Danny Boy, Danny Boy
folder
S through Z › Trainspotting
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
1,266
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
S through Z › Trainspotting
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
1,266
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Trainspotting, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The Frog Prince and Miss Moneypenny
Ah wake tae the sound ay an aw too familiar voice.
"Oh, Rent-Boy... Ah knew it aw along, thit ye hud it in ye....."
Frantically, ah look aroond, an' thair's Sick Boy, sitting oan oor armoire by the wall opposite oor bed.
"How the hell did ye find me??"
"The wee fairy told me," the Sick Bastard seis, nodding towards Spud. Ah look tae oor side, whair Spud's sleeping soundly, an' aw ah kin think ay is thit he betrayed us, he betrayed me, maybe because ah betrayed 'um first, an' somehow ah jist kinnae care less aboot 'um being dressed in a fairy-costume - tu-tu an' all.
"Ah knew it aw along, Rents, thit ye had a liking fir the boys... Ah ken ye hud been looking at that scrawny tart's arse fir a long time.."
Suddenly Franco walks in. He has a big, long, ham sandwich in his hand, an' he's smacking it intae the palm ay his other hand furiously, like some ay the uniformed pigs doon at the Lothian would dae wi' thir knight sticks during a narc raid. Oh, fuck...
"Why di' ye no like ME, Rents..??" Sick Boy continues. "..Ah'm a thousand times prettier thin thit wankjob ower thair," he bawls, an' points ower to the Spud Fairy, whae is now waking up, rubbing his eyes. As ah turn back, ah see thit Begbie has turned into Darth Vader, but he hasnae goat a light sabre, oh nae, it's still thit fuckin ham sandwich.
Yep. No tae worry... This is definitely a dream.
An' Sick Simon - who now leaps like a frog fae the armoire, way ower thair oan the other side ay the room, an' oantae oor bed - turns green an' has a crown oan his heid aw ay a sudden. He grabs us by the collar, an' ah kinnae remember having clothes oan, but oh! Look! Ah'm in the same clothes ah wis wearing whin ah left those fuckers back at the hotel..!
Sick Boy pulls us by the collar an' stares deep intae oor eyes. Now he's even goat thit dreaded Connory-accent; "Why don't ye want ME...?" he sobs. This is sae unlike 'um. "..Ah'm Shimon David Williamshon...the frog prinshe.... AH AM THE FROG PRINSHE!! KISSH ME, DAMNIT..!!!" Now he tongue-rapes oor mouth, an' it's horrible an' slimy, jist like the sod 'umself.
This is gone fae surreal to ridiculous.
Spud is up now, jumping up an' doon oan the bed. He also has a lolly, which he is doing sum very crude things with... "my boy lollypop..." he sings, wrapping those pouty lips aroond the candy an' pulling it oot agin. He looks at us, smiles an' waves at us he daes, ah gesture back in the same manner, an' get a mean hard-oan.
Oor moment ay sexual serenity is broken by the feeling ay getting slapped in the face by Sick Boy. "Lishten, bitch," he tells us. "Me an' Darth Begbie here are going tae molesht ye wi' thish ham shandwich, rite?" Darth is still smacking his sandwich menacingly intae his palm. Ah look at Sicks again, an' nod.
Now they've goat us oan oor back, trousers an' keks doon, ready tae go.
Ah hear 'um counting doon.
"three... two..."
Even Spud's in oan it.
"one..."
..The Quisling...
"GIE US A KISSH, MISSH MONEYPENNY...."
An' THAT's whin ah wake up. Wi' a scream, nontheless.
Ah look aboot fir Spud, cos ah've nivir been able tae sleep jist after a nightmare whin ah've goat naeone tae hauld me.... But he's no thair.
Ah git up, an' notice thit ma room is very messy. Sae is ma livingroom, ah see as ah peep oot the door. Ah venture oot tae the living room, an' ah call fir 'um.
...Nowt.
In the hallway ah see thit his shoes are missing.
..his strange, wee shoes are missing...
Ah look tae the bedroom again. Nae trace ay his clothes, or his bag fir that matter. Ah look intae the kitchen, an' the stacks ay cups an' platters are arranged in a familiar fashion. Ma sofa is full ay clothes - none his. It looks jist as messy as before. Ah dunno whether we messed it aw up again last night... or if he were ever here at aw.
...An' it aw seemed sae real.
***
This took a lot of my spare time so you had better fucking like it, slut puppies.
PS: This was NOT an attempt to copy Welsh's style of writing (except the slang, perhaps). It's my very own, and I am using it cos... well, cos NO ONE can write like Welsh, so I won't even begin to try.
"Oh, Rent-Boy... Ah knew it aw along, thit ye hud it in ye....."
Frantically, ah look aroond, an' thair's Sick Boy, sitting oan oor armoire by the wall opposite oor bed.
"How the hell did ye find me??"
"The wee fairy told me," the Sick Bastard seis, nodding towards Spud. Ah look tae oor side, whair Spud's sleeping soundly, an' aw ah kin think ay is thit he betrayed us, he betrayed me, maybe because ah betrayed 'um first, an' somehow ah jist kinnae care less aboot 'um being dressed in a fairy-costume - tu-tu an' all.
"Ah knew it aw along, Rents, thit ye had a liking fir the boys... Ah ken ye hud been looking at that scrawny tart's arse fir a long time.."
Suddenly Franco walks in. He has a big, long, ham sandwich in his hand, an' he's smacking it intae the palm ay his other hand furiously, like some ay the uniformed pigs doon at the Lothian would dae wi' thir knight sticks during a narc raid. Oh, fuck...
"Why di' ye no like ME, Rents..??" Sick Boy continues. "..Ah'm a thousand times prettier thin thit wankjob ower thair," he bawls, an' points ower to the Spud Fairy, whae is now waking up, rubbing his eyes. As ah turn back, ah see thit Begbie has turned into Darth Vader, but he hasnae goat a light sabre, oh nae, it's still thit fuckin ham sandwich.
Yep. No tae worry... This is definitely a dream.
An' Sick Simon - who now leaps like a frog fae the armoire, way ower thair oan the other side ay the room, an' oantae oor bed - turns green an' has a crown oan his heid aw ay a sudden. He grabs us by the collar, an' ah kinnae remember having clothes oan, but oh! Look! Ah'm in the same clothes ah wis wearing whin ah left those fuckers back at the hotel..!
Sick Boy pulls us by the collar an' stares deep intae oor eyes. Now he's even goat thit dreaded Connory-accent; "Why don't ye want ME...?" he sobs. This is sae unlike 'um. "..Ah'm Shimon David Williamshon...the frog prinshe.... AH AM THE FROG PRINSHE!! KISSH ME, DAMNIT..!!!" Now he tongue-rapes oor mouth, an' it's horrible an' slimy, jist like the sod 'umself.
This is gone fae surreal to ridiculous.
Spud is up now, jumping up an' doon oan the bed. He also has a lolly, which he is doing sum very crude things with... "my boy lollypop..." he sings, wrapping those pouty lips aroond the candy an' pulling it oot agin. He looks at us, smiles an' waves at us he daes, ah gesture back in the same manner, an' get a mean hard-oan.
Oor moment ay sexual serenity is broken by the feeling ay getting slapped in the face by Sick Boy. "Lishten, bitch," he tells us. "Me an' Darth Begbie here are going tae molesht ye wi' thish ham shandwich, rite?" Darth is still smacking his sandwich menacingly intae his palm. Ah look at Sicks again, an' nod.
Now they've goat us oan oor back, trousers an' keks doon, ready tae go.
Ah hear 'um counting doon.
"three... two..."
Even Spud's in oan it.
"one..."
..The Quisling...
"GIE US A KISSH, MISSH MONEYPENNY...."
An' THAT's whin ah wake up. Wi' a scream, nontheless.
Ah look aboot fir Spud, cos ah've nivir been able tae sleep jist after a nightmare whin ah've goat naeone tae hauld me.... But he's no thair.
Ah git up, an' notice thit ma room is very messy. Sae is ma livingroom, ah see as ah peep oot the door. Ah venture oot tae the living room, an' ah call fir 'um.
...Nowt.
In the hallway ah see thit his shoes are missing.
..his strange, wee shoes are missing...
Ah look tae the bedroom again. Nae trace ay his clothes, or his bag fir that matter. Ah look intae the kitchen, an' the stacks ay cups an' platters are arranged in a familiar fashion. Ma sofa is full ay clothes - none his. It looks jist as messy as before. Ah dunno whether we messed it aw up again last night... or if he were ever here at aw.
...An' it aw seemed sae real.
***
This took a lot of my spare time so you had better fucking like it, slut puppies.
PS: This was NOT an attempt to copy Welsh's style of writing (except the slang, perhaps). It's my very own, and I am using it cos... well, cos NO ONE can write like Welsh, so I won't even begin to try.