YAY SHORT CRACK
For my 100_situations prompt table, because I should have updated it months ago. Whoops!
Prompt 19: CRAZY
Warnings/Summary: Crack, crack, crack. Now with added crack!
Title: A Fishy Situation (o lol, punz r aw3som3!!1one!)
Smoker knew Ace was crazy, but in the twelve days since he'd last seen the idiot (and fucked him senseless), he'd managed to either sink to new depths of lunacy or rise to unmatched heights of insanity. He wasn't sure which. Probably both.
"Why is there a fishbowl on my desk?"
Ace looked at him from where he was lounging in the Marine's chair, leafing through a (classified) report. "So the fish don't fall out," he explained slowly, so Smoker guessed it made perfect sense in Ace-land.
"I mean," Smoker managed not to snarl, reaching for another cigar, "why are there any fucking fish in my office?"
"Well, it would be silly to have a fishbowl without any fish in it," Ace pointed out, rolling his eyes. "By the way, who wrote this report? Because they've spelt 'collaborate' wrong. Twice."
Close eyes. Deep breath. One. Two. Three. Three. Thr- screw it.
"Much as you like to pretend, pirate, I know you're not a complete moron. So would you mind explaining this situation before I ram your head in the damn bowl 'til you drown?" There. A stunning example of Marine tact and diplomacy. Hina would be proud.
Ace rolled his shoulders and beamed up the fuming man. "Well, you always seem so stressed, y'know, and it's definitely not lack of sex, considering how much you get," (he paused to leer at the man) "so I thought maybe you should have a pet."
"A pet."
"Yep! And because I couldn't get you a good one, like a dog or something, I thought maybe I could make up quality with quantity. So I got you four little fishies." He motioned at the bowl, just in case Smoker had somehow missed them.
Smoker looked again. There were four of them, mottled-yellow and gold. They swam in slow circles, eyes wide and mouths opening uselessly. One of them kept bumping into the others, though whether it was accidental or the fish version of a crazed murder-attempt, he couldn't be sure.
"They're goldfish," he said, because this seemed very important somehow.
"Right! I even named them. Aren't they cute?"
Quietly praying they hadn't been named variations on the theme of 'Gol D. Fish' or 'Goldfish Rogers', Smoker dared to ask. "Names?"
Ace flung the file on top of the desk and jumped to his feet, leaning over the bowl as he pointed at its inhabitants in turn. "That one, the biggest? That's Psycho. This one is Killer. The one near the bottom is Vicious. And that one," he finished with the fish who had bounced its head off Psycho and was now bumping happily against the glass, "is Barney."
There was a pause. "Barney."
"He's a rebel," Ace conceded.
Ace didn't get any sex that night, but considering the fish were still there when he returned a week later, he considered it a victory.
Prompt 19: CRAZY
Warnings/Summary: Crack, crack, crack. Now with added crack!
Title: A Fishy Situation (o lol, punz r aw3som3!!1one!)
Smoker knew Ace was crazy, but in the twelve days since he'd last seen the idiot (and fucked him senseless), he'd managed to either sink to new depths of lunacy or rise to unmatched heights of insanity. He wasn't sure which. Probably both.
"Why is there a fishbowl on my desk?"
Ace looked at him from where he was lounging in the Marine's chair, leafing through a (classified) report. "So the fish don't fall out," he explained slowly, so Smoker guessed it made perfect sense in Ace-land.
"I mean," Smoker managed not to snarl, reaching for another cigar, "why are there any fucking fish in my office?"
"Well, it would be silly to have a fishbowl without any fish in it," Ace pointed out, rolling his eyes. "By the way, who wrote this report? Because they've spelt 'collaborate' wrong. Twice."
Close eyes. Deep breath. One. Two. Three. Three. Thr- screw it.
"Much as you like to pretend, pirate, I know you're not a complete moron. So would you mind explaining this situation before I ram your head in the damn bowl 'til you drown?" There. A stunning example of Marine tact and diplomacy. Hina would be proud.
Ace rolled his shoulders and beamed up the fuming man. "Well, you always seem so stressed, y'know, and it's definitely not lack of sex, considering how much you get," (he paused to leer at the man) "so I thought maybe you should have a pet."
"A pet."
"Yep! And because I couldn't get you a good one, like a dog or something, I thought maybe I could make up quality with quantity. So I got you four little fishies." He motioned at the bowl, just in case Smoker had somehow missed them.
Smoker looked again. There were four of them, mottled-yellow and gold. They swam in slow circles, eyes wide and mouths opening uselessly. One of them kept bumping into the others, though whether it was accidental or the fish version of a crazed murder-attempt, he couldn't be sure.
"They're goldfish," he said, because this seemed very important somehow.
"Right! I even named them. Aren't they cute?"
Quietly praying they hadn't been named variations on the theme of 'Gol D. Fish' or 'Goldfish Rogers', Smoker dared to ask. "Names?"
Ace flung the file on top of the desk and jumped to his feet, leaning over the bowl as he pointed at its inhabitants in turn. "That one, the biggest? That's Psycho. This one is Killer. The one near the bottom is Vicious. And that one," he finished with the fish who had bounced its head off Psycho and was now bumping happily against the glass, "is Barney."
There was a pause. "Barney."
"He's a rebel," Ace conceded.
Ace didn't get any sex that night, but considering the fish were still there when he returned a week later, he considered it a victory.