Baseball Slash: The Fourth Inning
Sep. 1st, 2006 11:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mijanTitle: "Baseball Slash: The Fourth Inning"
Author:mijan
Rating: PG-13 (some foul language)
Previous Installment: The Third Inning
This inning features the Curse of the Bambino, more banter, more peanuts, and a beer-soaked!Draco. Pull up a seat, and enjoy!
Author:
mijanRating: PG-13 (some foul language)
Previous Installment: The Third Inning
This inning features the Curse of the Bambino, more banter, more peanuts, and a beer-soaked!Draco. Pull up a seat, and enjoy!
The Fourth Inning
“I want to clean this,” Draco said sullenly, indicating the wet spot on the front of his shirt and trousers.
“It’ll be fine until we get home, Draco. It’s a warm day out.”
“I want to clean this now.”
Harry looked away from the field to glance from Draco’s face, to his hand, which was reaching into the inner pocket of his shirt where he kept his wand.
“No,” Harry said emphatically, putting his hand over Draco’s.
“Please?” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “One simple Scourgify?”
“And you think that won’t have the Muggle women asking questions?” Harry hissed.
Draco glanced back over his shoulder before replying. “They’re all too busy watching the game anyway. And I smell like beer. To coin the local colloquialism, ‘this sucks.’”
Harry shook his head, and gave himself a moment to think by munching on a few of the peanuts Yvette had offered him. (Eating peanuts at the ball park was lucky, she’d said, so he couldn’t refuse.) “Well, Yvette probably won’t notice... she’s too busy yelling some rather creative obscenities at Jeter... but I think Michelle would. Besides, you don’t smell too bad.”
Draco slouched down and grumbled. “That’s because you’ve already had three beers, and you’re working on your fourth. You wouldn’t notice the smell if you were drenched in it yourself.”
“Hey! Are you saying that I’m drunk?”
Draco finally cracked a smile. Actually, it was more like a smirk. “Not yet, but at the rate of one beer per inning... you might want to slow down. It’s going to hit you all at once. I know how you work.”
Harry’s shoulders slumped as he looked back out at the field. “I’ll slow down when you stop making me fear for your life by inciting the locals. I can’t believe this, but my boyfriend is driving me to drink.”
“I’m not that bad, am I?”
Harry shot a cold look at Draco. “Worse.” He looked away again.
“Well...” Draco said slowly. He paused. “I did walk away before cursing that last kid, right?”
Harry tried to stop himself from smiling, and managed to suppress everything but a slight twitch of the lips. “Sure, I’ll give you credit for that.”
“And weren’t you going to tell me about this ‘Curse of the Bimbo’?”
“BAMBINO,” came a chorus of voices from around them. Harry shrunk a bit into his seat in embarrassment.
Draco tilted his head with an odd, yet cocky expression on his face. “Yes, that’s it. Thank you, kind people. I have been enlightened.”
A middle-aged man scowled at Draco. Harry bit his lower lip and tried not to cry.
“Let me put it to you straight, Brit-boy,” Yvette cut in. “Very simple piece of history. Way back in the early days of professional baseball, the Red Sox were the best of the best. They won four World Series in five years. It was incredible. They were the gods of baseball. They also had this amazing batter... please tell me you know who Babe Ruth was?”
Draco furrowed his eyebrows. For a brief hopeful moment, Harry thought he was actually going to get it. Then he opened his mouth and words came out and all hope was lost. “Harry, wasn’t that the candy bar you refused to eat when I brought a few treats home from the market? The one with the peanuts?”
Harry groaned. “Nooooo...” Hopeless. He’s hopeless.
Michelle snickered and patted Harry on the shoulder. “Keep drinking your beer.”
Yvette rolled her eyes. “You really are that stupid. Babe Ruth was one of the greatest home run hitters ever. Legend in his own time. Superstar. But the stupid fucker who owned the Sox, Harry Frazee, decided to sell him off to the New York Yankees. Actually, the bastard sold off almost every major asset the Red Sox had, but the Babe was the big one. The Yanks got Ruth, and the owner of the Sox got to have this stupid Broadway musical called ‘No, No, Nanette.’ Dumbest show ever. It did well, but I still say it sucked.”
Draco actually seemed to be attempting to process this. “So... they sold this Ruth guy... to the Yankees... what’s that got to do with this Curse? And what is the curse?”
“The Curse of the Bambino... basically, the Sox haven’t won a World Series since they sold Babe Ruth, also known as the Bambino. They say the Sox were cursed as a result of the stupid stupid stupid fucking dimwitted bullshit stupid stupid –”
THWACK. Michelle smacked her sister on the arm. “We get the picture.”
Draco nodded, then pursed his lips. “When was the last time they won?”
For the first time since the game had started, Yvette showed signs of an emotion other than irritation at Draco, enthusiasm for the Sox, or homicidal anger at the Yankees. She looked like she was going to cry. “Nineteen-eighteen!” she wailed.
Michelle patted her shoulder awkwardly, in what Harry supposed was meant to be a comforting way.
For the first time since Harry had become obsessed with the Red Sox, Draco seemed interested. “Why don’t they hire a Curse-Breaker?”
Yvette snorted. “Oh, Red Sox fans have tried curse-breakers, good luck charms, superstitions habits, naked rituals under full moons, and possibly virgin sacrifices. They’ve even gone diving in the Charles River to find the remains of the piano.”
“Piano?”
This time, Michelle answered. “Old fable... might be true, might not... that the Babe was so angry at being sold that he got drunk and tossed a piano into the Charles River.”
"Although it's more likely that if he did it at all, he threw it in the lake near his house," Yvette grumbled.
“And some people thought that by recovering the piano, they could reverse the curse,” Harry concluded for her.
Now, Draco seemed really interested. Had Harry been slightly less intoxicated, he might have figured out why before Draco started speaking again.
“Well, I’m not a professional Curse-Breaker, but I wouldn’t recommend virgin sacrifices, although blood might be useful... and I can tell you that a simple full-moon wouldn’t do it. For a long-term curse like that, it would probably require a blue moon. The piano probably doesn’t have anything to do with it... it’s more likely an inside job. Someone should check the contract paper itself for hexes –”
The turn of the conversation suddenly pierced the slight alcoholic fog that was beginning to swirl in Harry’s brain, and he suddenly clapped his hand over Draco’s mouth. “I... er... that’s enough such silliness. Draco, I need to go to the men’s room, and you need to come with me.”
Draco shook his mouth clear of Harry’s hand. “I don’t need to use the men’s room,” he protested.
“Yes. You. Do.” He grabbed Draco by the sleeve, mumbled apologies to the people sitting to his right, made his way to the stairs, and a moment later, they were in the men’s room. Harry pushed Draco against the wall in the corner.
“ARE YOU CRAZY?!”
Draco’s eyes went wide. “What are you talking about?”
“You! Talking about... that stuff! You know...” He lowered his voice to an angry hiss. “Curses, and Curse-Breakers, and magic, and all that stuff!”
“But you guys had all been talking about Curses first!”
Harry leaned backwards against the bathroom wall and thudded his head against it gently a few times. “We weren’t talking about curses, Draco. Just once curse. And that’s more of a legend. I don’t think it’s an actual curse. This is all Muggle stuff”
Draco cocked his head thoughtfully. “Well, the circumstances sounded appropriate to a real curse. Revenge curses and all that. Quite common. Maybe this Babe person had contact with a wizard and started an actual curse. It’s possible. American witches and wizards are pretty loose with that sort of stuff.”
Harry glanced warily at the Muggles who were steadily moving past them from the toilets and urinals to the sinks. “Draco, please, just drop it. Just... please.”
“Should we Obliviate the girls there?”
Harry shook his head. “No... I’ll smooth it over. I’ll tell them you had a penpal in America who had been into what the Muggles call magic – the hokey superstitions and folk magic – and you falsely assumed that all Americans were like that. That’s all. I can fix it.” He leaned his head back against the wall weakly. “Now, please, let’s just go up there and enjoy the game.”
Draco nodded slowly. “I’m sorry?”
That caused Harry to raise an eyebrow. “Did my ears just deceive me, or did the great Draco Malfoy just apologize?”
Draco suddenly looked mortified. “Don’t you dare repeat that to anyone. You hear me? Nobody!”
Harry pasted his most thoughtful expression across his face. “Well, maybe... if you get me another beer.”
Draco shook his head, but he said, “Okay, I’ll bring more beer.”
“And a Fenway Frank!”
Draco pressed his lips together in irritation. “Probably just as well. Drinking this much on an empty stomach can’t be healthy.”
“And neither is exposing ourselves to the Muggles.”
“Right. Go. I’ll be up there soon.”
Harry made his way back to the seats alone and dropped heavily into his chair. The score was still 0-1, Yankees. Michelle tapped him on the shoulder.
“What was that all about?”
Harry had planned to give a proper explanation, but he was just too tired to go into it. So, instead, he shrugged and said, “Draco is just weird. Really, really weird.”
“Ah,” Michelle responded lightly, as if that explained everything.
“I could have told you that,” Yvette said pleasantly as she offered the blue plastic bag in Harry’s direction. “Peanuts?”
Harry smiled weakly and took a small handful of peanuts, but he didn’t eat them. He vaguely heard Yvette mention that Wakefield was warming up in the bullpen. That sounded good. Pedro was looking a bit off his game. A few rows in front of him, two real Yankees fans began an argument with a few college-age guys, but the security guards intervened before it got out of hand, and everyone sat down again. Harry leaned on his hand and watched in disappointment as Carl Everett popped the ball straight up. Seconds later, Posada caught it, and the inning was over.
*********
(*The Fifth Inning*)
“I want to clean this,” Draco said sullenly, indicating the wet spot on the front of his shirt and trousers.
“It’ll be fine until we get home, Draco. It’s a warm day out.”
“I want to clean this now.”
Harry looked away from the field to glance from Draco’s face, to his hand, which was reaching into the inner pocket of his shirt where he kept his wand.
“No,” Harry said emphatically, putting his hand over Draco’s.
“Please?” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “One simple Scourgify?”
“And you think that won’t have the Muggle women asking questions?” Harry hissed.
Draco glanced back over his shoulder before replying. “They’re all too busy watching the game anyway. And I smell like beer. To coin the local colloquialism, ‘this sucks.’”
Harry shook his head, and gave himself a moment to think by munching on a few of the peanuts Yvette had offered him. (Eating peanuts at the ball park was lucky, she’d said, so he couldn’t refuse.) “Well, Yvette probably won’t notice... she’s too busy yelling some rather creative obscenities at Jeter... but I think Michelle would. Besides, you don’t smell too bad.”
Draco slouched down and grumbled. “That’s because you’ve already had three beers, and you’re working on your fourth. You wouldn’t notice the smell if you were drenched in it yourself.”
“Hey! Are you saying that I’m drunk?”
Draco finally cracked a smile. Actually, it was more like a smirk. “Not yet, but at the rate of one beer per inning... you might want to slow down. It’s going to hit you all at once. I know how you work.”
Harry’s shoulders slumped as he looked back out at the field. “I’ll slow down when you stop making me fear for your life by inciting the locals. I can’t believe this, but my boyfriend is driving me to drink.”
“I’m not that bad, am I?”
Harry shot a cold look at Draco. “Worse.” He looked away again.
“Well...” Draco said slowly. He paused. “I did walk away before cursing that last kid, right?”
Harry tried to stop himself from smiling, and managed to suppress everything but a slight twitch of the lips. “Sure, I’ll give you credit for that.”
“And weren’t you going to tell me about this ‘Curse of the Bimbo’?”
“BAMBINO,” came a chorus of voices from around them. Harry shrunk a bit into his seat in embarrassment.
Draco tilted his head with an odd, yet cocky expression on his face. “Yes, that’s it. Thank you, kind people. I have been enlightened.”
A middle-aged man scowled at Draco. Harry bit his lower lip and tried not to cry.
“Let me put it to you straight, Brit-boy,” Yvette cut in. “Very simple piece of history. Way back in the early days of professional baseball, the Red Sox were the best of the best. They won four World Series in five years. It was incredible. They were the gods of baseball. They also had this amazing batter... please tell me you know who Babe Ruth was?”
Draco furrowed his eyebrows. For a brief hopeful moment, Harry thought he was actually going to get it. Then he opened his mouth and words came out and all hope was lost. “Harry, wasn’t that the candy bar you refused to eat when I brought a few treats home from the market? The one with the peanuts?”
Harry groaned. “Nooooo...” Hopeless. He’s hopeless.
Michelle snickered and patted Harry on the shoulder. “Keep drinking your beer.”
Yvette rolled her eyes. “You really are that stupid. Babe Ruth was one of the greatest home run hitters ever. Legend in his own time. Superstar. But the stupid fucker who owned the Sox, Harry Frazee, decided to sell him off to the New York Yankees. Actually, the bastard sold off almost every major asset the Red Sox had, but the Babe was the big one. The Yanks got Ruth, and the owner of the Sox got to have this stupid Broadway musical called ‘No, No, Nanette.’ Dumbest show ever. It did well, but I still say it sucked.”
Draco actually seemed to be attempting to process this. “So... they sold this Ruth guy... to the Yankees... what’s that got to do with this Curse? And what is the curse?”
“The Curse of the Bambino... basically, the Sox haven’t won a World Series since they sold Babe Ruth, also known as the Bambino. They say the Sox were cursed as a result of the stupid stupid stupid fucking dimwitted bullshit stupid stupid –”
THWACK. Michelle smacked her sister on the arm. “We get the picture.”
Draco nodded, then pursed his lips. “When was the last time they won?”
For the first time since the game had started, Yvette showed signs of an emotion other than irritation at Draco, enthusiasm for the Sox, or homicidal anger at the Yankees. She looked like she was going to cry. “Nineteen-eighteen!” she wailed.
Michelle patted her shoulder awkwardly, in what Harry supposed was meant to be a comforting way.
For the first time since Harry had become obsessed with the Red Sox, Draco seemed interested. “Why don’t they hire a Curse-Breaker?”
Yvette snorted. “Oh, Red Sox fans have tried curse-breakers, good luck charms, superstitions habits, naked rituals under full moons, and possibly virgin sacrifices. They’ve even gone diving in the Charles River to find the remains of the piano.”
“Piano?”
This time, Michelle answered. “Old fable... might be true, might not... that the Babe was so angry at being sold that he got drunk and tossed a piano into the Charles River.”
"Although it's more likely that if he did it at all, he threw it in the lake near his house," Yvette grumbled.
“And some people thought that by recovering the piano, they could reverse the curse,” Harry concluded for her.
Now, Draco seemed really interested. Had Harry been slightly less intoxicated, he might have figured out why before Draco started speaking again.
“Well, I’m not a professional Curse-Breaker, but I wouldn’t recommend virgin sacrifices, although blood might be useful... and I can tell you that a simple full-moon wouldn’t do it. For a long-term curse like that, it would probably require a blue moon. The piano probably doesn’t have anything to do with it... it’s more likely an inside job. Someone should check the contract paper itself for hexes –”
The turn of the conversation suddenly pierced the slight alcoholic fog that was beginning to swirl in Harry’s brain, and he suddenly clapped his hand over Draco’s mouth. “I... er... that’s enough such silliness. Draco, I need to go to the men’s room, and you need to come with me.”
Draco shook his mouth clear of Harry’s hand. “I don’t need to use the men’s room,” he protested.
“Yes. You. Do.” He grabbed Draco by the sleeve, mumbled apologies to the people sitting to his right, made his way to the stairs, and a moment later, they were in the men’s room. Harry pushed Draco against the wall in the corner.
“ARE YOU CRAZY?!”
Draco’s eyes went wide. “What are you talking about?”
“You! Talking about... that stuff! You know...” He lowered his voice to an angry hiss. “Curses, and Curse-Breakers, and magic, and all that stuff!”
“But you guys had all been talking about Curses first!”
Harry leaned backwards against the bathroom wall and thudded his head against it gently a few times. “We weren’t talking about curses, Draco. Just once curse. And that’s more of a legend. I don’t think it’s an actual curse. This is all Muggle stuff”
Draco cocked his head thoughtfully. “Well, the circumstances sounded appropriate to a real curse. Revenge curses and all that. Quite common. Maybe this Babe person had contact with a wizard and started an actual curse. It’s possible. American witches and wizards are pretty loose with that sort of stuff.”
Harry glanced warily at the Muggles who were steadily moving past them from the toilets and urinals to the sinks. “Draco, please, just drop it. Just... please.”
“Should we Obliviate the girls there?”
Harry shook his head. “No... I’ll smooth it over. I’ll tell them you had a penpal in America who had been into what the Muggles call magic – the hokey superstitions and folk magic – and you falsely assumed that all Americans were like that. That’s all. I can fix it.” He leaned his head back against the wall weakly. “Now, please, let’s just go up there and enjoy the game.”
Draco nodded slowly. “I’m sorry?”
That caused Harry to raise an eyebrow. “Did my ears just deceive me, or did the great Draco Malfoy just apologize?”
Draco suddenly looked mortified. “Don’t you dare repeat that to anyone. You hear me? Nobody!”
Harry pasted his most thoughtful expression across his face. “Well, maybe... if you get me another beer.”
Draco shook his head, but he said, “Okay, I’ll bring more beer.”
“And a Fenway Frank!”
Draco pressed his lips together in irritation. “Probably just as well. Drinking this much on an empty stomach can’t be healthy.”
“And neither is exposing ourselves to the Muggles.”
“Right. Go. I’ll be up there soon.”
Harry made his way back to the seats alone and dropped heavily into his chair. The score was still 0-1, Yankees. Michelle tapped him on the shoulder.
“What was that all about?”
Harry had planned to give a proper explanation, but he was just too tired to go into it. So, instead, he shrugged and said, “Draco is just weird. Really, really weird.”
“Ah,” Michelle responded lightly, as if that explained everything.
“I could have told you that,” Yvette said pleasantly as she offered the blue plastic bag in Harry’s direction. “Peanuts?”
Harry smiled weakly and took a small handful of peanuts, but he didn’t eat them. He vaguely heard Yvette mention that Wakefield was warming up in the bullpen. That sounded good. Pedro was looking a bit off his game. A few rows in front of him, two real Yankees fans began an argument with a few college-age guys, but the security guards intervened before it got out of hand, and everyone sat down again. Harry leaned on his hand and watched in disappointment as Carl Everett popped the ball straight up. Seconds later, Posada caught it, and the inning was over.
*********
(*The Fifth Inning*)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-09-01 09:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-02 12:52 am (UTC)Can't wait for more.
*Hugs*
no subject
Date: 2006-09-02 01:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-02 02:03 am (UTC)I've actually gotten into discussions with people about whether ritual magic would work or not. For once, my family was cool with my witchiness... My grandmother, devout Catholic, was so pissed about the Yankees in 2003 that she asked me to do a tarot reading and ask "Our Lady" a favor.
Truth is stranger than fiction...
Luna
no subject
Date: 2006-09-02 05:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-02 05:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-02 05:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-04 06:00 pm (UTC)~~Ashley/La Vie Bohème from G'n'H, asking for permission to friend the captain.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-17 04:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-17 04:25 pm (UTC)