Kate Gregson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vanillajello) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomhigh_ooc2011-04-26 08:51 pm
vanillajello) wrote in fandomhigh_ooc2011-04-26 08:51 pm
Entry tags:
Meme: Writing Samples, Samples of Writing!
I don't have the brain to do the common room post I have planned, we've just gotten approval on a new batch of characters, and (as far as I can tell omg) we haven't done this since January last year. So.
Share your writing samples! We've gone through quite a few app cycles since this was done last so there should be plenty to post if you're so inclined. Come on now, I for one am ridiculously curious to see them!
Share your writing samples! We've gone through quite a few app cycles since this was done last so there should be plenty to post if you're so inclined. Come on now, I for one am ridiculously curious to see them!
no subject
***
Quinn got back up to her dorm room on the day the pterodactyls had attacked and collapsed with a theatrical groan. She'd spent the day dealing with flying reptiles the size of motorcycles, who apparently never got the memo they were supposed to be extinct. She didn't go out to fight them -- she thought the people who did were completely insane -- but there was still plenty to do between bandaging wounds, cleaning weapons, and (when nobody was watching) holding fighters' hands and stroking their hair, trying to encourage them to keep going.
Having gone all ... gooey and maternal, or whatever, was almost as weird to Quinn as the pterodactyls. She didn't do stuff like that.
Her recovery was interrupted by the arrival of her roommate. The male roommate she was going out of her way not to tell Daddy about. The very irritating male roommate who bounced into the room, waving his gunk-covered sword in the air in triumph. He'd been killing monsters all day, and acting like it was the best party ever.
"If you get pterodactyl guts on my side of the room," Quinn informed him before he could try to bond, "I will tell everybody that you wet the bed." Zack, looking hurt, started to answer, but Quinn's phone rang and she silenced him with a raised finger as she checked the caller ID. Sue Sylvester.
Quinn closed her eyes, praying for the strength to deal with this. Letting the cheer coach go to voice mail inevitably ended in rambling messages about success, hysterectomies, and curly-haired men, and that would be exactly the topper Quinn's day needed. "I have to take this, but then we need to talk about the whole dinosaur thing," she told Zack. "It wasn't in the brochure."
Sue's voice on the other end of the line was cheerful as she asked Quinn how her practice had gone that day. (Despite being two states away, Quinn was still on the WMHS cheer squad. Blackmail had been involved. Not all of it was Quinn's.)
"I couldn't go outside for a run," she said, then -- bracing herself -- just told the truth as to why. "Pterodactyls attacked."
"Pterodactyls?" Quinn could swear Coach Sylvester sounded almost fond about that. "You think that's an excuse? Back in '88, we competed in Nationals while raptors with monkeys on their backs charged the stadium. Carried away one of our best gymnasts. That was hard."
There was no good response to the coach when she was on a tear like that, so Quinn made it through a few more moments of conversation with a lot of "okays" and promises to focus on her handsprings. When she hung up, she noticed there was a new text from Finn.
Babe, something came up. Had to join glee club. CALL ME. Love you. She sighed and turned her attention back to Zack, feeling like things were very, very wrong.
Seriously. What kind of loser signed up for glee club?
no subject
no subject
... Sigh. If it wouldn't wreck my brain, I'd bring her in, like, next week.
no subject
So, yes. Sue absolutely has to come to Fandom, someday. . . .
no subject
no subject
no subject
* * *
"Red Casebook entry two dash thirty-one." Damian spoke quietly into the recording device hidden in his watch. "Studying is difficult this afternoon as all the books have turned into pies. Even the pages on my e-reader have become pie charts. This is not a great difficulty, of course, as I am well ahead of my class, but my roommate has eaten two slices of my physics text so I will likely need to procure a new one."
A black and white kitten sauntered into the room and hopped up on the bed next to Damian. The boy gave it a suspicious look. “If that’s you, Todd, I am not falling for that ‘rub my belly’ stuff again.” The kitten mewed and bumped its head against Damian’s elbow. Damian rolled his eyes and scratched the kitten behind its ears. “Don’t expect me to make some kind of ‘cooing’ noises at you.” Brown had caught him on video the last time he’d talked cute to a cat and he was *never* going to live that down. Especially since Grayson had emailed the link to half the Justice League.
A brown tabby pushed through the door, followed by an orange tabby with an arrow-shaped mark on its forehead. “Are you Harper?” Damian demanded of the orange tabby. Both kittens hopped up on the bed and joined the first in purring and butting their heads against Damian. “Don’t - wait, look, I can only pet two of you at a time,” the boy said, doing his best to rotate between all three. “Who are you? Give me a hint.” The kittens just purred at him. The brown tabby stood on Damian’s thigh and tried to knead his leg. “Hey, stop that,” Damian scolded.
A grey and white kitten peeked through the door and an orange and brown calico kitten jumped over it and ran up on the bed. “How many of you are there?” Damian asked. The calico meowed sharply. “That doesn’t help. I don’t speak cat,” Damian said. The calico meowed again. “It was rhetorical! I didn’t expect an answer!” Damian pushed several kittens off his lap and went to the door of his dorm room. “HELLO? IS ANYONE AROUND?” He didn’t receive a verbal response, but three more kittens ran up to him and rubbed against his legs. “HAS EVERYONE IN THIS DORM BEEN TURNED INTO KITTENS?” The calico meowed behind him. “Well,” Damian said, cracking a very slight smile. “At least it should be quiet here for once. Who wants tuna?” He headed for the common room kitchen, a line of kittens trailing him like ducks following their mother.
no subject
no subject
Jeremy was feeling a little imbalanced when he stumbled out of bed and towards the bathroom, but he paid that no mind. He'd been at Caritas the night before, so really, some consequences had been expected.
But what he hadn't expected was turning on the lights in the bathroom and coming face to face with her half-naked twin sister. So he did what anyone would've done, and screamed. So did Juliet. In fact, her scream was louder; he didn't even hear himself.
But that was the least of his problems. He clamped his hand over his eyes. "Jesus, Jules, put a shirt on or something!"
... Wait. Wait, wait, wait. "Uh, why are you in the mirror?"
When there was no answer, he had to peek out from between his fingers.
In the mirror Juliet did the same.
And then he realized that while everything he'd heard said over the last half a minute or so were things he'd thought in his head, he... hadn't actually heard his own voice. Only Juliet's. And that was weird. Out of control levels of weird. And that was even ignoring the fact that his twin sister seemed to be trapped in a mirror.
He lowered his hand from his eyes. In the mirror Juliet did the same. He heard Juliet's voice and watched Juliet's lips move as he said her name, dubious and cautious and maybe a little creeped out though he'd deny that.
"Jules?"
Okay, woah. He still couldn't hear his own voice and, frustrated, he brought his hand up to rub one of his eyes. And then... "Wow. I have girl hands? ... And a girl voice! And-- And boobs. Hi, boobs." He smiled down at his lovely new curves for a split second before the reality of the situation caught up with him and he pulled a face, covering his eyes again. "Oh eww, Jules boobs!" And then he was hit with another thought. If he was in Juliet's body, did that mean Juliet was in his? Because he'd really like to get that back ASAP. With that single thought in his mind, he scrambled his way out of the bathroom, then out of the room into the hallway.
Thirty seconds and a girly scream later he returned to grab a shirt. He'd have to remember to apologize to Juliet for accidentally flashing that guy from down the hall.
no subject
* * *
Sam lay back in the lounger on the deck, adjusting the screen on her laptop with her toes. On the screen, Carly made a face.
“I really didn’t need to see your stinky feet up close, Sam.”
“Hey, they’re not stinky,” Sam said. “I took a bath yesterday and everything. ‘Sides.” She took a big honking bite of her barbeque ribs, and continued with her mouth full. “Didn’ wanna get sauce on the ‘puter.”
“Well, I’m sure Freddie appreciates that, at least.” Carly leaned forward, peering out at her. “Where are you?”
“Dorm deck.” Sam swallowed her bite of rib meat and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “Woulda grabbed a common room, but people in there always think I’m gonna SHARE.”
“Can’t have that,” said Carly.
“Right. I’m a growing girl. I need my meat.” She took another bite and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “So, there’s a lot of good talent around here. An actual witch, for one, way more impressive than that Malika girl. Plus? Talking frog.”
“Really.” Carly never quite believed Sam’s stories about Fandom. “A talking frog.”
“Yeah, he’s kind of a nug, but hey, frog that talks.”
“Well, ask them if they want to be on the show.”
“Done and done.”
The door behind Sam opened, and Scully came out. “I thought I heard someone out here.”
Sam tilted her head back over the lounger and waved a rib at her. “Hey, Scully.”
“Hey, Sam.” Scully raised an eyebrow at the giant plate of ribs on Sam’s lap, but didn’t comment on it. “You settling in okay?”
“Yep. Just telling my bud Carly here how great this place is. Oh!” She sat up, leaning into the laptop. “Carly. They have an entire club here all about doing nothing.”
“Wow,” Carly said. “It’s like this school was made for you.”
“I know, right?!” Sam noticed Scully giving her the eye and leaned back again, shifting the laptop with her foot so the webcam would pick up Scully. “Carly, Scully. Scully, Carly.”
“Nice to meet you,” Carly said. Scully smiled.
“You, too.”
“Get this,” Sam said, turning the laptop back to face her. “Scully’s, like, a mad scientist. She and this girl Claudia are building a catapult.”
“Trebuchet,” said Scully.
“Bless you,” said Sam.
“Cool,” said Carly. “Maybe you and Freddie could get some shots of that, too.”
“For your webshow?” Scully didn’t seem totally thrilled with the idea. “Well, at least that doesn’t broadcast to my universe. Mulder would never let me hear the end of it.”
“Universe?” asked Carly.
“It’s a thing,” said Sam. She was about to elaborate when something let out a high pitched squeal on the other side of the deck. “Ooo, my trap!” She set her ribs down and jumped up to go check it.
The trap had caught something green and scaly, about the size of a large house cat. It snarled at her as she got close, but Sam was pretty used to snarling, and wasn’t bothered by it. She crouched down and poked a finger at it.
“Uh, Sam,” Scully said. “Be careful. That’s a gremlin.”
“That’s what I was hoping for. It’s kinda cute, for a squirmy, lizard thing.” Sam had managed to get her hand on one of the thing’s ears when it twisted up to bite her fingers. “Hey! It tried to bite me!”
Behind her, Scully was facepalming. “Yes, Sam, that’s what they do.”
“Yeah, well, two can play at that game.” There was, after all, only one way for Sam to react to a green scaly thing trying to bite her.
She bit it back.
no subject
no subject
no subject
This was not by any means a new occurrance. Whenever Sherlock got it into his head to do something in Baltimore, generally at 2 AM in the middle of the night, John was there-- the difference between the two of them was that John couldn’t survive a full night awake on nicotine patches alone.
And now last night, Sherlock had - once again - abandoned John on some streetcorner some two hours into the chase, leaving him to take a cab, leaving him to fall asleep on his desk in the clinic with his phone still clutched tightly in his hand. Which was where he was now.
He jerked awake at the feel of a cold... something against his skin, and sat up. “Right, I’m sorry I--”
He blinked.
The Siamese cat blinked slowly back at him, as if to insult his intellect. For having to breathe, he supposed.
“Right,” he said again. “I didn’t know Martha had a cat. And... I’m talking to myself.” The cat mewed at him in irritation, leaned over, and left a long scratch across one of his forms. “I was working on that!” he snapped.
... Shouting at a cat. He needed to get more sleep.
Shooting the creature a foul look, he leaned backwards, and glanced over the paper to see if it was salvageable. Three great big tears were visible in the paper, swishing about like a snake, almost like a--
Actually, exactly the shape of an S. He squinted closer. Then he squinted at the cat.
The cat shot him another look that clearly spelled your intellect is vastly inferior to my own, then leaned down and began to lick its-- his-- paw with prim satisfaction.
“Oh good god,” said John. “Sherlock, you’re--” He bit down on his lip. “Sherlock, you’re sitting on my desk. Please get off it so I can get you a pet bed?”
Sherlock mewed at him, and refused to budge even in the slightest. John rubbed his eyes, then got up out of his seat. If Sherlock was going to be like this just because he turned into a cat, a cleaning of the mini-fridge in their hotel room was definitely in order. He’d been getting sick and tired of having to reach past the fingers in a jar to get at his sodas, anyway.
“Mini-fridge,” he said, and ambled off with a sense of purpose and revenge to his gait.
The cat had shredded the rest of his paperwork by the time he got back. John sighed, and put the kitty litter up on his desk. His vengeance could come when Sherlock was human again. (If he turned human again, and didn’t remain a cat simply to spite him, which John would almost find possible if it wasn’t for the fact that without a proper supply of nip, Sherlock would wind up lethally bored as a feline. Even more so than usual.)
no subject
***
It shouldn't be that surprising that it’d taken less than two weeks here and one irritating classmate to end up with Kate starting her weekend in detention.
Oh yeah, she could already imagine the letter winging its way between dimensions to Greg. He had seen enough reports like that to fill a binder from the Order. They portrayed her as undisciplined, rebellious, mouthy and disrespectful. Every piece of paperwork was riddled with all of it. He’d hardly be shocked.
Now here she was, staring at some kind of alien goop she was supposed to be scraping off the side of the community centre. It looked a little like a giant toad had rocked on up and sneezed on it. Kate had only dealt with one of those the once (it had vomited on her shoes before she killed it) and it wasn’t an experience she was in a hurry to re-live.
This was not the same, but her immediate response was a similar, “... I don’t want to know, I don’t want to know, I don’t want to know,” mantra repeated to herself in a mutter as she picked up one of the cleaning tools the guy in the pajamas had supplied them with. As soon as it touched the goop it punctured the skin like a bubble and it oozed something even nastier. “I really don’t want to know.”
Any other school and this would probably be as easy as gum off the bottom of a desk, and she grimaced as she flicked the first slimy glob off the end of her scraper into a bucket. Ugh. So what if she’d dealt with worse, it didn’t mean she had to like it.
Why couldn’t it have been the gum thing?
“Don’t tell me you’re getting all girly over this?” The accusation in the voice made Kate bristle a little, and irritation set in her shoulders. The look that all but shot daggers was aimed firmly at the wall.
“If you want to prove you’re a man and grab it by the bare handful, be my guest,” she sniped. “Eau de Slime Monster is so appealing.”
There are some words, that you regret in the instant they leave your mouth. With Kate, that ended up being most of them, but this set made that list for a particular reason.
That reason was already dripping down the back of her t-shirt with an unpleasant cold and greasy sensation.
Kate turned slowly, and stared at him for a long moment, not quite believing he had gone there. There weren’t many things about her appearance she held onto. There were no girly clothes, no jewelry, no make up... Her hair was the one thing her vanity wouldn’t let her give up.
There was unholy snot goop, in her hair.
… “You have got to be kidding me. What are you, twelve?”
Yeah, she was already mentally preparing her retaliation. The way things were going, she just might find herself here again next week.
no subject
_
Bo was cleaning glasses. Very, very thoroughly, and allllll the way down at the other end of the bar from the single customer who'd ventured into the Devil's Nest this early in the evening.
Was that a thumb-print? Yes, yes it was. Mostly because she'd just made it. Still, had to be cleaned, and had nothing to do with not making eye-contact with the huge, hairy, big-nosed thing down there who'd been giving her moon-eyed looks since --- SHIT. Eye contact!
Some horror film producer could make a fortune off the pants-wetting cognitive dissonance of that droopy, lovelorn smile on that.... face. Bo, for her part, went for a completely impossible expression that tried to combine professional politeness, complete discouragement, and I AM INVISIBLE, YOU DO NOT SEE ME, THIS SHOT GLASS IS POLISHING ITSELF.
The cold hand on her shoulder was one more factor than her already overworked brain could handle, and the glass slipped to the floor with a crash as she spun around.
"You know that's coming out of your tips, right?" Eric gestured for her to hand over the towel. "Maybe I should handle that, while you go earn some."
"Since when do you wash dishes?" She wasn't just asking to get out of going anywhere near the customer; this was Eric. Even seeing him behind the bar was a rarity, when he wasn't fishing himself out a bottle of something because there was nobody free to carry it over to him in the VIP lounge.
"Since I realized how amusing it's been to watch my bartender try to avoid the amorous attentions of a troll all week."
His hand was still out for the towel; Bo glared and slapped it down across Eric's palm with a snap of her wrist and a sigh. "What can I say; my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. Assuming that's actually a boy."
"Definitely male; troll women are exquisitely beautiful." He didn't even bother to stifle the smirk. "You should consider it a compliment; that would have to be some milkshake to--" The smile slid away, replaced by an expression Bo would almost describe as aghast if she'd believed the vampire was capable of any besides bored, pissed, and snarky. "You didn't."
{con't}
no subject
Looking away from him was a stupid move, since that brought her into eyeline with Fosse's gooey, snaggle-toothed smile -- and better earshot of the dreamy sigh that followed.
And her boss was actively laughing at her now. "You did."
Bo crossed her arms over her chest and glared up at him. "Emergency rations! I was starving. It was him or that kid with the mohawk, and I wasn't gonna feed on a sixteen year old human." Even a shirtless sixteen year old human with pecs that might as well have USDA Prime branded on them and sex chi pouring out every available orifice and damn, she'd gone without for a week and even thinking about it was making her hungry now. "All I did was kiss this one, for which there is not enough Scope on the planet by the way, and I guess the mojo got stuck on stun, because he's been following me around for days."
Eric's lip twitched as he flicked the towel at her in a shooing motion. "Well, you don't want to keep him waiting. Usually I frown on my employees fraternizing with the customers, but I'm willing to make occasional exceptions for the sake of true love..."
"You think I won't put garlic in your TruBlood, but you're wrong." A month ago, Bo hadn't even known vampires were real, and now she hated every single pasty, overdeveloped, over-attractive, overpowered... "Heeey. You could make him forget he ever saw me. That glamour thing of yours works long-term, right?"
"On a troll?" Eric shot a glance down towards Fosse, lifting an eyebrow. "Possibly. But why deprive myself of endless hours of entertainment? What's in it for me?"
Bo stared at the back of his head for a moment, which wouldn't do at all if he was going to properly appreciate her how stupid ARE you expression, so she coughed and put a very warm hand on his very cold arm until he turned to look back at her.
"...Seriously?"
Bo didn't need to read the man's energy to tell that it might be a WTF, but it wasn't a no. She gave him a relatively genuine smile, and sent another pulse of heat across his skin. "What part of that arrangement do you think wouldn't be win/win for me?"
The next time Bo saw the school janitor, he didn't even look up as he flap-ball-changed down the sidewalk past her.
It was almost worth the gift-wrapped bottle of Scope she'd found in her employee locker the next morning.
~finis~
no subject
***
"Stay back!" Juliet Darling intoned stiffly, falling dramatically to her knees and calling into use the worst Latina accent this side of a Taco Bell ad as she draped herself over an imaginary corpse on the stage. A small marmoset clung to her shoulder, but she was determined not to let Jeremy's predicament get in the way of her craft. "How do you fire this gun Chino? By pulling this little trigger!? How many bullets are left Chino?" Her index finger turned into an imaginary gun, which she waved wildly toward the audience.
"Enough for YOU? Or YOU? All of you!! You ALL killed him! And my brother! And Riff! Not with bullets and knives! With HATE! Well, I can kill now too, because now I have hate!!! How many can I kill Chino? How many -- and still have one bullet left for me?" She collapsed over the corpse again, wracked with sobs that almost knocked the marmoset to the stage.. "Don't touch him! Te ADORO, Anton. TE ADORO."
She let the moment fade for a second, then rose, beaming, for her curtsy. "How did I do?"
The marmoset's eyes seemed to beg that the director not answer the question honestly. But Genesis Rhapsodos was not in the business of cowering before monkeys.
"Juliet," Genesis said, as he steepled his fingers and resisted the urge to sigh. "That was a horrible audition. But your father has donated a sum of money that would enable me to keep the theater open for quite some time, with the understanding you'll play a lead role. What would you do in my --"
He was interrupted by a wail from the stage. "He promised he wouldn't do that!" Juliet blubbered. "I thought I'd make it on my own. I feel so connected to the c-c-[i]character[/i]." She barely got out the last word before she was crying, running one fist over her eyes to stop the tears "I too know the drama of forbidden love."
"Really?" the director asked.
"Uh-huh," Juliet nodded vigorously. "I had a crush on a gardener once. That's about the same thing."
"Let me ask you one thing," Genesis said, scribbling something in his notebook. "Why did you decide to play Maria as having a pet monkey?"
Juliet looked embarrassed. "Oh. That's my brother. He'll probably be normal again by the time we perform," she said, running one hand over the primate's fur as she added, "He just seemed so lonely when I tried to leave him in the dorms..."
Genesis actually did sigh at that. "I'll let you know."
no subject
---
Summer camp. Sending him to summer camp.
His parents' ignorance was usually irritating enough, but now it had become a downright liability. Not just that, but Peter was three days in and he'd already gotten assaulted by three seperate people over Ender, of all people, and he didn't have the slightest clue why. Except that everything always came back to Ender in the end, and it would just be so typical to find they had met his brother and loved him, of course, adorable little Enderpoo--
"YOU THERE! WITH THE FACE!"
And with that, Peter was rudely jolted out of his thoughts. He lifted his head up. "'With the face'," he said, "That's really clever."
"Vote for me!" the boy continued, obliviously, and slapped a flyer in front of him. "I'll be representing us sophomores in the student council, and I'll be doing it good!"
Peter barely hid his distaste in time. "Student council elections aren't for months," he pointed out, as idly as he could manage when really all he wanted to say was like you would accomplish anything of note besides organising stupid parties, or maybe even get up and storm out of here because he sure as hell had better things to do.
"Can't start too early!" the guy said, happily. "I'm promoting the idea of putting new squishy machines on the sixth floor! Keep me in mind, buddy!" He punched Peter companionably in the arm.
"Oh, I'll keep you in mind all right," Peter said, and forced a smile. Wasn't there anyone at this school who had anything even remotely close to a decent perspective on anything? This was supposed to be a school for 'special students' - he'd hoped for presidents' sons or something else worthwhile. "Buddy," he tacked on.
These people weren't even worth charming, really. But, just for form's sake, Peter kept his bitchface in until the boy had pranced off to go pick out new trainers, or whatever the hell it was you did when you didn't have anything important to do with your life.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
YET! THIS IS HARRASSMENT.no subject
Peter Bishop wasn't going to be outdone. He'd played the game perfect so far. He started losing, just to figure out who had the easy tells, learn how the other people were playing.
Peter Bishop didn't gamble, he had a system.
"You know, you could just give up now," he said, oozing on the charm. He wasn't bluffing, but he was entirely certain that she couldn't have a good hand. What he definitely knew was this was a game of strip poker with a very attractive girl. He was just having to remember to play the game with the right brain. Not that hard, given his intellect. He'd seen the other two players fold, both after staying past the first round of raises. He had a straight, ten high. Nothing too big, but it was a real hand. This was his first big event at this school, and he knew he just had to play this right.
"But I'm going to make this interesting and go all in. The rest of my clothes, on the line." He smiled at her, a bit of smugness in his expression.
"I think I'll stay in," said his opponent. Peter knew her name. Emma Frost, she'd said. He'd filed that away for 'fellow students to get to know better', no matter how the game went. She had a strong personality, and he liked that.
"Well, then," Peter said. "Here's where I show I wasn't bluffing." He smiled, laying his cards out on the table. "Straight, ten high. Hope I didn't break your heart."
"Actually, my five hearts say I win," Emma said, showing her own hand. "Flushing away that smug smile of yours."
Peter blinked and looked at the cards. "Well, that's impressive. How exactly
could you tell? I've got to know your secret." He definitely thought he could learn a thing or two from this girl.
"I'm not telling you anything until I get my winnings," Emma said.
"Well, far be it from me to go back on a bet," Peter said, standing up. He also realized that he hadn't properly introduced himself "By the way, I'm--"
"Peter, yes," Emma said, looking a little bored.
Peter himself just stared for a moment. How could she possibly have known that, he wondered. There was something up with this girl. And he was going to love finding out what it was.
no subject
And then he was startled by the voice of a girl, from the door: "Ugh, please tell me there's nothing gross living in there." He turned around, stumbled over his words. His word. "W-what?"
The girl – a thin blonde in clothes that made him think of Alisha – squinted at him, then raised her eyebrows and smiled, as if in recognition, only Simon thought that impossible since they'd never met. Except he'd met Nathan here, only it was a Nathan that hadn't met him yet, so it was possible this girl was from Simon's future and -- "Oh, sorry," she said, "new kid." Of course, that explained it. Simon felt foolish but the girl didn't even notice. "So there's nothing gross in the fridge?"
Simon smoothed his hair over his forehead with the heel of his hand. "No, but I can't find my water bottle. There are a lot of..." He made a futile little gesture at the shelves. "Pudding cups."
"Oh, those are mine," the girl said, seeming unperturbed. Simon looked at her, then in the fridge, then back at her again. She really didn't look like they could be hers. "All of them?"
"My friend bet me I couldn't finish five packs within a week," she replied with a shrug, leaning past Simon to grab one of said packets from the shelf. He shifted awkwardly out of the way even though she'd gotten into his personal space. She didn't seem to care, just sing-songed, "He is about to lo-ose." Simon watched her open the pack, then tilt her head at him. "You're English, right?" He nodded, unsure where this was going. "You should go up to room five oh two. My boyfriend's all pale and English too, and since you were looking at the fridge like it was gonna devour you or something, I think you could use a peer like that to help you shake the new kid shine."
Simon stared at her. She was... recommending a friend for him? That was a first. After a moment, he remembered to smile. "Thank you."
"No problem," she replied, then pointed at something in the fridge door. "That your bottle?" It was. He took it and thanked her again, and she gave another shrug and a brief smile and said, "See ya around, pale English guy that's not my boyfriend."
And with that, she was gone. Simon was unsure what had just happened but he knew he was smiling, and that his homesickness had abated just a bit. What he didn't know was that there was a gremlin lurking right beside the fridge, but he'd know soon enough. And then no one in the dorms would ever be able to look at the swimming pool scene in The Petey Sci-Fi Talky Picture the same way ever again.
no subject
no subject
Also, Kate totes ships Simon/Bod, if in a completely platonic way.
no subject
---
Isabela honestly didn’t know whether she liked or hated how clean this whole island was. Even the Devil’s Nest smelled too nice for a place that should have drunken dwarves in every corner. She supposed it could be blamed on the fact that the island didn’t have any dwarves. They did have those funny armoured guys who all just looked the same. At least they were pleasing on the eyes.
She wouldn’t have minded them visiting the bar now. It was another one of those dull, boring nights that seem to come in between the chaos of what one might call unadulterated chaos. A few patrons were dancing in the club, but none had been interested enough to draw Isabela’s attention towards them. She sighed and closed her eyes, her mind clear of everything but the steady thump of the music they were playing.
“I don’t remember paying you to sleep,” a voice interrupted her.
Isabela opened her eyes, a smile instantly curving her lips as she took in the sight of her boss. Sure, he looked annoyed but then when didn’t he? Well, when she wasn’t on working was the correct answer, but it wasn’t like she could change that. “I’m not sleeping. And it’s hardly my fault things are boring.”
He kind of smoldered when he got mad and Isabela grinned as her boss raised his voice. “At least make the rounds and clear the tables if no one is ordering,” he shouted, making an angry stabbing motion towards the lounge. Then another towards her. “And gets those filthy boots off my bar.”
“Hey! I clean these boots ever day,” Isabela protested, but she let her feet down and shifted in her seat, leaning her elbows on the counter as she studied the man. If her position just happened to show off more of her cleavage (like that was necessary), then so be it. “You know, it’s kind of a turn on when you get all angry. Want to try doing that while we’re all naked.”
At least it got him to stop shouting and that look (the one that always dipped much lower than her face) was one she could work with. “Yes.”
Isabela laughed and lightly jumped to her feet, putting an extra swagger in her step as she disappeared towards the back. See, in the end she made for an excellent employee. Even if she didn’t actually work for it.
no subject
* * * *
Tap-tap-tap went Hook's fingers on his keyboard. He'd gotten rather used to this technology, with all its bits and bobs and internets. It was the wave of the future, a new sea to claim in the name of Captain James Hook. It was a different breed of piracy, of course, one where you didn't need to be tough as nails or even have good sea legs. But that brought a different breed of pirate, and that was something James Hook liked. There was honor amongst these pirates. Or, at least, some of them. And he'd been learning the ropes as to how to deal with the dastardly scum he didn't like. Viruses seemed so more elegant than a cannonball, these days. Though it did lack the ability to watch the poor fools sink into the water. You just had to imagine the carnage... and Hook had a very good imagination.
Just as he was about to start burning DVD copies of the latest Hollywood blockbuster, he heard the bleep-boop of a new e-mail in his in-box.
"Oh look, e-mail, Smee," Hook said out loud, addressing the little Yorkshire terrier that sat on a pillow next to Hook. He'd needed to replace his right-hand man, and a little dog that he could carry around with him seemed just as good a replacement as any. He moved his mouse over and clicked to open the e-mail, which instantly redirected his browser to start playing a video of one of Ke$ha's hit songs.
Hook growled in frustration, but did not smash his hook through the monitor as he so wished. He knew electricity well enough to know how badly [i]that[/i] would end.
"I tell you, Smee," Hook said, an angry curl on his lips, "When I find out who keeps sending me these messages, they will rue the day they messed with James Hook. Rue it!" He managed to click the browser window shut, before the accursed chorus of tiks and toks assaulted his ears. Just in time to hear a knock at the door of his office. Hook peered up at the visitor, and went from anger to all smile. A smile that would make a shark shy away.
"Am I interrupting?" the student said, looking a little nervous.
"Oh, no no no no," Hook said, as he stood to gesture Ariel to a seat. "I take it you're here to learn more about the beautiful, briny sea, of course. I'll be more than happy to tell you. Do get settled, won't you?"
no subject
"You signed up for Extreme Physical Education, Miss SaDiablo," Fraiser pointed out, leaning over to check the straps on her parachute one more time. "Your chute and safety gear are fine, and we're in the Danger Shop. Nothing could go wrong."
"Mother Night! We're billions of thousands of miles in the air!" she yelled back, scowling at the use of Kartane's surname. "There is nothing that can go right about this!"
"This is your final, Miss-" Surreal's glare cut him off, and Benton has to amend his reply. "Miss Surreal. Either you jump with the rest of your classmates, or you fail the course."
That made Surreal grit her teeth in anger. While she didn't have the caste hang-ups that the Blood often had about landens - she couldn't, since growing up in the slums meant living side-by-side with them - that didn't make it any easier to hear a landen male say that she would be a failure.
"Fine," she snarled, baring her teeth at him. "I'll see you on the ground."
And as she tossed herself out of the 'plane,' she had to wonder if Sadi was just as mad as Tersa, to send her to this 'school.'
no subject
***
They’d warned Stephanie about the weird things that happened in Fandom: the strange weather, the occasionally sentient machinery, and the gremlins. The weird timeline craziness, with different versions of people you knew? She’d already learned about that, the first time she’d run into her boss who wasn’t her boss yet and didn’t know he was going to be her boss yet, and that was a whole crazy complicated headache that she was still working out, though she was sure Tim would’ve had it all broken down by now.
This morning, when she shuffled into the common room in search of a caffeine-and-sugar-loaded breakfast, she hadn’t been expecting several of those things to hit all at once. She’d loaded the coffee maker with grounds and turned it on, ignoring it for the time being while she rooted through the freezer for some waffles to pop into the toaster. But the waffles had just popped up, and the coffee maker . . . hadn’t done a thing.
“Aww, hey!” Steph protested, setting her plate aside to go poke at the thing. “C’mon, I did everything right on you!”
She could swear the machine humph’ed at her.
“Waitasec.” Hey, that wasn’t her head voice. Oh well. “Are you --”
This time, the machine made a distinct thbphhhhhhhht sound.
“You totally just gave me the raspberry,” Steph exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “Ohmygod, I’m getting raspberried by Mr. Coffee-Has-an-Attitude!”
“It’s probably on strike again.” The voice came from the doorway, and it was younger (and, this was the freaky part, much less disapproving) than she was used to but Steph would recognize it anywhere.
Meep! Okay, whew, she’d kept it to her head voice that time. “Oh, hi, Bruce.”
“Stephanie,” he answered, and it was only through sheer force of will and a lot of metaphorical sweating that she managed to keep the reflexive reply of “It’s Spoiler” unspoken. (Which would have been wrong on so many levels: for one, she wasn’t Spoiler any more, for two, she wasn’t in costume, and for three, he wouldn’t have known that anyway even if the older version of him had done that to her so many times it was practically Pavlovian. Ow. Still bizarre.) “Hadn’t anybody told you about the machines going on strike?”
“I heard something about that,” Stephanie said quickly, unaware of how eager-to-please she sounded, as if she was hoping to impress him. “I didn’t realize they meant it literally, though. So what do we do? Negotiate with them? Is there a coffee machines’ union?”
Bruce cracked a smile --good one, Stephie, you still have the touch -- but shook his head. “If there is, I haven’t heard about it yet,” he answered, and if this had been anyone else she’d have taken it as a joke.
“Well, darn.” Stephanie snapped her fingers. “We’ll just have to handle this one ourselves then, won’t we? We can talk down one little old --”
But Bruce wasn’t paying attention to her now; he was looking over at the toaster, where there was a little green thing snickering as it snatched the waffles and scurried for the window.
“That’s new,” Bruce started to say, but Stephanie, already in hot pursuit, barely heard it.
“Come back here with those waffles, you little green creep!”
***
Things I have learned: I am never attempting to copy-paste and then fix formatting from BBS code to HTML on my phone again.
no subject
no subject
"You're changing it already?"
It wasn't that Ramona didn't like her roommate; it was just that there wasn't a whole lot about her that she did like. The girl was completely unremarkable, with a slightly annoying nasal voice, and Ramona could usually tune it out. But no such luck now, not with her standing there.
"I change my hair every week and a half. You think you'd be used to it," she remarked, glancing at the other girl who had rudely appeared in her bathroom mirror.
"It's just that I was still getting used to the pink...." the girl said with a little shrug. She paused a minute longer, and asked, "Why blue?"
Ramona raised an eyebrow at her in the mirror. "Why not? Do you hate blue or something? Smurf allergy?"
"I don't -- um, no," her roommate said, shaking her head before venturing, "It looks nice on you."
Ramona actually, almost, smiled. It was close -- just a slight quirk of her lips. "Thanks," she murmured, placing the last foil. "I could do yours next."
The offer was more out of loneliness than any kind of charity. Annoying as her roommate was, Ramona kind of wanted to make friends. It wasn't like she had a whole bunch left back home, after the whole Todd thing. She was turning over a new leaf. A new, bright, blue leaf. She kind of liked it.
"Um, no thanks," the girl said, wrinkling her nose. Her eyes drifted upwards, to where the meter that read PINK was methodically draining above Ramona's head, and the one marked BLUE was slowly filling, making tiny beeping sounds as it went.
Ramona followed her eyeline. "Yeah, I stopped paying attention that awhile ago. It'll go away."
Probably.
no subject
______
Belle had spent months under the guidance of a candelabra, a clock, and a teapot. She had played fetch with a footstool. She'd spent every morning taking fashion advice from an armoire.
Needless to say, the fact that the books in Fandom High's library were sentient hadn't really taken her aback. Her first day in, she'd had to gently pry a pink-covered romance novel out of an ardent embrace with a heavy tome about the battles of the American Civil War. The result had been that the entire romance section wouldn't leave their shelves for a week out of protest for the star-crossed lovers, but Belle eventually won their favor back.
Today's problem, though, was a different matter entirely. "Stop that!" she scolded down at the snapping copy of Purely Positive Training: From Companion to Competition. She drew the ankle it had tried to bite up under her skirt, where she was safely out of the book's range atop her chair. The book bounced and growled on the floor below her, its pages fluttering as the bindings snapped together.
Onto the circulation desk hopped The Cat Bible: Everything Your Cat Expects You To Know with a hiss down at the other book. "Down!" Belle commanded, gesturing to the ground with an angrily pointed finger. The book on cats, unlike the dog book before it, gave a slightly chastened mewl before falling down to the ground, where it seemed to land on its feet, if such a thing were possible for a book.
"You two," Belle said loudly over the ensuing growling, "need to learn how to control yourselves. You're books! You're better than this!"
When neither book seemed to pay her any mind, Belle had two ideas. The first, of course, was a threat. "If you two don't stop fighting, I'm going to lock you both in Special Collections until you come to your senses!"
That got their attention, to the extent that the dog book actually whined and rolled over on its back cover.
The second idea took the rest of the afternoon, but by the time she was done, Belle had reorganized the library. The Dewey Decimal System may have suffered, but all books related to the study, caring, feeding or breeding of felines were on the far, far end of the library from those related to canines. Of course, that put them right in the middle of the cookbooks, but that was a battle for another day, she thought. At least they weren't destroying one another.
And hopefully no students would decide this was a cue to cook cats. This school was odd enough that that was possible.
no subject
___
For someone that had never been to America, Nathan thought he was adapting just fine. His mum would be so proud since he’d been going to classes and everything! It was like he was turning over a whole new leaf even if that was a complete fucking lie.
Most of the time, he went to class so he could ogle the tits of the blonde haired girl that sat nearby. Considering the looks she was sending him, she was either disgusted or constantly constipated. Nathan was betting on the former since he didn’t think he disgusted anyone. Her tits were just so big that Nathan couldn’t help himself. When the girl (he didn’t know her name, it wasn’t important) eventually asked what he was staring at, he’d told her that he was conducting a very important academic study centering around how much friction it would take to make a nipple become erect with just a pinkie finger as stimulation and if he could just get a peek and test his hypothesis, his data would be complete.
That was a load of bullshit and Nathan wasn’t surprised when the girl had thought so too. Offended, she’d called him creep and jerk and all those other lovely pet names he’d become so accustomed to over the years. Nathan, chin in hands, had just smiled at her during her very colourful diatribe. Apparently, she wasn’t going to be one of his study participants. Too bad because she did have great tits. She, apparently, didn’t want to help further academic research on the stimulation of nipples though which was just sad. He was sure he could have made a lot of money off of that bit of research.
Nathan had eventually given up. He wasn’t going to beat his head against a wall trying to get a girl to show him her goods. He had other things to beat that were far more enjoyable. Besides, there were other girls in the class that he could try and get with.
no subject
---
Marshall looked up at the sky before ducking away, back underneath the shelter of the awning. "Okay," he said, "so there's clearly some sort of reasonable explanation for this."
"A reasonable explanation." Marshall's companion looked at him askance. "For rose petals. Raining from the sky."
"I have a friend back home who once had localised storm systems following him around," Marshall explained, "by which I mean so localised that they were right over his head, because my school had a vortex in my science teacher's office that screwed with the nature of reality. Reasonable explanation is kinda relative." He peered around the corner. "And, okay, now there's a horse-drawn carriage coming down the road. With some kind of queen in it. I take it back. There is no reasonable explanation for this."
His companion leaned over him to look at the oncoming carriage. "Those aren't horses," he said, laughing. "They're unicorns."
Marshall pulled back and rolled his eyes. "Right. So does that make her Queen of the Faeries? Because crazy almost-science I can deal with, I did that all the time at my last school, but if we're bringing unicorns and faeries into the equation I'm going to have to... offer a politely-worded complaint to the administration."
"I'm sure they're quaking in their boots." The carriage passed them by. "C'mon, follow me."
As stealthy as he could, Marshall followed along in the wake of his more adept companion. "You never did tell me your name," he asked, as quietly as he could. Not quitely enough, apparently, for his companion held up a hand, one finger raised – the index, thankfully, and not the middle. He nodded towards the next alleyway, and he and Marshall ducked inside. "Sorry," Marshall apologised. "Uh. Do we have a plan?"
His companion shrugged. "Iron's typical for faeries, but without knowing what world these ones come from, I can't guarantee that the usual rules apply."
Marshall thought back to everything he'd ever read about faeries – which was not as much as it could be, since he'd stuck more to Asimov and Card than he ever had de Lint. He'd always liked science fiction more than fantasy. "Uh," he said, ever so eloquently. "What about salt? Isn't that supposed to be a purifying agent?"
His companion gave Marshall an appraising look. "You know more about magic than I expected," he said. "Maybe you're not totally useless."
"I read a lot," Marshall explained. "So, uh. What do we do now?"
"Iron and salt. We find those, then we see if we need to use them. Better prepared for battle unneeded than dead."
"Right, okay." Marshall followed along as his companion led the way towards a nearby store. "Uh, so you still haven't told me your name."
no subject
-------
Okay, this place was weird.
It had taken Jim a while to actually figure that one out, since he’d arrived here on the island. Sure, the vice principal ran around in red tights, and some of the wildlife was unique enough to leave Dr. Doppler demanding holographic evidence of the exotic new species that were mulling about in the Preserve. And there had been that one unfortunate weekend where Jim had thought that he was some dream-sneaking criminal named Arthur, and had tried to orchestrate something called ‘Inception’ on his roommate. He’d apologized for that one very profusely when everything had returned to normal, and had promised that she’d never wake up attached to a weird box via a series of wires again.
He’d even made good on that promise!
No, the weirdness around here was something a little more subtle than that. It wasn’t even the fact that it was generally seen as a bad thing around here when something squirmed inside the fridge. And that the televisions harnessed less impressive technology than the holographic pop-up storybooks that he read as a kid had taken some getting used to, but he’d managed.
What Jim found weird wasn’t anything that was obvious at a glance.
What Jim found weird here was the freedom. There weren’t any outright restricted areas that he’d come across just yet, so he was able to take his solar surfer wherever he pleased, just so long as he wasn’t bowling people down in the streets with it. The classes that he’d taken weren’t the same blah-blah-blah boring stuff that he had trouble sitting through back home on Montressor, and so he actually felt engaged during his lessons, far more often than he’d care to admit. Even the occasions where he’d pushed his luck enough to land him into detention hadn’t been so bad. Okay, so they meant that he’d given up his Saturday in order to do some cleanup around the town, but manual labor (as much as it sucked) totally beat getting those disappointed eyes from his mother whenever the cops dragged him home.
That was the really, really weird thing about this place. Jim didn’t hate it as much as he’d thought he would. He’d made a few friends by showing people how to fly a solar surfer, and he’d gotten used to the weird Earth food quickly enough. Nobody told him that he wasn’t allowed to do this or that, unless it turned out to be something that could actually hurt someone down the road, and he was okay with that. Heck, he hadn’t even memorized the local laws regarding public mischief yet! And here he’d thought that he’d be spending a lot of time getting on the bad side of that Vimes guy.
Jim wrinkled his nose as he looked off the roof of the dorms at the little island that was sprawled out below him. There was a golden sheen on the ground this morning, a result of the maple syrup rain that had fallen the night before. It would be sticky, sure, but Jim wasn’t planning on actually touching the ground today, if he could help it.
He double-checked to be certain that none of his equipment was clogged, and then shot a little grin to the people on the roof with him as they did the same, with their own surfers.
This place was so, so weird. But Jim was done thinking about that, because with a whoop and a kick of one foot, his sail and three more like it were spreading, catching the sun, and glowing bright orange, and a small group of thrill-seekers were throwing themselves off of the roof and into the sky.
no subject
Mercy looked at her side of the room with a sigh then went over to the pile of stuff that she really had intended to unpack last night, and started rummaging through it for a shirt to wear to class. She found a blue one with 'This shirt has no message on it' in black letters and gave it a quick once-over before pulling it on. It only took her a minute to finish getting ready and she was out the door and hopping her way down the stairs in the hopes of actually not being late to her first class at this place.
She hit the lobby in record time, then stopped dead when she caught a scent she'd never expected.
Werewolf.
Darn it all. Had Bran sent someone to keep an eye on her? He sure as heck hadn't told her anything about a pack in the area when he and her mother had conspired to ship her off. All right, so she'd agreed with them that it might be the best thing for her, but still.
She turned her head, looking around to try and pinpoint exactly who it was. None of the handful of people chatting there seemed to have any particular interest in her and none of them looked familiar. They were too close together for her to be able to pick out the scent - unless she was in coyote form and that sooooo wasn't happening. She hadn't shifted since she'd reached her mother's house and she wasn't going to here. It's not like she was back in Aspen Creek where everybody knew about werewolves and about her. Here, out in the real world, she had to keep what she was hidden.
Even if there were some unusual things going on at this place. Like her roommate acting and talking like she'd stepped out of some historical fiction novel. Or the guy at the welcome picnic who'd insisted that she might just wake up one morning as a four year old. Or the fact that one of the classes she'd somehow gotten signed up for was called Galactic Vacationing.
Right about then the group started to split up and one of the guys smiled at her and headed her way. Oh yeah, definitely a werewolf.
"You're new, right? Want a hand finding your classroom?"
Oh, so that was how he wanted to play it? Fine. Mercy could play along, let him think she didn't know what was going on. Most werewolves underestimated her anyway and that was just fine.
So she smiled at him brightly and extended a hand. "Sure. That would be great. I'm Mercedes Thompson. Nice to meet you."
no subject
***
The classroom was set to be a gas station/quik stop this week. This time Columbus set it for the daytime which gave everyone a full view of the zombies that were lurking about. Especially the one in the red pajamas who kept trying to talk to Columbus about Facebook and Aaron Sorkin. And why was that little red-headed girl following him around? Columbus made a mental note to fix the programming for the scenario and ignored the jabbering zombie.
“All right,” Columbus said with a clap of his hands. “So. Last week we covered rule number one. Can anyone tell me what rule number one is?”
The whole class groaned.
“Cardio,” groaned a voice from the back of the group. “Bloody hell, my legs still ache from last week.”
“Excellent,” Columbus said. “Which reminds me that your homework for this week is to run two miles every day. Make sure you log it in your journal.”
Columbus ignored the groans coming from the class... and that jabbering zombie in the red pajamas who kept demanding a “dislike” button.
“Today we’re going to cover rule number two,” Columbus said as he held up his shotgun. “The double tap. When your facing a zombie attack, don’t bother skimping on the ammunition. Honestly, are you really going to regret not using that extra bullet or shell when you become a brunch for a hungry zombie? That’s why you should always-”
Columbus turned and fired two rounds into the head of the nearest zombie. Blood flew and the body hit the ground with a splat.
“-shoot twice.”
There was a gasp from the class and the little girl with the red hair that was supposed to be part of the simulation began to giggle. “BOOM!” she shouted. “Headshot!”
“Um. Mr. Ohio? Sir?” One of the students said as she held up her hand. “You just shot our vice principal.”
“I what?” Columbus asked with a slight twinge in his voice and a slight gurgle in his gut. He looked down at the vice principal and groaned. “Great. First Bill Murray and now this.”
“Don’t worry!” the little girl chirped. “He gets better.”
Columbus blinked once or twice at the girl and then looked over at the body of the vice principal. Okay. He was actually looking better. Kind of. In a way. Oh well... anyone that obsessed with facebook might need a shot to the face. Unfortunately shooting the vice principal did mean that the mess he created was real and not a holographic simulation. A lot of mess.
“Okay!” Columbus said clapping his hands again. “This little situation brings us to rule number twelve: Bounty paper towels. They’re quilted. They’re absorbent annnnnd they are the quicker picker upper. So let’s get some out of our packs and help clean up a little before our VP... um. Rebuilds himself.”
This elicited a lot of groans from the class.
“Let’s just call it extra credit, okay?”
no subject
no subject
I don't think I did Kennedy justice but it was fun to write.
*****
“Well, that can’t be good,” Jack said as ground began to rumble and shake at his feet. If he had any other thought it probably would have been “Why did I come to graveyard in the middle of the night with a girl who looks and acts like Jo Lupo’s little sister?”
Instead he was watching... what was her name? Something like the president.... Kennedy! That was it! He was watching Kennedy pull out a wooden stake from her coat and go to town against-
A guy with a really ugly forehead and pointy teeth. Pointy teeth?
“Holy crap!” Jack shouted as he jumped back about two feet. “He’s a vampire!”
Kennedy shot a glare over her shoulder before decking the vampire and going after it with a vicious one-two punch. “What the hell did you think we were doing in a graveyard in the middle of the night?”
“I don’t know!” Jack said flailing a bit before putting both hands on the top of his head. “You said we were going on patrol! You didn’t say anything about vampires!”
Kennedy was definitely getting annoyed with this guy. Didn’t he say he was in law enforcement? “Look do you think you could give me a hand?”
“Oh, sure. Hang on a second. Oops! Sorry but I seem to have left my gun with silver bullets at home,” Jack snarked back.
“That’s for werewolves, not vampires,” she said blocking the high flying kick of the vampire. “Can I get a little help here?”
“Okay, this is nuts,” Jack said before leaping into the fray with a flying tackle. To his credit, Jack did fairly well. For a normal human grappling with the undead. Okay so he was really sucking at the job. Really it just looked like he was trying to get a piggy-back ride from a vampire.
“Yeah, that’s a lot of help,” Kennedy said as she rolled her eyes and aimed her stake.
“Can we just get this over with before-”
The vampire threw himself against the nearby tree, crushing Jack momentarily in a tree/vampire sandwich.
“-he does that again?” Jack grunted.
“Quit your whining,” Kennedy ordered as her stake met its target and the vampire (true to form) exploded into dust.
This had a dual effect on Jack, as he both fell to the ground and inhaled a lung full of vampire dust. “Oh. Oh. That’s just wrong,” Jack said between hacking coughs. “What the hell did I just suck into my lungs?”
“Oh, shut up. It’s not that bad,” Kennedy said as she hauled Jack to his feet.
“Right,” Jack said as he continued to hack up a lung. “Give me a break. I just inhaled somebody’s powdered spleen. You’re not the one who’s going to get some sort of undead cancer and turn into a zombie.”
Kennedy said nothing but rolled her eyes in response before moving forward to continue on patrol. Unfortunately Jack misunderstood that as a complete confirmation of what he was just saying.
“Oh, crap. I’m going to turn into a zombie. Really?” he whined.
“Shut up, Carter.”
Jack twitched a second or three as his face scrunched up in disgust. “I freaking hate zombies,” he muttered before stumbling after Kennedy.
no subject