Gelatinous
Title: Gelatinous, or A Matter of Taste
Date posted: 06-23-05
Fandom: Alias
Disclaimer: Will Tippin in all his glory does not belong to me.
Spoilers: None
Notes: Written in response to thepodsquad's drabble challenge of "Will. Gelatinous."
Will Tippin has been called the Human Trash Compactor. He is known to eat anything, at anytime, of any origin, without hesitation. Tripe? No big. Three-day old supreme burrito from Sanchito's reheated and consumed at midnight? No effect on his stomach of iron. Lucky Charms in milk two days past its expiration date? Not a problem. Mysterious meat-filled pastries sold on the street in Tijuana? Nothing.
But this was out of his realm.
"I don't know what this is," he announces to no one in particular. "And I don't think it would've had time to grow since this morning."
He's at Syd's house, because it's lunch, and because he spends most of his time there anyway. People (Syd, Francie) have asked him why he even bothers to have his own apartment, because he only goes over there to sleep. "We're going to have to start charging you for room and board," Fran said one day, "Or you're going to need to start buying groceries."
"Syd eats as much as I do!" He had protested. Syd had looked up and given him a look that could cut glass. "I," she had said witheringly, "Have discerning taste. You have no taste."
"Oh, Syd," he says now, "I refuse to eat this."
The object in question was... oddly shaped, and appeared to have something in it. It was firm, but it wiggled. When poked, the utensil would sink in and return with a film of gelatinous goo.
It was also kelly green.
He knew where he had seen this before.
He carefully removes the fork he had been using and runs it under the faucet, as hot as the water will go. Once it had been scalded, he drops it and goes to call the only person he knows that can handle this.
"Syd, there's alien blood in your refrigerator."
"Excuse me?"
"Alien blood. In a formation. It's like, an alien uterus of coagulated alien blood."
"What?”
“I wish I was kidding.”
“Will, what have you been watching?"
"Syd, I'm not kidding! I'm freaked out! Aliens are going to be born in your fridge and start an invasion that will lead to global and then galactic domination and you don't care?"
"No more watching The X-Files before you go to bed, and no, I do not need another lecture on the beauty of Gillian Anderson."
"If I called her she'd know what to do."
"Close the refrigerator-"
" - did it."
" - and hide in the living room."
"Doing that."
"You're so brave."
"When you get abducted in your sleep..."
"I'll be sorry. Bye, Will."
"Bye."
Will wonders if there really is an X-Files. If he calls the FBI- can you call the FBI? Are they listed?- would they put him through to some small office in the substructure of some FBI building?
More importantly, would the female part of this team be beautiful?
"In my death," Will says grimly, "Gillian Anderson comes."
Who knows- alien blood might be a delicacy on some planet.
Date posted: 06-23-05
Fandom: Alias
Disclaimer: Will Tippin in all his glory does not belong to me.
Spoilers: None
Notes: Written in response to thepodsquad's drabble challenge of "Will. Gelatinous."
Will Tippin has been called the Human Trash Compactor. He is known to eat anything, at anytime, of any origin, without hesitation. Tripe? No big. Three-day old supreme burrito from Sanchito's reheated and consumed at midnight? No effect on his stomach of iron. Lucky Charms in milk two days past its expiration date? Not a problem. Mysterious meat-filled pastries sold on the street in Tijuana? Nothing.
But this was out of his realm.
"I don't know what this is," he announces to no one in particular. "And I don't think it would've had time to grow since this morning."
He's at Syd's house, because it's lunch, and because he spends most of his time there anyway. People (Syd, Francie) have asked him why he even bothers to have his own apartment, because he only goes over there to sleep. "We're going to have to start charging you for room and board," Fran said one day, "Or you're going to need to start buying groceries."
"Syd eats as much as I do!" He had protested. Syd had looked up and given him a look that could cut glass. "I," she had said witheringly, "Have discerning taste. You have no taste."
"Oh, Syd," he says now, "I refuse to eat this."
The object in question was... oddly shaped, and appeared to have something in it. It was firm, but it wiggled. When poked, the utensil would sink in and return with a film of gelatinous goo.
It was also kelly green.
He knew where he had seen this before.
He carefully removes the fork he had been using and runs it under the faucet, as hot as the water will go. Once it had been scalded, he drops it and goes to call the only person he knows that can handle this.
"Syd, there's alien blood in your refrigerator."
"Excuse me?"
"Alien blood. In a formation. It's like, an alien uterus of coagulated alien blood."
"What?”
“I wish I was kidding.”
“Will, what have you been watching?"
"Syd, I'm not kidding! I'm freaked out! Aliens are going to be born in your fridge and start an invasion that will lead to global and then galactic domination and you don't care?"
"No more watching The X-Files before you go to bed, and no, I do not need another lecture on the beauty of Gillian Anderson."
"If I called her she'd know what to do."
"Close the refrigerator-"
" - did it."
" - and hide in the living room."
"Doing that."
"You're so brave."
"When you get abducted in your sleep..."
"I'll be sorry. Bye, Will."
"Bye."
Will wonders if there really is an X-Files. If he calls the FBI- can you call the FBI? Are they listed?- would they put him through to some small office in the substructure of some FBI building?
More importantly, would the female part of this team be beautiful?
"In my death," Will says grimly, "Gillian Anderson comes."
Who knows- alien blood might be a delicacy on some planet.