Author: V.W. Norton PM
The Young Gangster wants a motorbike. His sister doesn't want him to have one. (No real relation to the movie, more an extrapolation from my other story: "All I Ever Wanted")Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Humor/Family - Young Gangster - Chapters: 3 - Words: 1,509 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 1 - Updated: 08-14-09 - Published: 08-09-09 - Status: Complete - id: 5286688
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Hello everyone. I'm hoping you've read my story "All I've Ever Wanted" but if you haven't here's the 411: Young Gangster has a name is my world - Archer Sloane. He is one of seven children: Alexander, Arthur, Anthony, Archer, Ashley, Annie, and Andrew. They are a lawyer, banker, Scotland Yard tech, gangster, model, singer and photographer, respectively. Annie is blind and Archer has no people skills, but they both share a flat and Andrew often spends the weekend:
This is a story about the Sloane family, not connected really at all to the movie. Archer wants to buy a motorbike but he doesn't have enough money, so he starts a "motorbike fund". Annie doesn't want him to buy the bike and tries to sabotage his plans.
Oh! And by the way, Archer Sloane is 95% Paul Bettany's and 5% mine whereas the rest of the Sloanes are 100% mine, mine, mine!! :)
Archer opened the door to his flat, shoving his shoulder against the edge to force it past the two inch maximum. The grocery bags whacked him in the back of the knee as he slid into the room and he eagerly dropped them on the floor, kicking the rolling coffee can out of his way as he turned back to resume battle with the door. Three minutes and one bruised finger later, he hauled the groceries down the short hallway to the kitchen.
He put the milk, bacon, and eggs in the fridge, the ice cream and pork chops in the freezer, and the coffee, the chocolate-chip cookies, and the fruit loops in the pantry. Then, wadding up the bags and throwing them into the garbage bin, he went through to the living room and flopped on the couch. Archer slid off his jacket, kicked off his shoes, loosened his tie, and undid his cuff links, rolling up his sleeves. He realized, after he'd gotten all comfortable, that he'd forgotten to bring a bottle of beer in with him - so, grumbling to himself, he stiffly got up and slouched his way over to the pantry and the bottle opener. Returning to the couch with his bottle of Newcastle Brown, Archer grabbed the nearest copy of Motor Cycle Magazine. A fly hovered over the end table, Archer's hand came down, leaving a small black smudge on the tan wood.
A second blond head peeked around the door frame leading into the kitchen, "Archer, is that you thudding around?"
"Yes, Annie, it's me! Who else would it be?"
She giggled, "Oh, I don't know... Andrew... Ashley... Anthony... Maxie King... you never know..."
"Maxie King? God help us. I wouldn't let him in here for anything, he'd stink up the place with that camel hair coat of his."
"Be charitable, Archer," she laughed, "he's not that bad."
"You're absolutely right... He's ten times worse."
She smiled and shook her head, curling up on the couch next to him. "What are you reading?"
"Motor bike rag."
"What is it with you and motor bikes?"
"They're manly. And fast. What's not to like?" He turned to look at her.
"Oh, perhaps the fact that they're really, really, REALLY, dangerous? That could be a negative aspect of motor bikes. Or that you have to ride through the rain and snow and everything. That's never fun."
"But that's what makes them manly."
"The fact that they're dangerous?"
"No, the fact that you have to weather the elements."
"No pun intended?"
"None whatsoever." He grinned. "I suppose that if I got one you'd have a heart attack?"
"A motor bike? That's out of the question Archer!"
"But Annie, it would be fun, I could take you for rides around London, in the summer only, if you like. We could go to the country. Doesn't that sound fun?"
"No, Archer, it does not sound like fun, it sounds like a quick and easy way to commit suicide."
He sighed. "Well, if you're not going to be supportive, I'll just have to do it myself."
"What are you talking about?"
He flipped to a certain page in the magazine he was still holding, "Triumph Motorcycles, Tiger. Brand new model, going to get it painted jet black. It's an absolute beauty and I'm going to buy it first chance I get. It's fresh of the line. Only £8,249. "
"Only!?! ONLY? Are you insane? You don't have that kind of money. And don't you need equipment and stuff?"
"Yeah but that's cheaper, £100 for boots, £100 for the gloves, £325 for the jacket, £108 for the helmet. All adds up to... er... £8,882, or there about. Not that bad considering it's a brand new model."
"Yeah, I figure if I pull some of my paycheck every week I'll be able to get it in a couple of months. I could also keep a coin jar in the hall, you know, save up loose change. That'd make it go quicker. You could put your loose change in too. It's a worthy cause Annie, it really is. Annie... Annie?"
She just stared at him in horror.