Sticks: OC, Illyria
Sticks
Summary: Illyria wants to talk. The plants don't. (400-word ficlet)
Rating: G
Notes: Another old ficlet, finding a home.
Disclaimer: No plants were harmed in the making of this ficlet. Oh, and Joss is the big green thumb of it all.
The plants lining the hallway gathered for their daily pep talk before the big blue woman would come stomping around looking for someone to talk to. None of them liked to talk to her. It wasn’t that she was hostile towards them. No, she was actually quite nice. It was just that she droned on forever! It always revolved around her lost Kingdom or the Englishman with the funny taste in shirts.
The boring conversations made their leaves droop, which wasn’t good at all. Then the fat man in the stained overalls would take them away to the Green Room. Every plant knew that nothing escaped the Green Room.
For the most part, the plants just grinned (preened, to be exact) and pretended to listen. But today had already been trying for them. The White-Haired One had tipped over Old Fern while trying to escape the Hulking Forehead. In the end, Fern was all right, just a cracked terra cotta covering, but it shook the rest of them. Those Two-Leggeds couldn’t be trusted around them.
Quite simply, they weren’t in the mood to talk to Big Blue. Goldie the Fern suggested that someone should volunteer to “stand out from the bush” so that Big Blue would notice only the one. It was a good idea. Even Old Fern said so, from his duct-taped terra cotta covering. The trouble was, no one wanted to volunteer.
“What about sticks?” Spotted Fern raised his leaf in the air.
“Sticks?” Goldie the Fern, the Second bristled with confusion.
“Yea. Let’s draw sticks. Whoever gets the smallest stick has to talk to her.”
The plants thought about it. What other choice did they have, really? It sounded like it was fair.
“All right.” Fernando, the ringleader nodded. “Let’s draw sticks.”
The plants reached into their terra cotta coverings and pulled out hunks of mulch. They held them out for comparison and Wiltman groaned. “Oh come on! I had to talk to her yesterday!”
“Fair is fair, Wiltman.” Fernando smiled and shook himself back into his corner. The rest of the plants followed suit, save for Wiltman. He situated himself a little further out from the rest of the line and tried to make his sagging leaves look presentable.
Heavy footsteps marked the entrance of Big Blue. She stopped in front of the sacrificial fern. “I wish to have intercourse now.”
Wiltman groaned. He hated fairness.
Summary: Illyria wants to talk. The plants don't. (400-word ficlet)
Rating: G
Notes: Another old ficlet, finding a home.
Disclaimer: No plants were harmed in the making of this ficlet. Oh, and Joss is the big green thumb of it all.
The plants lining the hallway gathered for their daily pep talk before the big blue woman would come stomping around looking for someone to talk to. None of them liked to talk to her. It wasn’t that she was hostile towards them. No, she was actually quite nice. It was just that she droned on forever! It always revolved around her lost Kingdom or the Englishman with the funny taste in shirts.
The boring conversations made their leaves droop, which wasn’t good at all. Then the fat man in the stained overalls would take them away to the Green Room. Every plant knew that nothing escaped the Green Room.
For the most part, the plants just grinned (preened, to be exact) and pretended to listen. But today had already been trying for them. The White-Haired One had tipped over Old Fern while trying to escape the Hulking Forehead. In the end, Fern was all right, just a cracked terra cotta covering, but it shook the rest of them. Those Two-Leggeds couldn’t be trusted around them.
Quite simply, they weren’t in the mood to talk to Big Blue. Goldie the Fern suggested that someone should volunteer to “stand out from the bush” so that Big Blue would notice only the one. It was a good idea. Even Old Fern said so, from his duct-taped terra cotta covering. The trouble was, no one wanted to volunteer.
“What about sticks?” Spotted Fern raised his leaf in the air.
“Sticks?” Goldie the Fern, the Second bristled with confusion.
“Yea. Let’s draw sticks. Whoever gets the smallest stick has to talk to her.”
The plants thought about it. What other choice did they have, really? It sounded like it was fair.
“All right.” Fernando, the ringleader nodded. “Let’s draw sticks.”
The plants reached into their terra cotta coverings and pulled out hunks of mulch. They held them out for comparison and Wiltman groaned. “Oh come on! I had to talk to her yesterday!”
“Fair is fair, Wiltman.” Fernando smiled and shook himself back into his corner. The rest of the plants followed suit, save for Wiltman. He situated himself a little further out from the rest of the line and tried to make his sagging leaves look presentable.
Heavy footsteps marked the entrance of Big Blue. She stopped in front of the sacrificial fern. “I wish to have intercourse now.”
Wiltman groaned. He hated fairness.