Ahaha. I'm kind of keyed up at the moment because there's a thing for me tomorrow afternoon that is kind of important. It involves social interaction with people I don't know and I'm trying to calm myself down.
So! Here's a rough snippet from something I've been picking at for the last few days. I'm not really sure if it will turn into actual fic or just be not!fic, but it causes me to snort out loud at random moments when I think about it, so. Uh. Ahaha?
Bob finds a tiny little dwarf or troll or something along those lines spraying the fligures flitting around one of the walls of the Labyrinth. When he gets clsoer he realizes the dwarf/troll thing is Brian, and has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. He knows the real Brian would kick him someplace delicate if he did. He's not entirely sure how this version of him would react, but he's willing to bet it wouldn't be pretty.
This version of Brian isn't cackling with glee every time he gets one of the flying things, but there's a happy little smile on his face and he's humming to himself, so odds are he's getting a kick out of what he's doing. Bob watches him for a few moments until one of the things flying around drops, crashlands, at his feet, coughing and hacking fit to lose a lung.
Bending down for a closer look, Bob closes his eyes for a moment when he recognizes the long, unwashed hair and dirt-smudged face. Its wings are grungy and a little battered, and Bob doesn't know whether to laugh or cry becasue it's wearing the same dress the fairy was from the movie, but it's Bert.
"Be careful," Brian warns without turning around. He drops drops Quinn with a well-aimed spritz when Quinn angrily buzzes Brian's head. "The little fuckers bite."
Bob glares at Bert when he makes a move to do just that, and Bert flashes him a tiny, bright smile while backing away from Bob's thumb. His arms are thrown up in a 'Who, me?' gesture, wings fluttering. Bob rolls his eyes and crouches down next to a pile of rubble and lets Bert walk off his hands. He's still a little unsteady from whatever Brian sprayed him with, stumbling as he makes his way to a small patch of moss to sit down.