1984
Rating: PG
Fandom: Runaways
Characters: Dale and Stacey Yorkes
Disclaimer: This is me owning nothing.
Summary: Yorkses running from the people they've scammed.
"Dale, darling, don’t you think they’re going to notice we’ve gone?"
Dale twitched and peeked around the door. "Whisper, my love, and they’ll at least not know we’re here."
She squirmed impatiently, uncomfortably. The dress they’d snatched for her itched.
"Let’s hurry and get out of here."
"Patience, my darling."
She would have liked to see him be patient in something that rubbed every bit of his skin. She frowned at his back.
"Don’t tell me to be patient, Mr. ‘Can We Leave the 57th Century Already?’ I itch and if we do not leave very, very soon, I will make you wear this dress."
Her mother would have found it odd that the ‘wearing this dress’ part was not the bit that bothered Dale. It was the itch he knew was going along with it.
"Go, stupid!"
The hall was as clear as it was going to be, she judged, and shoved him out. Someone at the far end heard them and shouted.
"Dammit, Stacey!"
"Go!"
She grabbed his hand and the took off down the hall, toward the front gates.
"We’ll never get out!" he gasped, as guards lined up.
"You shut up!"
She pulled a small silver ball from the bodice of the dress and threw it. It exploded in midair and sent the guards flying backwards. Dale hurried to the gate, picked the lock, and shoved it open, ushering her through.
"Was that a number seven?" he asked.
"It was a five," she replied grimly.
The guards were starting to come to. They glanced at each other and took off into the woods.
"This time, let’s be sure of where we’re going!" she shouted over the noise of the portico.
"Not much of an option, darling!"
He spun a dial and tapped a lever.
"Where are we going?"
The portico disappeared in a flash. She was worried about all the noise.
"The 1890s, I think!"
They landed and the portico promptly turned itself off.
Fandom: Runaways
Characters: Dale and Stacey Yorkes
Disclaimer: This is me owning nothing.
Summary: Yorkses running from the people they've scammed.
"Dale, darling, don’t you think they’re going to notice we’ve gone?"
Dale twitched and peeked around the door. "Whisper, my love, and they’ll at least not know we’re here."
She squirmed impatiently, uncomfortably. The dress they’d snatched for her itched.
"Let’s hurry and get out of here."
"Patience, my darling."
She would have liked to see him be patient in something that rubbed every bit of his skin. She frowned at his back.
"Don’t tell me to be patient, Mr. ‘Can We Leave the 57th Century Already?’ I itch and if we do not leave very, very soon, I will make you wear this dress."
Her mother would have found it odd that the ‘wearing this dress’ part was not the bit that bothered Dale. It was the itch he knew was going along with it.
"Go, stupid!"
The hall was as clear as it was going to be, she judged, and shoved him out. Someone at the far end heard them and shouted.
"Dammit, Stacey!"
"Go!"
She grabbed his hand and the took off down the hall, toward the front gates.
"We’ll never get out!" he gasped, as guards lined up.
"You shut up!"
She pulled a small silver ball from the bodice of the dress and threw it. It exploded in midair and sent the guards flying backwards. Dale hurried to the gate, picked the lock, and shoved it open, ushering her through.
"Was that a number seven?" he asked.
"It was a five," she replied grimly.
The guards were starting to come to. They glanced at each other and took off into the woods.
"This time, let’s be sure of where we’re going!" she shouted over the noise of the portico.
"Not much of an option, darling!"
He spun a dial and tapped a lever.
"Where are we going?"
The portico disappeared in a flash. She was worried about all the noise.
"The 1890s, I think!"
They landed and the portico promptly turned itself off.