Calling All Country Women
Title: Calling All Country Women
Fandom: Leverage
Series: Jukebox Musical
Pairings: minor established Eliot/Hardison
Warnings: Nothing really.
Word Count: 1093
Disclaimer: If I owned it, the soundtrack would be Kane.
Summary: Hardison can't fake country. But he does fake country well.
“Explain something to me, Eliot. I understand that this con is at a drag show. I even get why posing as a contestant is our best way to the mark. But why - please god, tell me why I have to wear this freakin’ dress? It's made of denim, Eliot. Denim. If I have to crossdress, why not something elegant?”
“The show is cowboy-themed and we're working with Steve's costumes. It was either this or red lace chaps.”
“... There's something wrong with the world when chaps might be the lesser of two evils. The trashy jean dress I could live with - maybe - but this hat is just fuck ugly. Who puts knitted flowers on their headwear anyway?”
“I'm pretty sure that's actually crochet. It's a very distinctive craft.”
“Not the point!”
“And since when do you have standards? You wore a fur coat in Miami and I still have violent flashbacks about the outfit you wore when you were pretending to be Parker. I’ve been less traumatized by torture session.”
“Because you are a sad sad man who needs a hug. But I don't know what you're talking about. That outfit was the height of fashion.”
“Right, that's why my eyes were bleeding. No one needs that much bling unless they're Russian mobsters.”
“I resent that comment. You know Russians are a sore point. And at least that outfit wasn't actually bedazzled. A man has to draw the line somewhere and I'm drawing mine at sequined mini-dresses. Why can't you be the contestant? This dress is so damn short that it should fit you and you've always rocked the hats.”
“Yeah, no. Been there. Done that. Not looking for an encore.”
“Seriously? How did I not know this?”
“Are there photos?”
“Damn it, Parker! Don't just pop up out of nowhere!”
“You were taking too long. I thought maybe you got distracted and decided to sex up Hardison.”
“So you thought you would come watch?”
“Well, yeah. You're both very pretty and you still won't let me share.”
“I am not pretty. I am manly. I am the manliest manly man that you will ever meet.”
“Says the guy holding a brassiere.”
“Hey! This wasn't my idea. And you're the one who said that you've worn a dress before. Seriously, tell me there are pictures.”
“If there are, I'll steal them for you. Are they in the safe in Portland or your drop box in Hong Kong?”
“How did you know about-? Never mind. There are no pictures.”
“Are you sure? You know the internet is forever.”
“So is dismemberment. I collected every photo and then burned the negatives; no one dared to hide them once I’d passed the word around.”
“That seems like an overreaction. Was Big Bad Eliot that worried for his rep?”
“Huh? No, of course not. I just looked hideous. Paisley and plaid do not belong together and I don't have the hips to crossdress properly. So if we're gonna make the final here, you've got to rock that dress right now.”
“I thought I couldn't fake country.”
“You're no good at real country, Alec. But in case you haven't noticed, this is drag. Everyone's expecting cowboy parodies and you're going to be smoking if you just put the damn thing on.”
“Well, I suppose someone has to take one for the team. I have been wanting to try my southern accent.”
“Oh, god. This isn't going to be like your German accent, is it?”
“Ye of little faith. I'll have you know that I can do a great Rhett Butler when I put my mind to it.”
“That's nice. If you can do Scarlett O'Hara then we might have a chance. Now, come on. You have to be on stage in fifteen minutes.”
“... This dress is just so ugly. Are you sure about the chaps?”
“Damn it, Hardison! Look, I'll make you chicken nuggets later if you just get on with it.”
“Shaped like dinosaurs?”
“And with three different dipping sauces.”
“Fine. You have a deal.... Will you help me with the zipper?... Oh god, I think I'm stuck... Jesus, this is tight. I guess I won't be breathing for a while.... All right, Els. How do a look?”
“Like sex on a stick. I promise.”
“Damn straight. I knew that I could rock this... Okay, dahlin's. Ah do declare, it's time to show the judges how this country gal can strut.”
“…”
“... You really think he has a chance?”
“Hell, no. Not without some cheating. That dress is terrible. Though we might get a few points for those endless legs of his. God bless whatever man invented mini-skirts.”
“Benjamin Franklin?”
“What? No. Why would you even...? Never mind. Don't you have somewhere else to be?”
“You're right. I need to buy some cheerios.”
“I was talking about blackmailing the judges.”
“So was I. Old frowny has a fetish.”
“Damn it, Parker. I didn't need to know that.”
“Neither did I. Now we can share the brain bleach. But don't worry, icky or not, I'll get our boy the votes he needs. I am the mastermind.”
“That you are. Go do your thing. I'll stick around here and try to keep Hardison's stupid accent from starting any fights.”
“Probably a good idea. Contestant #3 looks like the violent type.”
“The one with six-inch heels? Your eye is getting better. Country girls hit hard, particularly when they're men in dresses, and I’d wager that one has a right hook that would flatten Hardison.”
“Yeah, I- Do you hear shouting? I hear shouting.”
“Jesus Christ, it's been two minutes. What did that fool say now?”
“How should I know? But you'd better stop the punching. You know he bruises easily.”
“Sometimes I think he does this shit on purpose. All right, Parker, I’ll see you later. I've gotta stop some drag queens from beating up my boyfriend, and that is a sentence that I never thought I'd say. Fuck, my life is weird.”
“There's nothing wrong with wei-... and you're gone already. Awesome. I swear Nate never had this problem. When he was giving wisdom, people stuck around. Just for that, I'm breaking into both your safes next time.”
End
Fandom: Leverage
Series: Jukebox Musical
Pairings: minor established Eliot/Hardison
Warnings: Nothing really.
Word Count: 1093
Disclaimer: If I owned it, the soundtrack would be Kane.
Summary: Hardison can't fake country. But he does fake country well.
“Explain something to me, Eliot. I understand that this con is at a drag show. I even get why posing as a contestant is our best way to the mark. But why - please god, tell me why I have to wear this freakin’ dress? It's made of denim, Eliot. Denim. If I have to crossdress, why not something elegant?”
“The show is cowboy-themed and we're working with Steve's costumes. It was either this or red lace chaps.”
“... There's something wrong with the world when chaps might be the lesser of two evils. The trashy jean dress I could live with - maybe - but this hat is just fuck ugly. Who puts knitted flowers on their headwear anyway?”
“I'm pretty sure that's actually crochet. It's a very distinctive craft.”
“Not the point!”
“And since when do you have standards? You wore a fur coat in Miami and I still have violent flashbacks about the outfit you wore when you were pretending to be Parker. I’ve been less traumatized by torture session.”
“Because you are a sad sad man who needs a hug. But I don't know what you're talking about. That outfit was the height of fashion.”
“Right, that's why my eyes were bleeding. No one needs that much bling unless they're Russian mobsters.”
“I resent that comment. You know Russians are a sore point. And at least that outfit wasn't actually bedazzled. A man has to draw the line somewhere and I'm drawing mine at sequined mini-dresses. Why can't you be the contestant? This dress is so damn short that it should fit you and you've always rocked the hats.”
“Yeah, no. Been there. Done that. Not looking for an encore.”
“Seriously? How did I not know this?”
“Are there photos?”
“Damn it, Parker! Don't just pop up out of nowhere!”
“You were taking too long. I thought maybe you got distracted and decided to sex up Hardison.”
“So you thought you would come watch?”
“Well, yeah. You're both very pretty and you still won't let me share.”
“I am not pretty. I am manly. I am the manliest manly man that you will ever meet.”
“Says the guy holding a brassiere.”
“Hey! This wasn't my idea. And you're the one who said that you've worn a dress before. Seriously, tell me there are pictures.”
“If there are, I'll steal them for you. Are they in the safe in Portland or your drop box in Hong Kong?”
“How did you know about-? Never mind. There are no pictures.”
“Are you sure? You know the internet is forever.”
“So is dismemberment. I collected every photo and then burned the negatives; no one dared to hide them once I’d passed the word around.”
“That seems like an overreaction. Was Big Bad Eliot that worried for his rep?”
“Huh? No, of course not. I just looked hideous. Paisley and plaid do not belong together and I don't have the hips to crossdress properly. So if we're gonna make the final here, you've got to rock that dress right now.”
“I thought I couldn't fake country.”
“You're no good at real country, Alec. But in case you haven't noticed, this is drag. Everyone's expecting cowboy parodies and you're going to be smoking if you just put the damn thing on.”
“Well, I suppose someone has to take one for the team. I have been wanting to try my southern accent.”
“Oh, god. This isn't going to be like your German accent, is it?”
“Ye of little faith. I'll have you know that I can do a great Rhett Butler when I put my mind to it.”
“That's nice. If you can do Scarlett O'Hara then we might have a chance. Now, come on. You have to be on stage in fifteen minutes.”
“... This dress is just so ugly. Are you sure about the chaps?”
“Damn it, Hardison! Look, I'll make you chicken nuggets later if you just get on with it.”
“Shaped like dinosaurs?”
“And with three different dipping sauces.”
“Fine. You have a deal.... Will you help me with the zipper?... Oh god, I think I'm stuck... Jesus, this is tight. I guess I won't be breathing for a while.... All right, Els. How do a look?”
“Like sex on a stick. I promise.”
“Damn straight. I knew that I could rock this... Okay, dahlin's. Ah do declare, it's time to show the judges how this country gal can strut.”
“…”
“... You really think he has a chance?”
“Hell, no. Not without some cheating. That dress is terrible. Though we might get a few points for those endless legs of his. God bless whatever man invented mini-skirts.”
“Benjamin Franklin?”
“What? No. Why would you even...? Never mind. Don't you have somewhere else to be?”
“You're right. I need to buy some cheerios.”
“I was talking about blackmailing the judges.”
“So was I. Old frowny has a fetish.”
“Damn it, Parker. I didn't need to know that.”
“Neither did I. Now we can share the brain bleach. But don't worry, icky or not, I'll get our boy the votes he needs. I am the mastermind.”
“That you are. Go do your thing. I'll stick around here and try to keep Hardison's stupid accent from starting any fights.”
“Probably a good idea. Contestant #3 looks like the violent type.”
“The one with six-inch heels? Your eye is getting better. Country girls hit hard, particularly when they're men in dresses, and I’d wager that one has a right hook that would flatten Hardison.”
“Yeah, I- Do you hear shouting? I hear shouting.”
“Jesus Christ, it's been two minutes. What did that fool say now?”
“How should I know? But you'd better stop the punching. You know he bruises easily.”
“Sometimes I think he does this shit on purpose. All right, Parker, I’ll see you later. I've gotta stop some drag queens from beating up my boyfriend, and that is a sentence that I never thought I'd say. Fuck, my life is weird.”
“There's nothing wrong with wei-... and you're gone already. Awesome. I swear Nate never had this problem. When he was giving wisdom, people stuck around. Just for that, I'm breaking into both your safes next time.”
End