[Fic] No, we all can't be superfly...
OOC: For magi, with the prompt, "Gasoline dreams of girls in blue jeans, he's grazing the surface of sleep."
"I could just... Poof to Las Vegas. I could poof all of us there, actually."
"Nuh-uh, Angelcake. You get all screwed up when you poof more than one person. That little blonde head of yours can't handle this much-"
Something made an unpleasant cracking sound when it made contact with Mathias' skull, and, from underneath the 'vette, Des hoped that it wasn't anything vitally important. He slid out from underneath the car, shot both angel and demon a do you mind? look and vanished underneath the car again to continue fiddling with the undercarriage, trying to work out the problem.
Two weeks after leaving Manhattan and the 'vette was being a little bitch about the long drive to Las Vegas. She'd broken down on the side of the road and Des, with what minimal talent he had at fixing cars, was trying duct tape, spit, poking certain things and twisting certain wires in very certain ways, and a lot of prayers to deities he neither trusted nor really believed in to make the car functional enough to get, at least, to Oklahoma so Ginger could take a look at her.
Mathias and Pagiel weren't helping. At all.
There was an odd crunch of gravel and the sound of female laughter, and Des swore as he crawled out from under the car just in time to see Mathias wandering up to a blue convertible Mustang boasting five college co-eds, all of them different shades of bimbo, that had just joined them on the shoulder. If Pagiel's hair was standing more on end than it was currently, she'd have looked like she was wearing an angry cat on her head.
And Mathias was just ignorant of both Des's displeasure and Pagiel's seething hatred as he leaned over the driver's side and flirted shamelessly with the driver, babbling about needing a tow truck and how their cell phones weren't getting reception and he'd be so grateful if he could get a lift to the nearest service station. Naturally, because Mathias was Mathias, they agreed. He raised his eyebrows at Des and Pagiel and jumped over the door, falling easily in between two of the girls in the backseat, much to their squealing delight, and the car drove off down the lonely highway. That would have been a lot less annoying if that really wasn't Mathias's version of helping a situation.
Des heard Pagiel count to ten twice- once in Aramaic and once in Enochian- before she finally calmed down enough to speak. "I can still poof us to Vegas. We can just leave him."
Des glowered at the dust trail and blew his oil-covered bangs out of his face. "Tempting, but no."
Muse: Desmond D. Descant (OC)
Word Count: 444
"I could just... Poof to Las Vegas. I could poof all of us there, actually."
"Nuh-uh, Angelcake. You get all screwed up when you poof more than one person. That little blonde head of yours can't handle this much-"
Something made an unpleasant cracking sound when it made contact with Mathias' skull, and, from underneath the 'vette, Des hoped that it wasn't anything vitally important. He slid out from underneath the car, shot both angel and demon a do you mind? look and vanished underneath the car again to continue fiddling with the undercarriage, trying to work out the problem.
Two weeks after leaving Manhattan and the 'vette was being a little bitch about the long drive to Las Vegas. She'd broken down on the side of the road and Des, with what minimal talent he had at fixing cars, was trying duct tape, spit, poking certain things and twisting certain wires in very certain ways, and a lot of prayers to deities he neither trusted nor really believed in to make the car functional enough to get, at least, to Oklahoma so Ginger could take a look at her.
Mathias and Pagiel weren't helping. At all.
There was an odd crunch of gravel and the sound of female laughter, and Des swore as he crawled out from under the car just in time to see Mathias wandering up to a blue convertible Mustang boasting five college co-eds, all of them different shades of bimbo, that had just joined them on the shoulder. If Pagiel's hair was standing more on end than it was currently, she'd have looked like she was wearing an angry cat on her head.
And Mathias was just ignorant of both Des's displeasure and Pagiel's seething hatred as he leaned over the driver's side and flirted shamelessly with the driver, babbling about needing a tow truck and how their cell phones weren't getting reception and he'd be so grateful if he could get a lift to the nearest service station. Naturally, because Mathias was Mathias, they agreed. He raised his eyebrows at Des and Pagiel and jumped over the door, falling easily in between two of the girls in the backseat, much to their squealing delight, and the car drove off down the lonely highway. That would have been a lot less annoying if that really wasn't Mathias's version of helping a situation.
Des heard Pagiel count to ten twice- once in Aramaic and once in Enochian- before she finally calmed down enough to speak. "I can still poof us to Vegas. We can just leave him."
Des glowered at the dust trail and blew his oil-covered bangs out of his face. "Tempting, but no."
Muse: Desmond D. Descant (OC)
Word Count: 444