[ Testing the voice ] Nelson's w/ Chris Skelton

[flickedmethevs]

"Oi, Chris!"

Ray tips his chair back, leans into Chris' right side, and gestures to the telly with the lit end of his cigarette. He's not speaking particularly loudly, but he isn't trying to be quiet either.

"Which would you say is better: football season, or sex?"

Comments

[bitofadogsbody.livejournal.com]

"What?" is Chris' first response, eyebrows knitting as he first wraps his head around the question, and then as he tries to come up with a suitable answer.

"They're kind of different, aren't they? One's year-round, sort of, and the other's, well. Seasonal."

(He doesn't really know where he's going with this.)

[flickedmethevs]

He arches an eyebrow, hissing a laugh from one crooked corner of his mouth.

"Year-round? When was th'last time you saw any woodwork?"

[the_gene_genie]

'Not a fair question, Raymondo.'

Gene barrels out of the door from the gents, a fag dangling from his lips.

'He's only got workin' knowledge of football. Nelson, another pint if you'd be so kind.'

Drink acquired (and Chris's expression ignored), he drops himself into the chair opposite.

[flickedmethevs]

He laughs boisterously.

"It's the only thing you can count on havin' at least once a week, am I right, Guv?"

[the_gene_genie]

'Maybe in your sad, sex-starved world, Raymondo.'

He has drink and looks smug. What? He is married. Can't count on it every week if the missus isn't involved but stick her into the equation and he's golden.

'What happened t'that tart you were boffin' that worked down the Odeon? Couldn' buy my popcorn off her with a straight face, knowin' you'd had your greasy paws all over her.'

[flickedmethevs]

He irons out the grin on his face and downright pouts.

"Yeah, well."

He flicks ash from the end of his cigarette.

"Wasn't the only one, as it 'appens. That fadge 'ad seen more Yankee knobs than Buckingham Palace."

[the_gene_genie]

'Oh well, didn' see that one comin'.'

He rolls his eyes and slumps back in his seat, lounging comfortably.

'You got another one on th' go now?'

Ray's a bigger slapper than any of the girls he picks up.

Good man.

[flickedmethevs]

"That makes one of us. She actually suggested a threesome."

He arches his eyebrows.

Yeah.

"Didn't rumble 'er meanin' until we'd settled on there bein' a Ray sandwich."

He takes a pissy pull off his ciggy, but shortly his mouth turns out a lopsided grin.

"'Course I 'ave! Since when 'ave you ever known me to have one woman?"

[the_gene_genie]

Gene's eyebrows hit the ceiling in a matter of split-seconds and he's not lounging now, leaning forward to look at his DS intently.

'What, a threesome with another bird?'

He has to clarify. The suggestion that it might have been with a bloke just doesn't bear thinking about.

[flickedmethevs]

Ray rolls his cig between his fingers, and shoots the Guv a blank look.

"I wish. No, some smarmy tosser she met off the pub over on Grosvenor."

Beat.

"I said no.."

[the_gene_genie]

He stares. He stares in a manner that suggests he's about to either laugh himself to death or demote his DS for clearly being one of them closet poofs.


'I should bloody well 'ope you said no, you div.'

Honestly, what is wrong with these lads? He sometimes finds it hard to believe Ray's the same age as him.

'How, in the name of all things holy, did you manage not t'notice she was suggestin' turnin' you into a dart board to be stabbed by her poofter mate?'

[flickedmethevs]

He stares back, affronted.

"'ow was I supposed to know? You've seen 'er friend at the ticket booth, always chattin' each other up."

He half-shrugs.

"I thought, you know...







"Point is, I'm not a poofter! You can't deck a bird for suggestin' it, though."


Can you?

[the_gene_genie]

'Are you havin' me on!? Bird suggests a thing like that then...'

Gene stops short, pulls a face and picks up his pint.

'...no, you can't. But you can bloody lay one on th' bloke tha' was up for it though.'

Because manly manliness must be observed at all times and almost accidentally having gay sex means that heterosexuality should certainly be firmly established at the ealiest possible opportunity. Preferably with fists and then football and pints, in whatever order seems right.

[flickedmethevs]

"Too right, I did!"

He leans back in his seat and puffs out his chest.

"The pissy queen won't be breathin' out of 'is nose for a week, if that. Got myself out of there, told the dozy bint she could find 'er own way 'ome. And that's why you don't see me at the Odeon twice a week anymore."

He takes another hard pull off his cigarette and chases it with half his pint for good measure. He's no poofter.

[the_gene_genie]

'Good man.'

He Approves of this behaviour. Serves the poncey bastard right.

'If you feel the need to show her what's what, send plod 'round when she's at work to give her a talkin' to about something. That should teach her to keep her clever ideas to herself in future.'

[flickedmethevs]

"Really?"

Ray laughs, looking the picture of a kid on Christmas. If naughty kids ever got presents, that is.

[the_gene_genie]

Gene gives one of his short nods, a slight pout in place. Doesn't even need to think about it.

''course. About time they did somethin' useful anyway. They'll probably be chuffed t'do anythin' that isn' writin' bloody parkin' tickets.'

[flickedmethevs]

"A'right."

He nods, taking this seriously.

"But, uh -- what should I tell them she's done?"

[the_gene_genie]

Gene rolls his eyes theatrically and sighs.

'Bloody 'ell, Ray, I don' care. Make somethin' up. Use your imagination.'

Because he knows Ray has one, when he can be arsed to use it. Which, y'know, he doesn't always encourage.

[flickedmethevs]

Ray Carling with imagination is a dangerous proposition. He's already such a clever-dick, he'll come forward to attacking every duty with the same vision and voracity. Top-notch DI material, him. Never mind the way his face is pulled together, brow deeply wrinkled like he's really straining himself to think.

He tics an eyebrow and half-shrugs, taking a smoke. Cutting his gaze to the Guv on the exhale, he smiles and points with his middle finger, fag pinched between the rest.

"Anyway, you know Tamsin Clarke -- works the Plough down in Chorlton-cum-Hardy? Dead heat in a Zeppelin race," he says with the proper hand gestures; "She'll 'ave you cum hardy, all right. Says she has a new friend up from Blackley. Thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six."

You heard him right.