Dirk Bouts

Hearing My Voice In Your Voice Is Music To My Ears (Seriously Though, You'll Be Hearing From My Lawyers)

@lavellington NICE.

Ok so this might not be my best offering since I’ve only had time for one proofread- may go back over and tweak/fix it later. But I sure had a blast writing it so i hope you have a laugh reading it!

time for fluff, silliness and some slightly gratuitous hitchhiker’s guide references, enjoy! <3

Dirk had never been a fan of the word ‘Anglophile’. Frankly, he thought adding the word ‘phile’ onto any noun was unnecessarily pretentious at best and downright dodgy at worst. But, well, if the shoe fits!

See, Dirk loved England. England and all things English. He loved that there were at least fifty different phrases just to say ‘it’s raining’. He loved fish and chips and thought they hadn’t tasted as good since the chippies stopped serving them in newspapers. He loved tea, brewed to perfection and, to paraphrase Victoria Wood, hot enough to melt the buttons on a flame-proof nightie.

And most of all, he loved the accents. 

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45 minutes later


“That’s enough now,” said Wilson.

Dirk swallowed hard. His stomach felt as if it had been blown up fit to burst like a water balloon. His head hurt. He couldn’t remember if it came from inside or outside. It wasn’t that Blackwing was so primitive that would use brute force to get what they wanted out of him. It was that Friedkin lost his temper if Dirk didn’t answer quickly enough, and Wilson was not like Riggins as far as caring went.

“You won’t get what you want from me,” Dirk said.

He knew it ever since Riggins sat him down sixteen years ago, demanding telekinesis or telepathy or some sort of palpable, manipulatable ability. Dirk was just a weathervane of fate, but like hell he could rein it.

Wilson raised her eyebrows. She was arranging files back into her portfolio.

“And what do you know about what I want?” she said.

Dirk clenched his teeth.

“I know you think I could be an asset to you,” he said. “That somehow my–whatevers–will be useful to the CIA.”

“Don’t undersell yourself, sweetheart,” said Wilson. “Do I need to slather you with praise so that that little worry won’t bother you while you’re here?”

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