Crack/Humor - "Das ist doch illegal!" "Was du nicht sagst." (für's Team)
Team: Hufflepuff
Challenge: Crack/Humor - "Das ist doch illegal!" "Was du nicht sagst." (für's Team)
Titel: Good with his hands
Fandom: Fast N Loud (Richard/Aaron)
Anmerkungen: Auf Englisch, weil's irgendwie auf Deutsch nicht geklappt hat. Ähm, canon compliant but probably still OOC, weil ich maximal fünf Folgen dieser Sendung gesehen habe. Für die allerbeste nessaniel, die erstens recht damit hatte, dass Pflaumen keine Kirschen sind, und zweitens mehr Fics in ihrem Fandom verdient hat.
Richard is real damn proud of his new 1953 Ford Mainline and he's got the biggest plans for it. It runs smoothly, he's gonna have it repainted in a colour that will, frankly, blow people's minds and he's gonna have the jazziest air ride build into it for showing off and for giving its selling price a bit of a boost. All of that's only going to cost him a couple of thousand. It's a fine piece of work.
He's confident beyond measure when he enters one of the small local garages.
He wanted to get the job done by one of his buddies at first, but the dude took all of one look at the car and decided that what Richard wanted (a goddamn ordinary air ride) wasn't possible and he'd have to disassemble half the car for it and yadda yadda yadda.
Richard had stopped paying attention two sentences in.
If there's one thing he doesn't need in his life it's people who don't believe that they can get a job done, and get it done well, and get it done fast.
Now this garage he chose on a trustworthy recommendation of it being "real damn small, so stoop low, but with the best service you can possibly get around here". Richard is not beyond giving it a try, but he'll be out of here if he so much as hears a hint of uncertainty in anybody's voice. Not that he’s expecting it.
The garage is real damn small indeed with cars parked at random all over the tiny parking space in front of the shop, but that means that it’s busy and busy means it’s got a good reputation and a good reputation means it’s got good workers. Richard’s confidence grows.
He's greeted by a guy who looks just like any other owner of a small-town garage and who's shaking Richard's hand before he's properly gotten out of his own car.
"I want your best mechanic," Richard says before the guy gets a chance to ask about the car he drove here (which is a beaut and not up for sale at all, unless Richard gets a real good price), the health of Richard's whole extended family (they're doing great, thanks) and his views on the upcoming general elections (absolutely no comment). He likes to get a word in with these people because he knows them - he's one of them after all.
The guy gives him a comically exaggerated once-over and then claps him on the shoulder.
“Why don’t you come inside and we’ll see which one of my top-notch mechanics is the best for your needs?”
Richard thinks it vaguely sounds like he’s pimping out his mechanics, but he likes people who are confident about their businesses, so he follows the guy into his tiny ass office.
(Richard actually has to stoop a bit to get through the door frame without bumping his head. And here he’d thought his buddy was being metaphorical.)
He sits down in a comfy, but worn out chair across the guy’s desk and tries hard not to judge the clutter of papers, car models, engine models and dark, probably oily finger prints on it. At least he’s a working man.
“Now why don’t you tell me the nature of your emergency?” the guy asks, hands folded in front of him and obviously pleased with his lame joke.
Richard sits up (those damn chairs are really comfy), legs wide apart. It’s a habit he picked up early because someone once told him that it asserts dominance and self-assuredness. The fact that he still consciously remembers these things should probably tell him something about himself as a businessman, but then again he’s only 33 - and despite that he’s done exceedingly well so far, so he doesn’t mind in the least.
The guy just smiles and nods when Richard tells him about the Ford and his misadventures of finding a mechanic to install the goddamn air ride. When he’s done explaining, he leans back again and gives the guy a look of half real, half definitely fake exasperation.
“So seems like I’m gonna need your best guy for the job.”
If the guy had glasses on, he’d probably be pushing them up right now, Richard thinks. He knows that he’s come to the right garage; he can just sense it in the way the guy pretends to be thinking long and hard about the whole thing.
Something Richard learned very early on was that the key to a job well done is being honest with people.
“I’ve got just the man for you,” the guy says eventually. Richard is glad to hear it.
The “man”, as it turns out, is a kid called Aaron they pull out from underneath a brand new Ford that belongs to a dude with at least seven family members and a dog, if the bumper stickers are any indication. The kid’s got motor oil all over his hands, his pants and his otherwise neatly trimmed beard, but he’s still trying to shake Richard’s hand, thinks better of it and just gives Richard an apologetic half smile instead.
Richard subconsciously runs his fingers through his hair - another habit - and only notices that he’s staring when the garage owner starts speaking again.
“Mr Rawlings here wants you to install an air ride in his ‘53 Ford Mainline.” The kid’s eyebrows shoot up at that, obviously a lot more intrigued by the prospect of working on a ’53 Ford than on one whose owner claims to also brake for Jesus.
“Think you can do it?”
The kid - Aaron - shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, but Richard knows he’s excited. And Richard knows that hasn’t taken an eye off the kid ever since they dragged him out from underneath that family car hell like he was Richard’s very own motor oil-covered demon to grant him three wishes. Or however the fuck that works.
“Sure can do,” Aaron says and looks Richard straight in the eye.
Richard suppresses the urge to run his hands through his hair again.
“Told you he’s just the man you’re looking for,” the garage owner says, obviously pleased with how this is going.
Aaron looks like he’s a little over 20, quite a few inches shorter than Richard, he seems open and honest and he’s allegedly a great mechanic. Richard chooses not to comment on how embarrassingly much the kid is indeed just the man he’s looking for.
“Aaron’s real good with his hands,” the garage owner says and laughs good-naturedly at yet another of his cringeworthy jokes.
Aaron just shrugs again and Richard doesn’t know if he’s just imagining a tinge of redness creeping up behind that beard.
A phone rings and the owner excuses himself for a minute, not without making Richard promise that he’s going to wait for him to get back to settle the deal.
Richard will single-handedly carve the deal into stone if that’s what it takes.
“Don’t go raising up your nice ’53 Ford while it’s moving, though,” Aaron ventures, leaning down on the hood of Jesus’ family van.
“That’s illegal,” Richard says with a grin.
“No shit.” Aaron’s grin matches his own and Richard chuckles, finally running his hands through his hair again after all.
“I got pulled over for raising up a moving car once,” he continues, glancing at his boss’ office. Richard can’t tell if he doesn’t want his boss to overhear the conversation or if he’s just nervous.
“And how did that work out for you?” Richard asks.
Aaron wipes his hands on his pants (if this was a movie, Richard thinks, there’d be a flashback of the owner’s double entendre about Aaron’s hands) and says: “Super. Never lost five hundred bucks faster in my life.”
Richard laughs sympathetically, causing an awkward pause in their conversation during which he tries to decide which of the half dozen names on the family van’s backlight to comment on first to keep the conversation going.
“Better give me a call to see if I’m in before you bring the car,” Aaron says before Richard gets a word out about the rhyming girls’ names on the car. Aaron fishes a crumpled note book out of his pockets, scribbles a number on it and hands it to Richard hurriedly. It’s a shitty excuse and Aaron probably knows it.
There’s black finger prints on the paper, but Richard puts it deep into his pocket nonetheless.
“Will do, thanks,” he says and Aaron flashes him a toothy grin. Will definitely do, shitty excuse or not.
Richard doesn’t even notice the owner coming back, but before he knows it Aaron is back underneath that unexciting Ford and Richard’s back in his own car, settled on a reasonable price for getting the air ride installed and motor oil on his hands from having shaken Aaron’s hand after all.
A few thousand bucks for the car, a couple of hundred for that smashing air ride and the phone number of a guy who's real good with his hands on top for free. Now that's what Richard calls a deal.
Challenge: Crack/Humor - "Das ist doch illegal!" "Was du nicht sagst." (für's Team)
Titel: Good with his hands
Fandom: Fast N Loud (Richard/Aaron)
Anmerkungen: Auf Englisch, weil's irgendwie auf Deutsch nicht geklappt hat. Ähm, canon compliant but probably still OOC, weil ich maximal fünf Folgen dieser Sendung gesehen habe. Für die allerbeste nessaniel, die erstens recht damit hatte, dass Pflaumen keine Kirschen sind, und zweitens mehr Fics in ihrem Fandom verdient hat.
Richard is real damn proud of his new 1953 Ford Mainline and he's got the biggest plans for it. It runs smoothly, he's gonna have it repainted in a colour that will, frankly, blow people's minds and he's gonna have the jazziest air ride build into it for showing off and for giving its selling price a bit of a boost. All of that's only going to cost him a couple of thousand. It's a fine piece of work.
He's confident beyond measure when he enters one of the small local garages.
He wanted to get the job done by one of his buddies at first, but the dude took all of one look at the car and decided that what Richard wanted (a goddamn ordinary air ride) wasn't possible and he'd have to disassemble half the car for it and yadda yadda yadda.
Richard had stopped paying attention two sentences in.
If there's one thing he doesn't need in his life it's people who don't believe that they can get a job done, and get it done well, and get it done fast.
Now this garage he chose on a trustworthy recommendation of it being "real damn small, so stoop low, but with the best service you can possibly get around here". Richard is not beyond giving it a try, but he'll be out of here if he so much as hears a hint of uncertainty in anybody's voice. Not that he’s expecting it.
The garage is real damn small indeed with cars parked at random all over the tiny parking space in front of the shop, but that means that it’s busy and busy means it’s got a good reputation and a good reputation means it’s got good workers. Richard’s confidence grows.
He's greeted by a guy who looks just like any other owner of a small-town garage and who's shaking Richard's hand before he's properly gotten out of his own car.
"I want your best mechanic," Richard says before the guy gets a chance to ask about the car he drove here (which is a beaut and not up for sale at all, unless Richard gets a real good price), the health of Richard's whole extended family (they're doing great, thanks) and his views on the upcoming general elections (absolutely no comment). He likes to get a word in with these people because he knows them - he's one of them after all.
The guy gives him a comically exaggerated once-over and then claps him on the shoulder.
“Why don’t you come inside and we’ll see which one of my top-notch mechanics is the best for your needs?”
Richard thinks it vaguely sounds like he’s pimping out his mechanics, but he likes people who are confident about their businesses, so he follows the guy into his tiny ass office.
(Richard actually has to stoop a bit to get through the door frame without bumping his head. And here he’d thought his buddy was being metaphorical.)
He sits down in a comfy, but worn out chair across the guy’s desk and tries hard not to judge the clutter of papers, car models, engine models and dark, probably oily finger prints on it. At least he’s a working man.
“Now why don’t you tell me the nature of your emergency?” the guy asks, hands folded in front of him and obviously pleased with his lame joke.
Richard sits up (those damn chairs are really comfy), legs wide apart. It’s a habit he picked up early because someone once told him that it asserts dominance and self-assuredness. The fact that he still consciously remembers these things should probably tell him something about himself as a businessman, but then again he’s only 33 - and despite that he’s done exceedingly well so far, so he doesn’t mind in the least.
The guy just smiles and nods when Richard tells him about the Ford and his misadventures of finding a mechanic to install the goddamn air ride. When he’s done explaining, he leans back again and gives the guy a look of half real, half definitely fake exasperation.
“So seems like I’m gonna need your best guy for the job.”
If the guy had glasses on, he’d probably be pushing them up right now, Richard thinks. He knows that he’s come to the right garage; he can just sense it in the way the guy pretends to be thinking long and hard about the whole thing.
Something Richard learned very early on was that the key to a job well done is being honest with people.
“I’ve got just the man for you,” the guy says eventually. Richard is glad to hear it.
The “man”, as it turns out, is a kid called Aaron they pull out from underneath a brand new Ford that belongs to a dude with at least seven family members and a dog, if the bumper stickers are any indication. The kid’s got motor oil all over his hands, his pants and his otherwise neatly trimmed beard, but he’s still trying to shake Richard’s hand, thinks better of it and just gives Richard an apologetic half smile instead.
Richard subconsciously runs his fingers through his hair - another habit - and only notices that he’s staring when the garage owner starts speaking again.
“Mr Rawlings here wants you to install an air ride in his ‘53 Ford Mainline.” The kid’s eyebrows shoot up at that, obviously a lot more intrigued by the prospect of working on a ’53 Ford than on one whose owner claims to also brake for Jesus.
“Think you can do it?”
The kid - Aaron - shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, but Richard knows he’s excited. And Richard knows that hasn’t taken an eye off the kid ever since they dragged him out from underneath that family car hell like he was Richard’s very own motor oil-covered demon to grant him three wishes. Or however the fuck that works.
“Sure can do,” Aaron says and looks Richard straight in the eye.
Richard suppresses the urge to run his hands through his hair again.
“Told you he’s just the man you’re looking for,” the garage owner says, obviously pleased with how this is going.
Aaron looks like he’s a little over 20, quite a few inches shorter than Richard, he seems open and honest and he’s allegedly a great mechanic. Richard chooses not to comment on how embarrassingly much the kid is indeed just the man he’s looking for.
“Aaron’s real good with his hands,” the garage owner says and laughs good-naturedly at yet another of his cringeworthy jokes.
Aaron just shrugs again and Richard doesn’t know if he’s just imagining a tinge of redness creeping up behind that beard.
A phone rings and the owner excuses himself for a minute, not without making Richard promise that he’s going to wait for him to get back to settle the deal.
Richard will single-handedly carve the deal into stone if that’s what it takes.
“Don’t go raising up your nice ’53 Ford while it’s moving, though,” Aaron ventures, leaning down on the hood of Jesus’ family van.
“That’s illegal,” Richard says with a grin.
“No shit.” Aaron’s grin matches his own and Richard chuckles, finally running his hands through his hair again after all.
“I got pulled over for raising up a moving car once,” he continues, glancing at his boss’ office. Richard can’t tell if he doesn’t want his boss to overhear the conversation or if he’s just nervous.
“And how did that work out for you?” Richard asks.
Aaron wipes his hands on his pants (if this was a movie, Richard thinks, there’d be a flashback of the owner’s double entendre about Aaron’s hands) and says: “Super. Never lost five hundred bucks faster in my life.”
Richard laughs sympathetically, causing an awkward pause in their conversation during which he tries to decide which of the half dozen names on the family van’s backlight to comment on first to keep the conversation going.
“Better give me a call to see if I’m in before you bring the car,” Aaron says before Richard gets a word out about the rhyming girls’ names on the car. Aaron fishes a crumpled note book out of his pockets, scribbles a number on it and hands it to Richard hurriedly. It’s a shitty excuse and Aaron probably knows it.
There’s black finger prints on the paper, but Richard puts it deep into his pocket nonetheless.
“Will do, thanks,” he says and Aaron flashes him a toothy grin. Will definitely do, shitty excuse or not.
Richard doesn’t even notice the owner coming back, but before he knows it Aaron is back underneath that unexciting Ford and Richard’s back in his own car, settled on a reasonable price for getting the air ride installed and motor oil on his hands from having shaken Aaron’s hand after all.
A few thousand bucks for the car, a couple of hundred for that smashing air ride and the phone number of a guy who's real good with his hands on top for free. Now that's what Richard calls a deal.