“Luke!”
“What?” He snaps.
“This isn't him.”
“What do you mean this isn't him?”
“This isn't him,” Lorelai repeats. “Emma can tell you.”
All eyes turn to the blonde woman who stands. “This isn't him,” she begins. “He's too old.”
Luke sniggers as he folds his arms, stepping back a pace with his head bowed and a hand over his mouth. Taylor puffs out his chest. “I am not too old, thankyouverymuch.”
Emma sighs, Lorelai drinks from her mug and Luke keeps his head bowed. “The man in the photo is younger than,” Emma gestures to Taylor, “and doesn't have facial hair.”
Taylor puts his hands on his hips. “This,” he shakes a hand at Luke, “isn't funny.”
“Yes it is,” Lorelai answers, sweetly, while holding her mug out to Luke. “You know it is, Taylor, and you're just adding to it.”
Taylor scowls at Lorelai whose mug is taken, with amusement, by Luke and Emma zeroes in on one thing: this isn't the man she's after. “So,” she begins, “who's the Taylor I'm here to meet?”
Two heads turn to her; the third?
Watching her mug. Intently.
Reluctantly, Lorelai looks to Emma. “Do you have a photo of Taylor?”
“Yes,” Emma replies and tightens her coat as she heads out to her car. A few minutes later, she returns, holding out the photo. Lorelai grabs it and almost chokes. Luke looks, blinks … and sniggers. Taylor snatches it from Lorelai before handing it triumphantly to Emma. “I told you it wasn't me.”
“Actually, Emma said it wasn't you,” Luke supplies. “ But ----”
“Kirk!” Lorelai sits as she laughs. “It's Kirk!”
Realisation dawns, bright and sparkly, for Emma. Kirk. 'You can't park here' Kirk. Her face falls into her hands and she shakes her head briefly before pulling herself together and taking a breath, her hot chocolate and cinnamon forgotten. “Where can I find him?”
“Taylor, you know his address don't you?”
Lorelai, simply, laughs.
Fandom: Gilmore Girls & Once Upon a Time (OUaT)
Rating: (G)
Time Period: Season 1 or before.
Summary: It's a long day.
Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q.).
I think this is a crossover but I'm not sure. I just had fun writing this. However, I'm crediting folks to be sure as well as putting a quick ‘n’ dirty disclaimer.
Disclaimer
All characters contained herein are the intellectual property of Edward Kitsis & Adam Horowitz + Amy Sherman-Palladino; I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by them.
_______________________
Snow falls as she looks at the folder in her hands. Name. Photo. Charge. All there. All precise. Now to find who she was after.
As she puts the folder away, people stroll by, hands in pockets or holding their groceries; sometimes, a couple might walk past, hand in hand, glowing from love and the clothes the weather obliges them to wear.
If she hadn't promised to do a favour by bringing this guy in, she'd be home, sipping hot chocolate with extra cinnamon instead of sitting here, freezing. So, gloves and scarf … there they were and ---
“You can't park here.”
“Excuse me?”
“You can't park there. Can't you see the sign?”
Sign?
Oh.
“You mean the sign I couldn't see in this light due to the weather?”
There was a slight pause as the sign's visibility was checked. “You can't park here.”
Time for a neatly thrown loop. In other words: ending this conversation, sanity intact. “Where can I park?”
“Excuse me?”
“Where can I park?” She gestures at the sign. “I can't park here so where can I park?”
“Anywhere there's not a sign.”
“What … about …” She points two inches beyond the sign. “... there?”
He peers at where she points and then turns back to her, “It's not near the sign.” he shrugs.
She grins, starts her car and drives to where she'd pointed, parks and leaves her car locked. “Any sign?”
He shakes his head.
“Diner? Restaurant? Takeaway?”
“Which one?”
“Which one ... what?”
“Which one do you want?”
“Of restaurant, diner or takeaway?”
“Yes.”
“Diner.”
He glances about briefly before pointing. She regards the sign on the building where he points.
“That says hardware.”
He lowers his arm. “It's Luke's.”
“Is it good?”
“Everyone in town eats, and drinks, there.”
“Do you eat there?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you … what did you say your name was?”
“Kirk.”
“Thanks, Kirk.”
He nods and crosses the road; she slips into Williams Hardware. Loosening her scarf, she slides into a seat and starts pulling the gloves from her hands.
“What'll you have?”
“Hot chocolate.”
He pauses. “What did you say?”
“Hot chocolate?”
“Coming right up.” He directs a firm look at a brunette woman sitting by the window. “Anything else?”
“Extra cinnamon, please?”
“It'll be with you shortly.”
She nods as he walks away, ripping the order from the pad he carries and stalking into the kitchen behind the counter. Pulling a napkin free, she takes a pen from her jacket and starts to draw. Her car is just outside here, the diner a few metres from that. She places an X where she and Kirk spoke.
“You could buy a postcard.”
She looks up, pulling her blonde hair back. “Excuse me?”
“You could buy a postcard,” the brunette says, nursing a mug. “Or,” she continues as she sits, the mug held carefully, “you could buy a map although,” she adds before sipping, “there's no use in buying a map if you're drawing one and that,” she nods at the napkin, “is terrible.”
“Thanks,” the blonde says as she caps her pen. The man sets the mug of hot chocolate before her with a saucer of reddish brown spice and a teaspoon.
“You're welcome.” He nods at the saucer. “I didn't know how much extra to put on so I gave you your own cinnamon so you can put it on to taste.” His head slightly shifts so he regards the brunette. “Are you troubling her?”
“How could you think that?”
“Easily,” he replies, dryly. “You don't know how to mind your own business. I'll be,” he nods at the counter, “over there if you need anything else.”
“I know where you'll be.”
“I wasn't talking to you,” he retorts before walking away.
“So,” the brunette sits, shifting the chair, “I'm wondering what brings you to our town. Oh,” she adds, “I'm Lorelai.”
“Emma,” she replies as she picks up her mug, cradling it for its warmth before she sips.
“What brings you to our town?”
“I'm looking for someone. His last name's Dose.”
“Luke!”
The rag pauses. “What?” He scowls.
Ignoring his scowl, Lorelai waves him over. “You might wanna hear this.”
Stifling a sigh, he pockets the rag and wanders over; straightening a salt shaker, he stands next to the table, crossing his arms. “What should I hear?”
“She's,” Lorelai points at Emma, “looking for someone called Dose.”
“Dose?” He pauses, eyes widening very slightly. “Do you mean D-o-o-s-e?”
“D-o-o-s-e?”
“It's pronounced dough-see. Taylor Doose?”
Emma blinks once then twice. “You know him?”
The door opens; Luke's eyes zoom in then he shakes his head disgustedly. “Speak of the devil ...”
Emma's eyes swivel towards the door, taking n the grey-haired man who entered. That wasn't the man in the photo she had …
“Someone to see you Taylor.”
Emma waves her hand to catch Lke's disgusted gaze. “That's no--” She begins; only Lorelai hears her, who leans closer. “That's not him.”
“Luke, that's ---”
“Yes?” The grey-haired man looks at Luke. “You know, you could put some holly in here. It'd really lend the diner some holiday spirit.”
“Luke, that's ---”
Hands on his hips, Luke turns to face Taylor. “This is a diner, Taylor, not som---”
“Luke!”
“What?” He snaps.
“This isn't him.”
“What do you mean this isn't him?”
“This isn't him,” Lorelai repeats. “Emma can tell you.”
All eyes turn to the blonde woman who stands. “This isn't him,” she begins. “He's too old.”
Luke sniggers as he folds his arms, stepping back a pace with his head bowed and a hand over his mouth. Taylor puffs out his chest. “I am not too old, thankyouverymuch.”
Emma sighs, Lorelai drinks from her mug and Luke keeps his head bowed. “The man in the photo is younger than,” Emma gestures to Taylor, “and doesn't have facial hair.”
Taylor puts his hands on his hips. “This,” he shakes a hand at Luke, “isn't funny.”
“Yes it is,” Lorelai answers, sweetly, while holding her mug out to Luke. “You know it is, Taylor, and you're just adding to it.”
Taylor scowls at Lorelai whose mug is taken, with amusement, by Luke and Emma zeroes in on one thing: this isn't the man she's after. “So,” she begins, “who's the Taylor I'm here to meet?”
Two heads turn to her; the third?
Watching her mug. Intently.
Reluctantly, Lorelai looks to Emma. “Do you have a photo of Taylor?”
“Yes,” Emma replies and tightens her coat as she heads out to her car. A few minutes later, she returns, holding out the photo. Lorelai grabs it and almost chokes. Luke looks, blinks … and sniggers. Taylor snatches it from Lorelai before handing it triumphantly to Emma. “I told you it wasn't me.”
“Actually, Emma said it wasn't you,” Luke supplies. “ But ----”
“Kirk!” Lorelai sits as she laughs. “It's Kirk!”
Realisation dawns, bright and sparkly, for Emma. Kirk. 'You can't park here' Kirk. Her face falls into her hands and she shakes her head briefly before pulling herself together and taking a breath, her hot chocolate and cinnamon forgotten. “Where can I find him?”
“Taylor, you know his address don't you?”
Lorelai, simply, laughs.