Fic: Prompt 10
Title: Call Waiting
Fandom: Due South
Author: Shrewreader
Rating: PG 13ish
They're not mine; I'm playing in the Pauls' sandbox, and am not making any money off it. Also, am procrastinating about work. Hmm.
Fraser finished the clean up and looked down at the ground. "You know, when you asked if you could call me if your trailer roof needed tarring, I rather expected it was hypothetical."
"Tough. You want the garbage bags?"
"Yeah, toss 'em up."
Maggie tossed the box of garbage bags.
Fraser caught it, but not without some interesting movements that appeared to be a mix of Twyla Tharp, Martha Graham and Nijinsky. "Maggie, no offense, but..."
"....and that was when she threw the book at me. Literally. Ow."
"Hold still. The administrative manual ain't got anything on Stella's cat. You've got these all over. Also, splinters from where she hit the gutter."
"Yes, well, she does."
"Yes, she does." Ray agreed. "But it's not a good idea to tell someone that they throw like a girl. Particularly if they are one, a, and two, if they are licensed to shoot firearms and do it a heck of a lot better than they throw things."
"I will admit that I'm relieved it was just a book, and not a knife. I suspect the lack of aerodynamic elegance may have had something to do with her aim."
"Aim, shmaim. You left out the important bit. Did it work?" Ray sat down across the table from Fraser and scratched Dief's and then Churchill's ears as the two canids put their heads into his lap.
Fraser smiled the wicked, filthy smile he usually saved only for their bedroom. "I don't think she'll be bothering us for household assistance again any time soon." He drained his tea. "Where were we?"
"Locking the dogs out of the room. This time, the mutts are definitely not interrupting us with the god damned phone."
"Ray, language."
"Come & clean it up, Mountie."
Fraser did.
His aim was better than his sister's.
Fandom: Due South
Author: Shrewreader
Rating: PG 13ish
They're not mine; I'm playing in the Pauls' sandbox, and am not making any money off it. Also, am procrastinating about work. Hmm.
Fraser finished the clean up and looked down at the ground. "You know, when you asked if you could call me if your trailer roof needed tarring, I rather expected it was hypothetical."
"Tough. You want the garbage bags?"
"Yeah, toss 'em up."
Maggie tossed the box of garbage bags.
Fraser caught it, but not without some interesting movements that appeared to be a mix of Twyla Tharp, Martha Graham and Nijinsky. "Maggie, no offense, but..."
"....and that was when she threw the book at me. Literally. Ow."
"Hold still. The administrative manual ain't got anything on Stella's cat. You've got these all over. Also, splinters from where she hit the gutter."
"Yes, well, she does."
"Yes, she does." Ray agreed. "But it's not a good idea to tell someone that they throw like a girl. Particularly if they are one, a, and two, if they are licensed to shoot firearms and do it a heck of a lot better than they throw things."
"I will admit that I'm relieved it was just a book, and not a knife. I suspect the lack of aerodynamic elegance may have had something to do with her aim."
"Aim, shmaim. You left out the important bit. Did it work?" Ray sat down across the table from Fraser and scratched Dief's and then Churchill's ears as the two canids put their heads into his lap.
Fraser smiled the wicked, filthy smile he usually saved only for their bedroom. "I don't think she'll be bothering us for household assistance again any time soon." He drained his tea. "Where were we?"
"Locking the dogs out of the room. This time, the mutts are definitely not interrupting us with the god damned phone."
"Ray, language."
"Come & clean it up, Mountie."
Fraser did.
His aim was better than his sister's.