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vocab_drabbles2023-09-19 07:44 pm
but_can_i_be_trusted) wrote in vocab_drabbles2023-09-19 07:44 pm
[Challenge #80: Rapscallion] The Monkees: 'Rapscallion'
Title: 'Rapscallion'
Fandom: The Monkees
Author:but_can_i_be_trusted
Rating: G
Word Count: 200
Characters/Pairings: Micky Dolenz, Henry Babbitt
Warnings: None
Notes: Crossposted toanythingdrabble
Summary: Micky wrung a greasy rag between his hands.
"Dolenz! You rotten rapscallion! I oughta have your head on a platter!"
That was the only warning Micky received, before being unceremoniously dragged out from under the Monkeemobile.
"What the heck's going on?! Uh, sir," he quickly tacked on, seeing an irate Babbitt confronting him.
"Someone planted a bunch of cherry bombs in my back yard," the landlord snarled. "They've been blasting all day! I've been an inch away from having a heart attack for two hours!"
Micky wrung a greasy rag between his hands. "I promise you, it wasn't me," he insisted. "I've been working on the car for at least three hours. It was probably those little twin boys who moved in just up the block."
"Well, maybe you weren't the one. Maybe it was those kids. But you probably encouraged them," Babbitt grumbled.
"Look, Mister Babbitt. I don't think any little kid needs encouragement to get into mischief. Especially not a pair of little boys. I was a little boy, once. Heck, you were a little boy, once!"
At the moment, however, with Babbitt looking so surly, it was hard for Micky to believe that he was ever even a teenager, much less a fun-loving child.
Fandom: The Monkees
Author:
but_can_i_be_trustedRating: G
Word Count: 200
Characters/Pairings: Micky Dolenz, Henry Babbitt
Warnings: None
Notes: Crossposted to
anythingdrabbleSummary: Micky wrung a greasy rag between his hands.
"Dolenz! You rotten rapscallion! I oughta have your head on a platter!"
That was the only warning Micky received, before being unceremoniously dragged out from under the Monkeemobile.
"What the heck's going on?! Uh, sir," he quickly tacked on, seeing an irate Babbitt confronting him.
"Someone planted a bunch of cherry bombs in my back yard," the landlord snarled. "They've been blasting all day! I've been an inch away from having a heart attack for two hours!"
Micky wrung a greasy rag between his hands. "I promise you, it wasn't me," he insisted. "I've been working on the car for at least three hours. It was probably those little twin boys who moved in just up the block."
"Well, maybe you weren't the one. Maybe it was those kids. But you probably encouraged them," Babbitt grumbled.
"Look, Mister Babbitt. I don't think any little kid needs encouragement to get into mischief. Especially not a pair of little boys. I was a little boy, once. Heck, you were a little boy, once!"
At the moment, however, with Babbitt looking so surly, it was hard for Micky to believe that he was ever even a teenager, much less a fun-loving child.