Superstitious
Dec. 7th, 2012 03:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
arch_calzenFandom: Cabin Pressure
Character(s), Pairing(s): Arthur, Douglas, Martin, bit of Carolyn
Rating: K
Genre: Humour
Word count: 1047
Summary: Arthur discovers the aviation superstition that there will be money if a Steward spills drinks on board
A/N: I deviated a bit from the original prompt (it also included "For a while after that, no drink aboard Gerti is safe", which I kind of failed), but the OP was satisfied nevertheless, so I guess the fail was not as huge as I feared it would be.
“Arthur, what in the love of God are you doing?”
Arthur looked up from where he was crouching over a slowly expanding wet spot on the aisle carpet and beamed.
“Oh hi, Douglas! I’m getting us money, that’s all,” he gestured to the spot with an opened carton of pineapple juice. The First Officer didn’t manage to suppress a wince as a fresh stream of juice splattered over the carpet and one of the unfortunate seats.
“I see,” he drawled. “Does Carolyn, by any chance- Oh never mind, that was a stupid question. I’ll be in the cabin.”
Douglas wrinkled his nose at the mess (of course, Gerti did have her flaws like things coming off when they were clearly not supposed to, but that didn’t mean she deserved being showered with juice) and retreated. They were going to Boston today (the man chuckled at the memory of their previous flight there. ‘Yo-Yo Airways, really’), and a trans-Atlantic epic piece of boredom lying ahead wasn’t leaving any room for contemplating Arthur’s antics.
And yet, Douglas couldn’t help wondering if the flight was going to turn out not as boring as it was originally going to be.
* * *
“Beaver Dam,” Douglas replied immediately.
“Damn, how do you manage to come up with those so quickly!” Martin moaned, not really questioning. It took him seven whole minutes with that Swanville thing, and he wasn’t even honest-to-God sure it actually existed. “Umm… Bumble Bee?”
The older man snorted. “’Bumble Bee’, Martin? Seriously? Alright then… Fishkill.”
Martin groaned with frustration and stared fixedly ahead, trying to think of something else. That was the moment Arthur chose to appear.
“Your coffee, chaps! Black-no-sugar for Douglas and one-sugar-with-milk for you, Skip. Ah, wait!” he yelled suddenly just as the two pilots extended their arms without looking to take the cups. Martin glanced at Douglas questioningly before squirming in his seat to look at Arthur, who took a cautious step back and away from the other two and tipped the cups carefully.
“Well, now there you go!” he chirped, thrusting the cups to a dumbfounded Captain and a carefully blank First Officer.
Martin gazed down at the cup, then back at two steaming stains, then at the Steward. “Arthur…” he started carefully.
“Yes, Skip?”
“What was that?”
“Um. Coffee?”
“No, I ask you, what on Earth was that?” the man’s voice jumped up an octave with bewilderment.
“Oh well, I don’t really know how to answer that one, because, you see, we’re up in the air now, not down on the earth,” Arthur replied with a half-smile.
“Oh please,” Martin moaned. He could see Douglas smirking at them in the corner of his eye, as if that was a particularly hilarious show. “Why did you spill our coffee?”
“Oh, that!” Arthur grinned. “Well, you chaps must surely know there’s a superstition about spilled drinks, right?”
“A- a superstition?” Martin stuttered. Another thing they did not need here on Gerti was any kind of superstitions. Starting with the broken mirror in the loo.
“And so you spill drinks because it will bring us money?” Douglas enquired.
“Exactly!” Arthur did a small excited jump. “Brilliant, Douglas! Did you know that one?”
“No, just a wild guess… Though you gave me a tiny hint back then with the pineapple juice bit.”
Martin covered his face, rubbing on nosebridge with his thumb and pointer. It was incredibly difficult to be the reasonable one sometimes.
“So,” he started, sliding his hand down to grab his chin. “Do you expect us to… aid you in this financial operation of the century?”
“Nope,” Arthur replied. “It only counts if Stewards do that. And since I’m the Steward, I’m doing this. And you guys, well, you are pilots. So you continue do that… pilot-y thing… And I’ll do the spilling!
“Oh God,” Martin sighed. “Does Carolyn know?”
“Mum? No, she doesn’t. Though I’m sure she’ll be excited to know I’m helping!”
“I’m sure she will,” Douglas quipped. “Just… could you please try not to spill anything else in the cabin? We could do without those colorful stains in here, just so that you-“
“Moscow,” Martin suddenly interrupted him.
Douglas stared at the Captain. “I’m sorry, Sir?”
“Moscow,” the man repeated and turned to look at him. “You know. Mos-Cow.”
“Aaaaah,” the First Officer said carefully as his eyebrows disappeared at the hairline. Good Lord, sometimes it felt like he was trapped in some kind of mental nightmare.
Arthur looked between them for a moment before announcing something dangerously along the lines of “alright, more stuff to spill now, see you” and escaping. The two pilots groaned.
* * *
Martin chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully after they landed, then glanced at the man seated next to him.
“Douglas. Do you think it is safe for us to venture out of the cabin?”
Douglas imagined the insides of poor Gerti by now and suppressed a shudder. “I most sincerely hope we will not be washed down by the epic mix of liquids Arthur managed to pour.”
“Hope dies last?”
“Since I honestly doubt we will be able to survive in the wilds out there, well, in our case, it definitely does.”
* * *
(three days later)
“Gentlemen. I have a question,” Carolyn announced as she entered the cabin.
“Too bad,” Douglas mouthed to Martin. Questions from Carolyn were rarely good.
“Could be dangerous,” The Captain mouthed back, nodding. Together, they twisted it their respective seats to look up at Carolyn. She was holding a plastic pink baby cup, looking it over with confused interest.
“So I decide to have a nice cup of coffee, and then I open the cupboard, and what do I see there instead of our usual mugs? This!” she waved the cup to emphasize her point. “Why would you need non-spill baby cups? Of course, you are imbeciles, so that might be understandable, and yet?”
The two men shared a small grin. Buying a plenty of those cups and replacing the ones they had on the plane was totally worth the clean carpets devoid of various stains. Even if Arthur didn’t get the hint, he was absolutely fascinated with the (“Brilliant!”) multi-colored cups to leave the idea of the superstition alone for the time being.
Character(s), Pairing(s): Arthur, Douglas, Martin, bit of Carolyn
Rating: K
Genre: Humour
Word count: 1047
Summary: Arthur discovers the aviation superstition that there will be money if a Steward spills drinks on board
A/N: I deviated a bit from the original prompt (it also included "For a while after that, no drink aboard Gerti is safe", which I kind of failed), but the OP was satisfied nevertheless, so I guess the fail was not as huge as I feared it would be.
“Arthur, what in the love of God are you doing?”
Arthur looked up from where he was crouching over a slowly expanding wet spot on the aisle carpet and beamed.
“Oh hi, Douglas! I’m getting us money, that’s all,” he gestured to the spot with an opened carton of pineapple juice. The First Officer didn’t manage to suppress a wince as a fresh stream of juice splattered over the carpet and one of the unfortunate seats.
“I see,” he drawled. “Does Carolyn, by any chance- Oh never mind, that was a stupid question. I’ll be in the cabin.”
Douglas wrinkled his nose at the mess (of course, Gerti did have her flaws like things coming off when they were clearly not supposed to, but that didn’t mean she deserved being showered with juice) and retreated. They were going to Boston today (the man chuckled at the memory of their previous flight there. ‘Yo-Yo Airways, really’), and a trans-Atlantic epic piece of boredom lying ahead wasn’t leaving any room for contemplating Arthur’s antics.
And yet, Douglas couldn’t help wondering if the flight was going to turn out not as boring as it was originally going to be.
* * *
“Beaver Dam,” Douglas replied immediately.
“Damn, how do you manage to come up with those so quickly!” Martin moaned, not really questioning. It took him seven whole minutes with that Swanville thing, and he wasn’t even honest-to-God sure it actually existed. “Umm… Bumble Bee?”
The older man snorted. “’Bumble Bee’, Martin? Seriously? Alright then… Fishkill.”
Martin groaned with frustration and stared fixedly ahead, trying to think of something else. That was the moment Arthur chose to appear.
“Your coffee, chaps! Black-no-sugar for Douglas and one-sugar-with-milk for you, Skip. Ah, wait!” he yelled suddenly just as the two pilots extended their arms without looking to take the cups. Martin glanced at Douglas questioningly before squirming in his seat to look at Arthur, who took a cautious step back and away from the other two and tipped the cups carefully.
“Well, now there you go!” he chirped, thrusting the cups to a dumbfounded Captain and a carefully blank First Officer.
Martin gazed down at the cup, then back at two steaming stains, then at the Steward. “Arthur…” he started carefully.
“Yes, Skip?”
“What was that?”
“Um. Coffee?”
“No, I ask you, what on Earth was that?” the man’s voice jumped up an octave with bewilderment.
“Oh well, I don’t really know how to answer that one, because, you see, we’re up in the air now, not down on the earth,” Arthur replied with a half-smile.
“Oh please,” Martin moaned. He could see Douglas smirking at them in the corner of his eye, as if that was a particularly hilarious show. “Why did you spill our coffee?”
“Oh, that!” Arthur grinned. “Well, you chaps must surely know there’s a superstition about spilled drinks, right?”
“A- a superstition?” Martin stuttered. Another thing they did not need here on Gerti was any kind of superstitions. Starting with the broken mirror in the loo.
“And so you spill drinks because it will bring us money?” Douglas enquired.
“Exactly!” Arthur did a small excited jump. “Brilliant, Douglas! Did you know that one?”
“No, just a wild guess… Though you gave me a tiny hint back then with the pineapple juice bit.”
Martin covered his face, rubbing on nosebridge with his thumb and pointer. It was incredibly difficult to be the reasonable one sometimes.
“So,” he started, sliding his hand down to grab his chin. “Do you expect us to… aid you in this financial operation of the century?”
“Nope,” Arthur replied. “It only counts if Stewards do that. And since I’m the Steward, I’m doing this. And you guys, well, you are pilots. So you continue do that… pilot-y thing… And I’ll do the spilling!
“Oh God,” Martin sighed. “Does Carolyn know?”
“Mum? No, she doesn’t. Though I’m sure she’ll be excited to know I’m helping!”
“I’m sure she will,” Douglas quipped. “Just… could you please try not to spill anything else in the cabin? We could do without those colorful stains in here, just so that you-“
“Moscow,” Martin suddenly interrupted him.
Douglas stared at the Captain. “I’m sorry, Sir?”
“Moscow,” the man repeated and turned to look at him. “You know. Mos-Cow.”
“Aaaaah,” the First Officer said carefully as his eyebrows disappeared at the hairline. Good Lord, sometimes it felt like he was trapped in some kind of mental nightmare.
Arthur looked between them for a moment before announcing something dangerously along the lines of “alright, more stuff to spill now, see you” and escaping. The two pilots groaned.
* * *
Martin chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully after they landed, then glanced at the man seated next to him.
“Douglas. Do you think it is safe for us to venture out of the cabin?”
Douglas imagined the insides of poor Gerti by now and suppressed a shudder. “I most sincerely hope we will not be washed down by the epic mix of liquids Arthur managed to pour.”
“Hope dies last?”
“Since I honestly doubt we will be able to survive in the wilds out there, well, in our case, it definitely does.”
* * *
(three days later)
“Gentlemen. I have a question,” Carolyn announced as she entered the cabin.
“Too bad,” Douglas mouthed to Martin. Questions from Carolyn were rarely good.
“Could be dangerous,” The Captain mouthed back, nodding. Together, they twisted it their respective seats to look up at Carolyn. She was holding a plastic pink baby cup, looking it over with confused interest.
“So I decide to have a nice cup of coffee, and then I open the cupboard, and what do I see there instead of our usual mugs? This!” she waved the cup to emphasize her point. “Why would you need non-spill baby cups? Of course, you are imbeciles, so that might be understandable, and yet?”
The two men shared a small grin. Buying a plenty of those cups and replacing the ones they had on the plane was totally worth the clean carpets devoid of various stains. Even if Arthur didn’t get the hint, he was absolutely fascinated with the (“Brilliant!”) multi-colored cups to leave the idea of the superstition alone for the time being.
