Fandoms 5 and 6
Fandom: Ripper Street/Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rating: PG
Word Count: 442
Jackson perched on the desk and lit up a cigarette, squinting against the harsh light as he spoke, “It’s odd, Reid”.
“Odd is not a useful descriptive Captain Jackson”, Reid slowly approached the table and bent over slightly to peer at the body, “Please elaborate”. Jackson smirked and continued,
“He was bitten, like the other one”, Jackson pointed towards the neck, “Check out the marks - perfect circles”.
“Unusual for sure”, Reid agreed.
“Gets weirder”, Jackson said, “They’ve got a lot less blood than they should have. That injury did not cause them to bleed out uncontrollably”.
“So what are you saying? They’ve been drained by an instrument of sorts?”, Reid straightened up and asked.
“An instrument with teeth maybe”, Jackson shrugged, “I’m sure there’s an explanation, and I’ll keep looking, but I’m telling you, it’s strange”.
“I don’t like strange, Captain”, Reid said as he made for the door, “Get me answers”.
Jackson rolled his eyes behind the other man’s back - a childish act certainly but one he was so prone to doing when in discussion with Edmund Reid. The man was brilliant, an unparalleled police officer, but he could certainly do with removing the stick from his backside.
It was night by the time Jackson shrugged his coat on and - lighting another cigarette - stepped out into the dark. London transformed at night. It wasn’t the safest of places during the day, and there were plenty of bodies which had appeared on his table to confirm that, but at night it took on a new edge. Jackson patted the revolver at his waist and carried on walking.
“Have you got a light?”, Jackson turned at the voice. The young man had crept up on him somehow.
“Sure”, Jackson made sure to step beneath one of the street lights, then held out a packet of matches and waited while the man lit up a cigarette, accepting the return of his matches silently.
“Best be careful out here”, the man said, twirling the cigarette between his fingers. Jackson raised an eyebrow but moved his hand to his holster nonetheless. Young though this man might seem, Jackson had learnt that looks were deceiving.
There was silence, and Jackson’s eyes wandered briefly, to the shop that they were stood by, uncertain what had pulled his eye.
“I heard there’s some dangerous people out tonight”, and Jackson heard the words but didn’t quite take them in as he found himself staring at one faint reflection when logic dictated there should have been two. He looked back at the man in front of him.
“Thanks for the light”, the man grinned and then turned and disappeared into the shadows.
Fandom: Sons of Anarchy
Rating: G
Word Count: 312
Dad would be back soon - he wouldn’t break his promise. Jax perched on the wall at the end of his garden and squinted at the book in his hands, barely able to make out the words in the dusk of the evening. He shivered as a chill whipped around his body and he tugged his father’s jacket around him tighter.
His dad had always asked him whether this book series ever ended, ruffling his hair with a big palm and asking what Sam and Frodo had gotten up to now. Jax tried to tell him that there were more than just two characters but his dad would just grin and chuck him up on one shoulder, leaving the book behind on a table, a wall, a chair.
“Hey Jackson”, his mum had crept up on him again. Jax quickly rubbed away the tear that had appeared in the corner of his eye without him noticing.
“He’s just a bit late”, Jax muttered, holding onto the book a little tighter and struggling to read through the blur of tears, “he wouldn’t lie to me. He said he would read some before bedtime”. He felt silly because even now - at barely ten years of age - Jax knew that the club came first and that he and his mum came second. They always came second.
His mum perched on the wall beside him and held out her hand for the book, “Let me read to you for a bit until he gets back, must be hard to read for long in this light, show me where you got up to”. Jax handed the book over, pointed to a section, and then tried to subtly wipe his eyes. His mum adjusted her glasses and began to read,
“Out of doubt, out of dark, to the day’s rising he rode singing in the sun, sword unsheathing…”