captcha fics
Because captcha fics are addictive and it would be awful if they were lost in the main prompt post.
The way it works:
a) Look at the two words in the captcha field
b) Write a fic inspired by those two words
For reference: thread with already excisting captcha fics.
Have fun ;)
The way it works:
a) Look at the two words in the captcha field
b) Write a fic inspired by those two words
For reference: thread with already excisting captcha fics.
Have fun ;)
Miss McFarlane had very big hair and a lyrical Scottish accent. She wore knee length skirts and no jewellery. David Cameron couldn't pigeon-hole her as a specific type of woman. He'd said this to Clegg and the idealistic preachy...
Clegg had said that it was a good thing not to cast women in your head as a particular type.
So what if he was right. David was willing to bet that he thought narrow minded things too, then he corrected himself and said right on things out loud. He thought them. David knew he thought them.
"Clegg around?" He asked Miss McFarlane.
She looked at him, startled.
"I mean the Deputy Prime Minister?"
"No, not yet," she said. Was she scolding him or being intimidated by him? Damn her lilting tone and unreadable face.
Ge shuffled through the opened envelopes and slipped a letter out from one with childlike handwriting on the front.
"These have been checked beforehand I take it?"
"We'll never hand vitriolic abuse to you, sir, though you can't guarantee they'll all be favourable."
Again, was she being condescending or helpful? he hated not being able to pin somebody down. He couldn't even tell what class she was.
And there it was again, he felt Clegg judging him. Clegg wasn't there. Shut up Clegg!
The letter was from a child who had yet to master the lower case letter A. The child wrote to Mr C and his name was David too and his mummy had told him the country had no money left.
There was a 50p Sellotaped to the bottom of the letter.
The child wrote that it was so they could put it in the Bank of England and start saving up.
He smiled. McFarlane was smiling at him. She picked it specifically. She was a Clegg! She had to be.
David felt in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He looked inside and huffed.
"Problem sir?"
"I wanted to send him a pound back to show him where investing gets you but I've only got cards and coppers."
"Write the letter, sir, I'll attach a pound coin for you and post it."
Oh she was such a Clegg.
He looked at the child's name at the bottom of the envelope, David Godfrey.
It wAs nice to see you And your friend in the gArden. I sent A letter to him As well becAuse I don't wAnt him to feel left out.
"I bet Clegg doesn't send you money back," David smirked as he wrote out a quick reply.
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"No, I don't base my decisions on a desire for power. If I had wanted power I would have asked for different things, selfish things, and I was offered things during the negotiations that I turned down. I understand you're not used to sincere answers or even honest ones, but get used to getting them from me."
Yes, that would go down well with his own people.
The interviewer was clearly insulted and going to take him down now. He straightened his tie and braced himself for it.
"Would you like to go through the Liberal Democrat Manifesto and discuss all the things you promised to do that you now won't? Or the things you were against that you now support?"
"Would you like to go through the dictionary and look up the word compromise?"
Oh shit.
That was one he shouldn't have said out loud. Bad confrontational Nick.
"People voted for your party and you are going against what they wanted, what they voted for."
"Not enough people voted for my party. Surely you can't be suggesting that the party in third place in the last election be the only one to have every item in their manifesto carried out in government."
David watched from the back of the room. Cable was looking pleased with his boy. George was looking like there was a bad smell under his nose.
"You've got to admit, he believes in what he's saying."
"You wouldn't be here if he was like al the rest," Cable said, without turning around.
David turned to head back to hiss office.
Clegg came third. He came first, he won, more people wanted him than anybody else. Even in Clegg's stupid 'fair' system he'd still have won. Why was the Deputy the golden boy? Why was the also ran the one everybody wanted to talk to? His job was supposed to be a token one, name only, it was a job that existed so John Prescott didn't get to push any buttons.
Everybody liked him.
The most annoying thing was, so did Dave.
He'd base decisions on 'what would Nick think?'
He sometimes caught himself taking stands for anti Tory things and then looking at Nick to see if he was pleased. He was trying to impress him.
"I'm a Liberal Tory, I'm a Liberal Tory, that's all it is."
His mobile rang. Clegg's name was displayed on the screen. Just that, 'Clegg', he wasn't Nick.
"Clegg," he answered.
"Hi David, any power going?"
"Excuse me?"
"Apparently I crave it. If you have any spare...?"
Dave laughed. He hated that he laughed. Nick...Clegg's voice carried laughter with it.
"Still got my pride d'you think?"
"Of course you do. They'll start hating you though, the media, I mean. You're making them work."
"Same questions, from everyone, for weeks, those kids we met on the street were the most original interviewers we've had since the election. Admit it."
"I totally agree. They can't understand the coalition. They haven't had to cover one before. Give them time."
"Have you spoken to Dimbleby?"
"No, you?"
"No."
The phone was nothing but dead air for a few seconds.
"I got Andrew Marr."
"Oh shut up."
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"Excuse me?"
"Apparently I crave it. If you have any spare...?"
Brilliant! This is just fabulous!
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The Commons was strangely comforting in a white noise way. It was also handy to know first hand what was happening when he wasn't sitting on green leather.
There were heavy footsteps passing by his closed office door. He glanced towards the sound but then went back to his papers. A band of backbenchers made a baa-ing sound at something and David was lulled back into the zone.
It was a small zone as more, heavier than usual, footsteps thumped past. He huffed and looked at the door. Nobody came in. Then he realised that they weren't the steps of people walking, but people running.
He heard muffled voices and reached for the remote control to mute the television.
"...just be a bug but if you could discreetly fetch a doctor?"
David jumped up from his seat and strode towards the door. He pulled it open, expecting whoever was on the other side to jump and then hurriedly explain what was going on, but all he saw was somebody rushing out through the front door and another person jogging away and down the hall.
"What the hell is going on?"
"Prime Minister," Miss McFarlane saw him and moved towards him, as far as the flex of the telephone cord would stretch, "Mr Clegg has been taken ill in his office. We're sending for a doctor now."
"What do you mean, taken ill?" David demanded.
"He's been vomiting and now his got a pain in his stomach. A first aider's been with him, she thought it was an appendicitis but isn't sure because of the type of stomach pain." The woman turned her attention back to the telephone. "Excuse me, yes, hello. I'm Helen McFarlane at Downing Street, I'm trying to contact...yes. Is she in the office?"
David realised that Miriam was being contacted. He set off for Clegg's office and soon heard some ghastly sounds. He stood back and decided not to go in.
Somebody emerged from the office and looked at him with a 'bloody hell' enlargement of the eyes, before scuttling off. David rubbed at his face and then drummed his fingers against his chin.
There was running again and the doctor was being shown the way. David stepped to one side and then leaned to peer in through the open door.
The smell was awful but he'd smelled worse from his own children.
Clegg was a very bad colour, his face glistened with sweat and he was bowing over a waste paper bin, arms folded tight across his stomach as he knelt on the floor.
"Shit," David whispered to himself, frowning worriedly.
"Sir?" The older man addressing Clegg as sir got no reaction.
"Call him Nick," David found himself calling through to him.
"Nick? I need you to lift your head for a moment, don't worry about bringing anything up on me, I'm used to it.
Clegg spat and then took a bracing breath before sitting up as much as his stomach pain would allow. The Doctor glanced at the contents of the bin and then felt Clegg's sweaty face.
"Turkey for lunch was it?"
David's worry-creased face fell into an expression of dumb shock.
"Oh shit," he said, shakily, "I poisoned him!"
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*bites fist*
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"Excuse me?"
"Apparently I crave it. If you have any spare...?"
*skips joyfully*
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David stepped into his office and gave a smile and a nod to indicate he would wait for his colleague to finish his business.
"I don't care, it's a legitimate donation and I want to send the donor confirmation that it didn't go into my bank account. I'm not getting caught out again, just do it."
Clegg put the phone down and ran a hand over his hair before smiling up at David.
"Sorry, covering my arse like never before now I'm in government."
"Make sure it's not one of those tabloid set ups, no hidden camera footage of you in a hotel room thank you very much."
David took a seat opposite his deputy.
"Speaking of which I've got to get Miriam to erase the other night off her camera phone," Clegg muttered to himself, pulling out his mobile and texting with his thumb.
David's mouth went dry.
"Only joking," Clegg smirked as he sent the message and set his mobile down again, "I'm getting her to record Come Dine With Me."
"Ooh," David sat forward, about to ask if it was a five parter or an hour long special, before reminding himself he was the Prime Minister and Clegg was the enemy within and not a friend. "I mean, you've got a moment?"
"Yup."
"I was..." His mind was blank. "There's, um..."
He put his elbow on the desk, rubbed at his temple with his index finger and then supported his jaw with his thumb. He searched his mind for something pressing to bring to Clegg.
"There's...gazpacho in the freezer. I made it for a stuffy day and there's a little too much so if you want to have some...I mean you like...Spanish food, right?"
"Um, yeah," Nick said with a chuckle, "I thought something stressful was going on then. You do take cooking seriously don't you?"
"It's not cooked," David said, inconsequentially.
"You have a press conference at eleven don't you?"
"I do." David nodded.
"Do you want me to take that call from Germany or is it going to be stepping on George's toes?"
"Well, it's all got to go through you and you speak German so... And she asked after you anyway. They all love you, Sarkozy was most disappointed I arrived alone."
Clegg shook his head.
"I think they're expecting a little more from me than your party would ever let me deliver."
"And remember that. What I said to her goes, no namby pamby-ing."
"It's okay, I don't speak Namby Pamby."
Clegg was almost smiling. David sat back and fixed his face with steely resolve not to break.
"I suppose a sixth language would have been pushing it."
"Oh I have six, I've become fluent in Teletubby."
David gave in and the corner of his mouth curled up.
"I like the ancient dead languages better myself, I was a Clanger scholar, you know?"
Clegg leaned forward across his desk, eyes flashing with the thrill of one-upmanship, and grinned.
"I am one of only three people in this hemisphere able to understand Pingu."
David leaned forward too.
"Sooty whispers exclusively into my ear."
Clegg snorted out a laugh and then smugly replied, "Sooty's got a big mouth when it comes to pillow talk."
"Are you telling me you've been sleeping with Sooty?" David sat back and laughed.
Clegg sat back and put both hands behind his head.
"I'm telling you, we're both sleeping with Soo."
Clegg grinned, David barked out a loud laugh, and somebody knocked on the door.
David jumped up, muttered something about the call from Germany, and left.
"Don't forget to defrost the gazpacho," Clegg called as David opened the door and let Miss McFarlane in.
"Um..." David looked at McFarlane, nodded at her and then left without a word.
What on earth was happening to him?
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*swoons*
Oh, how much must Europe want to play!
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David gave in and the corner of his mouth curled up.
"I like the ancient dead languages better myself, I was a Clanger scholar, you know?"
Clegg leaned forward across his desk, eyes flashing with the thrill of one-upmanship, and grinned.
"I am one of only three people in this hemisphere able to understand Pingu."
David leaned forward too.
"Sooty whispers exclusively into my ear."
Clegg snorted out a laugh and then smugly replied, "Sooty's got a big mouth when it comes to pillow talk."
"Are you telling me you've been sleeping with Sooty?" David sat back and laughed.
CLANGERS!!
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Susan Boyle had a dream.
Any dream would do for Joseph.
David started humming ABBA's 'I had a dream' and swaying from side to side.
There was a massive snort laugh from the bench to one side and Clegg was watching him with something akin to delight.
"You're losing it!"
"What are you doing out here?" His demand rattled Clegg enough to shake the mirth from his face.
Clegg held up a cigarette.
"You don't smoke."
"That's the party line," Clegg nodded.
"Bugger me, you're not perfect!" David smiled, then wished he'd used a different exclamation.
"When did I say I was?" Clegg flicked ash into the rose bush.
"I didn't know you came out here."
"It's nice, I didn't even know it existed until...our...union."
David shook his head.
"You're as bad as the rest of them."
Clegg shrugged.
"So, ABBA?"
"I nodded off in the car, had a strange dream."
"Oh, right." Clegg took another drag and then stubbed out his cigarette. He pulled a tissue out of his jacket pocket and wrapped the butt inside, then put it back into his pocket.
"You really are undercover with the smoking aren't you?"
"I'm the James Bond of nicotine," Clegg nodded with a mischievous grin.
David glanced around and then joined Clegg on the wooden bench.
"No gazpacho today?" Clegg asked.
"No, I met Samantha and we had lunch together. You weren't counting on me for something to eat were you?"
"No, I've got some crisps and Samosa."
"You really are a man of the world." David shook his head and laughed.
Clegg chuckled and cleared his throat, David had noticed he did that a lot and now knew why, as he looked up at the sky.
"They're bad for you, you know?"
"Once in a while won't do any harm."
David looked out at the rose garden and thought about his strange dream. Nick Clegg, wearing a Sooty puppet on his hand, wanking him off. He told himself that dreams never meant the obvious. A professional dream interpreter would probably say it meant Child Tax credits were a waste of money, like spilling seed, and Sooty was a symbol of the financially bare cupboards. Bear - bare.
"Hmm," he hummed as he nodded to himself.
Clegg looked at him, and was almost about to say something before deciding against it and looking away again. They sat together for a minute longer.
"Do you like Asparagus?"
Clegg looked startled by this and took a moment to process the question.
"Uh, yes."
"I'm going to try a Gazpacho Verde, if you want to skip the Samosa tomorrow."
Clegg smiled.
"Thanks."
"Don't smoke, it'll ruin the flavour."
Clegg's phone rang and he answered, gave a smile as he excused himself, and then made his way back inside while talking and gesturing with his hand.
"They can't see you, Nick," David sighed to himself as he watched him go.
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This is brilliant. MOAR!
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