"British" [working title] Chapter One
This is going to be posted in sections because I need input. Based off of Fanficboy's terrible line. And I'm doing coolthings with it.
Chapter One
His defining trait was that he was British. Nothing else ever seemed to stand out-not his looks, not the topics of his conversations, not even the way he carried himself. His accent was the only thing that anyone ever seemed to notice. He stood taller than most, measuring in around six-foot-six; besides sticking out of the crowd for his height, none of his features ever seemed to catch anyone’s attention: dull blue eyes, crew cut brown hair.
He took notice of none of this. He was bland inside and out. Had he not been born in Great Britain and moved to America after college, he would blend in with the crowd. Nothing would define him. He would have a Midwestern, American non-accent and everyone would ignore him. He could continue on with his mediocre life and not have to put up with anyone.
He wished people would ignore him. Yet when they would stop him on the street and ask for the time, they would be drawn to his voice, merely for the sake of hearing the beautiful British inflections. “Half-past ten,” or whatever time it was, he would answer. His voice would be neutral, emotionless, but the accent was his downfall. If it was a woman asking, she would be drawn to him, following him down the street like a lost, drooling puppy.
He would ask her if she wanted to “grab a spot of tea” at a local café in hopes that she might turn him down and he could be left to his own devices once more. She would say yes immediately, eyes lighting up like a sunrise. They would sit and talk for a bit; he would give one or two-word answers in hopes of annoying her, but his accent would keep her begging for more.
He would politely decline the woman’s offer of an actual date. He didn’t want a companion. He had one back in Britain and pined for her day in and day out, internally distraught over having to leave her behind, even if it was how circumstances had played out. He loved her; she had seen past his accent (because she had one of her own) and found something somewhere inside him that made him less plain.
II
“Eric, what in the bloody hell are you waiting for?” she called for him from the top of the steep hill they were climbing.
“Air support,” he replied with a rare smile as he struggled up the incline, but continued on in hopes of reaching her. The brunette sat down on top of the hill facing him, brushing her long, wavy hair behind her shoulders. She rested her chin on her palm and looked down at him. “For god’s sake, Evie, you could help me out a bit!”
“No way, love,” Evie replied with a giggle. “If I can make it, you can, too.”
Eric gave a grunt of protest, unable to think of a witty comeback. After several minutes of steady progress and ignoring Evie’s bored glances, he arrived at the top of the hill and collapsed next to her. “Never again, Evie,” Eric growled through gritted teeth.
“Well, you’re nowhere near being in shape,” she protested. “When we get you all in order, this’ll be a breeze.” The man snorted. “Don’t snort-you know full well that you need to lose twenty pounds!”
“You’re setting impossible standards that I just couldn’t possibly live up to,” he told her, toying with a lock of her hair. Evie gave him a bemused expression.
“You’re so ridiculous.”
Eric rolled his eyes and wrapped a warm arm around her shoulders, saying nothing, reveling in the silence of the moment. Evie spoke moments later.
“Mum’s not happy about it,” she said in a sigh.
“Why would she be?” Eric muttered, the serene smile that had been forming on his face disappearing at the woman’s words.
“I don’t know…”
Hell if I know where this is going. xD
Chapter One
His defining trait was that he was British. Nothing else ever seemed to stand out-not his looks, not the topics of his conversations, not even the way he carried himself. His accent was the only thing that anyone ever seemed to notice. He stood taller than most, measuring in around six-foot-six; besides sticking out of the crowd for his height, none of his features ever seemed to catch anyone’s attention: dull blue eyes, crew cut brown hair.
He took notice of none of this. He was bland inside and out. Had he not been born in Great Britain and moved to America after college, he would blend in with the crowd. Nothing would define him. He would have a Midwestern, American non-accent and everyone would ignore him. He could continue on with his mediocre life and not have to put up with anyone.
He wished people would ignore him. Yet when they would stop him on the street and ask for the time, they would be drawn to his voice, merely for the sake of hearing the beautiful British inflections. “Half-past ten,” or whatever time it was, he would answer. His voice would be neutral, emotionless, but the accent was his downfall. If it was a woman asking, she would be drawn to him, following him down the street like a lost, drooling puppy.
He would ask her if she wanted to “grab a spot of tea” at a local café in hopes that she might turn him down and he could be left to his own devices once more. She would say yes immediately, eyes lighting up like a sunrise. They would sit and talk for a bit; he would give one or two-word answers in hopes of annoying her, but his accent would keep her begging for more.
He would politely decline the woman’s offer of an actual date. He didn’t want a companion. He had one back in Britain and pined for her day in and day out, internally distraught over having to leave her behind, even if it was how circumstances had played out. He loved her; she had seen past his accent (because she had one of her own) and found something somewhere inside him that made him less plain.
II
“Eric, what in the bloody hell are you waiting for?” she called for him from the top of the steep hill they were climbing.
“Air support,” he replied with a rare smile as he struggled up the incline, but continued on in hopes of reaching her. The brunette sat down on top of the hill facing him, brushing her long, wavy hair behind her shoulders. She rested her chin on her palm and looked down at him. “For god’s sake, Evie, you could help me out a bit!”
“No way, love,” Evie replied with a giggle. “If I can make it, you can, too.”
Eric gave a grunt of protest, unable to think of a witty comeback. After several minutes of steady progress and ignoring Evie’s bored glances, he arrived at the top of the hill and collapsed next to her. “Never again, Evie,” Eric growled through gritted teeth.
“Well, you’re nowhere near being in shape,” she protested. “When we get you all in order, this’ll be a breeze.” The man snorted. “Don’t snort-you know full well that you need to lose twenty pounds!”
“You’re setting impossible standards that I just couldn’t possibly live up to,” he told her, toying with a lock of her hair. Evie gave him a bemused expression.
“You’re so ridiculous.”
Eric rolled his eyes and wrapped a warm arm around her shoulders, saying nothing, reveling in the silence of the moment. Evie spoke moments later.
“Mum’s not happy about it,” she said in a sigh.
“Why would she be?” Eric muttered, the serene smile that had been forming on his face disappearing at the woman’s words.
“I don’t know…”
Hell if I know where this is going. xD