Team Dixie: Rude Awakening
Jun. 6th, 2009 01:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cupidandpsychoTitle: Rude Awakening
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters are all mine except where real people are mentioned. Those real people belong to themselves. The concepts mentioned herein belong to Impossible Pictures.
Summary: Eddie Smith never could keep his mouth shut and, as usual, his friend Aloysius "Dixie" Dixon was going to have to deal with the fall-out.
Warnings: Language
Team Name: Team Dixie
Characters: Aloysius "Dixie" Dixon, Harrison Wells
Status: Open
"Aloysius Daniel Dixon, telephone! And Ginny Mae is here so you best put some britches on 'fore you come out.”
Aloysius Daniel Dixon, or Dixie as he was called by everyone but the woman bellowing at him from outside his bedroom door, groaned and stuffed his head under his pillow to drown out the noise.
"Take a message, Mama," he called out weakly. His throat scratchy and head pounding from a too late - and too drunk - night out at The Rock N Country Club, Dixie was sure it was far too early to be awake and trying to have a coherent conversation.
"I will not. I ain't no damned answerin' machine. 'Sides, whoever it is says it's about that fishy thing Eddie Smith found at the Tivoli. I tried tell the boy you done--”
Dixie couldn't have woken up faster if his mother had thrown ice-cold water in his face – and she was capable of that, having done it enough times to his old man when he'd been drinking – and he'd only managed to pull his sweatpants up over his naked ass before he stumbled out of his bedroom into the kitchen and snagged the phone out of her hand.
“Who the hell is this?”
Good morning, Mr. Dixon. My name is Harrison Wells.
The man's voice was sharp and clipped. Well-educated for sure, probably somewhere up North, but Dixie didn't reckon the man was a local boy. He couldn't pick up a trace of the southern accent that he, himself, had never lost even though he'd spent more of his life out of the region than in it.
“Well la-di-fuckin-dah,” Dixie snapped, automatically cringing when he remembered his mother and her best friend were listening. “What do you want?”
I need to speak with you about the Stenopterygius that managed to find its way into your city's lovely theatre.
“How the hell did you know about that?”
It was a stupid question to ask. Dixie knew there was no way that Eddie, a friend of his since they'd been roommates at The McCallie School and conductor of the Chattanooga City Orchestra, was going to be able to keep his fool mouth shut about the rotting prehistoric fish he'd found in the middle of the theatre's stage two months ago. The only surprise was that it had taken this long for someone to come nosing around.
We'll discuss it over breakfast, Mr. Dixon. Agent Patrick should be pulling up your driveway as we speak. You've got twenty minutes and you don't want to keep me waiting.
Glancing out the window over the kitchen sink, Dixie saw the black sedan coming to a stop on the carport, and suddenly he was tired of humoring the anonymous asshole on the phone.
“I don't like being threatened, Mr. Wells.”
I don't make threats, Mr. Dixon. If you don't get in that car, I promise that your mother and Mrs. Beecher will be taken into federal custody and lost in the system for quite some time. I'm not sure your mother's heart could take that... or the fact that you won't be found once we lose you. Now... have I got your attention?
Dixie's heart thundered in his chest, as he ran a nervous hand through his mop of black curls.
“Y-yes,” he stuttered. “Just don't do something--”
Fifteen minutes now, Mr. Dixon. Do hurry.
With that, the phone went dead and Dixie had a decision to make.
Turning to his mother, he said, “If you don't hear from me by tomorrow, call Zach and tell him what's goin' on. He'll know what to do.”
“But he's still mad at you for voting Democrat last election.”
“He still won,” Dixie replied, giving the much shorter woman his best lopsided grin and a hug to try to ease the fear he could see in her eyes. It didn't do much to ease his own fears. “Gotta go, Mama. I love you.”
******
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters are all mine except where real people are mentioned. Those real people belong to themselves. The concepts mentioned herein belong to Impossible Pictures.
Summary: Eddie Smith never could keep his mouth shut and, as usual, his friend Aloysius "Dixie" Dixon was going to have to deal with the fall-out.
Warnings: Language
Team Name: Team Dixie
Characters: Aloysius "Dixie" Dixon, Harrison Wells
Status: Open
"Aloysius Daniel Dixon, telephone! And Ginny Mae is here so you best put some britches on 'fore you come out.”
Aloysius Daniel Dixon, or Dixie as he was called by everyone but the woman bellowing at him from outside his bedroom door, groaned and stuffed his head under his pillow to drown out the noise.
"Take a message, Mama," he called out weakly. His throat scratchy and head pounding from a too late - and too drunk - night out at The Rock N Country Club, Dixie was sure it was far too early to be awake and trying to have a coherent conversation.
"I will not. I ain't no damned answerin' machine. 'Sides, whoever it is says it's about that fishy thing Eddie Smith found at the Tivoli. I tried tell the boy you done--”
Dixie couldn't have woken up faster if his mother had thrown ice-cold water in his face – and she was capable of that, having done it enough times to his old man when he'd been drinking – and he'd only managed to pull his sweatpants up over his naked ass before he stumbled out of his bedroom into the kitchen and snagged the phone out of her hand.
“Who the hell is this?”
Good morning, Mr. Dixon. My name is Harrison Wells.
The man's voice was sharp and clipped. Well-educated for sure, probably somewhere up North, but Dixie didn't reckon the man was a local boy. He couldn't pick up a trace of the southern accent that he, himself, had never lost even though he'd spent more of his life out of the region than in it.
“Well la-di-fuckin-dah,” Dixie snapped, automatically cringing when he remembered his mother and her best friend were listening. “What do you want?”
I need to speak with you about the Stenopterygius that managed to find its way into your city's lovely theatre.
“How the hell did you know about that?”
It was a stupid question to ask. Dixie knew there was no way that Eddie, a friend of his since they'd been roommates at The McCallie School and conductor of the Chattanooga City Orchestra, was going to be able to keep his fool mouth shut about the rotting prehistoric fish he'd found in the middle of the theatre's stage two months ago. The only surprise was that it had taken this long for someone to come nosing around.
We'll discuss it over breakfast, Mr. Dixon. Agent Patrick should be pulling up your driveway as we speak. You've got twenty minutes and you don't want to keep me waiting.
Glancing out the window over the kitchen sink, Dixie saw the black sedan coming to a stop on the carport, and suddenly he was tired of humoring the anonymous asshole on the phone.
“I don't like being threatened, Mr. Wells.”
I don't make threats, Mr. Dixon. If you don't get in that car, I promise that your mother and Mrs. Beecher will be taken into federal custody and lost in the system for quite some time. I'm not sure your mother's heart could take that... or the fact that you won't be found once we lose you. Now... have I got your attention?
Dixie's heart thundered in his chest, as he ran a nervous hand through his mop of black curls.
“Y-yes,” he stuttered. “Just don't do something--”
Fifteen minutes now, Mr. Dixon. Do hurry.
With that, the phone went dead and Dixie had a decision to make.
Turning to his mother, he said, “If you don't hear from me by tomorrow, call Zach and tell him what's goin' on. He'll know what to do.”
“But he's still mad at you for voting Democrat last election.”
“He still won,” Dixie replied, giving the much shorter woman his best lopsided grin and a hug to try to ease the fear he could see in her eyes. It didn't do much to ease his own fears. “Gotta go, Mama. I love you.”
******