Oops, the Beat Dropped

Liz.
18. Canada. Ukulele. Sociology. Stress. Optimism. Coffee. Sherlock. Misfits. ASOIAF. IT Crowd. Psych. Supernatural. Glee. Starkid. Arrested Development. Parks and Rec.

jokerchenisdifferent:

aligningplanets:

schampusmitlachsfisch:

No, really though, I want a fic where Martin just owns this mapcrunch thing

And, like, wins the entire cheese tray for one month

and then shares it with Arthur or something

just to annoy Douglas

‘I am extremely bored,’ Douglas intoned from the other side of the portakbin.

‘Hmmf?’

‘Bored, mon petit capitaine,’ Douglas leaned his chair back on two legs and propped his legs up on the desk in front of him.

Martin sighed and flicked a spikey, elaborate signature at the bottom of a piece of paperwork.

‘May I suggest doing your logbooks? Then, perhaps, we could all go home early and—’

Douglas cut him off with a theatrical groan.

‘Oh, God,’ he tipped his head back and closed his eyes. ‘You really have absolutely no idea how people operate, out here, in the real world, do you? I want a cure for boredom not a way to make it physically painful.’

Martin bristled.

‘Oh, well, I’m sorry that I want to go home on time, for once, rather than sitting here, all night, doing my First Officer’s paperwork.’ he pulled another piece of paperwork off his pile, irritably.

Douglas raised a laconic eyebrow.

‘Aunt Irma come to visit, sir?’

‘Shut up, Douglas.’

‘Ooh, I’ve got a good game, Douglas.’

The older man sighed the sigh of the intelletually long-suffering.

‘Arthur, m’lad, as exciting as ‘Guess the Fruit I’m Thinking Of’ was to you, it was hardly gripping for those of us of an IQ over 25.’

Arthur’s smile didn’t flick for an instant.

‘No, no! I’ve got a brilliant one! You play it on this website. Hang on. I’ll show you.’

With that he bounded over to snatch up the company laptop, that sat in front of Martin, and opened up a new tab in the browser.

‘Arthur! I need that,’ Martin protested weakly.

‘Don’t worry, Skip,’ Arthur beamed. ‘You’ll like this.’

He tapped away on the keyboard and Douglas, realising the laptop was coming no further towards him than Martin’s desk, decided to go to it; heaving himself out of his chair and striding to stand behind where Martin was seated.

‘Here you go!’ Arthur said triumphantly.

The screen showed what looked like a screenshot of Google StreetView, with a list of countries down the right of the screen. When no further explanation came, Douglas cleared his throat.

‘Tell us, oh Gamesmaster, what exactly are we meant to be doing?’

‘Oh. Well, I thought, since you’re, y’know, pilots—’

‘Well spotted, Arthur,’ Martin broke in.

‘Yes. Well, what you do is this.’

Arthur highlighted a box reading ‘Hide location’ and then clicked the ‘Go!’ button. The map whirred for a second and then loaded, fully, showing a road with trees on one side, and a block of flats on the other.

‘Right. So. You have no idea where you are,’ Arthur explained. ‘And you’ve got to imagine,’ he pronounced the word like an enthusiastic Primary School teacher, ‘that you’ve woken up on the side of a road. This road,’ he pointed to the screen.

Douglas rolled his eyes at Martin who shushed him, looking rapt.

‘And you’ve got to find your way to an airport and get home,’ Arthur finished. ‘I thought you’d be good at it because y’know,’ he looked at the both, hope shining from his face. ‘Pilots.’

Douglas sighed.

‘Ridiculous. That sounds impossible.’

‘Now, hang on, Douglas,’ Martin said and pulled the laptop closer to him. ‘I think I can do this, actually.’

Douglas laughed.

‘Oh, of course. Captain Crieff, Master of the Skies, always feels the irresitable pull of aeroplanes, no matter the country.’ he scoffed.

Martin huffed and clicked on the front of the block on the screen and the map zoomed in.

‘Estate Gentoft,’ he pronounced. ‘Oh. Oh. Oh. Gentoft!’ he almost shouted. ‘We’re in Denmark!’

He clicked a couple more times and the map spun on itself, facing away from the Estate Agents.

‘Brogardsvej,’ he muttered, in a garbled Danish accent. ‘So. So. It should be this way!’ Martin beamed and started moving along the map, making the occasional turning.

‘Martin, where the Hell are you going?’ Douglas asked, amused.

‘Gentoft, Douglas,’ Martin chuckled. ‘Come on, we’ve been to Denmark dozens of times. It’s right near Copenhagen,’ he explained, once again battering his accent into a semblance of the Danish pronounciation.

There was a beat as Douglas squinted at the screen.

‘I think you’re going the wrong way.’

‘I am absolutely not,’ Matrin grinned at him, turning onto, what looked like, a motorway.

Douglas spared a glance at Arthur; if the boy beamed any wider the top of his head would fall off.

‘No. You’re definitely going the wrong way, Martin,’ he said, bored.

‘I swear to you, Douglas, I’m not.’

‘Alright then. Let’s make it interesting, shall we?’ Douglas grinned like a shark. ‘If you’re going the wrong way, which you are, and you don’t get to Copenhagen Airport within,’ he checked his watch, ‘ten minutes the I get first crack at the cheese tray.’

Martin stopped in his furious clicking down the highway to turn and look at his First Officer.

‘Ooh, be careful, Skip. Don’t get run over!’ Arthur warned.

They both frowned at the interupption, before both deciding life was too short to explain.

‘First crack at the cheese tray for a month,’ Martin offered.

Douglas glanced at the screen.

‘Fortnight,’ he corrected.

‘Not so sure, now, First Officer?’ Martin challenged.

‘Alright,’ Douglas’ eyes narrowed. ‘A month but you’ve only got five minutes.’

‘Deal.’

Martin swung back to the screen and Arthur gasped.

‘Ooh, this is exciting, isn’t it, Douglas?’

‘What, watching the Commander of our Vessel get hopelessly lost in Denmark, virtually? Yes, it is rather, isn’t it?’

Martin let out a smug little laugh and pushed the laptop round so Douglas could see the screen better. He cleared his throat, whilst clicking a last few times.

‘Tommerup Stationsvej aaaaand…’ he clicked on a signpost. ‘Copenhagen Airport.’

He sat back in his chair, radiating self-satisfaction.

‘Ooh, first crack at the cheese tray for a whole month,’ he beamed, with nary a hint of modesty. ‘Lovely.’

Douglas gaped.

‘I…how on God’s Earth did you…that’s…oh, for all that is good and Holy.’

He strode back over to his previous seat and collapsed into it, a sour look on his face. Martin laughed and turned to Arthur.

‘That was fun, Arthur, you were right. D’you fancy sharing the cheese tray, this month?’

‘Oh, brilliant, Skip!’ Arthur grinned, as Douglas groaned.