Satan's Biatch: Please don't make me kill you. (darcyandhorse) wrote in wonderlandslash,
Satan's Biatch: Please don't make me kill you.

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Title: ‘You have a niece?’
Author: Me, Georgie’s on her pogo stick
Part: 4b/?
Pairing: Poynter/Judd, and maybe more, I don’t know yet.
Rating: 13, it’s tame, but may go up in later parts
Summary: it’s all gannin on now.
Disclaimer: this came from the teapot that is formerly known as Gerry, or my imagination to the normal ones out there.
A.N: Bravaraa, its part 4b.
Dedications: All those lovely little reviewers *pets* MWAH!!!

‘So, it’s bloody freezing and I’m standing outside whilst this Dougie person stares at me like I’ve got two heads or summat, wonderful,’ thought Georgie as she, did, just that really. Just as she was considering genocide because she was so cold, a rather tall, quite fit guy walked passed, topless. Interesting. Though he did have such a crap mullet she considered putting her fabric shears to good use.
“Dougie, stop arseing* around and let the girl in will you. Hi, I’m Harry, and you must be Georgina, correct,” He said, smiling. “Hi, and it’s Georgie” she replied. Shaking his hand.
“Okay, welcome to our humble abode.” Georgie laughed as he led her into the sitting room where a brunette who looked the same age as Harry was sitting watching football. “Danny, this is Georgie.” Harry said, indicating for posterity. “Who’s Georgie?” Danny asked, not looking up from the telly.
“Fletch’s niece.”
“Fletch has a niece?” Danny said, looking confused.
“He was dropped on his head many times as a child,” Harry said in an aside. Georgie just smiled, they seemed to be genuinely nice guys, totally off their rockers, but nice all the same. “please, take a seat, and I’ll go get Dougie from the porch,” Harry grinned and went out the door to answer Dougie’s inpatient knocking.

“So,” George said, sitting on the sofa, “who’s playing?” She asked Danny. “Bolton v Palace,” He replied, looking at her for the first time. “Aw, there’s no way Bolton’ll win, they are so crap,” Georgie say, focusing her attentions on the telly again. “What?!? Bolton don’t suck.” Danny replied, glaring at her.
“Um hum, whatever you say mate,” she said.
“So little miss smarty pants, who do you support?” Georgie just sighed and pointed to the Chelsea Football Club scarf she was wearing. “Chelsea.” Danny scoffed, while Georgie just coughed something that sounded distinctly like ‘premiership.’

Harry and Dougie joined them moments later, accompanied by Fletch. “Uncle Fletch,” Georgie yelled and hugged him. And they started off on the whole ‘oh, haven’t seen you for so long, how’s your mother, how’s school’ type thing. This is so pointless and boring I won’t waste valuable time elaborating. Let’s just say that half an hour later they were both satisfied that they’d covered everything new since 1995, and be done with it.

After that, they all went into the kitchen for a drink, because that’s what you do when you have guests, to find Tom snoring at the table with his head in his porridge. “Aww bless,” Georgie said, I’m guessing that’s Tom then.”
“Yeah,” Fletch said, “Useless waste of space.”
“Ack, shut up, leave him be, he looks so sweet and peaceful,” Georgie glared at Fletch, just as Tom rolled over and whacked Danny round the head, muttering something about spacemen. ‘Well,” Georgie said through laughing, “this is certainly going to be a fun christmas.”

* Cookies to whoever can tell me the right spelling of arseing

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