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themed party - challenge #67: memorable quotes

“But…”

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It was towards the end of the night shift Richie would usually show up.

Most times it was a nice distraction.

Sometimes he'd even bring stuff. Tea, usually, but sometimes it was Tramp, or memories. Stories. Questions. Richie was always a little bit mixed up, and I can't imagine that would have ever changed about him. Not even after death I mean I hadn't changed too much, either. Not really.

Night shifts at the garage were prone to get boring, so Richie was welcome. It reminded me of the days where we both had a pulse, for starters. When mechanics were a little less technological and more about elbow grease and jamming things into place rather than reprogramming systems, fixing indicators or air conditioning. Not that I have anything against indicators. It just. Reminded me of simpler times.

Or maybe that’s just nostalgia getting the better of me. It tends to. Things probably weren’t simpler, they just seem it, now. Then again, back when I was alive I didn’t have the slightest concern about Russian politics or shady characters from America—well, that last part isn’t that true. Mr. Robinson was about as shady as it got.

“Do you remember Daisy?” Richie was busying himself by inspecting a bunch of new tools, mostly electric. One started and caused him to flicker, dropping it in surprise and watching as it jittered on the floor.

“How could I not?” I chuckled, picking up the drill and turning it off before handing it back to Richie. “Jesus, Rich, you think I’d forget her?”

“Nah, I mean—Just. You ‘adn’t mentioned ‘er, so…”

“You thought I’d forgotten? As if that were possible. Think about her as much as I thought about you.”

Richie went quiet for a bit. I was busy focusing on the coolant supply on the old station wagon that was bought in that day, so I couldn’t see why. Assumed Richie got interested in the drill again and thought of how good a job Graham had done on the engine. Honestly, I couldn’t pin any reason as to how I could have survived without them.

“Why’d you ask?”

“Hm?”

“Why’d you ask? About Daisy.” I repeated, a little louder, so Richie could hear me through the hood.

“Just wonderin’ where she’d be right now.”

“Dead, probably.”

I don’t know how I managed to say it without flinching. It came out far quicker than anyone could have anticipated, and it even surprised me, a little bit. I sounded so matter-of-fact about it. I didn’t know why.

Perhaps I had gotten so used to the fact that I wasn’t living in that age of London any more. I didn’t have any ties. Richie was dead, as was my mother. The underground has developed and was now thriving with electricity. There was a congestion charge for traffic. It cost an unthinkable amount of money to even live in a shoebox.

I had lived there for so long, but now, it didn’t feel like home. Not anymore. Funny, how only two years could do that.

“…I was gonna marry ‘er, one day.”

I couldn’t tell if Richie intended for that to sting, but it did. Maybe it was a way to get me back for shrugging off her mortality so easily. He was. I remember the engagement ring, and how Daisy bragged about how Richie’d lifted it so aptly off of some fat cow who refused to even look at the kids who hung around and begged outside the pub during the day. I remember how surprised I was at the news. I remember being asked to be best man, I remember asking about how Richie’s parents felt about it. I remember kissing him that night.

I bit my tongue and stopped myself from asking if Richie really ever would’ve married her, had he not died.

“She was very pretty.”

“You fancied the ‘ell out’uv ‘er.” I grinned.

“We all fancied the hell out’uv each other.”

The garage then went silent. I tried to fill it with my work, but it was practically done. Suddenly it was all very tense, and I didn’t want to emerge from the engine just yet.

“…Would you ‘ave married ‘er? If you ‘adn’t died?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged, slowly peering up out over the hood at a slightly-transparent Richie. “Maybe. Probably.”

“You wouldn’t stop flirtin’ wif ‘er that night.” He’d gone from jokey to stonily intimidating, and I wondered how close ghosts were to their Hollywood depictions. I wondered if Richie ever felt any guilt over anything, these days, if he was just trapped in some separate form of existence where he wasn’t quite human any more. I wondered if Richie ever felt guilt when he was alive.

“I was angry at you.”

“For dyin’?”

“For leaving.” Of course Richie felt guilt. He felt it every damn day when he looked at me. Stupid, Jamie. “…And so was she.”

“She liked you more than she liked me.”

“Come off it, Richie.” I closed the hood of the car impatiently, taking the cloth from off my shoulder and wringing it between my hands as went to chuck it in the toolbox I went about putting away.

“You looked like you already were married.”

“And that made you mad?” I sighed, standing up, aggravated and without the tolerance to get into another argument. It had been a long enough night without Richie getting jealous over Daisy.

“Mad enough to start the fight that killed you, yeah.”

We stared at each other for about five seconds before dissolving into soft chuckles, laughing at ourselves. It got to the point where our own deaths had become so normal for us that we could laugh about it. Perhaps it was because we knew we escaped. We were those arrogant, foolhardy boys pretending to be professional workers again. Escaped the arm of the law, and now Death. I mean, immortality was about as self-righteous as it got. A big Fuck You to Mr. Robinson.

“It wasn’t your fault.” I breathed, giggles still lining my face. Richie shook his head, beaming slyly.

“Prob’ly not.” I could tell he still thought it was, though.

“I heard she never married, you know.”

“Really?” Richie had replaced himself on the other side of the garage now, perched on top of some shelves, legs swinging.

“Yeah. Checked up on the pub in the 40’s, just before I got shipped off. After Harriet…” My voice trailed off and I shook off the ache that began to dully poke with a wave of my hand. Richie didn’t even know who Harriet was. He frowned. “Nevermind. Anyway, some girl was running it with her adopted mother. I think she found herself a lover.”

“Y’know, I’m not surprised.” The knowing smile reappeared and I was surprised Richie didn’t roll his eyes.

“We were all pretty odd, those days.”

“Isn’ odd t’ear that she stuck t’the same crowds.”

“I was happy for her.” I shrugged again, looking for the drill Richie had two seconds ago.

“I’m ‘appy for her.” He pointed to the 1970’s Ford in the corner, drill by its back left tyre. “…I do miss ‘er sometimes, though.”

“Do you think you’ll ever move on from her?” I looked back to him. He was focusing intently on something on the ground. Couldn’t tell what it was. Or where. Didn’t really bother, to be honest.

“Don’t fink so. Doesn’t seem like my type’uv thing.”

“Marriage?”

“Moving on.” He says, finally looking at me, gesturing to his ghostly self. I smiled. He didn’t. I went back to busying myself with the tools, putting them into the box in perfect order for the boys come the morning shift.

“What got you thinking about Daisy, then?” I asked, deciding to change the subject.

“Marriage. Rumour ‘as it you’re ‘earin’ weddin’ bells.”

“Really?” I smirked, lifting the box off the ground and raising my brows in faux innocence, making my way to the shelves that Richie then vanished from. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Where didn’t I hear it, more like.” I heard him say from where he had settled against the station wagon from before. I would’ve shooed him off my most recent work, usually, but my mind was someplace else.

“Is it that obvious?”

“It’s all over your ruddy face.” Richie grinned. Richie had an old smile. Perhaps not a compliment, but all these lines come out in his face when he smiles. Looks like less of a sulky bugger when he does. “I’m ‘appy for you mate, I really am.”

“…Do you think he’ll say yes?” I asked, a little more sheepish, this time. Quinn was hard to predict, sometimes. I didn’t even know why I was asking Richie, considering they didn’t seem to get on at the best of times, but. Seemed to make sense at the time.

“He’d be mad not to.” Something was off in the lines of his features, but I didn’t pick up on it. Already a whole reel of questions were ticking off inside my mind, prompted by the sudden mention of my plans. Had I really been that obvious? Did Quinn know? If Quinn knew, why hadn’t he said anything?

Was I being too hasty? Like I always bloody was?

Clearly the stress was showing on my face, because next thing I knew, Richie was clasping my arm and trying hard to catch my eye.

“Trust me. ‘e’ll say yes.” Things slowed down after that.

“...Cheers.”

“For what?” He let go of my arm and took a small step back.

“Just for. Being a decent mate, I guess. Talking.”

His expression softened, and he shrugged.

“…Friends talk, Jamie. Always up for that.”

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14.09.22

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14.10.13

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Francisco Lachowski na We Heart It.

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you're very precious 2 me

-A- Why, thank you kindly.

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Is there something in the shop that is basically your baby and you would never let anyone touch it ever, unless they were super duper special?

...There's Toni, my Jag. > >

No one is allowed even near her. Apart from Quinton. Considering he bought her.

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The holidays are almost heeeeeere

I'm sO EXCITEd -notices he's yelling a little, and beams sheepishly at the anon.-

And my birthday. Double whammy, that.

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Have you and Elisa ever stolen a car?

... > > I am at no obligation to tell you that.

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Do playful arguments over how to say or pronounce things ever arise between the Americans and Non-Americans in your coven? I almost typed convent.

Oh, yeah. All the time. Sometimes they're not even playful.

Quinn and I once got into the heated debate of how to pronounce "scone". We can't even bloody eat them. 

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.

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Fave ways to bond with each of the fledglings, go!

UM—UH

UH

pUB nGIhts??? WITH ALL OF THEM

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How are you, tho?

Good, good. Been sorting out some stuff in my head, that's all. Plans for the future and stuff. Business is good, though! Miserable weather means more people are using their cars...

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Secondly, when planning to con the dowager empress out of her money, don't sing about it in the middle of the street.

Noted. -chuckles.- No musical moments for me any time soon.

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Is this a person or a cream puff?