day 6
Title: 5 pranks Fernando Torres was sucked into performing and consequently being blamed for
Characters: Random members of La Selección
Word Count:1,226
Rating: PG; sexual references
Disclaimer: If you're stupid enough to think these are real, then you deserve to be sued. I however, don't. Kthx.
Author’s Notes: Woo, finally went over 1000! I blame it on the first one being so long; curses. None of these are really funny. I have lost whatever talent I had for crack. My muse is lying on its back, comatose. I didn't really even answer the prompt for a few of them. Fernando just...isn't exactly the type to be "sucked" into performing anything. Unless it involves Sergio and body chocolate. Which I semi-did for one. *sighs*
W00t, beat Rachie again. >=D
1) Hiding Sergio’s mobile with Cesc, who forgot where he put it.
Sergio wandered into his room, looking extremely troubled. “What’s wrong, gitano?” Íker asked, lazily looking up from his magazine at his team mate. Sergio bit his lip, and patted his pockets. “Have you seen my mobile?” Íker shook his head. “Why, have you lost it?” Sergio nodded.
“I can’t remember what I did with it last. I remember texting Nando Gago about something but then…poof.” Sergio said, throwing his hands into the air and then raking his fingers through his freshly showered hair. “Ask around. Maybe one of the other boys picked it up for safe keeping.” Íker said, his eyes drifting down to the magazine.
Sergio nodded, and disappeared.
*
“Íker!” Cesc hissed as he shut the door behind him, panic in his eyes. “What, Cesc?” Íker asked, an eyebrow raised at the sheer terror he was exuding. “Nando and I hid Sergio’s mobile, as a joke, and now I can’t remember where he put it, and Sergio’s freaking out and I can’t find him anywhere!” he whispered, crawling onto his bed and hiding his face in his pillow.
A grin appeared on Íker’s face. “It’ll turn up eventually. Things have a habit of doing that.” He said mysteriously, flipping another page. “I hope so. There’s a lot of shit in his phone that could get us all into heaps of trouble.” Cesc mused, worrying on his lip. Íker just kept smiling.
*
“Okay, it’s official. I’ve lost my mobile.” Sergio wailed, flopping down onto his bed.
Fernando, sleeping heavily after a long day of training, heard nothing. Pouting, Sergio got up and sat on his bed, poking the striker. “Fernando, wake up. I’m upset.”
Fernando grunted and buried further under the covers, still fast asleep. Sergio growled, and kept poking and prodding. “Waaaake up!” he whined. Fernando moved around again, swatting at the fingers, but soon giving up and surfacing from below the covers, an aggravated look on his face. “What…?” he moaned, turning onto his back and rubbing an eye, his voice slurred from sleep. “I’ve lost my mobile.” Sergio reported.
Fernando’s arm flopped down, and he sent a glare at the defender. “You fucking woke me up to tell me that?” he said, sending a look at the clock. “It’s 2:30 in the morning. What do you want me to do about it?” He said. Sergio made a face. “I don’t know. You’re the smart one. Do I report it stolen and get the company to fry the sim card?”
*
The next morning, Fernando stood in front of the group as they lazily began their warm ups. “Alright! Sergio’s phone has gone missing, and he kept me up half the night bitching about it. If anyone’s seen it, please hand it up now.” He said, his arms crossed. Scrutinizing their faces as best he could in the sunlight, they all jumped when a scream came from the change rooms and Cesc charged out, waving Sergio’s mobile.
He came up to the group and gave the phone to Sergio, then turning and whacking over the head. “That’s for hiding it in your training bag, you puta!” He gasped, clutching his chest. “Wait, what?!” Fernando exclaimed, holding his head. Sergio sent him a death glare and cooed to his phone.
2) Plotting to cut Carles’s hair off.
“Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll slip some sleeping tablets into his drink, wait for him to pass out and then BZZT! Hair gone.” Joaquín said smugly, crossing his arms. David twirled the pair of scissors, a reluctant look on his face. “Do you know how pissed he’s going to be if we go through with this?” He said. Joaquín shrugged. “Xavi’s the one that has to deal with his emo ass every day. We only see him once every few months.” He said, rubbing his hands.
“It’s called Euro, moron. We’re stuck in a training camp and games with him until we get booted out.” Fernando piped up from next to David, who nodded. “C’mon now. It’s fucking disgusting. He’ll play so much better without that mop on his head.” Joaquín pleaded. Fernando shrugged, and David glared at him. “He’s promised you that XBOX 360, hasn’t he?” Fernando merely smiled and plucked the scissors from his hands. “When do we start?”
Needless to say, their plan didn’t work very well. Joaquín put the wrong amount in his drink, grossly underestimating, and Carles didn’t drink enough to have any sort of effect. Sensing their impending doom, they sent Fernando to do the job. Not realizing Carles slept lightly, it really was no surprise to David and Joaquín to see Fernando being sent flying out Carles’s room and into his own, with promises of cutting his own pretty hair off once the competition was over.
3) Putting the glue on Íker’s gloves.
It had sounded like a good idea at the time. The ball would’ve gotten stuck to his gloves, and comedy would ensue- or so Sergio told him. “C’mon Nando, it’ll be hilarious. Promise!” He cooed, running his finger up and down Fernando’s face. “This is going to end in tears. I swear to you, gitano.” Fernando sighed stubbornly. Sergio merely smiled.
But, of course, Fernando was right and the prank went terribly wrong, ending up with his gloves stuck to his head. “Íker?” Sergio asked, while Cesc began to yank at the gloves, causing the goalkeeper to cry out in pain.
“What, Sergio?!” he snapped. Sergio pouted, and he waved a hand at Cesc. “Sorry, it hurts. What’s wrong?” he sighed. Sergio toed the ground, and Fernando waited patiently for Sergio to tell Íker that it was their fault, but that he, Sergio, deserved more of the blame because he was the one that had put the glue on the gloves.
“Nando and I are responsible for the glue on your gloves, but Nando was the one who actually did it!”
“Ye-say WHAT?!”
4) Putting mud in Raúl’s shoes.
In hindsight, this had been a very foolish prank for any of them to want to do, but they were high from their World Cup win and were looking forward to the next game, and Fernando was slightly drunk anyway. Well, drunk enough that when Cesc and Sergio pinned the blame on him, standing in front of a slightly irate Raúl, mud seeping out from his feet, that he just stood there and smiled.
5) Sacrificially burning Becks’s 23 jersey after he announced his move to LA Galaxy.
It was still beyond him whose idea it was, but Íker had been moody and unagreeable and plain bitchy since it was announced, and it had seemed like a very good idea at the time. So a Real Madrid jersey appeared, along with a very striking mannequin that someone stuck a picture of Becks’s face to, and it was up to Fernando to put it on the pitch and begin the fire. Which he did, perfectly, in fact. No deaths or anything. Íker walked out with the rest of the team to see smoke billowing from the mannequin, the 23 burning up slowly in the distance. Nobody actually expected him to start crying. Nor for Xavi to lose his head completely and demand they cut Fernando’s sadistic, pyromaniac fingers off.
~~~FIN.
Characters: Random members of La Selección
Word Count:1,226
Rating: PG; sexual references
Disclaimer: If you're stupid enough to think these are real, then you deserve to be sued. I however, don't. Kthx.
Author’s Notes: Woo, finally went over 1000! I blame it on the first one being so long; curses. None of these are really funny. I have lost whatever talent I had for crack. My muse is lying on its back, comatose. I didn't really even answer the prompt for a few of them. Fernando just...isn't exactly the type to be "sucked" into performing anything. Unless it involves Sergio and body chocolate. Which I semi-did for one. *sighs*
W00t, beat Rachie again. >=D
1) Hiding Sergio’s mobile with Cesc, who forgot where he put it.
Sergio wandered into his room, looking extremely troubled. “What’s wrong, gitano?” Íker asked, lazily looking up from his magazine at his team mate. Sergio bit his lip, and patted his pockets. “Have you seen my mobile?” Íker shook his head. “Why, have you lost it?” Sergio nodded.
“I can’t remember what I did with it last. I remember texting Nando Gago about something but then…poof.” Sergio said, throwing his hands into the air and then raking his fingers through his freshly showered hair. “Ask around. Maybe one of the other boys picked it up for safe keeping.” Íker said, his eyes drifting down to the magazine.
Sergio nodded, and disappeared.
*
“Íker!” Cesc hissed as he shut the door behind him, panic in his eyes. “What, Cesc?” Íker asked, an eyebrow raised at the sheer terror he was exuding. “Nando and I hid Sergio’s mobile, as a joke, and now I can’t remember where he put it, and Sergio’s freaking out and I can’t find him anywhere!” he whispered, crawling onto his bed and hiding his face in his pillow.
A grin appeared on Íker’s face. “It’ll turn up eventually. Things have a habit of doing that.” He said mysteriously, flipping another page. “I hope so. There’s a lot of shit in his phone that could get us all into heaps of trouble.” Cesc mused, worrying on his lip. Íker just kept smiling.
*
“Okay, it’s official. I’ve lost my mobile.” Sergio wailed, flopping down onto his bed.
Fernando, sleeping heavily after a long day of training, heard nothing. Pouting, Sergio got up and sat on his bed, poking the striker. “Fernando, wake up. I’m upset.”
Fernando grunted and buried further under the covers, still fast asleep. Sergio growled, and kept poking and prodding. “Waaaake up!” he whined. Fernando moved around again, swatting at the fingers, but soon giving up and surfacing from below the covers, an aggravated look on his face. “What…?” he moaned, turning onto his back and rubbing an eye, his voice slurred from sleep. “I’ve lost my mobile.” Sergio reported.
Fernando’s arm flopped down, and he sent a glare at the defender. “You fucking woke me up to tell me that?” he said, sending a look at the clock. “It’s 2:30 in the morning. What do you want me to do about it?” He said. Sergio made a face. “I don’t know. You’re the smart one. Do I report it stolen and get the company to fry the sim card?”
*
The next morning, Fernando stood in front of the group as they lazily began their warm ups. “Alright! Sergio’s phone has gone missing, and he kept me up half the night bitching about it. If anyone’s seen it, please hand it up now.” He said, his arms crossed. Scrutinizing their faces as best he could in the sunlight, they all jumped when a scream came from the change rooms and Cesc charged out, waving Sergio’s mobile.
He came up to the group and gave the phone to Sergio, then turning and whacking over the head. “That’s for hiding it in your training bag, you puta!” He gasped, clutching his chest. “Wait, what?!” Fernando exclaimed, holding his head. Sergio sent him a death glare and cooed to his phone.
2) Plotting to cut Carles’s hair off.
“Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll slip some sleeping tablets into his drink, wait for him to pass out and then BZZT! Hair gone.” Joaquín said smugly, crossing his arms. David twirled the pair of scissors, a reluctant look on his face. “Do you know how pissed he’s going to be if we go through with this?” He said. Joaquín shrugged. “Xavi’s the one that has to deal with his emo ass every day. We only see him once every few months.” He said, rubbing his hands.
“It’s called Euro, moron. We’re stuck in a training camp and games with him until we get booted out.” Fernando piped up from next to David, who nodded. “C’mon now. It’s fucking disgusting. He’ll play so much better without that mop on his head.” Joaquín pleaded. Fernando shrugged, and David glared at him. “He’s promised you that XBOX 360, hasn’t he?” Fernando merely smiled and plucked the scissors from his hands. “When do we start?”
Needless to say, their plan didn’t work very well. Joaquín put the wrong amount in his drink, grossly underestimating, and Carles didn’t drink enough to have any sort of effect. Sensing their impending doom, they sent Fernando to do the job. Not realizing Carles slept lightly, it really was no surprise to David and Joaquín to see Fernando being sent flying out Carles’s room and into his own, with promises of cutting his own pretty hair off once the competition was over.
3) Putting the glue on Íker’s gloves.
It had sounded like a good idea at the time. The ball would’ve gotten stuck to his gloves, and comedy would ensue- or so Sergio told him. “C’mon Nando, it’ll be hilarious. Promise!” He cooed, running his finger up and down Fernando’s face. “This is going to end in tears. I swear to you, gitano.” Fernando sighed stubbornly. Sergio merely smiled.
But, of course, Fernando was right and the prank went terribly wrong, ending up with his gloves stuck to his head. “Íker?” Sergio asked, while Cesc began to yank at the gloves, causing the goalkeeper to cry out in pain.
“What, Sergio?!” he snapped. Sergio pouted, and he waved a hand at Cesc. “Sorry, it hurts. What’s wrong?” he sighed. Sergio toed the ground, and Fernando waited patiently for Sergio to tell Íker that it was their fault, but that he, Sergio, deserved more of the blame because he was the one that had put the glue on the gloves.
“Nando and I are responsible for the glue on your gloves, but Nando was the one who actually did it!”
“Ye-say WHAT?!”
4) Putting mud in Raúl’s shoes.
In hindsight, this had been a very foolish prank for any of them to want to do, but they were high from their World Cup win and were looking forward to the next game, and Fernando was slightly drunk anyway. Well, drunk enough that when Cesc and Sergio pinned the blame on him, standing in front of a slightly irate Raúl, mud seeping out from his feet, that he just stood there and smiled.
5) Sacrificially burning Becks’s 23 jersey after he announced his move to LA Galaxy.
It was still beyond him whose idea it was, but Íker had been moody and unagreeable and plain bitchy since it was announced, and it had seemed like a very good idea at the time. So a Real Madrid jersey appeared, along with a very striking mannequin that someone stuck a picture of Becks’s face to, and it was up to Fernando to put it on the pitch and begin the fire. Which he did, perfectly, in fact. No deaths or anything. Íker walked out with the rest of the team to see smoke billowing from the mannequin, the 23 burning up slowly in the distance. Nobody actually expected him to start crying. Nor for Xavi to lose his head completely and demand they cut Fernando’s sadistic, pyromaniac fingers off.
~~~FIN.