T-Bag, Work
Title: Acquisition
Character/Pairing: T-Bag
Prompt: #089. Work
Rating: PG-13
Summary: work >noun 1 activity involving mental or physical effort done in order to achieve a result.
Author's Notes: Pre-series. Flashbacks to kiddy!T-Bag at the hospital. I originally tried to have him there because of all those health problems he could have, seeing as he's inbred, but then I came up with a different reason. Morbid!kiddy!T-Bag loves hospitals.
I have this . . . mental image of T-Bag and . . . a dictionary. Then the plot bunny strikes and this happens. Enjoy.
work >noun 1 activity involving mental or physical effort done in order to achieve a result.
“Abnegate. Renounce or reject, as in something desired or valuable.” Theo paused, considering the word. “I abnegate this dictionary.” He picked at the worn binding of the open dictionary before him. “Yeah, abnegate. Like the sound of that,” he muttered, scribbling the word down on a scrap piece of paper. “I sure do abnegate those pretty girls at school.” He nodded to himself. “Don’t even think that pussy of an English teacher knows the word abnegate.”
He flipped the page, searching out a new word. “Abrogate.” He repeated the word silently before rereading the definition. “Nah.” He skimmed along the next page. “Abrogate is too similar to abnegate. . . .”
His finger paused over a particularly intriguing word. “Ab-squaw-choo-late. Absquatulate.” He licked his lips, liking the word already. The possibilities of its use in a sentence . . .
“How ‘bout we stop all this absquatulating? The animal absquatulated. Absquatulate, boy, now!” He scribbled the word down. “Yeah, that’s it.”
Digits grazed over the fading pages and he skipped forward through the alphabet to “S.” He grinned as he flicked past “salacious” and moved onto the next page.
“Salient.” He laughed salaciously. “His cock was salient.” A few more pages were flicked past.
“Salubrious.” The word irked him. “I’ve never lived in a salubrious place.” He jotted down the word and dropped the pen on the desk. The dictionary was slammed shut and shoved in a drawer.
“Well, ‘cept that one time. . . .” He leaned back in his chair, smiling and closing his eyes as memories of a hospital that reeked of death came rushing back.
“I’m bored! How come I can’t go home? What happened to that one kid? What’s wrong with that kid?”
“Shh! Theodore! Hush, now! Jackelyn is sleeping!” A harsh cry erupted from Jackelyn’s bed and the nurse threw a withering glare in Theodore’s direction before rushing off. Theodore scratches at the tape holding the IV in his arm.
(2 such activity as a means of earning income.)
“Nurse!” Jackelyn’s screaming so loud, Theodore knows the nurse can’t hear him, but he continues calling for her anyway, because the ten-year-old likes how angry it makes her.
Jackelyn calms and Nurse rounds on Theodore. “What is it?” She’s usually such a sweet, kind, nurse, but Theodore just pushes all her buttons.
Ten-year-old Theodore smiles at her, that ungrateful smile that Nurse hates, because she swears he’s the spawn of the Devil . . . he did try and burn down a house, after all.
“Nurse . . . I’m-”
“You’re bored. I know, Theodore.” Nurse glances around the room and spots a bookcase. She walks over to it and pulls off the largest book.
She thrusts it into Theodore’s hands with no regard toward the painful blisters hiding beneath the white bandage. He stares at the cover, then at Nurse.
(3 a task or tasks to be undertaken.)
“The dictionary?”
Nurse nods. “That’s right, Theodore, and I expect you to keep your mouth shut while you read the entire thing.”
Theodore looks back down at the thick tome, then warily opens it.
“A, noun, the first letter of the English alphabet.” He tilts his head and reads through the next few definitions. Before he realizes, hours have passed, Nurse is resting, a new kid has been settled into the bed neighboring his and Jackelyn hasn’t screamed in what seems like forever.
“Ferrule, noun. A protective cap on or around a shaft or pole. Ferry, noun, also ferryboat. A boat for transporting passengers, vehicles, or goods. Ferryman, noun. An owner or operator of a ferry. Fertile, adjective. Able to produce offspring . . .” Theodore trails off as he glances around the room.
“Where’s Jackelyn?” he asks Nurse.
Nurse glances at him and scowls. “She’s dead.”
Theodore blinks and flicks through the dictionary’s pages. “Dead, adjective. No longer alive.” He sucks on his upper lip almost mockingly and Nurse continues to scowl. “Does that mean-”
“Yes, Theodore.”
“So they’re all,” he looks at the definition again, “‘no longer alive’?” He knows exactly what the word means. He’s fascinated by it. Entranced. He just knows how much it bothers Nurse when he asks stupid questions and he enjoys knowing how much it bothers her.
“Yes, Theodore.”
Theodore smiles at her serenely and wonders if she knows what he did to Adam while he was sleeping. He wonders if she knows why Nina went so quietly. He wonders if she knows that he sneaks out at night and goes down in the basement to look at all the dead bodies. He wonders if she knows that he touched Adam’s heart and got Nina’s blood all over his hands.
He wonders if she realizes how much death there really is around them. He wonders if she knows how many bodies have been transferred into the morgue in the last week.
(4 a thing or things done or made; the result of an action.)
He wonders if she knows that she’s next.
A dictionary with all the kinds of "big words" that T-Bag would use would be so awesome.
Character/Pairing: T-Bag
Prompt: #089. Work
Rating: PG-13
Summary: work >noun 1 activity involving mental or physical effort done in order to achieve a result.
Author's Notes: Pre-series. Flashbacks to kiddy!T-Bag at the hospital. I originally tried to have him there because of all those health problems he could have, seeing as he's inbred, but then I came up with a different reason. Morbid!kiddy!T-Bag loves hospitals.
I have this . . . mental image of T-Bag and . . . a dictionary. Then the plot bunny strikes and this happens. Enjoy.
work >noun 1 activity involving mental or physical effort done in order to achieve a result.
“Abnegate. Renounce or reject, as in something desired or valuable.” Theo paused, considering the word. “I abnegate this dictionary.” He picked at the worn binding of the open dictionary before him. “Yeah, abnegate. Like the sound of that,” he muttered, scribbling the word down on a scrap piece of paper. “I sure do abnegate those pretty girls at school.” He nodded to himself. “Don’t even think that pussy of an English teacher knows the word abnegate.”
He flipped the page, searching out a new word. “Abrogate.” He repeated the word silently before rereading the definition. “Nah.” He skimmed along the next page. “Abrogate is too similar to abnegate. . . .”
His finger paused over a particularly intriguing word. “Ab-squaw-choo-late. Absquatulate.” He licked his lips, liking the word already. The possibilities of its use in a sentence . . .
“How ‘bout we stop all this absquatulating? The animal absquatulated. Absquatulate, boy, now!” He scribbled the word down. “Yeah, that’s it.”
Digits grazed over the fading pages and he skipped forward through the alphabet to “S.” He grinned as he flicked past “salacious” and moved onto the next page.
“Salient.” He laughed salaciously. “His cock was salient.” A few more pages were flicked past.
“Salubrious.” The word irked him. “I’ve never lived in a salubrious place.” He jotted down the word and dropped the pen on the desk. The dictionary was slammed shut and shoved in a drawer.
“Well, ‘cept that one time. . . .” He leaned back in his chair, smiling and closing his eyes as memories of a hospital that reeked of death came rushing back.
“I’m bored! How come I can’t go home? What happened to that one kid? What’s wrong with that kid?”
“Shh! Theodore! Hush, now! Jackelyn is sleeping!” A harsh cry erupted from Jackelyn’s bed and the nurse threw a withering glare in Theodore’s direction before rushing off. Theodore scratches at the tape holding the IV in his arm.
(2 such activity as a means of earning income.)
“Nurse!” Jackelyn’s screaming so loud, Theodore knows the nurse can’t hear him, but he continues calling for her anyway, because the ten-year-old likes how angry it makes her.
Jackelyn calms and Nurse rounds on Theodore. “What is it?” She’s usually such a sweet, kind, nurse, but Theodore just pushes all her buttons.
Ten-year-old Theodore smiles at her, that ungrateful smile that Nurse hates, because she swears he’s the spawn of the Devil . . . he did try and burn down a house, after all.
“Nurse . . . I’m-”
“You’re bored. I know, Theodore.” Nurse glances around the room and spots a bookcase. She walks over to it and pulls off the largest book.
She thrusts it into Theodore’s hands with no regard toward the painful blisters hiding beneath the white bandage. He stares at the cover, then at Nurse.
(3 a task or tasks to be undertaken.)
“The dictionary?”
Nurse nods. “That’s right, Theodore, and I expect you to keep your mouth shut while you read the entire thing.”
Theodore looks back down at the thick tome, then warily opens it.
“A, noun, the first letter of the English alphabet.” He tilts his head and reads through the next few definitions. Before he realizes, hours have passed, Nurse is resting, a new kid has been settled into the bed neighboring his and Jackelyn hasn’t screamed in what seems like forever.
“Ferrule, noun. A protective cap on or around a shaft or pole. Ferry, noun, also ferryboat. A boat for transporting passengers, vehicles, or goods. Ferryman, noun. An owner or operator of a ferry. Fertile, adjective. Able to produce offspring . . .” Theodore trails off as he glances around the room.
“Where’s Jackelyn?” he asks Nurse.
Nurse glances at him and scowls. “She’s dead.”
Theodore blinks and flicks through the dictionary’s pages. “Dead, adjective. No longer alive.” He sucks on his upper lip almost mockingly and Nurse continues to scowl. “Does that mean-”
“Yes, Theodore.”
“So they’re all,” he looks at the definition again, “‘no longer alive’?” He knows exactly what the word means. He’s fascinated by it. Entranced. He just knows how much it bothers Nurse when he asks stupid questions and he enjoys knowing how much it bothers her.
“Yes, Theodore.”
Theodore smiles at her serenely and wonders if she knows what he did to Adam while he was sleeping. He wonders if she knows why Nina went so quietly. He wonders if she knows that he sneaks out at night and goes down in the basement to look at all the dead bodies. He wonders if she knows that he touched Adam’s heart and got Nina’s blood all over his hands.
He wonders if she realizes how much death there really is around them. He wonders if she knows how many bodies have been transferred into the morgue in the last week.
(4 a thing or things done or made; the result of an action.)
He wonders if she knows that she’s next.
A dictionary with all the kinds of "big words" that T-Bag would use would be so awesome.