Advent #1: Christmas On the Beach.
Title: Christmas On the Beach.
Rating: G.
Fandom: Narbonic.
Synopsis: What is Christmas like on Helen's private island? (Spoilers for the end of the comic.)
***
It was a beautiful day on the island. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the cyber wasps were patrolling the beaches, and the butterfly gerbils were flitting from flower to flower in an endless dance of pollination and territorial defense against the Ur-Gerbils (who really couldn't have cared any less if they'd been trying.)
And really, that was the problem.
"How am I supposed to bring my creation to HORRIFYING and MORALLY QUESTIONABLE life if I can't get a gosh-darned thunderstorm?" demanded Helen. She was half-pouting, half-doing that adorable eye-twitching madgirl thing that made Dave just want to bend her over the cyclotron and-
Focus, Dave, focus. Besides, if he broke another cyclotron because he thought she was sexy when she was threatening to kill all humanity, Helen was going to make him sleep on the couch for a week. "Use the portable lightning generator," he suggested.
Helen's eyes widened, making her resemble an evil blonde Bambi. "But...but...it's Santa Claus," she said. "Doesn't he deserve a real thunderstorm?"
Right. "It's a construct. It's mostly gerbil."
"It's still Santa."
"We're on the Naughty List. We're so on the Naughty List that the Columbus Mall took out a restraining order to keep me from taking Rosalind to see their Santa." They probably regretted that now, inasmuch as a smoking crater can regret anything. Oh, well. Hindsight may be twenty-twenty, but Dave's aim with an orbital death laser was flawless.
"Evil Santa. He rewards the bad kids."
Dave sighed. "This is really important to you, isn't it?"
"Yes!!!"
Three exclamation points. Helen was serious. "Fine, then." He ignominiously thrust Rosalind at Helen, who took her automatically, and only winced a little when the eighteen-month-old proto-evil moppet dug her hands into her mother's hair and shrieked. "I'll be right back."
"Where are you-oof, honey, Mommy's hair isn't detachable-going?"
"To get the weather machine I was making for your birthday." Dave grinned a little. "It'll be a scary Christmas, just for you."
Helen's delighted cackle, and cries of, "I'LL SHOW THOSE FOOLS AT THE NORTH POLE!", followed him all the way down the holly-decked halls to his lab.
Today's fandom and characters were suggested by thnidu. To suggest a fandom, pairing/characters, or theme for tomorrow's advent, please comment here. Only comments left on TODAY'S ENTRY will be considered.
Rating: G.
Fandom: Narbonic.
Synopsis: What is Christmas like on Helen's private island? (Spoilers for the end of the comic.)
***
It was a beautiful day on the island. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the cyber wasps were patrolling the beaches, and the butterfly gerbils were flitting from flower to flower in an endless dance of pollination and territorial defense against the Ur-Gerbils (who really couldn't have cared any less if they'd been trying.)
And really, that was the problem.
"How am I supposed to bring my creation to HORRIFYING and MORALLY QUESTIONABLE life if I can't get a gosh-darned thunderstorm?" demanded Helen. She was half-pouting, half-doing that adorable eye-twitching madgirl thing that made Dave just want to bend her over the cyclotron and-
Focus, Dave, focus. Besides, if he broke another cyclotron because he thought she was sexy when she was threatening to kill all humanity, Helen was going to make him sleep on the couch for a week. "Use the portable lightning generator," he suggested.
Helen's eyes widened, making her resemble an evil blonde Bambi. "But...but...it's Santa Claus," she said. "Doesn't he deserve a real thunderstorm?"
Right. "It's a construct. It's mostly gerbil."
"It's still Santa."
"We're on the Naughty List. We're so on the Naughty List that the Columbus Mall took out a restraining order to keep me from taking Rosalind to see their Santa." They probably regretted that now, inasmuch as a smoking crater can regret anything. Oh, well. Hindsight may be twenty-twenty, but Dave's aim with an orbital death laser was flawless.
"Evil Santa. He rewards the bad kids."
Dave sighed. "This is really important to you, isn't it?"
"Yes!!!"
Three exclamation points. Helen was serious. "Fine, then." He ignominiously thrust Rosalind at Helen, who took her automatically, and only winced a little when the eighteen-month-old proto-evil moppet dug her hands into her mother's hair and shrieked. "I'll be right back."
"Where are you-oof, honey, Mommy's hair isn't detachable-going?"
"To get the weather machine I was making for your birthday." Dave grinned a little. "It'll be a scary Christmas, just for you."
Helen's delighted cackle, and cries of, "I'LL SHOW THOSE FOOLS AT THE NORTH POLE!", followed him all the way down the holly-decked halls to his lab.
Today's fandom and characters were suggested by thnidu. To suggest a fandom, pairing/characters, or theme for tomorrow's advent, please comment here. Only comments left on TODAY'S ENTRY will be considered.