Archive of Our Own ^beta

There were worse places to be briefly stranded than a Greek isle in high summer, Quincey mused.  They had run aground on Lesbos in the late afternoon.  Tomorrow they would have to look into a patch job to get seaworthy again, but in the meantime were enjoying the hospitality of the Sapphic Isle and licking their wounds over a bottle of Ouzo, thick and black and medicinal tasting. 

"You good there buddy?  Askin' Lady Love to put in a good word?"

He emptied his glass with a shudder and gave him a baleful look like a half-drowned kitten or perhaps an especially philosophical cow.  "Do you think anyone will ever love us?"

"What do you mean by that Jack Seward?  Everyone loves us. Watch this - " he beckoned one of the girls from the bar over and tipped his hat theatrically, putting on his widest drawl.  "D'you think you could fix to bring us another'un, darlin?"  He pointed at the bottle of Ouzo and then held up a single finger, and gave her a winning grin.  She smiled back and said something pleasantly incomprehensible.  "See," he turned back to his companions, "you just gotta speak the right language."

"You don't speak the language," Art pointed out.

Quincey's grinned widened.  "Well ya got me there."  

Jack meanwhile was still attempting to turn into a puddle, his long limbs spilling haphazardly over the furniture.  "It's hopeless...."

Art raised his empty glass.  "To Hopelesh," he said seriously, and drained it.  Then he frowned.  "Who's Lopehesh?  I dunno her..."

"Smee," Jack said, as the waitress returned with the new bottle, and Art tipped her handsomely.  "I'm the Holpesst."

"No you're Jack, I know that one."  Art poured for the three of them with a surprisingly steady hand.  Perks of good breeding, Quincey supposed.

"To girls then," he said, raising the new toast.  "Alright here's the game.  Any girl in the world, madly in love with you - who's your pick?"  

Jack stared into the swirling black sludge of his drink.  "Helen..." he said.

Art valiantly attempted to raise a single eyebrow, gave up, and let them both climb his forehead.  "Ellen Terry?  The actress?"

Jack scowled at him.  "No - Helen.  THE Helen.  Is this the face that launched a thousand ships and burned the topless towers of Illium Helen."

"I thinkg that was Ellen Terry agshully..." 

Quincey leered theatrically.  "Oh, topless Helen. You shoulda said."  Jack turned bright red and next to him Art started giggling uncontrollably into his Ouzo.  "Maybe we oughtta set sail for Hisarlik and Schliemann's Troy next.  That is" he eyed Art significantly, "if the Honorable Member won't run us aground this time."

"That was one -" he stared at his fingers, counting "- three times.  Anyway don wanna deads girl.  I wanna girl that's soft an pink an pretty..."

"Blonde, brunette, or redhead?"

Art sighed dreamily.  "Oh I don't think that matters.  But she should have a nice smile, an kind eyes, anna sweet voice.  And she likes animals and music and tennis an lemon tarts an - "

"Lemon tarts?" Jack had sat up slightly, interested.

"They don't have to be lemon..."

"And can she ride, this hypothetical girl of yours?" Quincey asked.

Art opened his mouth then shut it again and squared his shoulders.  "If she can't, I shall teach her."

"Can she sail?"

"Oh thassa good idea... we can go out inna boat an pack a pinknic an feed the duckgs an -"

Quincey winked at Jack.  "And can she swim?"  Jack snorted.

It rolled off of Art like one of his 'duckgs' and he started blushing furiously.  "I don know if we're ready to be in bathing dresses yet..." 

"Afraid she won't like the rest of your curls?"

There was a choking sound from Jack and Art's blush deepened.  "No she likes those too..." he said conspiratorially. 

"Whaddabout you?" Jack said suddenly.  "If you could have anybody who would it be?"

"Hmmm..." He pretended to think about it. "I also pick Art's girl.  She sounds pretty great."

"Oh she is," Art said earnestly.  "But if she likes you better thassokay.  I juss wanner to be habby..."  He raised his glass.  "To Quinny an..." he stopped, brown furrowed in confusion.

"And the girl you made up in your head," Quincey prompted.

"Oh.  Yeah!"

"Thad's ridiculous," Jack said.

"Yeahhhh, but if you don't tell him I won't."

"Clearly she's picking Art."

Now it was Quincey's turn to raise an eyebrow.  "Is that so?"

"Obviously.  Imagine - imagine you're a woman -"

"I'm a woman.  Okay..."

"I am a maiden cold and stately," Art began to sing.

"And you had to pick a - a man -"

"Any man in the whole world?"

"Any man in the whole world - "

"Is there still Ouzo involved?"

Art picked up the bottle and scrutinized it.  "Yeh," he said, and refilled their glasses.

Jack ignored him.  "- then obviously you're picking Art."

"Oh I am?"  Quincey looked between the two of them.  "And why is that?"

"Cuz of I'm cute," Art pronounced, and giggled again.

"That is so," Jack agreed.  "Those pre-rafaelite curls, those flashing eyes, that sensitive nostril.  That godlike physique and and and stalwart manhood.  A truly prodigious specimen -"

"No you," the prodigious specimen interrupted.

"- as well as being a gentleman, heir to a Lordship, and the rest."

"Hold up, are we marrying him for his good looks or for his money?"

"For my boyish charm," he demonstrated.

Jack had become quite flushed.  "Well I mean I mean we're not marrying him," he stammered.  "Just if, you know, in the hypothetical case, for the sake of argument, speaking objectively, if, as one says -"

Quincey took mercy on him.  "You're just saying, if you had to pick a guy, you'd pick Art here."

"Anyone would.  Thad's what I am sayink."

"I pick Quinny," Art said.

"Anyone besides you."

Quincey took another swig.  "Well you two fine gentlemen make a compelling argument.  I suppose I shall also have to choose Art."  He grinned.  "Even if he did wreck the boat."

"Huzzah!  I love you both too..."

"See that?" he told Jack.  "Art loves us, and he's practically Adonis.  Nothing to worry about."  He tipped back his drink.  "Alright, next game.  If you could be any type of cheese..."