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Entry tags:
ignorance will carry me through the last days
Title: ignorance will carry me through the last days
Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs
Character(s): Steinbeck, Fitzgerald, Hawthorne, Poe, Twain, Lovecraft
Pairing(s): None
Genre: Humor
Word Count: 715
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Dick talk
Summary: Fitzgerald gets incredibly drunk and asks the men of the Guild to help him with a problem no one else wants to deal with.
Notes: So remember that part in A Moveable Feast where Hemingway talks about having reassured Fitzgerald about his dick size? This is loosely based on that.
These things Steinbeck knows about Fitzgerald: he has a decent alcohol tolerance, he has a good idea of his own limits, and he has never been seen out-and-out drunk before, at least among the members of the Guild. If Fitzgerald ever gets staggeringly drunk, Steinbeck will only assume that he intended to end up that way.
Fitzgerald is not yet staggering when Steinbeck walks into his office, but there’s a certain flush to his face and wobbliness to his motions that suggests he’s had far too much even if the fully empty wine bottle on the floor and the half-empty one on his desk weren’t clues. He slurs his words just a little as he says to the room’s other occupant, “Hawthorne, old sport-”
“Fitzgerald, I am a man of God,” Hawthorne says, his tone clipped. “I do not want to talk to you about your... buttonhole worker, and neither do I want to see it. Good day.”
With that he exits the room, brushing past Steinbeck on the way out.
“What was that about?” Steinbeck asks, immediately regretting giving voice to the thought as Fitzgerald’s gaze fixes on him.
“Steinbeck, my friend, my companion in adversity,” Fitzgerald begins, swishing his drink, “you’ll help me with a little problem I have, won’t you?”
“That depends on what it is,” Steinbeck says, carefully.
“Wonderful!” Fitzgerald goes on as if he’d agreed. “I was speaking with my dear Zelda…”
Any conversation with his wife that led to him getting shitfaced drunk has to be an awkward one to hear about. Steinbeck prepares for the worst.
“...and she told me I’d never satisfy a woman, because I’m not properly equipped,” Fitzgerald says, and takes another swig of alcohol.
Correction: he prepared for almost the worst. Steinbeck chokes, and quickly tries to collect himself. “Uh… Sorry to hear that, but how am I supposed to help here?”
“As a man I’m in good confidence with, whose input I trust,” Fitzgerald says, and Steinbeck has to stifle a laugh, “if you could confirm for me that it’s a reasonable size and shape-”
“I don’t want to.” Steinbeck crosses his arms. “I’m going now.”
“Wait!” says Fitzgerald, desperately. “I’ll… I’ll pay you!”
“Some things you can’t put a price on,” says Steinbeck, heading for the door. “Dignity’s one of them.”
He nearly bumps into Poe on the way out, who peeks around him and asks, “Is he drunk?”
“He just tried to pay me to look at his dick,” says Steinbeck.
“Oh. That’s way past drunk.” Poe pauses. “Shouldn’t we do something?”
Steinbeck steps aside. “Be my guest.”
“Poe, old sport-” Fitzgerald starts.
“I don’t want to see your penis either,” Poe says with a sigh. “You should really go to bed, Fitzgerald.”
Fitzgerald shakes his head and starts pouring himself another glass of wine. “How could I possibly get a minute of rest with this troubling me?”
“You’re going to start throwing up if you keep drinking.”
“I will do as I please.”
“Go to bed.”
“No.”
“What are you guys arguing about?” asks Twain, sticking his head in the doorway.
“Fitzgerald’s drunk since his wife insulted his dick and now he wants to show it to us so we can fix his ego,” Steinbeck says.
“My ego is perfectly intact,” Fitzgerald says, raising his voice. “I own everyone and everything in here, I can have you all ruined in an instant-”
“You should just drag him to bed by force,” says Twain, entering the room. “He can’t spend that much money to overpower his own colleagues.”
“Of course I can,” says Fitzgerald, reaching for a stack of bills. “The two of you are hardly worth a hundred dollars together.”
After a short tussle with Poe and Twain on one side and Fitzgerald on the other, and neither making much progress…
“What are you all making so much noise over?”
Everyone in the room looks at Lovecraft, now standing in the doorway. A silence passes over them as he tilts his head to one side, blank confusion apparent on his face.
Fitzgerald says, “Actually, I think I’ll go to bed.”
(Steinbeck eventually hears that Melville indulged Fitzgerald and told him it was a completely reasonable size, and the whole incident was soon forgotten, or at least not mentioned out loud.)
Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs
Character(s): Steinbeck, Fitzgerald, Hawthorne, Poe, Twain, Lovecraft
Pairing(s): None
Genre: Humor
Word Count: 715
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Dick talk
Summary: Fitzgerald gets incredibly drunk and asks the men of the Guild to help him with a problem no one else wants to deal with.
Notes: So remember that part in A Moveable Feast where Hemingway talks about having reassured Fitzgerald about his dick size? This is loosely based on that.
These things Steinbeck knows about Fitzgerald: he has a decent alcohol tolerance, he has a good idea of his own limits, and he has never been seen out-and-out drunk before, at least among the members of the Guild. If Fitzgerald ever gets staggeringly drunk, Steinbeck will only assume that he intended to end up that way.
Fitzgerald is not yet staggering when Steinbeck walks into his office, but there’s a certain flush to his face and wobbliness to his motions that suggests he’s had far too much even if the fully empty wine bottle on the floor and the half-empty one on his desk weren’t clues. He slurs his words just a little as he says to the room’s other occupant, “Hawthorne, old sport-”
“Fitzgerald, I am a man of God,” Hawthorne says, his tone clipped. “I do not want to talk to you about your... buttonhole worker, and neither do I want to see it. Good day.”
With that he exits the room, brushing past Steinbeck on the way out.
“What was that about?” Steinbeck asks, immediately regretting giving voice to the thought as Fitzgerald’s gaze fixes on him.
“Steinbeck, my friend, my companion in adversity,” Fitzgerald begins, swishing his drink, “you’ll help me with a little problem I have, won’t you?”
“That depends on what it is,” Steinbeck says, carefully.
“Wonderful!” Fitzgerald goes on as if he’d agreed. “I was speaking with my dear Zelda…”
Any conversation with his wife that led to him getting shitfaced drunk has to be an awkward one to hear about. Steinbeck prepares for the worst.
“...and she told me I’d never satisfy a woman, because I’m not properly equipped,” Fitzgerald says, and takes another swig of alcohol.
Correction: he prepared for almost the worst. Steinbeck chokes, and quickly tries to collect himself. “Uh… Sorry to hear that, but how am I supposed to help here?”
“As a man I’m in good confidence with, whose input I trust,” Fitzgerald says, and Steinbeck has to stifle a laugh, “if you could confirm for me that it’s a reasonable size and shape-”
“I don’t want to.” Steinbeck crosses his arms. “I’m going now.”
“Wait!” says Fitzgerald, desperately. “I’ll… I’ll pay you!”
“Some things you can’t put a price on,” says Steinbeck, heading for the door. “Dignity’s one of them.”
He nearly bumps into Poe on the way out, who peeks around him and asks, “Is he drunk?”
“He just tried to pay me to look at his dick,” says Steinbeck.
“Oh. That’s way past drunk.” Poe pauses. “Shouldn’t we do something?”
Steinbeck steps aside. “Be my guest.”
“Poe, old sport-” Fitzgerald starts.
“I don’t want to see your penis either,” Poe says with a sigh. “You should really go to bed, Fitzgerald.”
Fitzgerald shakes his head and starts pouring himself another glass of wine. “How could I possibly get a minute of rest with this troubling me?”
“You’re going to start throwing up if you keep drinking.”
“I will do as I please.”
“Go to bed.”
“No.”
“What are you guys arguing about?” asks Twain, sticking his head in the doorway.
“Fitzgerald’s drunk since his wife insulted his dick and now he wants to show it to us so we can fix his ego,” Steinbeck says.
“My ego is perfectly intact,” Fitzgerald says, raising his voice. “I own everyone and everything in here, I can have you all ruined in an instant-”
“You should just drag him to bed by force,” says Twain, entering the room. “He can’t spend that much money to overpower his own colleagues.”
“Of course I can,” says Fitzgerald, reaching for a stack of bills. “The two of you are hardly worth a hundred dollars together.”
After a short tussle with Poe and Twain on one side and Fitzgerald on the other, and neither making much progress…
“What are you all making so much noise over?”
Everyone in the room looks at Lovecraft, now standing in the doorway. A silence passes over them as he tilts his head to one side, blank confusion apparent on his face.
Fitzgerald says, “Actually, I think I’ll go to bed.”
(Steinbeck eventually hears that Melville indulged Fitzgerald and told him it was a completely reasonable size, and the whole incident was soon forgotten, or at least not mentioned out loud.)