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crack_van2008-12-17 06:58 am
callistosh65.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2008-12-17 06:58 am
Entry tags:
Professional Dreamer by Pamela Rose (R)
Fandom: PROS (THE PROFESSIONALS)
Pairing: Bodie/Doyle
Length: 287k
Author on LJ: unknown
Author Website: Pamela Rose at The Circuit Archive
Why this must be read: Because it’s sheer lunacy that works – nay, dazzles. Ray Dibble is a spectacle-wearing head librarian trapped in a rather loveless engagement to one Miss Holly. To pass the time and frustration he loses himself in the exciting world of The Professionals, a series of 16 novels written by one W. Philip Andrew...
One case of mistaken identity and a bang on the head later, and the fun starts. Ray Dibble now believes the books are real, that he is Ray Doyle with a partner called Bodie. Not only that, but there’s also a deep cover mission going on, some real life spies chasing a mysterious chip, and a bemused William Philip on the run with the engaging nutter who just invades his life one day.. Oh, and Cowley is the head of CIP, Crimson Ink Publications.
No more, go discover this gem for yourselves. The excerpt here should convince you. It's the unforgettable first meeting between Philip and a Dibble now convinced that he’s Doyle, and that the annoying sod not letting him in is Bodie…
*******
Philip almost welcomed the door buzzer. At least it got him away from the uncooperative typewriter. Maybe he should switch to a computer? Perhaps a blank screen would be less intimidating than a blank page.
"Yes?"
"Come on, sunshine, it's me."
"Excuse me?"
"Open the fuckin' door!"
Philip stared at the grillwork of the speaker as if it would explain the last sentence. "What did you say?"
"Oh, Jesus, I don't know the friggin' password this week. Come on, mate. You know it's me. I'm tired and I hurt like hell. Just open up, okay?"
Philip opened his mouth to speak, then shut it, realizing he had no idea what to say. Or even what to ask. This was the most totally bizarre exchange he'd had in years. "Who is this?" he asked warily.
An expressive groan emitted from the speaker, and the disembodied voice finally answered. "Who am I supposed to be? Uh ... oh shit ... Dibble, right? And you're ... Andrew." A nasty chuckle. "That's right. Philip Andrew." For some obscure, reason, he gave the name "Philip" a very campy twist.
Confused, irritated and intrigued, Philip took another moment to gather his thoughts. "Who did you say? Dibble?"
"Christ on a crutch! It's starting to rain out here, you know. Let me the fuck in." There was a tense silence, then the voice sharpened. "Is something wrong, mate? Is somebody with you? I'll go around back."
"Back?" He was on the third floor with nothing but a balcony and a straight drop to the street in back. The man was obviously a lunatic. He made a face and started to switch off when the voice came through again
"Bodie! Are you okay?"
Philip's hand stopped in mid-gesture. Bodie? Could be a coincidence, of course. But the name Dibble did ring a bell. Some shithead librarian Cowley was pissing on about who was mad about his books. Cowley was hoping for some big buy, no doubt envisioning all the libraries in England purchasing grosses of hard-bound copies of the entire series. Philip thought it was a load of rubbish, but Cowley had said something about the man wanting an interview. This surely couldn't be the man--or could it?
"You're Dibble, that librarian chap?" he asked cautiously.
A gusting sigh. "Yeah, that's me, Raymond Dibble, have library card will travel. Bodie, will you stop pissin' around."
Shrugging, Philip unlocked the door. At least it shouldn't be boring. "Push."
"Thank you so much," came the sarcastic reply as the door buzzed open.
Three minutes latter came a thunk at the door. Philip opened it and the intruder brushed by him, furious and wet.
"You wanner tell me what that was in aid of? I thought you were in trouble up here. It's not funny, Bodie. We've got trouble here and we don't have a lot of time for your friggin' practical jokes."
"Mr. Dibble, I presume?"
"Oh, bugger off," the other man snapped. "My head is killing me and I ache all over. I'm going to have a hot shower and some clean clothes. We can fill each other in on the details later. Ten minutes, okay?"
Before Philip could do more than open his mouth, the man had located the bathroom and slammed and locked the door. Two seconds later the water sounded and a voice began singing a very flat rendition of Rolling Stones' "Get Off'a My Cloud".
Professional Dreamer
Pairing: Bodie/Doyle
Length: 287k
Author on LJ: unknown
Author Website: Pamela Rose at The Circuit Archive
Why this must be read: Because it’s sheer lunacy that works – nay, dazzles. Ray Dibble is a spectacle-wearing head librarian trapped in a rather loveless engagement to one Miss Holly. To pass the time and frustration he loses himself in the exciting world of The Professionals, a series of 16 novels written by one W. Philip Andrew...
One case of mistaken identity and a bang on the head later, and the fun starts. Ray Dibble now believes the books are real, that he is Ray Doyle with a partner called Bodie. Not only that, but there’s also a deep cover mission going on, some real life spies chasing a mysterious chip, and a bemused William Philip on the run with the engaging nutter who just invades his life one day.. Oh, and Cowley is the head of CIP, Crimson Ink Publications.
No more, go discover this gem for yourselves. The excerpt here should convince you. It's the unforgettable first meeting between Philip and a Dibble now convinced that he’s Doyle, and that the annoying sod not letting him in is Bodie…
*******
Philip almost welcomed the door buzzer. At least it got him away from the uncooperative typewriter. Maybe he should switch to a computer? Perhaps a blank screen would be less intimidating than a blank page.
"Yes?"
"Come on, sunshine, it's me."
"Excuse me?"
"Open the fuckin' door!"
Philip stared at the grillwork of the speaker as if it would explain the last sentence. "What did you say?"
"Oh, Jesus, I don't know the friggin' password this week. Come on, mate. You know it's me. I'm tired and I hurt like hell. Just open up, okay?"
Philip opened his mouth to speak, then shut it, realizing he had no idea what to say. Or even what to ask. This was the most totally bizarre exchange he'd had in years. "Who is this?" he asked warily.
An expressive groan emitted from the speaker, and the disembodied voice finally answered. "Who am I supposed to be? Uh ... oh shit ... Dibble, right? And you're ... Andrew." A nasty chuckle. "That's right. Philip Andrew." For some obscure, reason, he gave the name "Philip" a very campy twist.
Confused, irritated and intrigued, Philip took another moment to gather his thoughts. "Who did you say? Dibble?"
"Christ on a crutch! It's starting to rain out here, you know. Let me the fuck in." There was a tense silence, then the voice sharpened. "Is something wrong, mate? Is somebody with you? I'll go around back."
"Back?" He was on the third floor with nothing but a balcony and a straight drop to the street in back. The man was obviously a lunatic. He made a face and started to switch off when the voice came through again
"Bodie! Are you okay?"
Philip's hand stopped in mid-gesture. Bodie? Could be a coincidence, of course. But the name Dibble did ring a bell. Some shithead librarian Cowley was pissing on about who was mad about his books. Cowley was hoping for some big buy, no doubt envisioning all the libraries in England purchasing grosses of hard-bound copies of the entire series. Philip thought it was a load of rubbish, but Cowley had said something about the man wanting an interview. This surely couldn't be the man--or could it?
"You're Dibble, that librarian chap?" he asked cautiously.
A gusting sigh. "Yeah, that's me, Raymond Dibble, have library card will travel. Bodie, will you stop pissin' around."
Shrugging, Philip unlocked the door. At least it shouldn't be boring. "Push."
"Thank you so much," came the sarcastic reply as the door buzzed open.
Three minutes latter came a thunk at the door. Philip opened it and the intruder brushed by him, furious and wet.
"You wanner tell me what that was in aid of? I thought you were in trouble up here. It's not funny, Bodie. We've got trouble here and we don't have a lot of time for your friggin' practical jokes."
"Mr. Dibble, I presume?"
"Oh, bugger off," the other man snapped. "My head is killing me and I ache all over. I'm going to have a hot shower and some clean clothes. We can fill each other in on the details later. Ten minutes, okay?"
Before Philip could do more than open his mouth, the man had located the bathroom and slammed and locked the door. Two seconds later the water sounded and a voice began singing a very flat rendition of Rolling Stones' "Get Off'a My Cloud".
Professional Dreamer
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