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Whumptober Day 26: Breakfast Table
Absolutely not a single bit of whump in this one. Although it's a nightmare from Algy's point of view ....
No. 26: NIGHTMARES
Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | “I’m haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.” (Poe, Haunted)
"Can't say I care for bally old Copper Horizon's chances at the Royal Ascot -- not a single farthing's worth," Bertie remarked sadly as he pored over the racing scores in the paper, amidst the results of a demolished breakfast in the Mount Street flat.
"So don't bet on him then," Algy said heartlessly. He'd spent most of his life aggressively uninterested in horse racing, mainly because of growing up around people who expected him to have opinions about it, and now Bertie had lured him into actually knowing the names of various racehorses; it was an intolerable thing to have to face before he'd finished his first cup of tea. "Pass that?" he added, holding out a hand into which Ginger plopped the butter dish.
"Isn't the chief up yet?" Ginger asked through a mouthful of toast. "He's always on us if we sleep in, and now it's almost gone eight and he hasn't put in an appearance. I don't suppose he's sick?"
"He's been looking a little peaky lately, don't you think?" Bertie asked, lowering the paper. "Or distracted, at least."
"Looked fine to me," Algy said sharply, plucking a piece of toast off the toast-rack.
Just then Biggles breezed into the breakfast nook, looking neither peaky nor distracted, merely tousled and cheerful in his dressing gown. "Morning, chaps," he announced, reaching over to snatch an already buttered piece of toast off Bertie's plate. "I'm headed out for breakfast, but if there's coffee, I wouldn't mind some."
"He's in the bathroom, isn't he," Algy said flatly, taking in Biggles's old brown dressing gown, the one he knew Biggles had shoved to the back of the wardrobe after it had worn thin and frayed. Algy could guess all too well where Biggles's nicer dressing gown had wandered off to, or more accurately, on whom it had wandered.
"No idea who -- that is, what you're talking about," Biggles said, turning slightly pink. Clearing his throat, he went on briskly, "The reports for the Amsterdam jewelry heist need to be filed today. Algy, you're on that. Bertie, see if you can get a grip on those mechanical failures at Woodley, you can run down in the Bentley. Ginger, you can go with Bertie, it'll go faster with two."
"Where will you be?" Ginger asked.
"At breakfast, as I said. I'll catch you up at the office. Oh, I'll take that too." He appropriated the toast off Algy's plate and hustled off with it, untouched. Algy heard low voices in the hall a moment later.
"Sick? We should be so lucky," Algy said in a voice of gloom, and grimly buttered another slice of toast.
No. 26: NIGHTMARES
Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | “I’m haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.” (Poe, Haunted)
"Can't say I care for bally old Copper Horizon's chances at the Royal Ascot -- not a single farthing's worth," Bertie remarked sadly as he pored over the racing scores in the paper, amidst the results of a demolished breakfast in the Mount Street flat.
"So don't bet on him then," Algy said heartlessly. He'd spent most of his life aggressively uninterested in horse racing, mainly because of growing up around people who expected him to have opinions about it, and now Bertie had lured him into actually knowing the names of various racehorses; it was an intolerable thing to have to face before he'd finished his first cup of tea. "Pass that?" he added, holding out a hand into which Ginger plopped the butter dish.
"Isn't the chief up yet?" Ginger asked through a mouthful of toast. "He's always on us if we sleep in, and now it's almost gone eight and he hasn't put in an appearance. I don't suppose he's sick?"
"He's been looking a little peaky lately, don't you think?" Bertie asked, lowering the paper. "Or distracted, at least."
"Looked fine to me," Algy said sharply, plucking a piece of toast off the toast-rack.
Just then Biggles breezed into the breakfast nook, looking neither peaky nor distracted, merely tousled and cheerful in his dressing gown. "Morning, chaps," he announced, reaching over to snatch an already buttered piece of toast off Bertie's plate. "I'm headed out for breakfast, but if there's coffee, I wouldn't mind some."
"He's in the bathroom, isn't he," Algy said flatly, taking in Biggles's old brown dressing gown, the one he knew Biggles had shoved to the back of the wardrobe after it had worn thin and frayed. Algy could guess all too well where Biggles's nicer dressing gown had wandered off to, or more accurately, on whom it had wandered.
"No idea who -- that is, what you're talking about," Biggles said, turning slightly pink. Clearing his throat, he went on briskly, "The reports for the Amsterdam jewelry heist need to be filed today. Algy, you're on that. Bertie, see if you can get a grip on those mechanical failures at Woodley, you can run down in the Bentley. Ginger, you can go with Bertie, it'll go faster with two."
"Where will you be?" Ginger asked.
"At breakfast, as I said. I'll catch you up at the office. Oh, I'll take that too." He appropriated the toast off Algy's plate and hustled off with it, untouched. Algy heard low voices in the hall a moment later.
"Sick? We should be so lucky," Algy said in a voice of gloom, and grimly buttered another slice of toast.
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Of course Erich gets the pretty dressing gown, Biggles appreciates seeing him dressed up nicely <3
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The most adorable part of this is that he gave Erich the better dressing gown.
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Poor Algy, he's got a hard life. And I do love that he sees Biggles in his old tatty dressing gown and immediately jumps to exactly the correct conclusion, he knows him so well.
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