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idiopath-fic-smile · 6 months

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i make no promises, like i genuinely don't have any real ideas for scenes after this one, but uh here is more Singin' in the Rain ot3, continuing from here. they're not even on the honeymoon boat yet! but for whatever it's worth, there are shenanigans.

Here was another thing Cosmo had failed to predict: Don was a nervous flier.

Cosmo had been up in the air a handful of times; Archibald owned a small personal craft that he flew sometimes on the weekends. And sure, it was cold and noisy and there was no denying that watching the ground disappear below you could give a guy a bad case of the stomach lurches, but it was a thrill all the same. An adventure, he thought, burrowing deeper into the very warm wool coat he’d had the presence of mind to bring. Don was generally up for an adventure; he’d once ridden a motorcycle full speed off a high canyon and fallen ten stories into the water below, for nothing but a day’s wages and an approving nod from the director.

The airplane offered comfortable seats and tables and fashionable cold salads served by very calm stewardesses, but from the moment of liftoff, Don sat there like a man waiting for the electric chair. Now he was clutching the armrests so tightly, the knuckles stood out sharp and white against his normally very appealing hands.

“We should have taken the train,” said Kathy.

“Nonsense,” Don gritted out. “I’m fine. This is all perfectly fine.”

Belted in on either side of him, Kathy and Cosmo exchanged a look. One of the benefits, thought Cosmo, to being the funny little friend and not the leading man was that you were allowed to admit when you were terrified, at least a little, at least if you could make it a joke.

“I’m so sorry, Don,” Kathy said. “I should have asked if you’ve been in one of these before. Even knowing we’re perfectly safe, a train would’ve been so much more comfortable.”

Don closed his eyes. “Really, Kathy,” he said, a little more sharply. “You don’t need to—” The plane dropped several feet, and he swallowed hard.

Cosmo considered the situation. The facts were these: Don Lockwood was too proud, and too enamored with his wife, to be willing to discuss such a weakness in front of her, and now if somebody didn’t act fast, the three of them were in for an awkward, unpleasant flight. Or rather, series of flights, since the plane was going to need to refuel a couple of times along the way.

There was nothing else for it; Cosmo would have to save the day.

He took in Don’s ashen complexion and Kathy’s guilty face, and then he said cheerfully,

“Y’know, Kathy, for what it’s worth, Don actually has been in one of these before.” When this failed to earn any real response from the man, Cosmo poked him in the cheek. “Haven’t you, Don?”

“What?” said Don distractedly, swatting the finger away. “No, I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have.”

Don’s tense brow creased for a moment in irritation. “I think I’d remember—” he started.

“It was for one of those early stunting gigs,” said Cosmo. “A little biplane. They gave you goggles and an aviator hat and a brown leather jacket—” The incident stuck in Cosmo’s mind mostly because Don had looked very good in that jacket, but there were half a dozen reasons nobody needed to know that, “—and then they had you crash the plane through a barn.”

“Through a barn?” Kathy repeated, disbelieving, because apparently the fan magazines didn’t tell you everything after all.

“Into, not through,” said Don. “I didn’t come out the other side.” His fingers had relaxed ever so slightly on the poor armrests. “And that doesn’t count, that contraption never got off the ground, I only had to—”

“Into a barn?” Kathy interjected. “Why?”

Cosmo stuck a mock-pensive pose. “The things we do for art. And five dollars. And I think the producers let him keep the jacket.”

They had; Cosmo had suffered that autumn.

“Well, what about common sense,” said Kathy, “and human rights, and basic safety?”

“I said he had goggles on, didn’t I?”

The truth was, back in those days, no matter how dangerous the feat, how seemingly impossible the stunt, Cosmo had never truly worried. It was Don, and Don could do anything. Except admit to his wife that he needed help, apparently.

“What about—about dignity,” she went on, and Cosmo snorted.

“I regret to inform you that Lady Dignity will not be making an appearance tonight.”

“Cosmo,” said Kathy, slowly, “Why in the world did you let Don do a thing like that?”

“Let?” Don and Cosmo said in unison, Don a little weakly but it was something.

“Don’t pin this on me, madam,” Cosmo added, “I am not my brother’s keeper.”

“Not my brother at all,” Don muttered, which stung a little, but Cosmo decided to let it slide in the face of how his plan was working.

“That’s hardly the worst thing we did for money,” Cosmo said instead. “Has Don told you much about our ignoble days on the road?”

Kathy shook her head, delighted. Don very discreetly kicked Cosmo in the shin. Things were looking up.

“So there we are,” said Cosmo, “performing in this tiny hamlet in Nebraska called, I kid you not, Oatmeal—”

“Oatmeal?” Kathy laughed.

Don had freed his fingers from the armrests entirely; he was now resting his entire face in his hands. He was no longer pallid as Nosferatu; in fact, he might have been blushing.

“It was Coyoteville,” Don volunteered without looking up.

“Pal, if you think I’d forget a place with a name like Oatmeal, Nebraska—”

“If you think I’d forget a place with a name like Coyoteville—”

“Coyoteville was in New Mexico!” said Cosmo. “Coyoteville was where we had to bunk with that ventriloquist, remember?” He watched as Don sat up and snuck a look at Kathy, who was clearly having a ball.

“The one who insisted his dummy got its own bed?” Don said with a slight smile.

“Don and me had to sleep on a twin mattress on the floor,” said Cosmo, “Curled up like a pair of puppies, if you can picture that—”

“I think so,” said Kathy, leaning forward, eyes bright, “only what happened in Oatmeal?”

“Wait, was Oatmeal where—” Don started.

“Yes! We’re about halfway through our routine, singing and hoofing our hearts out—fit as a fiddle and ready for love—when we look off to the side, at the next act waiting in the wings and we see—”

Don laughed. “You’re right, we were onstage when we realized it!”

“—at more or less the same time, I think—”

“Yes?” said Kathy.

“—the Amazing Dancing Daisy, the headliner following us—”

“Nobody had bothered to explain to us that she was a trained donkey,” Cosmo explained. “We were literally opening for an ass.”

“How was she?” Kathy managed, once she had more or less gotten her wild laughter under control. “The dancing, I mean?”

“Her footwork was a little sloppy,” said Don.

“Don’s just cross,” said Cosmo confidingly, “because she got much more applause than us.”

“They kept throwing her flowers!” said Don. “What was she meant to do with them? She didn’t even have hands!”

“So listen, Kathy.” Cosmo leaned way over Don to make eye contact with her. “The next time you two are having some sort of petty domestic squabble, if Don tries to act all high and mighty, just remember: I’m pretty sure your lawfully wedded husband is still, deep down, jealous of a donkey.”

Don grabbed Cosmo’s shoulder and flashed him a mock-scowl. “Why, when we get back on solid land…”

“I’m not afraid of you, villain,” said Cosmo, “not with your lady love here.” He stretched out an arm to Kathy. “You’ll protect me, won’t you?”

“Of course, good sir,” said Kathy, genteelly taking his hand and it was a joke, it was ridiculous, it was all completely harmless because Cosmo was hardly a threat to their marriage, and so Cosmo ducked his head and fluttered his lashes at her, and cooed,

“How shall I ever repay you?”

And then, without breaking eye contact, Kathy brought his hand to her mouth and kissed it, just a quick, warm, press of lips, entirely chaste but somehow something different, and Cosmo darted a nervous glance at up Don—he was practically in Don’s lap at this point, to better reach out to Don’s wife—because threat or not, there had to be some kind of line Cosmo was crossing. But Don was just watching them, with parted lips and slightly glazed eyes, as if it was not at all upsetting to see his girl and his best friend doing…whatever it was they were doing, and this moment was rapidly sliding away from any point of reference Cosmo might’ve had.

Normally, Cosmo liked other people’s eyes on him. That was half the reason anyone was in showbiz, wasn’t it? Nobody might’ve looked at him twice in the street but with the right props and a couple of dance moves, he could be somebody for the length of a number or two, spread a little joy and get a lot of it back. So it wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy Don looking at him and Kathy like that. It was just—it was too much, too close to something he might’ve dreamed up alone in his bed at night. He hadn’t, but that was mostly because he’d lacked the imagination.

Cosmo freed himself, twisted back upright, and coughed. “On second thought,” he said. “I think the ventriloquist was in Dead Man’s Fang, in Arizona? Coyoteville was where that strongman threw up inside Don’s fiddle.”

“How did he manage to—” Kathy sounded sincerely perplexed. She’d left a coral pink lip print on the back of Cosmo’s hand. He tugged his coat sleeves down to his fingertips.

“Sheer determination,” said Cosmo.

#to be clear all of the tiny town names they reference i got from pausing on the signs that flash up briefly in the movie #i WISH i was enough of an artist to invent the town of Oatmeal Nebraska #singin in the rain ot3

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onyxbird · 9 months

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Saw a mention of "Thief juice: it's a mouth crime" in the Leverage tag and it sparked a glorious thought:

Brewpub menu using con names

A fair number of them look like straight-forward descriptions, nothing notable except perhaps the unusual inclusion of "the" before all of them, e.g., The Cuban Sandwich, The Cherry Pie, and The Apple Pie (most customers don't understand why the apple pie crust vents/decorations sometimes resemble life preservers, but it certainly doesn't occur to them to connect it to the very literal name).

Things turn significantly more confusing for most patrons with other menu items. Customers familiar enough with con-artist lingo recognize some of the established con names enough to figure out the naming theme, and some of them can guess at associations between some of the food and their namesake cons, but for the most part it's a mystery.

"The Fiddle Game" is Eliot's chili, at Parker's insistence. Hardison was initially a little concerned, since the "fiddle" is supposed to be an overvalued item that is actually essentially worthless, and, Parker, maybe we shouldn't be applying that to any of Eliot's food? But after Eliot gruffly cut him off and tried to pretend he wasn't a little choked up about it, Hardison decided not to stand in the way of Parker insights. (And he supposed she had technically named the chili after the con, not the fiddle itself, and the con was solid. A classic.)

No one on staff quite understands the private joke between the owners and head chef about using horsemeat in "The Lost Heir" burger--they all know it's actually bison.

And, finally, one of the most baffling to their clientele is also one of Eliot's few suggestions of non-literal con names for food, and an ongoing good-natured argument between Eliot and Hardison: Splitting a sandwich between two people with sides of soup or salad is "The Vegas Wake-Up Call." (It's like the Cuban Sandwich, but "the boyfriend shows up").

(BTW, for anyone else needing to reference Leverage con names, @glen-reeder compiled a list.)

#i just think this is one of the few menu naming themes that parker and hardison could talk eliot into.#he attempted to make the opsec argument about not publicly highlighting their con-artist knowledge #but he is not immune to the fun of matching con names to food (or to how excited the other two are about the game).#leverage #bridgeport brewpub #leverage ot3

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