Crackfic: Kicking AUs, Taking Names
Okay... if y'all didn't already know (as you may well not - I've been making quite a few new friends), this weekend is LJ's fic_rush, a 48-hour fanfic writing marathon held once a month. Obviously nobody stays for the whole 48 hours (!!) - we just all drop in and out as we please, chatter with our fellow writers in the hourly posts at fic_rush_48, and write whatever we want. (It doesn't even have to be fiction: I spent a good many 'rushes working on college application essays last summer.)
Anyway! You are all cordially invited to come over and write with us, if you can get in past the Russian Mafia's dastardly attempts to shut us down. C'mon, it's a lot of fun.
And - the point of this post - we have a long-standing tradition of crackfic in the later hours of the 'rush. This is the first time I've contributed, and I'm quite proud of myself. ;-)
Title: Kicking AUs, Taking Names
Summary: In which the motorcycle space pirates take on the Russian Mafia.
Notes: 654 words. Gen, rated G. Massive multi-fandom canon!AU crossover; I'll be happy to explain stuff in comments if anybody wants.
"Bwahahahaha!!!!!" cackled the Russian mafiosi, rubbing their hands evilly.
"We have driven Curuchamion off of Fic_Rush!!" one of them gloated. "Now she can no longer continue posting an unprecedented amount of subversive and reactionary fanfiction!!!"
"Our next target," another recapped unnecessarily, "is the current moderator Dbskyler!!! Without her fic-provoking chatter posts, the entire structure of Fic_Rush will crrrrumble!!!!"
"And we will be one step further in our dastardly scheme for the utter destruction of LiveJournal," added a third, "the only thing that stands between us and Total. World. Domination!!!!!" The mafiosi broke up laughing gleefully and cracking their knuckles.
"Hey. Not so fast, guys," chirped an unmistakable voice from the doorway.
"Curuchamion!!!" chorused the Russian Mafia all at once.
"But... you retreated in utter defeat!!" added one, for the benefit of the audience.
"Mmph - yeah, whatever." Curuchamion shrugged. "I brought reinforcements. INCOMING!" And she promptly dropped to the floor, covered her head with her arms, and rolled out of the doorway.
A detachment of space pirates on flying motorcycles roared into the room. (Well, if six pirates on four motorcycles count as a "detachment".) Their leader was a chubby, curly-haired blond man whose black eyepatch was decorated with a stylized silver falcon. As he slewed his motorcycle around in a complete circle before hopping off, he yelled "Cowabunga!" in a thick Irish accent for no discernible reason.
Behind him, side by side, came two identically dressed men, one tall and one short. They both wore blue jeans, cowboy boots, sleeveless undershirts (presumably to show off their similarly bulging muscles), and black eyepatches. The shorter man had gravity-defying black hair and long butterfly sideburns; the taller one's longish dirty-blond hair, dark beard stubble, and green eye made him look suspiciously like a Snake Plissken knockoff. On the seat behind the tall man rode a short, cute-faced blonde girl wearing red gingham and (not very much) black leather. Even before their motorcycle screeched to an earsplitting stop - nearly crashing into the shorter man's bike - she had hopped off and begun kickboxing the Russian mafiosi with her stiletto-heeled boots. The three male pirates preferred space karate, two-handed clubbing, and good old-fashioned fisticuffs, but all four methods were about equally effective.
The fourth motorcycle carried a prim-looking eyepatched man in khaki and a leggy redheaded woman in a very short black leather minidress, who joined the free-for-all as soon as she could disentangle herself from the motorcycle in the increasingly crowded room. The man in khaki parked his bike tidily in a corner, pulled a small notebook out of his pocket, and began weaving carefully through the donnybrook, shaking each knocked-out mafioso awake and shouting in his ear, "Excuse me, could I have your name?"
In a very short amount of time, the fight was over. The five more piratical pirates stared around the room, panting slightly, with the bemused look of people who have suddenly discovered there's nobody left to fight.
"Excuse me, could I--oh, it's you, Miss Curu. Are you all right?"
"Yup, I'm fine. Eep?" Curuchamion sat up and pointed over the khaki-clad man's shoulder, where the last conscious member of the Russian Mafia was trying to sneak up on him. Without even looking, the moustacheless man (none of the pirates had moustaches, but he was the only member of the group one would think to define as specifically lacking a moustache) knocked out the mafioso with a backhanded karate blow.
"Well, I think that takes care of that," he said. "Thank you for calling us in, Curu."
"Yeah, Coocoo, great ride," said the short man. "Anybody for Italian?"
"'Cuckoo' yourself, short-stuff," Curu retorted, picking herself up. "My pleasure, Ali."
"Let's all go out for pasta," the curly-haired man decided. "We'll have to pick up my lady on the way. Curu, you can ride with Shorty."
The tall redhead hopped onto the neatly parked bike. "You're on the back this time, Ali. Hang on!"
This entry has been crossposted from http://curuchamion.dreamwidth.org/83465.html. You can comment here or there - you can comment anywhere! (sorry *g*)
Anyway! You are all cordially invited to come over and write with us, if you can get in past the Russian Mafia's dastardly attempts to shut us down. C'mon, it's a lot of fun.
And - the point of this post - we have a long-standing tradition of crackfic in the later hours of the 'rush. This is the first time I've contributed, and I'm quite proud of myself. ;-)
Title: Kicking AUs, Taking Names
Summary: In which the motorcycle space pirates take on the Russian Mafia.
Notes: 654 words. Gen, rated G. Massive multi-fandom canon!AU crossover; I'll be happy to explain stuff in comments if anybody wants.
"Bwahahahaha!!!!!" cackled the Russian mafiosi, rubbing their hands evilly.
"We have driven Curuchamion off of Fic_Rush!!" one of them gloated. "Now she can no longer continue posting an unprecedented amount of subversive and reactionary fanfiction!!!"
"Our next target," another recapped unnecessarily, "is the current moderator Dbskyler!!! Without her fic-provoking chatter posts, the entire structure of Fic_Rush will crrrrumble!!!!"
"And we will be one step further in our dastardly scheme for the utter destruction of LiveJournal," added a third, "the only thing that stands between us and Total. World. Domination!!!!!" The mafiosi broke up laughing gleefully and cracking their knuckles.
"Hey. Not so fast, guys," chirped an unmistakable voice from the doorway.
"Curuchamion!!!" chorused the Russian Mafia all at once.
"But... you retreated in utter defeat!!" added one, for the benefit of the audience.
"Mmph - yeah, whatever." Curuchamion shrugged. "I brought reinforcements. INCOMING!" And she promptly dropped to the floor, covered her head with her arms, and rolled out of the doorway.
A detachment of space pirates on flying motorcycles roared into the room. (Well, if six pirates on four motorcycles count as a "detachment".) Their leader was a chubby, curly-haired blond man whose black eyepatch was decorated with a stylized silver falcon. As he slewed his motorcycle around in a complete circle before hopping off, he yelled "Cowabunga!" in a thick Irish accent for no discernible reason.
Behind him, side by side, came two identically dressed men, one tall and one short. They both wore blue jeans, cowboy boots, sleeveless undershirts (presumably to show off their similarly bulging muscles), and black eyepatches. The shorter man had gravity-defying black hair and long butterfly sideburns; the taller one's longish dirty-blond hair, dark beard stubble, and green eye made him look suspiciously like a Snake Plissken knockoff. On the seat behind the tall man rode a short, cute-faced blonde girl wearing red gingham and (not very much) black leather. Even before their motorcycle screeched to an earsplitting stop - nearly crashing into the shorter man's bike - she had hopped off and begun kickboxing the Russian mafiosi with her stiletto-heeled boots. The three male pirates preferred space karate, two-handed clubbing, and good old-fashioned fisticuffs, but all four methods were about equally effective.
The fourth motorcycle carried a prim-looking eyepatched man in khaki and a leggy redheaded woman in a very short black leather minidress, who joined the free-for-all as soon as she could disentangle herself from the motorcycle in the increasingly crowded room. The man in khaki parked his bike tidily in a corner, pulled a small notebook out of his pocket, and began weaving carefully through the donnybrook, shaking each knocked-out mafioso awake and shouting in his ear, "Excuse me, could I have your name?"
In a very short amount of time, the fight was over. The five more piratical pirates stared around the room, panting slightly, with the bemused look of people who have suddenly discovered there's nobody left to fight.
"Excuse me, could I--oh, it's you, Miss Curu. Are you all right?"
"Yup, I'm fine. Eep?" Curuchamion sat up and pointed over the khaki-clad man's shoulder, where the last conscious member of the Russian Mafia was trying to sneak up on him. Without even looking, the moustacheless man (none of the pirates had moustaches, but he was the only member of the group one would think to define as specifically lacking a moustache) knocked out the mafioso with a backhanded karate blow.
"Well, I think that takes care of that," he said. "Thank you for calling us in, Curu."
"Yeah, Coocoo, great ride," said the short man. "Anybody for Italian?"
"'Cuckoo' yourself, short-stuff," Curu retorted, picking herself up. "My pleasure, Ali."
"Let's all go out for pasta," the curly-haired man decided. "We'll have to pick up my lady on the way. Curu, you can ride with Shorty."
The tall redhead hopped onto the neatly parked bike. "You're on the back this time, Ali. Hang on!"
This entry has been crossposted from http://curuchamion.dreamwidth.org/83465.html. You can comment here or there - you can comment anywhere! (sorry *g*)