(Oh, dear, I am probably being very bothersome in endlessly continuing this. I just really like writing it.)
Richard drummed his fingers against the car door, desperately praying that Slow would hurry the bloody hell up for once, and trying to ignore the fact that the boy with the round glasses and not at all stylishly messy hair seemed to have noticed them despite their attempts to hide away from the villagepeople. He nudged his friend, a red-haired boy who had been kissing a frizzy-haired girl with an intelligent-looking face, and pointed at the car. Yes, they had been spotted. Richard attempted to hide.
Jeremy glanced over at him. "You don't have to do that, Hammond, I doubt anyone can see you over the steering wheel anyway."
Richard glared at him. "We've been spotted!"
"Oh. That's not good, is it?"
"Well, no, Jeremy, somehow I think it isn't. Duck, all of you!"
All four of them crouched down, hoping the trio of teenagers wouldn't spot them. It was at this point that they heard a knock at the window.
"Jeremy, under no circumstances are you to act like a teenage girl again. Got that?"
Jeremy forced a giggle and tossed his hair. "But, like, oh my God, I'm so - "
Richard held up his hand. "The end of that sentence is; 'dead if I act like a teenage girl again'. Very dead."
Jeremy pouted. "I don't know why all of you fail to appreciate my acting talent. I'm much better at acting than half the people at the Oscars."
The knock became more insistent.
"If you say 'like' at any point during the police interview, you're never driving a car again," Richard warned him. He peered upwards from his awkward vantage point, and there was James May, looking rather bemused.
Richard shot up and opened the car door. "Well, if it isn't Even-Slower-Than-Usual!" he snapped. "Honestly, you'd think you might consider going faster than thirty miles an hour when we're in this state."
James looked at him, unperturbed. "I didn't want to smash any of the breakables by hurling my car around corners at ridiculous speeds." Noticing Harriet, he extended a hand across the driver's seat. "Hello," he said pleasantly, "it's very nice to meet you in person."
Harriet shook his hand. "Er, it's very nice to meet you too," she said, smiling awkwardly.
May grinned at Clarkson. "And how exactly do you feel, Jeremy?"
Another slow and evil smile spread across his face. Richard, noticing this, grabbed James' arm and dragged him back to the car. "Ignore him, his hormones are playing up."
May looked at him curiously. "You mean he's..."
Richard cut him off. "No, ugh, no, May, what is wrong with your brain? Honestly, Clarkson... ugh, no, I... oh, thank you, May, for putting that in my head, I'm sure the nightmares will be bloody lovely."
May shrugged. "Well, you said hormones, so..."
"We are not talking about this any more!"
Clarkson appeared behind him. "Talking about what, exactly, Hammond?"
"About... about who's going to carry this box. It's going to be you." Richard grabbed the box from the pile in May's boot and shoved it into Jeremy's arms.
"You don't seem to want me and May to talk," said Jeremy pleasantly. "Is there any reason for that?"
"Boxes, Jeremy, boxes of food to unpack," said Hammond nervously. "I'm starving, anyone else? Oh, Harriet, you must be very hungry with Clarkson's stomach; he usually eats about nine times a day, ha-ha, here, have a... well, don't have that, that's a can of petrol, er... have a loaf of bread. You too, Clarkson, go and eat together." Richard shoved Jeremy to send him on his way.
He smiled broadly at May. "I'm, er, sure they have...body-swapping things to talk about, so we'll just sit here and have, ah...custard creams! They'll do nicely." Hammond tore open the packet. His grin was fast becoming maniacal.
no subject
Yet again, I am stupidly pleased.
(Oh, dear, I am probably being very bothersome in endlessly continuing this. I just really like writing it.)
Richard drummed his fingers against the car door, desperately praying that Slow would hurry the bloody hell up for once, and trying to ignore the fact that the boy with the round glasses and not at all stylishly messy hair seemed to have noticed them despite their attempts to hide away from the villagepeople. He nudged his friend, a red-haired boy who had been kissing a frizzy-haired girl with an intelligent-looking face, and pointed at the car. Yes, they had been spotted. Richard attempted to hide.
Jeremy glanced over at him. "You don't have to do that, Hammond, I doubt anyone can see you over the steering wheel anyway."
Richard glared at him. "We've been spotted!"
"Oh. That's not good, is it?"
"Well, no, Jeremy, somehow I think it isn't. Duck, all of you!"
All four of them crouched down, hoping the trio of teenagers wouldn't spot them. It was at this point that they heard a knock at the window.
"Jeremy, under no circumstances are you to act like a teenage girl again. Got that?"
Jeremy forced a giggle and tossed his hair. "But, like, oh my God, I'm so - "
Richard held up his hand. "The end of that sentence is; 'dead if I act like a teenage girl again'. Very dead."
Jeremy pouted. "I don't know why all of you fail to appreciate my acting talent. I'm much better at acting than half the people at the Oscars."
The knock became more insistent.
"If you say 'like' at any point during the police interview, you're never driving a car again," Richard warned him. He peered upwards from his awkward vantage point, and there was James May, looking rather bemused.
Richard shot up and opened the car door. "Well, if it isn't Even-Slower-Than-Usual!" he snapped. "Honestly, you'd think you might consider going faster than thirty miles an hour when we're in this state."
James looked at him, unperturbed. "I didn't want to smash any of the breakables by hurling my car around corners at ridiculous speeds." Noticing Harriet, he extended a hand across the driver's seat. "Hello," he said pleasantly, "it's very nice to meet you in person."
Harriet shook his hand. "Er, it's very nice to meet you too," she said, smiling awkwardly.
May grinned at Clarkson. "And how exactly do you feel, Jeremy?"
Another slow and evil smile spread across his face. Richard, noticing this, grabbed James' arm and dragged him back to the car. "Ignore him, his hormones are playing up."
May looked at him curiously. "You mean he's..."
Richard cut him off. "No, ugh, no, May, what is wrong with your brain? Honestly, Clarkson... ugh, no, I... oh, thank you, May, for putting that in my head, I'm sure the nightmares will be bloody lovely."
May shrugged. "Well, you said hormones, so..."
"We are not talking about this any more!"
Clarkson appeared behind him. "Talking about what, exactly, Hammond?"
"About... about who's going to carry this box. It's going to be you." Richard grabbed the box from the pile in May's boot and shoved it into Jeremy's arms.
"You don't seem to want me and May to talk," said Jeremy pleasantly. "Is there any reason for that?"
"Boxes, Jeremy, boxes of food to unpack," said Hammond nervously. "I'm starving, anyone else? Oh, Harriet, you must be very hungry with Clarkson's stomach; he usually eats about nine times a day, ha-ha, here, have a... well, don't have that, that's a can of petrol, er... have a loaf of bread. You too, Clarkson, go and eat together." Richard shoved Jeremy to send him on his way.
He smiled broadly at May. "I'm, er, sure they have...body-swapping things to talk about, so we'll just sit here and have, ah...custard creams! They'll do nicely." Hammond tore open the packet. His grin was fast becoming maniacal.