milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The door opens.

The boy on the other side -- dressed in simple cotton kurta pyjamas -- stares for a moment and then shuts it very quickly.

The door opens.

The boy on the other side -- now in a blazer and carefully pressed trousers -- blinks, peers around the edge, and studies the bar for a minute before closing the door slowly and quietly.

The door opens.

The boy on the other side jerks to a momentary halt, throws a wary glance over his shoulder, and slips into the bar. He closes the door behind him, quietly, then reconsiders and cracks it open again to peek out. Apparently satisfied with what he sees, he shuts it and turns back to the bar with a curious, intent look on his face.

In precise, slightly accented English -- "Where is this, please?"

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"The sort who would rather be comfortable."

Nirupam is sometimes unfortunately candid.

"In India, it is the holy men who wander. It isn't a curse, but it is never very comfortable, either. That is rather the point."

"I'm about as far from holy as you can get," Jamie admits easily. "Dead common, that's me. It's curiosity did me in."

"Ah." Nirupam flashes him a quick grin. "I can understand that."

Jamie grins back.

"So you said as how the door coming up when it did got you out of a tight spot? Mind if I ask what?"

He frowns, suddenly wary again, and glances over his shoulder. "I am afraid I annoyed some of the other boys at my new school."

"Oof."

Jamie makes a face, as much for the general concept of school as for the boys in it. "What sort of school? Posh?"

Nirupam speaks very precisely.

It takes him a moment to place the word. "I suppose so. The fees are certainly high enough, my father says."

"Either posh," Jamie diagnoses expertly, "or one of those that wishes they were with pretensions to grandeur. Do they make you wear silly hats and take music training and things?"

"Yes. Hats for outings, and singing every week."

That's very clear pity on Jamie's face.

"Enjoy the time away while you can," he advises.

At least Churt House didn't have the silly hats. And only some of the silly customs.

Another glance over his shoulder.

"I should like to -- but I don't want to be missed." His expression darkens. "Someone might ask questions."

"I wouldn't worry too much about that," Jamie says. "Time's different world to world - I hear it tends to go a lot faster here than outside. You get back and hardly any time will have passed."

"As long as enough has passed for the others to lose interest."

Realistically, he's probably only put off a pummeling until later. But he's not being pummeled now, which is nice.

"If you want the best way to get out of tight spots, you know - well, running away's one way to go about it, but if you're stuck with them that's not going to save you forever."

Jamie sounds like he has experience with this. And he does.

"Your best bet's really to make them laugh."

Mild -- "I seem to do that already."

Jamie shakes his head.

"There's a difference between - all right, you make a joke, it's funny, they're laughing 'cause you want them to be laughing. And you're in. They trip you and watch you fall - it's on their terms, they're the one making the joke. And you get started like that, and you're in for it."

Nirupam . . . really doubts his ability to make jokes for the other boys.

But he nods to Jamie. "I see that."

"Now, if you want tricky," Jamie adds, in what's meant to be an encouraging tone, "try making a joke when you don't know the language."

See? Nirupam's got it easy! It won't be so hard.

His eyebrows go up. A lot.

"I suppose I know enough English," he says doubtfully.

Jamie blinks.

"Well, you seem to understand me all right."

"Understanding is not the same as making jokes."

He spreads his hands. "And I do not think jokes from India will make them laugh."

"You never know." Jamie leans back, tilting his head. "Why don't you try one out on me? Go on - try and make me laugh."

He pauses, thoughtfully, and then grins.

"There was a Gujju boy who started school in England. One day his teacher asked the class, 'Who was the greatest man who ever lived?' One boy said" -- he puts on an over-the-top British accent -- "'The King, o' course' and the teacher shook her head. One boy said, 'Caesar, o' course,' and the teacher shook her head. The Gujju boy raised his hand" -- Nirupam demonstrates, and says in a piping, exaggerated version of his own accent -- "'Jesus Christ was the greatest man who ever lived.' 'Yes!' said the teacher. 'Here, have a candy.'"

He puts his hands in his pockets. "Then at break, another Indian boy in the Gujju boy's class asked him, 'Why did you say Jesus Christ?' And the Gujju boy, eating his candy, said, 'See, I know that it was Krishna, and you know it was Krishna -- but business is business!'"

It earns a snicker from Jamie!

"Well, sounds sensible to me."

He considers, and then adds, judiciously, "Bet it'd be funnier if I knew who Krishna was, too."

Nirupam sighs.

"Yes, I thought it might. He was a god -- Vishnu come to Earth. He had the entirety of creation in his mouth."

Beat.

"Would someone else work better?"