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Scottish Fic for entrenous88s' Birthday!

Happy Birthday, Jess!! Oh, how I adore you. I have sat in a pub and discussed life, living, and whatnot with you, and did my level best to not crawl into your lap and play with your magnificent hair. I'm so proud to call you friend. I come bearing gifts of fic, while lame, is heartfelt and meant to put a smile on your face. And, um, finish my assignment for your Scottish Ficathon. I heart you, Jess!

Author: Stoney321
Title: What I Did On My Summer Vacation, By Andrew Wells, [Part 2 of 2] written for entrenous88's Scottish Ficathon
Rating: General
Pairing: Nothing sexual, Andrew, Jonathan, Sean Connery, assorted Scotsmen
Summary: While in Mehico - on the lam from Evil!Willow - Andrew regales Jonathan with ribald tales of his adventures abroad the summer after graduation to prove that Timothy Dalton was the best James Bond. Warning: burros. Also: Every possible Sci-Fi geek fanboy reference I could think of is crammed in here. JOY!
Disclaimer: I make no money from writing this stuff, which on one hand, bothers me. Because who doesn't want extra money? On the other, it's fanfiction, and possibly not very good, so I have the satisfaction of being paid what I'm worth. I've also been free-basing fish-tranquilizers and someone should call me an ambulance. Thanks to shuckit_trebek for loaning me "Connery Shpeak."

Part One, if you missed it. AND YOU MISSED A LOT.


What I Did On My Summer Vacation, By Andrew Wells - PART TWO.


"Well, Andrew, I know you didn't ask, because I can clearly see that you would prefer to talk about Star Wars and the sort of breakfast that fuels the genius of George Lucas, but I was able to learn the dances in Moulin Rouge within a matter of weeks. And I don't think there's anything wrong with little boys who took formal dancing so their aunties would have a dance partner at family gatherings. In fact, I think it's quite manly."

"Thank you, Mr. McGregor. I am quite manly, and if I may, can certainly cut a rug with the foxtrot. But let's get back to that breakfast of champions you mentioned for Mr. Lucas..."

"Now shee here, ladsh. I don't mind shitting around in a pub, dishcusshing how to make movesh on the ladiesh so you can get them to show you their boobiesh, but I don't have all day to talk about danshing and food. I've got a caber tossh to get to."

Andrew was disappointed. He still hadn't been able to get Sir Connery to admit that Spike- er, Timothy Dalton was the coolest Bond ever. And he would. Oh, yes. He would.

"Sir Sean? Is this a private caber toss, or can anyone join in?"


Jonathon broke in, shifting against the burro to get more comfortable, meaning, further away from the biting end, "What's a caber toss?"

Andrew slumped his shoulders forward and smirked, "They're like, huge tree trunks with all the branches and sticks wacked off. You grab one end and throw it."

"Sounds like a good way to get splinters, to me."

"That's just what I said!"


Andrew eyed the stack of cabers the men were standing around. "Looks like a good way to get splinters, to me."

Sir Connery laughed and clapped Andrew hard on the shoulder. Andrew staggered forward, wincing, and mouthed, "Ow! Ow!" when no one was looking.

Sean and Ewan wandered over to the kilted men - yes, they dress like that ALL THE TIME. All of them. Every man in Scotland wears a kilt every day. And Andrew still didn't get why everyone laughed when he asked what they wore under them, he just laughed along with them because he hated not being in on a joke. And apparently he kept saying the same joke over and over again. But that was not the point.

The point was that a bunch of strong men who didn't look like Willie the Groundskeeper - not a lot of redheads in Scotland, evidently - were standing about a bunch of tree trunks. And picking them up. And running and yelling and throwing them. Apparently this wasn't a joke like the whole "what's under your kilt" thing. Which Andrew still didn't ge-




"Did you know they don't wear anything under their kilts?"

Jonathan started choking on his pretend swig of tequila. Interesting that neither of the two acknowledged that the level of alcohol never dropped in their tequila bottle, and it was the only bottle of alcohol they had been "drinking" for three days now.

"H-how did you know that?"

Andrew waved his hand slowly in front of Jonathan's face, "You do not need to know that information at this time."

"You are not a Jedi Master, Andrew, for the millionth time."

"I could be. I learned all of the Master's tricks. Ewan is really cool. He said that singing and dancing are manly and-"

"Enough with the Broadway Baby routine. I told you I didn't care that you liked Cats, okay? I mean, it's kind of fun? To imagine a bunch of cats the size of people? And they-"

Andrew looked at Jonathan like he had grown another head. "Um, liking Obi-Wan when he sings about his heart breaking and knowing that he will become one of the greatest Jedi masters the universe has ever known is not the same as you putting on your mother's wig and singing along with your Grease soundtrack."

Jonathan carefully set the tequila bottle down in the crook of the burro's knee - do they have knees? The leg-bendy part, at any rate - and launched himself at Andrew, thumbs carefully tucked inside his fists so he wouldn't accidentally catch it and bend it backwards too far, because that really hurt. He slapped his fists in Andrew's direction with a gasping, "uhn, uhn" noise while Andrew threw his arms up to block his face and let out a high, keening noise, kicking his foot somewhere in the direction of the whirling dervish of dark-haired elfin malice, a.k.a, Jonathan.

"You used to sing that with me! You used to beg to play Rizzo! You swore you'd never-"

"Kinickie! I wanted to be Kinickie! And you're missing the best part! SPICE! Jonathan, they have SPICE!"

Jonathan leaned back and whispered reverentially, "The worms are spice. The spice IS the worm." His voice changed to that of wistfullness, "Kyle MacLachlan looked really cool in the skin suit. Muab'Dib. Now, what the aitch? They have spice?"

Andrew nodded, adjusted his serape, and looked off into the Mehican night sky.

"They call it... Haggis."


Andrew stood with his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest, leg bouncing and a look of uncertainty on his face. "What if I, you know, throw it and hit someone in the eye? It's all fun and games until someone throws a caber in someone else's... eye."

Ewan laughed, grabbed one end of his caber, and hoisted it to his shoulder with ease. But he was a Jedi, so sure it was easy for him. He was probably using a mind trick to float it and-

Ewan was speaking. "You haven't eaten anything, have you? Go have a bit of a nosh, then you'll be ready." Ewan gave a few running steps while the kilted men - some with jaunty caps and white feathers on their heads, there may have even been a few bagpipers in the mix, Andrew couldn't be sure because he was focused on Ewan's throw - began to yell. They were getting louder and louder as Ewan sped up, then their voices rose in a crescendo as the large trunk was tossed, the noise ending with a loud, "whoa!" as the caber crashed and thumped to the ground.

Andrew nodded briskly a few times, marched back to the table that someone had thoughtfully brought out to the field, and really, the tablecloth was a lovely touch, and ooh! Little finger sandwiches! Andrew hoped they didn't have nuts in them - he was allergic to them and broke out in hives. And sometimes if the crusts weren't cut off, he sometimes choked. Dried bread was hard on his delicate system, which was why his mom always cut the crusts off and there was something that looked like a donkey's peni-

"Oh, man."

Sir Connery stepped up behind him and clapped him hard on the shoulder again. Andrew was beginning to think about suing him for damages.

"That'sh haggish, laddie. Few bites of that in your wame, and you'll finally feel like a man. 'Bout time you had that feeling, eh, shon?"

Andrew gave a weak laugh and a small conciliatory smile, then had a flash of intuition. "Sir? I'll eat that on one condition."

"What'sh that, shon?"

"You admit that Timothy Dalton was the closest to Ian Flemming's ideal of a superspy, and you were only about the girls and gadgets, and I'll eat your... haggis."

Sean looked at the boy while chewing the inside of his cheek. "You want me to shay that I got the ladiesh and the gear. That I alwaysh got the ladiesh, and Dalton only did the shpying, ish that it?"

Andrew heaved a sigh of relief. "Yes. That is exactly what I want you to admit."

"Shon, lishten. I appreciate that you are a young tyke, and you grew up after the age of Free Love. But believe me, my Bond is the besht. The mosht remembered. There have been pollsh taken, and the fellash love me, not to mention all the ladiesh." Sean flashed his sparkling grin and ruffled Andrew's hair. "But if all you need to hear is that Dalton did all the work, and I got all the pushy, then fine. There you go. Now eat the damned haggish."

A few of the kilted men - one of them had a broadsword, Andrew was sure of it - had finished their plates of haggis. Their eyes glowed with blue intensity.


Andrew took a deep breath, and ate a bite. He quickly looked around for something to wash the taste down with. It was like that time his Nana had pulled out a grey piece of mystery meat from the freezer and tried to tell him and his cousin that the ice crystals protected the meat from spoiling, then boiled it and told them to just put a lot of ketchup on it, because she was not going to eat Captain Crunch cereal for dinner, and she was on a budget anyway, and would he just eat it and then call his mother to come get him.

One of the Scotsmen - a Laird? He was wearing a linen blouse with ruffles, which accentuated the strong muscles in his chest somehow - handed him a tankard and told him to drink, then another Scotsman - okay, this one kind of looked like Robert Duval in Braveheart with a wild beard and he had an arrow broken off and stuck in his chest and he wasn't even flinching-


"What was in the glass, Andrew?" Jonathan's face shifted from irritation to amusement. "You didn't drink it, did you?"

"Shut up, Wee Willy Wonka and the Interrupting Factory. I'm trying to give my tale some atmosphere."

"Pffft. Okay, Rachel."


So the second guy clapped Andrew on his back, which forced the drink down his throat, thank you very much, and it burned like acid. And tasted like an old shoe soaked in dirty water that skunks had bathed in.

"The finest ale in Scotland!"

So that's what beer tasted like.

Andrew, filled with haggis (Spice) and ale (skunk juice), was finally ready to toss the caber. Was finally fortified enough to be able to do it. Oh, god, he didn't want to do it.

"Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope..." he whispered.

And there he was. Obi-Wan guiding Andrew's hands to the caber, Obi-Wan explaining quietly how to use his legs and back, or... just try and hold it steady then shift forward so it wouldn't fall on Andrew's feet. Obi-Wan with his soothing Jedi voice and strong Jedi hands, teeming with midi-chlorians-

Andrew took a calming breath, imagined he was on Degoba, pictured Jonathan as Artoo chirping encouragingly, smiled, nodded, and lifted. Nothing moved. Imagined doing a handstand, then quickly got sick to his stomach, because being upside down bothered his inner-ear condition, which kept him from playing sports and he had NOTES, thank you, excusing him from gym, then found his inner strength from the haggis (Spice), and lifted the end again. And again, nothing moved.

"Okay, then, um, I tried and all, so thanks but-"

"There is no try. Do or do not."

"Tchuh. You said that backwards, Ewan. It goes, 'Do or do n-' "

"Andrew, pick up the bloody thing and let's be done with it, aye? Oh, um, 'Size matters not.' That help you any?"

Andrew smiled and nodded. "It does. Truly you are a Jedi Knight." He looked at the trunk he was attempting to pick up, eyes slitted with fierce concentration, and lifted the end. Three men rushed forward and helped lift the heavy pole onto his shoulder. Andrew coughed, the wind knocked out of him briefly, then took several steps forward, pushed with his shoulder and blacked out.

When he woke up, he was a little disappointed that he wasn't in a water chamber with a re-breather, but then he realized that he would then be expected to kiss his sister and that was gross. What he did wake up to was a bunch of men looking down at him with distast-, um, with concern. Sir Sean Connery stepped forward, pulled him up to standing, and spoke.

"That was the biggesht peash of girly throwing I've ever sheen."


"Um, girls are really strong in Scotland, so that was a compliment."

Jonathan leaned back against the burro, closed his eyes and smiled. "Yeah. Sure it is."

"Whatever. You don't even know. You've never been further than twelve blocks from your house."

Jonathan tapped the side of his head, "I've been further up here. And they totally called you a girl."

"They did not! And besides, you didn't meet a Jedi and a James Bond. And let's not forget that he admitted to being only about the girls and ess ee ex and that Timothy Dalton was the greatest Bond that ever was."

"Because he's a liar. And an idiot."

"Did you just call Connery an-"


"Yeah, in stupid crazy land, maybe. A land filled with SHORT, dumb, weenie-"

"Timothy Dalton is a chin-dimpled FREAK!"

A loud eeeeHAAAAW and a stiff bite on the thigh from the burrow shut them both up quickly. Evidently it was time to get some sleep.

"Scoot over. You're hogging all the burro."

Jonathan scooted towards the back end - it may smell more, but he would be further from the teeth - and made room for Andrew. They settled in, heads against the burro's sides, and drifted off towards sleep.


"Yeah, Jonathan?"

"Is beer really skunky?"

Andrew sighed the sigh of the hard-lived. "Yes, Little One. It is the very essence of skunk."

Later, when Jonathan heard the nasal wheen that indicated Andrew was asleep, he stuck his pinkie in the tequila bottle and tasted it. A few convulsions later, he corked the bottle, made a face, and sighed. Being a Mehican was going to be hard.

The End


( 39 comments — Leave a comment )
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<<[1] [2] >>
Apr. 3rd, 2006 09:39 am (UTC)

Sean got all the "pushy." Oh lord. Wonderful.
Apr. 3rd, 2006 10:12 am (UTC)
Sean getsh ALL the pushy. Pushy Galore, for inshtansh. heeeee!
... - spuffyduds - Apr. 3rd, 2006 01:14 pm (UTC) - Expand
Apr. 3rd, 2006 09:49 am (UTC)
By the braided chesht hair of me great uncle Jim, that wash a gahrrrreat shtory! (Though you may very well have focushed more on thish fine pieshe of shpeshiman than that cheeky arshe bandit. TIMOTHY DALTON WALKSH AROUND GIRL'SH KNICKERSH.)

I did like how you ekshentuated my manly shtrength and dazshling white teeth. And Shtar Warsh truly ish the greatesht mashterpieshe of the twentieth shentury (right after my own Jamesh Bond and Highlander moviesh, out in Vee Aich Esh and Dee Vee Dee). "That was the biggesht peash of girly throwing I've ever sheen." OHOHOHO!


I'd let you tosh my caber anytime of the day, shweetheart. *winksh!*

Now if you'll ekshcushe me, I have to go tosh shome more shkunksh into Aleksh'sh backyard.
Apr. 3rd, 2006 10:12 am (UTC)
Mr. Connery, sir, you are as dashing as you are intelligent.

And I have seen photos of you in swim trunks from your early years, sir, and you. Are. Magnificent.
(Deleted comment)
Apr. 3rd, 2006 11:29 am (UTC)
Ha! Now, you know that the Dune references were for you, yes? Who's my number one sf fangirl? WHO'S MY NUMBER ONE SF FANGIRL??

*hugs you*
Apr. 3rd, 2006 05:24 pm (UTC)
*snorts tea up nose*
falls off chair
This is just priceless. Nerds united in fantasy!
So reccing this fic to my flist. Thanks for the laugh.
Apr. 3rd, 2006 05:41 pm (UTC)
Hoooray! I've needed to finish this fic for almost two months, so I'm glad it didn't fall through the cracks of Badville.

Apr. 3rd, 2006 05:52 pm (UTC)
"The worms are spice. The spice IS the worm."


"They call it... Haggis."

*falls off chair*

Oh, I love the way you write these two. The voices are dead-on perfect--even Sean Connery's. You are the bestest Bond ever!
Apr. 3rd, 2006 05:54 pm (UTC)
HEEEEEE! Oh, how I love "Dune." I need to re-read that series - I don't think I've touched it sine I was 11 or 12.

YAY for laughing!! (And for the record, I'm shamelessly ripping off the Sean Connery in our RPG, shuckit_trebek with the writer's permission. She's HILARIOUS.

And thanks, Lynne!
Apr. 3rd, 2006 07:30 pm (UTC)
perfect, perfect, perfect. Loved Sir Connery's voice (he is a manly fellow, I have to admit), Andrew and Jonathan were dead on and you even worked in haggis! One of the only foods on the planet that I will not eat.
Apr. 3rd, 2006 07:41 pm (UTC)
Yay! Glad you thought I hit the voices. Truth be told, I ADORE writing/reading Andrew fic, so I'm so glad you liked it.

HAGGIS. My philosophy is to try things twice, just to be sure.

I don't think I want to try it twice, though. *shudders* And dude, I'll eat ANYTHING.
... - a2zmom - Apr. 3rd, 2006 08:00 pm (UTC) - Expand
Apr. 3rd, 2006 09:55 pm (UTC)
Apr. 4th, 2006 09:01 am (UTC)
But how will your pants fit now that your ass is gone???

(Heee! Thanks!)
Apr. 4th, 2006 08:53 am (UTC)
OMGOMGOMG...a Dune reference! I almost shit my pants, thanking my lucky stars that I was wearing my Depends(TM), then realized I didn't have to...!

This is a funny fic...I promise, I laughed out loud, disturbing the entire house and pissing off the neighbors...Haggis as Spice...caber tossing and girly throws...and all the pushy you could ever want...ROFLMAO!

Pimp away--you deserve to...and write more mehican adventures...
Apr. 4th, 2006 09:00 am (UTC)
Wheee!! Ha - DUNE. If I only took the time to work in some Red Dwarf...

Glad you laughed! Glad you liked - hooray! *sends you a package of Oops, I Crapped My Pants*
... - dedra - Apr. 4th, 2006 09:39 am (UTC) - Expand
Apr. 4th, 2006 09:16 am (UTC)

Aw, honey. That was so awesome. Down to the little pitiful details of Andrew and Jonathan. HEE!
Apr. 4th, 2006 11:45 am (UTC)

Wheee, nerds! (thanks, Susi.)
... - beadattitude - Apr. 4th, 2006 11:50 am (UTC) - Expand
Apr. 4th, 2006 09:27 am (UTC)
Heeee! I LOFF! Splinters and burros and Andrew doing the biggest peesh of girly throwing of the caber ever! Thank you so much! Next time there will be hair playing and braiding and Mehican Tequila!
Apr. 4th, 2006 11:46 am (UTC)
Are you talking like Connery now? It gets in your head and DOESN'T LEAVE. Hahaha! Pushy Galore. Now, shee here, shimon shays shing a shong.

I am bringing tequila to WriterCon. It will happen JULY.
Apr. 4th, 2006 11:03 am (UTC)
Heeee! Oh my God. This is destined to be a classic.
Apr. 4th, 2006 11:47 am (UTC)
*fights SOOOO hard to not talk like Vader and say "it is your desssssssstiny"*
*because that will reveal the TRUE inner geek*

Heee! Glad you liked it and thanks for telling me! *wriggles with joy*
(Deleted comment)
Apr. 4th, 2006 12:30 pm (UTC)

*holds your world steady so you can get off safely, hands you a cookie* THANK YOU! *smoooooch*
Apr. 4th, 2006 12:30 pm (UTC)
Oh god. Andrew is the best character ever. Who needs a Mary Sue when you have him in canon?
Awesome fic.
Apr. 4th, 2006 12:31 pm (UTC)
I LOVE ANDREW. Love him. And Jonathan, too. hee!

Thanks so much!
Apr. 4th, 2006 04:56 pm (UTC)
AWESOME!!! I just read both parts and laughed and laughed. Then I calmed down, so I could laugh some more!!!!

You write Andrew and Jonathan so well! As well Connery and Ewan are written marvelously! (Oh god, could I use any more exclamations?)

This is one of the many parts that had me in hysterics:
Andrew waved his hand slowly in front of Jonathan's face, "You do not need to know that information at this time."

"You are not a Jedi Master, Andrew, for the millionth time."
Apr. 4th, 2006 05:04 pm (UTC)
HOORAY!! Oh, I'm glad you thought the voices were one, yayness. i love love love writing Andrew, and Jonathan, too.

*high fives you, passes out cookies*
(Deleted comment)
Apr. 6th, 2006 01:03 pm (UTC)
<-- there should be more of this in your diet!
Sue drinkers! *snorts*

Hooray for liking the funny!!! *joy*
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( 39 comments — Leave a comment )


Are You Actually

Reading this? I'm just curious. Because that's really detail-oriented of you. Feel free to stop reading. But you can see that there's more here, so are you going to keep reading? Really? That's pretty dedicated. I'm impressed. No, really. I'm not being sarcastic, why do you get like that? See, this is the problem I have with your mother - yes. YES. I'm going there. It's time we put all of our cards on the table.

I love you, why are you doing this? After all we've been through? You don't have to be like this. You know, still reading. You could be baking a pie. And then sharing it with me.

Time Wot It Is

April 2017
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