Some Idiots Run A Tally
Title: Some Idiots Run A Tally
Fandom/Series: Some Idiots
Characters: Walt Holiday, Philip Watson
Pairing: Implied Phil/Watson.
Summary: Prequel, set before Walt met Cade and before Eagle Eyes' death. Walter has a man-crush on a fellow mercenary, Philip Watson, and they're assigned the same mission.
Challenge/Theme: Timed writing exercise written today for the prompt "Running" on the NaNoWriMo forums. Word sprint. 20 minutes.
Length: 629 words. (I actually wrote more than that but I edited it down to make more sense than it did when it was hot off the press.)
Genre: Action.
Rating: PG-13.
Status: Complete.
Warning: Slash and violence.
Notes: Definately not the best example of my writing, but it works for my 31-days of blogging thing.
--
He kept a tally all this time. Well, more like the writer-lady in the background of his universe kept the tally; he was just aware of it, and kept thinking about it.
150. 151. 152.
Just kept the running tally of them as they fell into place.
153. 154.
He wasn't worried that he'd lose track of the numbers - the writer-lady had them handled, after all. A neat little caption box at his feet would tell him the final count.
162. 163. 165. 166.
Just kept going.
177. 178.
Walter bounced from target to target, slashing and dancing with his whirling blade."And the bass keeps runnin' runnin', and runnin'..." BLAM BLAM BLAM. "Let's get retarded," sang Walt as he fired away at zombies left and right and sideways. "Let's get retarded in here!"
"Those aren't right lyrics," said Walt's partner, Scrounger, a mercenary that hailed from the little cellar Walt sometimes got his drinks and gigs from.
"Bodies," said Walt. "We're counting bodies."
"That's not what --"
"Let's get it started, ah! Let's get it started in here!"
"Walter, I'm --"
"You know, Phil?" Walt decapitated another zombie. "I like you. You've got guts."
"And you, Walter, are completely fucking nuts."
"Why, thank you. So kind of you to notice."
The battled went on for twenty more minutes, the body count climbing and climbing. Soon the battlefield was littered with nothing but the decapitated corpses of the once living dead and would now, hopefully, stay dead.
Walt reloaded his modified barrettas and made small talk. "So that guy Enzo? He's totally cheating on his girlfriend. I saw him with a hooker at the bar, and man oh man, they were
getting chummy.”
Scrounger grimaced at the pain of his bullet wound in his shoulder. "Can't we just get out of here?" He was a big man, a bit like the Disney version of Hercules in that he big muscles and a big heart. "I'm seein' angels at the Pearly gates, here."
"All right, all right." Walt finished reloading. "I was hoping he was gonna be here, but I guess not."
"Better luck next time, Wally, now can we go? My insurance ain't gonna cover this all day. They only cover bullet wounds 6-12. It's now 11:20."
Walt finished his preparations. "It's okay," he said. "My bike's waiting outside."
"That's just gonna make my day worse."
"I'll let you drive."
"That'll make it even more worse!"
"Don't be a whiner."
They headed away from the mission. "We did fourty-five million worth of work," Walt said."Too bad the guy who paid the deposit didn't make it through the battle."
"He must've been fucking crazy, hiring a nut like you."
"And you love me for it."
"...I'm driving."
---
Scrounger - really Philip Watson - got his bullet removed at the ER. Took some painkillers, and had Walt drive him home.
"Sorry about this," Walt said, idling at the mailbox.
"Not your fault you're fucking crazy."
"Stop telling me I'm crazy. Don't you think I already know that?"
"You don't know a lot of things." Phil hefted himself off the motorcycle without hurting himself further. "I'll call you," he said, a hint of softness in his voice.
"Take care yourself," Walt said.
"Speak for yourself. Marty's gonna tag your ass as soon as he gets back into town." Phil struggled to get the keys out of his pocket with one hand, seeing as the other was placed in a temporary sling so that he wouldn't stress out the wound. "Don't get in a wreck," he said. "I need you for my paychecks."
"Later, old man."
Phil gave him a back-handed wave, and Walter, smiling because of his little boy-crush on the aged mercenary, drove off into the night.
--