Title: 'The Whole Bloody Business'
Fandom: The Monkees
Author:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
but_can_i_be_trusted
Rating: G
Challenge: #38: Reverse Fandom: Psych ('High Noon-ish')
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Notes: Crossposted to![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
genprompt_bingo and whatif_au
Summary: I ain't the new schoolmarm.
Scene: An Old-West town. A breeze kicks up dust along the street, with the occasional tumbleweed bouncing around. Davy exits the saloon, just as Peter's about to enter. They bump into each other.
Davy: (deeply offended; doing his best to sound Western, which, given his strong Manchester accent, is both absurd and impossible) Hey! Watch where you're going, there, stranger!
Peter: I'm sorry; I didn't see you there.
Davy: (even more affronted) Because I'm so short?!
Peter: Of course not. The door was in the way. I wouldn't have been able to see anyone coming through those doors.
(Davy looks back at the doors, considering. sure enough, being solid wood, and rather tall, the saloon doors would easily hide anyone from view. he turns back to Peter, though, still looking irritated)
Davy: That may well be, stranger. But I don't cotton to no strangers banging around like they own the place.
Peter: (frowning, puzzled by the distinct discordance between Davy's speech and accent) Are you feeling alright? You sound a bit strange.
Davy: (increasingly offended) What d'ya mean, strange, you low-down varmint?!
Peter: (snapping his fingers in realization) I see! You're not from around here, are you? You keep calling me "stranger", but you're just as strange, so to speak, as I am.
Davy: That's the last straw! (he points toward the street) Get out there, and we'll have a showdown!
Peter: (aghast) A showdown? Aren't there any laws this far West?
Davy: (smugly grinning, and making a show of revealing a nice, gleaming badge) In this instance, the law's willing to make an exception.
Peter: You're the sheriff?
Davy: (trying hard to sound even more Western than before, which only serves to make him sound even more ridiculous than before) I ain't the new schoolmarm. Now, get ready. We're gonna have a showdown at high noon!
Peter: (horrified) No! We can't have a showdown at high noon!
Davy: (scornfully) Why not, stranger? You yellow?
Peter: Of course not. (he reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a severely broken pocket watch) My watch has stopped.
Davy: (dropping his would-be Western act) Oh. Well, in that case, let's forget the whole bloody business.
Fandom: The Monkees
Author:
but_can_i_be_trustedRating: G
Challenge: #38: Reverse Fandom: Psych ('High Noon-ish')
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Notes: Crossposted to
genprompt_bingo and whatif_auSummary: I ain't the new schoolmarm.
Scene: An Old-West town. A breeze kicks up dust along the street, with the occasional tumbleweed bouncing around. Davy exits the saloon, just as Peter's about to enter. They bump into each other.
Davy: (deeply offended; doing his best to sound Western, which, given his strong Manchester accent, is both absurd and impossible) Hey! Watch where you're going, there, stranger!
Peter: I'm sorry; I didn't see you there.
Davy: (even more affronted) Because I'm so short?!
Peter: Of course not. The door was in the way. I wouldn't have been able to see anyone coming through those doors.
(Davy looks back at the doors, considering. sure enough, being solid wood, and rather tall, the saloon doors would easily hide anyone from view. he turns back to Peter, though, still looking irritated)
Davy: That may well be, stranger. But I don't cotton to no strangers banging around like they own the place.
Peter: (frowning, puzzled by the distinct discordance between Davy's speech and accent) Are you feeling alright? You sound a bit strange.
Davy: (increasingly offended) What d'ya mean, strange, you low-down varmint?!
Peter: (snapping his fingers in realization) I see! You're not from around here, are you? You keep calling me "stranger", but you're just as strange, so to speak, as I am.
Davy: That's the last straw! (he points toward the street) Get out there, and we'll have a showdown!
Peter: (aghast) A showdown? Aren't there any laws this far West?
Davy: (smugly grinning, and making a show of revealing a nice, gleaming badge) In this instance, the law's willing to make an exception.
Peter: You're the sheriff?
Davy: (trying hard to sound even more Western than before, which only serves to make him sound even more ridiculous than before) I ain't the new schoolmarm. Now, get ready. We're gonna have a showdown at high noon!
Peter: (horrified) No! We can't have a showdown at high noon!
Davy: (scornfully) Why not, stranger? You yellow?
Peter: Of course not. (he reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a severely broken pocket watch) My watch has stopped.
Davy: (dropping his would-be Western act) Oh. Well, in that case, let's forget the whole bloody business.
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