2 more 5 thingses
kanzenhanzai- How about '5 times Joe Dick ended up in the wrong universe'? (guess the fandoms *g*) (also, HCL spoilers )
1- “Stand up then, sunshine. No bloody time to waste- we’ve a hostage situation.”
He looks up at the man from his position on the floor. “I just shot myself in the head. What’s your fucking excuse?”
“I’m Gene Hunt. Don’t need a bloody excuse. Come on, you’re the only negotiator we’ve got, heaven help us.”
He lets him help him up, takes the loudspeaker. “Listen, you motherfucking punk, if you don’t give up your hostage and come down all friendly like, I am going to come up there. If I want your hostage, I will take them from you, and you won’t like it. In fact, it will be painful. So to save yourself some trouble, why don’t you hand them over?”
“Oh, he’s good. Just my style,” Gene mutters, behind him. “Gimme the mike.”
Joe hands it over, and between them they insult the hostage taker’s immediate family, the reputation of his mother, his own sense of dress, personal hygiene and taste in music. It’s at this point that the hostage is able to escape as the man on the roof is crying like a girl. “I think this is the start of a fucking beautiful friendship,” he tells Gene as they clean up. Gene grins and hands him his hip flask.
2- “Sin is in all of us, brothers and sisters-”
hang on. What the fuck? Joe blinks, looks down at his clothes, feels the tightness of his collar, how fucking uncomfortable he feels. Still commando, thank fuck. He looks down at the sermon, in a neat hand he doesn’t recognise, decides to keep reading. “It will bring us all to hell, rain down fire and brimstone on us because our souls are miserable and inclined to sin, to bestial lust, deceit-”
He could fucking get used to this. Although he isn’t sure about the sideburns.
3- “So you’re the Canadian liaison, then. Pleased to meet you,” the American with the shiny teeth said. “My name’s Jack, but you can call me darling.”
Joe blinked. Blinked again. Was that- “Uh, you have a dinosaur.”
“Yeah- came through the rift.”
Oh. Cool. “You need to let go of my motherfucking hand, now.”
“You sure?”
He looks at Jack- darling- and thinks. For all of three seconds- because hey, Jack has a pulse, and he isn’t pipe. That makes him pretty fucking attractive, really.
“On second thoughts…”
4- “You’re Hamlet.”
“Fuck off.”
He looks at the guy on the stage. The speccy fucker who steered him into the theatre has scuttled off, and he’s left looking at the guy with the messy hair and the psychotic expression. A couple of pushes, he’d be completely nuts. A challenge. He smiles, slowly. “Why yes, I am. I’m the motherfucking prince of the Danes.”
Messy-hair grins, wolfishly. Raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really,” he says, a spark of sanity gleaming in his eye. He sees too fucking much. “I think we’ll steer clear of the oedipal connotations on the first read-through.”
There’s a ripple of laughter, and he stands a little straighter. Round one, fucker, he promises.
This is gonna be fun.
5- “No, really. My dad was not called Adam, you whacked-out fucking talking lion!”
.
rillarilla- Five plays Ellen and Oliver hate.
1- Cats. This shouldn’t be such a surprise, really. Lloyd Webber’s a toad-faced, talentless venial wanker, and the next time he hears Memory will be the singer’s last time of singing it.
Ellen doesn’t mind it so much. She fucked the man playing Macavity in his dressing room, after the show. She found facepaint in the strangest places after that.
2- Endgame. No one puts Ellen in a bin. Oliver secretly relishes this part, but pretends it isn’t his idea, and really, it’s what the public want. Beckett is fashionable, after all. Fucking Godot.
3- Hamlet. God- neither of them can look at the script for this, without that hot surge of guilt. Oliver fucked her once after Geoffrey had gone- it was without purpose, without being part of a plan, and they tore each other apart, snarling spitting rutting that left him feeling burnt out, ashes in his mouth.
He’d thought it would exorcise the play. It really didn’t.
It’s the play that says the most about them, but is the most uncomfortable to listen to, to learn from.
4- The Mousetrap. No play that has lasted that long should be so without a decent reason why. Ellen takes pride in the fact that she doesn’t know the ending. Oliver’s saving up the ending to tell her in a fit of spite, but is never quite drunk enough.
5- The Dream. It…becomes a work of debasement for both of them, something to punish each other with. Titania is martyred up there on stage every fucking season, her pride reduced to love for an ass, to bestial fawning, and Oliver isn’t sure if Oberon’s vengeful Geoffrey, or himself, left behind, victorious but bitter. He introduces sheep and bucolic charm, just for the contrast.