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yankee swap is like machiavelli meets... christmas.
Title: Five ladies that Andy knows seriously dig him
Fandom: The Office, American
Rating: PG-13?; one f-bomb that would never make it past the censors.
Characters: Andy; Jim, Karen, Pam; Michael, Angela, Ryan, Phyllis, Stanley
Notes: In rough chronological order during season three, from "Gay Witch Hunt" through "Traveling Salesmen." Prompt from here, by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dollsome: five ladies that Andy knows seriously dig him. Thanks to ohyatoni for looking over ages ago!
V.
Karen spins in her chair, laughing, her headset bobbing. “Eat my dust, Halpert!”
“I would love to,” says Jim, leaning back in his chair, his hands on his head. On the computer screen, his soldier is dead, again. “I love dust. It’s a delicacy, where I come from.”
Karen scoffs doubtfully, but her eyes are on Jim and she's smiling. “Scranton? A Scranton del--”
“Eat it, Halpert!” Andy crows. He laughs as he turns around in his chair. “Whoo!” He pumps a fist. “Yeah! Team Stamford, kickin’ ass!” He wheels back to throw up his arm, palm out, to Karen.
She looks up at his hand for a minute, then gives him a high five and immediately turns back around to talk to Jim.
Andy looks away from Karen, at the camera, and he winks.
IV.
“Hey, Tuna!”
Jim stares at the computer screen.
“Heyyyyyy Big Tuna!”
“ ‘Johnny’ is two syllables,” Jim points out without looking up.
Andy scoffs. “Everybody knows that, Big—” He raises one finger. “Tu—” Another finger goes up, and he stares at it a moment before he quickly lowers his hand to the mouse. “You see that?” He doesn’t bother to wait for the answer that wouldn’t come. He tips his head at Angela, across the office at her desk. Jim doesn’t look and Andy points with his head again and again, so violently the last time that it looks as though his head might come flying off his shoulders.
Jim gives a cursory, casual glance in the direction of Accounting. “What, Kevin picking his nose?”
“Tch, no,” says Andy condescendingly. “Uh, disgusting, Tuna. No, the other one.”
“Uh, Andy, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Oscar’s not here,” Jim tells him seriously.
Andy fixes him with an annoyed stare. “No. The—” He lowers his voice, grinning suddenly. “Oh yeah? The proper lady over there just eyefucked the shit out of me.”
Jim stares at the computer screen, then into the camera for a long, long moment.
Across the room, Angela is glaring at Andy with unrelated simmering hatred.
Oblivious, Andy cracks up. “Wedding Crashers. Saw it five times in the theater.” He holds up five fingers to illustrate. “My cousin, he’s the manager of the AMC in Danbury.” He leans forward, hunching over his desk. “Hey, what do you say w—”
“No.” Jim taps a few keys.
“You and I could—”
“Mmm.” Jim shakes his head. “Nope.”
Andy shoves himself back into his chair. “Fine. I’ll just go hang with Will Ferrell, then.”
“Right,” says Jim absently. He types another line. A phone rings. Andy swings back and forth in his chair, tapping his fingers on the desk.
“Hey. Big Turkey.” Ryan resolutely does not look up, but that doesn’t stop Andy. “Hey Ma! Can we get some meatloaf?!”
Ryan’s hand jerks, pencil scratching a line across the file. “—What?”
Michael Scott sweeps in out of nowhere, guffawing. Jim throws his hands up and leans back in his chair, and his eyes flick in the direction of the empty reception desk.
“Ohh, Wedding Crashers, classic flick!” Michael strikes a pose. “WHY DON’T YOU GO ENJOY YOURSELF WHILE I GO ICE MY BALLS AND SPIT UP BLOOD!”
The office goes silent and all eyes fall on Michael. Several desks away, Stanley tries to cover the mouthpiece of the telephone a few seconds too late.
Jim’s head tilts to one side, and one side of his mouth lifts as he looks at the camera. Ryan mutters something that might be, “Oh God” and keeps his head bent low over the file.
Andy claps, slowly. “Wow, Michael,” he says. “Wow. That was amazing. You sounded just like Jeremy.”
“ ‘Jeremy?’ ” Michael gives a pleased, derisive snort. “That was Vince Vaughn, Andy. God.” He strolls off to his office, ignorant of the sour look that Stanley shoots him.
“God, Andy,” says Jim, and he smiles to himself and glances over his shoulder.
III.
“Oh yeah.” Andy leans back in his seat and laces his fingers behind his head. “Cyndi. She was hot. Hott.” He drags out the ‘h’ and over enunciates each ‘t.’ “We were quite the pair.”
He grins self-satisfactorily, smugly at the camera. “Didn’t you ever hear that song?”
His voice soars into a sudden falsetto. “Oh girls, they wanna have fuh-hun, oh girls just wanna ha-ave fu-un.” He sways in his chair to the beat, head bobbing and eyes closed as he drops into a baritone. “Girls have fun, oh girls just wan- have fun, oh girls, have fun…”
Andy begins to drum on his knees.
II.
“Hillary,” says Andy reverently, “Andrews.”
“I don’t care,” says Stanley, taking another bite of his sandwich.
Phyllis turns in her seat, smiling impishly. “Was she an old flame?”
“Ohohoho, was she.”
“Wait for it,” says Karen, resigned, sitting at her own desk. Perched on the edge of the desk, Jim cocks an eyebrow at her.
“Have you ever seen the Weather Channel?” Andy and Karen say at the same time.
Jim laughs. In the background, Andy goes on, as Phyllis begins to slowly wilt under the onslaught. “He dated an on-air personality from the Weather Channel? Wow.”
“Honestly, I think he just kind of stalked her,” says Karen.
I.
Andy sidles up to reception, picks out a jellybean, and casually pops it in his mouth. “Hey, Pam-mo.”
--
“Oh God,” Pam says, wide-eyed, to the camera.
--
“How’s it goooin’?” He shifts, leaning on the desk.
“Um, pretty good. You know, I think I hear a call coming in,” says Pam desperately, her eyes darting to Jim’s back.
“Huh,” says Andy. “You must have, like, super-hearing.” He tilts his head to the side. “Is that a new hairstyle?”
“Uh – no.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and her hand curls there protectively.
“Well, it looks a-lovely.”
--
“Oh. My God,” says Jim, fist hiding his mouth from the camera, his eyes dancing.
--
“Thank you. Andy.” Pam finally closes her mouth, her head tilted downward and eyes looking anywhere but Andy.
--
“Yeah,” Andy tells the camera, self-satisfied. “She digs me. Jim told me.”
--
“Yeah.” Jim laughs, sitting back. “I told Andy that Pam likes him.” He pauses, then asks, “That’s not too cruel, right? She totally had it coming.”
The second pause isn’t playful; his eyes widen and the smile drops off his face and he says hurriedly, “But not because of—”
Jim scratches the back of his neck and his smile returns, rueful and tight. “Yeah.”
* * * * *
Notes that I didn't want to put at the beginning: In number IV, Pam's out sick, or at lunch, or -- somewhere. Not meaning to imply that she's no longer at Scranton! In number III, my committee chair actually taught Cyndi Lauper at a small community college back in the seventies (or possibly the eighties; I don't always listen when he gets to rambling), which was my main inspiration. As for number II: I give you Hillary Andrews, Cornell class of 1992.
Fandom: The Office, American
Rating: PG-13?; one f-bomb that would never make it past the censors.
Characters: Andy; Jim, Karen, Pam; Michael, Angela, Ryan, Phyllis, Stanley
Notes: In rough chronological order during season three, from "Gay Witch Hunt" through "Traveling Salesmen." Prompt from here, by
dollsome: five ladies that Andy knows seriously dig him. Thanks to ohyatoni for looking over ages ago! V.
Karen spins in her chair, laughing, her headset bobbing. “Eat my dust, Halpert!”
“I would love to,” says Jim, leaning back in his chair, his hands on his head. On the computer screen, his soldier is dead, again. “I love dust. It’s a delicacy, where I come from.”
Karen scoffs doubtfully, but her eyes are on Jim and she's smiling. “Scranton? A Scranton del--”
“Eat it, Halpert!” Andy crows. He laughs as he turns around in his chair. “Whoo!” He pumps a fist. “Yeah! Team Stamford, kickin’ ass!” He wheels back to throw up his arm, palm out, to Karen.
She looks up at his hand for a minute, then gives him a high five and immediately turns back around to talk to Jim.
Andy looks away from Karen, at the camera, and he winks.
IV.
“Hey, Tuna!”
Jim stares at the computer screen.
“Heyyyyyy Big Tuna!”
“ ‘Johnny’ is two syllables,” Jim points out without looking up.
Andy scoffs. “Everybody knows that, Big—” He raises one finger. “Tu—” Another finger goes up, and he stares at it a moment before he quickly lowers his hand to the mouse. “You see that?” He doesn’t bother to wait for the answer that wouldn’t come. He tips his head at Angela, across the office at her desk. Jim doesn’t look and Andy points with his head again and again, so violently the last time that it looks as though his head might come flying off his shoulders.
Jim gives a cursory, casual glance in the direction of Accounting. “What, Kevin picking his nose?”
“Tch, no,” says Andy condescendingly. “Uh, disgusting, Tuna. No, the other one.”
“Uh, Andy, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Oscar’s not here,” Jim tells him seriously.
Andy fixes him with an annoyed stare. “No. The—” He lowers his voice, grinning suddenly. “Oh yeah? The proper lady over there just eyefucked the shit out of me.”
Jim stares at the computer screen, then into the camera for a long, long moment.
Across the room, Angela is glaring at Andy with unrelated simmering hatred.
Oblivious, Andy cracks up. “Wedding Crashers. Saw it five times in the theater.” He holds up five fingers to illustrate. “My cousin, he’s the manager of the AMC in Danbury.” He leans forward, hunching over his desk. “Hey, what do you say w—”
“No.” Jim taps a few keys.
“You and I could—”
“Mmm.” Jim shakes his head. “Nope.”
Andy shoves himself back into his chair. “Fine. I’ll just go hang with Will Ferrell, then.”
“Right,” says Jim absently. He types another line. A phone rings. Andy swings back and forth in his chair, tapping his fingers on the desk.
“Hey. Big Turkey.” Ryan resolutely does not look up, but that doesn’t stop Andy. “Hey Ma! Can we get some meatloaf?!”
Ryan’s hand jerks, pencil scratching a line across the file. “—What?”
Michael Scott sweeps in out of nowhere, guffawing. Jim throws his hands up and leans back in his chair, and his eyes flick in the direction of the empty reception desk.
“Ohh, Wedding Crashers, classic flick!” Michael strikes a pose. “WHY DON’T YOU GO ENJOY YOURSELF WHILE I GO ICE MY BALLS AND SPIT UP BLOOD!”
The office goes silent and all eyes fall on Michael. Several desks away, Stanley tries to cover the mouthpiece of the telephone a few seconds too late.
Jim’s head tilts to one side, and one side of his mouth lifts as he looks at the camera. Ryan mutters something that might be, “Oh God” and keeps his head bent low over the file.
Andy claps, slowly. “Wow, Michael,” he says. “Wow. That was amazing. You sounded just like Jeremy.”
“ ‘Jeremy?’ ” Michael gives a pleased, derisive snort. “That was Vince Vaughn, Andy. God.” He strolls off to his office, ignorant of the sour look that Stanley shoots him.
“God, Andy,” says Jim, and he smiles to himself and glances over his shoulder.
III.
“Oh yeah.” Andy leans back in his seat and laces his fingers behind his head. “Cyndi. She was hot. Hott.” He drags out the ‘h’ and over enunciates each ‘t.’ “We were quite the pair.”
He grins self-satisfactorily, smugly at the camera. “Didn’t you ever hear that song?”
His voice soars into a sudden falsetto. “Oh girls, they wanna have fuh-hun, oh girls just wanna ha-ave fu-un.” He sways in his chair to the beat, head bobbing and eyes closed as he drops into a baritone. “Girls have fun, oh girls just wan- have fun, oh girls, have fun…”
Andy begins to drum on his knees.
II.
“Hillary,” says Andy reverently, “Andrews.”
“I don’t care,” says Stanley, taking another bite of his sandwich.
Phyllis turns in her seat, smiling impishly. “Was she an old flame?”
“Ohohoho, was she.”
“Wait for it,” says Karen, resigned, sitting at her own desk. Perched on the edge of the desk, Jim cocks an eyebrow at her.
“Have you ever seen the Weather Channel?” Andy and Karen say at the same time.
Jim laughs. In the background, Andy goes on, as Phyllis begins to slowly wilt under the onslaught. “He dated an on-air personality from the Weather Channel? Wow.”
“Honestly, I think he just kind of stalked her,” says Karen.
I.
Andy sidles up to reception, picks out a jellybean, and casually pops it in his mouth. “Hey, Pam-mo.”
--
“Oh God,” Pam says, wide-eyed, to the camera.
--
“How’s it goooin’?” He shifts, leaning on the desk.
“Um, pretty good. You know, I think I hear a call coming in,” says Pam desperately, her eyes darting to Jim’s back.
“Huh,” says Andy. “You must have, like, super-hearing.” He tilts his head to the side. “Is that a new hairstyle?”
“Uh – no.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and her hand curls there protectively.
“Well, it looks a-lovely.”
--
“Oh. My God,” says Jim, fist hiding his mouth from the camera, his eyes dancing.
--
“Thank you. Andy.” Pam finally closes her mouth, her head tilted downward and eyes looking anywhere but Andy.
--
“Yeah,” Andy tells the camera, self-satisfied. “She digs me. Jim told me.”
--
“Yeah.” Jim laughs, sitting back. “I told Andy that Pam likes him.” He pauses, then asks, “That’s not too cruel, right? She totally had it coming.”
The second pause isn’t playful; his eyes widen and the smile drops off his face and he says hurriedly, “But not because of—”
Jim scratches the back of his neck and his smile returns, rueful and tight. “Yeah.”
Notes that I didn't want to put at the beginning: In number IV, Pam's out sick, or at lunch, or -- somewhere. Not meaning to imply that she's no longer at Scranton! In number III, my committee chair actually taught Cyndi Lauper at a small community college back in the seventies (or possibly the eighties; I don't always listen when he gets to rambling), which was my main inspiration. As for number II: I give you Hillary Andrews, Cornell class of 1992.
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and thank you. :) ♥
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Then I got to the part about how I've read it before. :)
Very, very fun! Andy's voice is perfect.
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