fandoms 6 and 7
Pirates of the Caribbean
Ok, I've totally given up titles. This is a random drabble, centred on 'fog', no spoilers really. Set somewhere between the two films.
Gen.
If PotC were mine, there would definitely be more slash!
Fog. Freezing fog, thick and almost tangible, obscuring everything.
Jack Sparrow (Captain Jack Sparrow) pulled his damp coat tighter over his damp sweater and swore to himself. He hated fog, not just because of the cold and the damp, though those didn’t help, mind.
He hated it because of the silence.
No movement, no real noise so every creak of damp timber was magnified, every slight slap of damp sail or rustle of rigging sounded sinister. Even the most hardened pirate would start thinking about ghosts as the creaking timbers sounded their restless pattern. Half the damned (only in the usual sense now, though) crew would be jumping at shadows, and with visibility gone there’d be no reassuring them.
Jack swore again.
No chance of profit either, not while this lasted, and that was the sort of thing that made a pirate crew very antsy, got them thinking about luck, and omens. Jack had been marooned on an island once already, and even he could admit that they hadn’t had a lot of luck this trip. The only thing that could be said for it was that the Pearl was more or less in one piece.
Jack closed his eyes, reducing visibility from ten feet to zero, and prayed for the fog to lift.
Marilyn Manson
Ok, this one's quite long (750 words!!). Set sometime around the AntiChrist Superstar album, but it's not specific. It also doesn't matter terribly much.
Rated R for language and mention of drug use.
All people mentioned are real, but I've never met them and this is clearly not true.
info
Marilyn Manson, real name Brian Warner, frontman of the band 'Marilyn Manson'
Twiggy Ramirez, real name Jeordie White, was lead guitar, not actually a founder member of 'Marilyn Manson' but he was involved from way back and cowrote a good bit of the stuff. (Left the band almost two albums ago, for the extra angst!)
Trent Reznor - lead singer of the band Nine Inch Nails, the man who gave 'Marilyn Manson' their break by signing them to their label. Reznor also produced their first 3 albums, but there were 'creative differences' and current popular opinion is that the two men hate each other, with Reznor being particularly bitter about the whole business.
Wiki You probably don't need to know any of this at all, but... *shrugs*
Marilyn Manson
He rolled over with a curse as the sunlight hit his eyes.
“Close the damned shades,” he snarled. There were several groans of agreement from around the room. Twiggy, his lank hair even lanker than usual in the harsh sunlight, shrugged, and left the shades as they were.
“You need to get up,” he said blandly. Manson cursed and threw the nearest object, a glass, at him, sending a shower of liquid arcing across the sunlit room. He missed his target by miles and the glass hit the wall, shattering into a thousand fragments.
“Dumbfuck,” Twiggy observed, and walked out. Manson flooped down onto his back, hand over his eyes.
“Everyone fuck off,” he rasped. “Get Twiggy to ring you cabs or whatever but fuck the hell off right the fuck now.”
When this command got no reaction, he said mildly.
“If anyone is still here when I open my eyes, I’m going to beat you to death with one of my wooden legs and then I’m going to fucking well eat you.”
After that, there was movement and complaining and Manson allowed himself to drift as the groupies left, waiting until he could feel that he was alone before passing out again.
“You do too many drugs,” a disembodied voice told him. Manson didn’t both to open his eyes, merely flipped the bird vaguely in the direction that the voice was coming from.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” Manson sat up, then hauled himself to his feet. The sun had moved round a lot since the last time he’d opened his eyes, and now the room was mostly in shadow.
“Girls gone?” he asked, disinterestedly.
“Yeah.” Twiggy, a long black line against the once-white wall, looked at him with a level gaze.
“You’re not my fucking mother,” Manson said, but with no real heat in the words.
“Thank fuck for that,” Twiggy told him. Manson looked away from that penetrating stare, ran a shaking hand through his tangled and dirty hair, combing some of the vomit out of it with his fingers.
"It's not like you're clean,” he muttered. Twiggy sighed.
"Shower,” was all he said.
"Seriously, fuck off,” and suddenly Manson was screaming at him. “It’s none of your fucking business, none of it, you fucking hear me?” Twiggy shrugged again.
"Don't shout at me, I'm not the one you’re angry at,” he said, but warily this time, watching Manson as though he was some sort of wounded wild animal. Manson sloped past him into the bathroom.
He stood under the water a long time, leaning against the wall and watching the droplets collect and trickle down the glass. When the water ran cold, he reached for the grubby towel, stepped over the pile of clothes on the floor and headed to his room. Twiggy was there, lying on the bed and reading some book.
"Why the fuck are you still here?” Manson snarled, grabbing the first clean-ish clothing and roughly pulling it on.
"Trent phoned.” Manson froze for a second.
"And?” he said, hating the way his voice sounded just that little bit too eager.
"And nothing. You gotta call him back,”
"Fuck off," said Manson reflexively. “I don’t care what he has to say." Twiggy ignored him.
"Stop fucking doing that!"
Twiggy closed the book and looked at him.
“I’m staying out of it,” he said bluntly. "I don't care what you do or don't do to each other, but I want to make sure there’s a band at the end of it."
“Are you trying to say I’m endangering the band?" Manson asked dangerously.
“Look, Bri,” began Twiggy.
“Don’t fucking call me that,”
“OK then, Marilyn,” and Twiggy's voice was hard. “I'm saying that you're being a dick and if you fuck up the band, the rest of us will fuck you up. Gettit?"
"And I'm saying that it's my fucking band." The two men stared at each other for a long moment. Manson looked away first.
"Do I have any food in?” he asked."
"Nope."
"Pizza or Chinese?"
"Pizza."
"You phone,” Manson said, collapsing on the bed, almost knocking his head on Twiggy’s knee.
"The usual?" Twiggy said, already reaching for the phone.
"Yeah." Manson sighed and closed his eyes, listening to his friend phone for pizza.
Ok, I've totally given up titles. This is a random drabble, centred on 'fog', no spoilers really. Set somewhere between the two films.
Gen.
If PotC were mine, there would definitely be more slash!
Fog. Freezing fog, thick and almost tangible, obscuring everything.
Jack Sparrow (Captain Jack Sparrow) pulled his damp coat tighter over his damp sweater and swore to himself. He hated fog, not just because of the cold and the damp, though those didn’t help, mind.
He hated it because of the silence.
No movement, no real noise so every creak of damp timber was magnified, every slight slap of damp sail or rustle of rigging sounded sinister. Even the most hardened pirate would start thinking about ghosts as the creaking timbers sounded their restless pattern. Half the damned (only in the usual sense now, though) crew would be jumping at shadows, and with visibility gone there’d be no reassuring them.
Jack swore again.
No chance of profit either, not while this lasted, and that was the sort of thing that made a pirate crew very antsy, got them thinking about luck, and omens. Jack had been marooned on an island once already, and even he could admit that they hadn’t had a lot of luck this trip. The only thing that could be said for it was that the Pearl was more or less in one piece.
Jack closed his eyes, reducing visibility from ten feet to zero, and prayed for the fog to lift.
Marilyn Manson
Ok, this one's quite long (750 words!!). Set sometime around the AntiChrist Superstar album, but it's not specific. It also doesn't matter terribly much.
Rated R for language and mention of drug use.
All people mentioned are real, but I've never met them and this is clearly not true.
info
Marilyn Manson, real name Brian Warner, frontman of the band 'Marilyn Manson'
Twiggy Ramirez, real name Jeordie White, was lead guitar, not actually a founder member of 'Marilyn Manson' but he was involved from way back and cowrote a good bit of the stuff. (Left the band almost two albums ago, for the extra angst!)
Trent Reznor - lead singer of the band Nine Inch Nails, the man who gave 'Marilyn Manson' their break by signing them to their label. Reznor also produced their first 3 albums, but there were 'creative differences' and current popular opinion is that the two men hate each other, with Reznor being particularly bitter about the whole business.
Wiki You probably don't need to know any of this at all, but... *shrugs*
Marilyn Manson
He rolled over with a curse as the sunlight hit his eyes.
“Close the damned shades,” he snarled. There were several groans of agreement from around the room. Twiggy, his lank hair even lanker than usual in the harsh sunlight, shrugged, and left the shades as they were.
“You need to get up,” he said blandly. Manson cursed and threw the nearest object, a glass, at him, sending a shower of liquid arcing across the sunlit room. He missed his target by miles and the glass hit the wall, shattering into a thousand fragments.
“Dumbfuck,” Twiggy observed, and walked out. Manson flooped down onto his back, hand over his eyes.
“Everyone fuck off,” he rasped. “Get Twiggy to ring you cabs or whatever but fuck the hell off right the fuck now.”
When this command got no reaction, he said mildly.
“If anyone is still here when I open my eyes, I’m going to beat you to death with one of my wooden legs and then I’m going to fucking well eat you.”
After that, there was movement and complaining and Manson allowed himself to drift as the groupies left, waiting until he could feel that he was alone before passing out again.
“You do too many drugs,” a disembodied voice told him. Manson didn’t both to open his eyes, merely flipped the bird vaguely in the direction that the voice was coming from.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” Manson sat up, then hauled himself to his feet. The sun had moved round a lot since the last time he’d opened his eyes, and now the room was mostly in shadow.
“Girls gone?” he asked, disinterestedly.
“Yeah.” Twiggy, a long black line against the once-white wall, looked at him with a level gaze.
“You’re not my fucking mother,” Manson said, but with no real heat in the words.
“Thank fuck for that,” Twiggy told him. Manson looked away from that penetrating stare, ran a shaking hand through his tangled and dirty hair, combing some of the vomit out of it with his fingers.
"It's not like you're clean,” he muttered. Twiggy sighed.
"Shower,” was all he said.
"Seriously, fuck off,” and suddenly Manson was screaming at him. “It’s none of your fucking business, none of it, you fucking hear me?” Twiggy shrugged again.
"Don't shout at me, I'm not the one you’re angry at,” he said, but warily this time, watching Manson as though he was some sort of wounded wild animal. Manson sloped past him into the bathroom.
He stood under the water a long time, leaning against the wall and watching the droplets collect and trickle down the glass. When the water ran cold, he reached for the grubby towel, stepped over the pile of clothes on the floor and headed to his room. Twiggy was there, lying on the bed and reading some book.
"Why the fuck are you still here?” Manson snarled, grabbing the first clean-ish clothing and roughly pulling it on.
"Trent phoned.” Manson froze for a second.
"And?” he said, hating the way his voice sounded just that little bit too eager.
"And nothing. You gotta call him back,”
"Fuck off," said Manson reflexively. “I don’t care what he has to say." Twiggy ignored him.
"Stop fucking doing that!"
Twiggy closed the book and looked at him.
“I’m staying out of it,” he said bluntly. "I don't care what you do or don't do to each other, but I want to make sure there’s a band at the end of it."
“Are you trying to say I’m endangering the band?" Manson asked dangerously.
“Look, Bri,” began Twiggy.
“Don’t fucking call me that,”
“OK then, Marilyn,” and Twiggy's voice was hard. “I'm saying that you're being a dick and if you fuck up the band, the rest of us will fuck you up. Gettit?"
"And I'm saying that it's my fucking band." The two men stared at each other for a long moment. Manson looked away first.
"Do I have any food in?” he asked."
"Nope."
"Pizza or Chinese?"
"Pizza."
"You phone,” Manson said, collapsing on the bed, almost knocking his head on Twiggy’s knee.
"The usual?" Twiggy said, already reaching for the phone.
"Yeah." Manson sighed and closed his eyes, listening to his friend phone for pizza.