Title: Not Just a River in Egypt
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, general
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob (angst piece)
Rating: PG-13 for language only
Status: New
Archive: You must send an email to me and let me know where you 
intend to archive. Private archiving allowed as long as you don't 
intend to publish. Behave.
Email address for feedback: kel@crazysheep.net
Series/Sequel: There will be a sequel at some point, but it's not 
going well at the moment. Bob came home mad and no amount of 
counseling is seeming to help. Maybe I just need to wait until he 
calms down. :>
Disclaimers: All characters belong to Kevin Smith and the View 
Askewniverse. If I really get into this, I probably will too. Or at 
least go into hock when I walk into a video store, go into rut, and 
buy all the DVDs at once.
Notes: In the warnings category, this contains spoilers for "Scary 
Movie". My private recommendation: If you haven't seen "Scary 
Movie" don't bother. It made Hot Shots look subtle. Not a film I 
ever want to see again and I nearly didn't make it through the whole 
thing. I had to walk away from it for a solid hour before I could 
try it again. The Benji films feature better filmmaking talent.

"Not Just a River in Egypt"
by Kelandris


Anna Templeton privately thought all of her descendants would have a 
field day with this. Here she was, small little compact woman in a 
slowly darkening theatre, girding herself to watch something just for 
their benefit. Soon "Scary Movie" would come on, the film all five 
of her grandchildren had pressed her to go see, giggling all the 
while. She was filled with dread as to why. It didn't look at all 
like the type of film she enjoyed, frankly. But she was trying to 
understand their world, wasn't she? Or she wouldn't be here, that 
was sure.

There weren't many people around her this morning, either, something 
else that didn't bode well. And she was easily the oldest one there, 
with her long braid of silver wrapped loosely around her head. There 
was a young professional couple in back, obviously too absorbed in 
each other to notice any film that might come on. Three young black 
men sat off to her right, feet draped over the seats in front of 
them, jostling each other and laughing. And in the row in front of 
her sat two boys, the blond on the right looking much like her eldest 
grandson Peter, save for Peter's hair was shoulder-length, not 
falling to mid-back as this lad wore his. And her Peter, she thought 
primly, would never use such language. She shushed them quietly, 
cheeks red, as the movie started, and kept a stern eye on the pair as 
both turned to look at her.

When they did, she realized that the blond boy and her grandson 
shared little else in common. This young man had a longer face, eyes 
half-lidded, and what looked like a permanent sneer. **Young thug,** 
she thought, shaking her head, and looked at his friend as the 
credits began to roll.

In the flashing dark, all her eyes could make out was his moon-pale 
face, dark beard and dark eyes, looking soulfully back at her. He 
might be termed attractive, if you liked that kind of thing. He also 
looked far too young to have so dissolute a friend.

Then the film properly started, and she was too busy being completely 
appalled to spare them much attention. That is, until most of the 
cast of characters had been introduced, and the references to one of 
the characters being gay started flying. The dark-haired boy began 
to cast measuring glances at the blond next to him.

The blond, for his part, was denying everything, shaking his head and 
waving his hands. That would have been fine, if a little 
distracting, but he was getting louder at every glance.

"Lunchbox, don't worry about it, I never done anything" was the first 
salvo. From the dark one's accusing stare, it solved nothing. Then, 
the next time a reference came up, and another glance paired with it, 
the blond leaned forward and hissed in the other man's ear.

"I am not *gay*, fat ass, I love women! You think we coulda done 
what we done to Trini Montero if I'd been--"

That earned them another stern shush, and they settled for a while. 
Then it happened again at the next reference, and Anna sighed. This 
seemed to be an unresolved problem.

"*Fuck* you, Bob!" cried the blond. You think all I have to do is 
dream of sucking you dry all day, you got another--"

She leaned forward, tapping the boy on the shoulder.

"Please, young man," she whispered. `You're being impolite to the 
other theatre-goers."

The blond looked at her, sweeping his long hair out of his face, then 
stared around the theatre resentfully.

"Lady, there ain't but half a dozen interested parties here, and I 
don't see them complaining any! You just sit back and shut--"

"*Jay*," said his companion warningly.

**Well,** Anna thought, sitting back. **He does speak.** They were 
decidedly more entertaining than the film, even as much as she 
disliked talking and rude behavior during movies. Her attention 
wandered back to the screen, and she looked away quickly, grimacing. 
How on earth did filmmakers get away with this tripe? It hadn't been 
bad enough when that idiot boy had convinced his girlfriend to dress 
up in football leathers and call her Brendan, no. Now he was 
kneeling on some filthy bathroom floor being tickled by a--

And that's when the dark-haired one-Bob, had it been?-turned on the 
blond, pouring the full weight of his stare on the lad's hapless 
shoulders.

"Lunchbox, I SWEAR-" the young man wailed.

"That's *it*!" Anna said, standing up. She gathered her jacket in 
one hand, the bag with her knitting in the other, and stormed up the 
aisle, wondering where the manager was. She wasn't sure whether 
she'd make him apologize for the film or complain about the two boys, 
but *something* was going to be done!

The boys, she soon learned, were right behind her, the blond still 
loudly protesting everything the bearded one wasn't saying. She 
shook her head, watching them walk out of the theatre just as a beige 
Volvo pulled up in front of the wide glass doors. Ah, her chariot. 
She walked out to the sidewalk.

The last thing she heard as they walked out was the blond 
saying, "Fine, tubs, I'll prove it to you!" in a high, hysterical 
voice.

**Prove it?** Anna thought, smiling for the first time. She watched 
as another small grandmotherly sort got out of the Volvo, this one 
possessed of snapping green eyes and a lush little figure. Her 
glance roved over the woman in ardent appreciation.

"Doris," she said, real pleasure in her voice. "I am so glad you 
came early!"

"Sweetheart, was it that bad?" Doris walked to her side, sliding an 
arm around her waist and pulling her close.

"Oh, much worse," she said, kissing the woman briefly before opening 
the car door.

"Lunch or home?" she asked. Doris smiled, tapping her cheek with one 
short red nail.

"What a decision," she said softly. They smiled at each other as 
Doris pulled into traffic. Anna looked towards the bus stop on the 
corner, seeing the boys there, apparently still arguing.

"Not just a river in Egypt," she said softly, laughing.

"What was that, dear?" asked Doris. One of her hands curled around 
her upper thigh.

"Denial," Anna said. She shook her head, reaching for Doris' 
hand. "Nothing. Let's go home."

END
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