Dragged
Title: Dragged
Author: valerienne
Fandom: Lotrips/Hetty Wainthropp (Hey, I'm not responsible for my plot bunnies, you know? :)
Rating: G
Lyrics: From 'Polythene Pam', Abbey Road
She's so good-looking but she looks like a man.
Well you should see her in drag, dressed in her polythene bag.
Notes: Written for the two_of_us_fic Beatles lyric challenge.
“Dominic,” said Patricia, with a suspicious blankness to her voice, “What do you look like?”
Derek looked up from his paper, snorted, coughed, and looked down again - the racing form being much more important to him than any antics of Dom’s.
Dom rolled his eyes, and would have followed it up with a shrug, or even maybe with a gesture, except this was Patricia, and you were cautious with her. Or you were if you were Dom, given he could still feel the dampness behind his ears sometimes, if he checked, and she’d taught him a lot (although not as much as Derek, but he kept quiet about that) and that meant she deserved his respect.
‘Course, if it had been just Derek then he’d have bloody well said what he was thinking, but with Pat you had to be a bit more careful.
“It’s not my fault - you saw the script. You know what I have to do!” he tried.
Dom was quite proud of the injured outrage he got into his voice with that. He was a bloody good actor, if he did say so himself - and he ignored the small voice inside reminding him he hardly needed talent to throw emotion into those lines, and that there might have been a bit of a squeak somewhere along the way.
“Well,” said Patricia finally, “Thank goodness it’s so near the end of the season. Since I’m sure my nerves are now completely shot.”
“Hey!” Dom said, beginning to feel a sense of genuine outrage, since he was giving his all for his art - even if that all didn’t feel particularly like art just at the moment - when suddenly the skirt gave an unpleasant hitch, and the stockings an ominous twang.
Dom froze.
“Is there a problem? How do you feel?” Patricia asked solicitously, and Dom glared. He could see the beginnings of a smile on her face, and inconveniently - and far, far, too late - he had that terrible, horrible feeling of being set up. Pat didn’t really indulge in pranks very often, but when she did… And Dom hadn’t been very quiet lately. He might, possibly, remotely, have been a bit cheeky. He’d been asking a lot of questions, and maybe boasting a bit, and maybe even taken the piss a time or two.
Patricia liked to keep him in his place, didn’t she? If she thought he was getting too big for his boots. He should have remembered that.
He should have remembered what good friends she was with Laura in Wardrobe.
With a groan, he sank down into one of the folding chairs by the side of the set. Something else decided to pop, but Dom didn’t want to explore it. The possibilities were too horrible to contemplate.
“There, there,” said Patricia, twinkling like some kindly old grandmother, and leaning forward to pat one nylon-clad, hairy knee. “Don’t take it so hard, Dominic. Think of the episode - all your hard work on the Box, for three million people to watch with their tea. Think how memorable it will be.”
Dom groaned again. Derek gave up and began cackling, his newspaper shaking in his hand. The coward.
With one last pat, Patricia leaned back in her chair and looked serenely up at the sky.
“Have you seen the wig yet, Dom?” She paused but Dom had learnt his lesson, possibly a bit late. He sat mute, waiting for the axe to fall.
“Don’t worry, I think you’ll look lovely in all those blond curls…”
Author: valerienne
Fandom: Lotrips/Hetty Wainthropp (Hey, I'm not responsible for my plot bunnies, you know? :)
Rating: G
Lyrics: From 'Polythene Pam', Abbey Road
She's so good-looking but she looks like a man.
Well you should see her in drag, dressed in her polythene bag.
Notes: Written for the two_of_us_fic Beatles lyric challenge.
“Dominic,” said Patricia, with a suspicious blankness to her voice, “What do you look like?”
Derek looked up from his paper, snorted, coughed, and looked down again - the racing form being much more important to him than any antics of Dom’s.
Dom rolled his eyes, and would have followed it up with a shrug, or even maybe with a gesture, except this was Patricia, and you were cautious with her. Or you were if you were Dom, given he could still feel the dampness behind his ears sometimes, if he checked, and she’d taught him a lot (although not as much as Derek, but he kept quiet about that) and that meant she deserved his respect.
‘Course, if it had been just Derek then he’d have bloody well said what he was thinking, but with Pat you had to be a bit more careful.
“It’s not my fault - you saw the script. You know what I have to do!” he tried.
Dom was quite proud of the injured outrage he got into his voice with that. He was a bloody good actor, if he did say so himself - and he ignored the small voice inside reminding him he hardly needed talent to throw emotion into those lines, and that there might have been a bit of a squeak somewhere along the way.
“Well,” said Patricia finally, “Thank goodness it’s so near the end of the season. Since I’m sure my nerves are now completely shot.”
“Hey!” Dom said, beginning to feel a sense of genuine outrage, since he was giving his all for his art - even if that all didn’t feel particularly like art just at the moment - when suddenly the skirt gave an unpleasant hitch, and the stockings an ominous twang.
Dom froze.
“Is there a problem? How do you feel?” Patricia asked solicitously, and Dom glared. He could see the beginnings of a smile on her face, and inconveniently - and far, far, too late - he had that terrible, horrible feeling of being set up. Pat didn’t really indulge in pranks very often, but when she did… And Dom hadn’t been very quiet lately. He might, possibly, remotely, have been a bit cheeky. He’d been asking a lot of questions, and maybe boasting a bit, and maybe even taken the piss a time or two.
Patricia liked to keep him in his place, didn’t she? If she thought he was getting too big for his boots. He should have remembered that.
He should have remembered what good friends she was with Laura in Wardrobe.
With a groan, he sank down into one of the folding chairs by the side of the set. Something else decided to pop, but Dom didn’t want to explore it. The possibilities were too horrible to contemplate.
“There, there,” said Patricia, twinkling like some kindly old grandmother, and leaning forward to pat one nylon-clad, hairy knee. “Don’t take it so hard, Dominic. Think of the episode - all your hard work on the Box, for three million people to watch with their tea. Think how memorable it will be.”
Dom groaned again. Derek gave up and began cackling, his newspaper shaking in his hand. The coward.
With one last pat, Patricia leaned back in her chair and looked serenely up at the sky.
“Have you seen the wig yet, Dom?” She paused but Dom had learnt his lesson, possibly a bit late. He sat mute, waiting for the axe to fall.
“Don’t worry, I think you’ll look lovely in all those blond curls…”