literature

Waiting for Dave

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Literature Text

The sun is not always shining when they meet. Today, however, spring has finally dared to show its face in Ankh-Morpork and is apparently being tolerated for now. Sharif is first as always, munching on something on a stick mumped from his father's kitchen, tapping out a little soft-shoe, stretching the insides of his fingers, rubbing his notable nose. Sharif is hardly ever still.

And not terribly observant sometimes, which is how Gracie manages to slip up behind him and swat him across the seat of his pants. Sharif yelps. The kebab stick goes flying.

"I thought you wasn't gonna be here till five!"

"Betty took my shift."

Sharif glances up at her through his curtain of coal-black bangs. "Did she wanna?"

Gracie snickers. It's a profoundly unnerving sound, especially coming from such a sweet, ordinary, nicely madeup face. "After a while, sure."

"Where's Mostly Dave?"

"Am I my neighbor's keeper?" Gracie flicks a match, retrieves Sharif's kebab stick and lights it between her fingers like a cigarette in a posh holder. "Davie's probably in the chop shop still, hawkin' mutton. He'll be here."

"What we doin' tonight, anyway?"

Gracie twirls the stick like a fire-eater's act in miniature. "Today, you mean? Ain't gonna be dark yet for hours. Dunno. Probably go down to the pub or the game."

"That's what we do all the time!" Sharif scoops up a rock with the toe of his ratty oxford, bounces it from spot to spot across his foot: heel, toe, instep. "Let's ask Mackie when he gets here, huh?"

"Go ahead," says a new voice from behind them. Gracie and Sharif both choke. Mackie steps out all shiny shoes and vaguely interested air. His timing is perfect, as usual. "But Mostly Dave's leader, really. He ought to decide. Here, while we wait." He pitches two paper bags in their direction, not concerned with the direction: if the others don't catch them, that's their problem. As it happens, they land flawlessly in their targets' outstretched hands. Mackie's gifted that way. He doesn't bother to notice how impressed the others are. "I ate on the way."

Gracie stows hers demurely in the massive carpetbag that goes everywhere she does. Sharif digs in. He's a growing boy still, much to his parents' chagrin, and is far too interested in the flaky pastry inside the bag to notice Gracie's animated chatter about some minor scandal at work or the decently dressed mother-pecked girl who glances shyly his way. Mackie does, though, and tosses the girl a lofty glance and a sliver of smile; she blushes and is the next moment herded away, off to the rest of the shopping.

Gracie keeps talking. Sharif wipes the crumbs off his mouth and wonders why the next two girls to pass are giggling. Somehow the time is slipping beneath their feet without being noticed, a mouse along the baseboards as the sun inches quietly away. Mackie laughs out loud, and the sound sends pigeons clattering to the sky just in time for a slouching, square-shouldered figure to show itself between the columns of feathery shrieking, loping out of the crowd like a scruffy, plaid-clad, still-bloody-aproned Moses in size eleven jackboots.

The sun is setting. The wait is over. The fun can begin.
They're baaaack!

All the ideas for the Those Buggers I've had recently have either been written down and lost, typed up and deleted when the computer crashed, just plain crap, or too radically character-screwing-with to post before I feel like I've got you guys to know the characters well enough yet.

This one's mostly for you, ~TMOH. Sorry it took so long. :heart:

World (c) Sir Terry Pratchett
Dave, Mackie, Sharif & Gracie (c) ~candyexorcist
© 2011 - 2024 candyexorcist
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octironstar's avatar
The title amuses me greatly. Pan would like one just like it. :)

Gracie is still my favourite.