milliways_bar | (no subject)

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wilford warfstache

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The door opens, and the two people who walk through pause for a fraction when they realise where the door opened to, but this is just as good as where they were going.

"You're at least getting a tree. You have to," Nichola says.

"And invite that creep into my house? That's how you get vampires," Wilford says.

"It's basically the law. You have to."

They head over to the fire, both sitting down on the sofa and invading each other's space. Wilford leans against him and puts his feet up on the table.

"No way. I heard he's a drunk anyway," he says.

"And you're not?" Nichola asks. She pulls out her phone, remembering too late that it doesn't work here.

"I don't get wasted and break into people's houses all night."

This argument may go on for a while.

[two pups, one mun.]

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"You heard the man, let him Bah Humbug in peace." Bernard says, after glowering over his book at the argument for several minutes.

"You're not allowed to Bah Humbug when you have kids," Nichola points out. "It's a rule."

Wilford shakes his head. "What does that have to do with anything?" he asks. "We never did any of that shit when I was growing up."

And he's not doing it now.

"Rubbish." Bernard informs Nichola. "What if he was Jewish or something, would you expect him to then? No."

He offers Wilford the wine.

"Who's this, your girlfriend?"

"I feel like that would have come up by now," Nichola says. "Unless there's something you're not telling me."

The wine is offered to Wilford, but Nichola takes it instead.

"God, no," she says at the question.

Wilford looks offended for about three seconds before he gives up on the act. "Rude," he says.

Bernard's assumption is not exactly an unreasonable one, given how Wilford is leaning against Nichola.

"I don't think I'm good enough for her," he says.

"Ah. You're a Fran." Bernard does allow her to have wine, but then takes it back.

"I didn't know you had a kid."

"A Fran?" Nichola asks, handing it back. "What's that?" She looks over at Wilford, hoping he might have an answer.

Wilford shrugs and shakes his head. He has no idea either.

"Little boy," he says, pulling out his cigarettes. After lighting up, he offers the pack to Nichola, and then to Bernard. "This one thinks she's some kind of expert on how things should and shouldn't be done."

"Well, I for one think children should be banned from Christmas. Running around getting in the way while the adults are trying to drink in peace."

This may not be Bernard's first bottle of wine of the evening. He accepts a cigarette.

"Why don't you let Fran here take him to some expensive fluffy precious memories wank and come and join me and Manny and Fran getting off our faces?"

Wilford holds a smug hand out toward Bernard. "See, he gets it. There's no reason for me to fuck up my carpets by dragging a damn tree inside."

Nichola smacks him in the arm. "You're both horrible," she says. "You can't just shove him off onto someone else on Christmas."

She's becoming less and less sure just how insincere Wilford is being about this whole thing.

"I wouldn't allow a tree in my shop. I'm not picking up all the bits." Bernard agrees. "Manny's got a plastic one which he can shove up his arse for all I care."

He takes a drag of the cigarette.

"Kids don't want to spend quality time playing Monopoly and shit. They want to play with all their new toys and eat a ton of chocolate. He can do that with you just as easily as he can with Wilford."

"Exactly. Who needs that mess?" Wilford asks. "The dogs would take one look at it and piss all over the place. The kid would knock it down. Why bother?"

There's a tiny voice in the back of his head, warning him that he might be crossing a line there's no coming back from.

"It's his first Christmas with you," Nichola says. She can't believe that this has turned into an argument. "This stuff's special. You can't just ignore it."

She's about to smack both of them.

"If he's only one, he's not even going to notice." Bernard says.

"He's three," Nichola says flatly. "But I'd bet money that it is his first Christmas anyway."

She shakes her head, glaring at Wilford. "You are the worst when you get together with your friends. And you're not helping." The last sentence is said to Bernard, as Nichola point accusingly at him.

"It's just going to be any other day for him," Wilford says.

He leans away at the accusation though. He feels like he's about to get hit again. Or stabbed.

"Well if it's his first Christmas, he's got no expectations has he?" Bernard says.

He pours more wine for himself and Wilford. "And I'm not here to help. If you two choose to have your domestic in public I get to take a side."

"If you're not here to help, then you don't get a say," Nichola says.

She turns back to Wilford. "And you need to get your head out of your ass."

Apparently this has turned into a proper argument somehow. Wilford really might wind up getting stabbed.

"All I said was I'm not getting a tree. The rest is on him!"

"Who are you again?" Bernard asks Nichola. "What do you want?"

"Who are you?" Nichola demands. "I don't recall inviting you into this conversation in the first place."

So many nosy people everywhere.

Nichola has flown straight past the point of screwing around, and is clearly starting to get genuinely angry.

"Hey. Leave him alone," Wilford says, handing Nichola his glass of wine. "He's just being funny. He doesn't mean anything."

He'd rather not get stabbed today because someone else took a joke too far, thanks.

"I am Bernard Black, I was sitting here, enjoying a nice civilised bottle of wine and a fag, and you interrupted me screeching at my friend here." Bernard says.

He turns to Wilford. "Hey, hey, Willy, let's go play snooker until Fran stops nagging us. I mean, it's only fourth of December for fuck's sake, you have plenty of time to decide if you want to be Santa, and if you do you're gonna have to shave off the pink because it's really, really obvious."

Nichola takes the wine, but she doesn't drink it. It might wind up being thrown before too long, though.

"What in the fuck is 'Fran'?" she asks.

She was having a perfectly good day before these two idiots ganged up on her.

Wilford finds himself a bit conflicted. He's not sure how he wound up mediating... whatever this is, but he doesn't like it. Also, Bernard's not making much sense at all.

"Willy?" he asks, suddenly on Nichola's side. "Excuse you, what?"

What a horrible name. How dare anybody call him that.

"It wasn't me. I know when I've passed wind." Bernard says to Wilford, finishing his wine glass.

"I still don't know who you are." he points at Nichola. "Or what you've got against trees. You know, every time you chop one down, the planet gets two degrees warmer? And then you have to do yoga, and eat kale, and all sorts of wank."

Could this guy be any more annoying? Probably not, because he seems like he's trying awfully hard.

"Get a life," Nichola says, splashing the wine at Bernard and slamming the glass down. She doesn't stick around after that, and gives Wilford a good shove on her way toward the door.

"Nick," Wilford says.

It's too late. She's throwing her wine. Wilford can't get out of her way quickly enough, which means he's going to be on her shitlist for a while now.

"What the fuck?" he asks Bernard.

Not that he sticks around to get an answer. He needs to make sure she doesn't take this out on him for the next year.

"Yes, take your unresolved sexual tension somewhere else!" Bernard yells after them. "Christmas decorations should be banned before the twentieth anyway, they encourage singing, it's antisocial, and fairy lights, you know, your dog could chew on them and BANG, he's electrocuted, and then what will the poor little boy make of that, huh? So... so you don't come crying to me when your tree is a crispy mess of death and disappointment and he knows you're not Santa because you didn't shave!"

Bastards!

He goes to the bar and demands a new bottle of wine, and a replacement shirt, which he requests to be put on Fran Whateverhernameis' tab.

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