Bonfire fic: "Firing when dry" 1/4 (sequel to 'Torrid when freezing')
Title: Firing When Dry
Sequel to: Torrid above freezing.
Author: Keenir.
Characters/Pairing: Lt. Tanya Lacey, Lt. Mary Tremayne, Helen Cutter, (King, Hands)
Rating: K+ /M
POV: 3rd Person.
Warnings: Lacey and Helen in close proximity.
Spoilers: none as yet.
Disclaimer: None of these humans are mine. Even Lacey, the OFC, is on loan. Only Lt Tremayne is mine, as are King and Hands (if they survive the transfer from paper to screen - not all muses do); they as well as the flora and fauna of the Distant Era are mine - and they are available for loan to anyone who would like to use them in a fic.
2nd Disclaimer: All errors with British ranks and titles and idioms are my own mistakes.
Summary: The lessons of Guy Fawkes will prove useful - as will those of Dr Grant.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The good news was that, with a concerted leap-and-tackle, Lt.s Lacey and Tremayne managed to finally bring down Helen Cutter.
The bad news was that the three of them had leaped right through an Anomaly in order to do so. Worse news was that the Anomaly was in the process of a rapid downwards motion - scraping the rubber from the bottoms of their boots before it vanished underground.
Mary Tremayne spat dust from her face. “Don’t tell Connor I said this,” she said, because I’d never hear the end of it. Ever. “But I stand corrected, there is something worse than a clone army.”
Tanya Lacey looked up, blinking to get the dust out of her eyes. “Mr. Temple’s excited face when he hears you use ‘Clone Army’ in a sentence?” she joked.
The entire terrestrial landscape was covered by a sludgy green film, most likely an algae. And while they’d find it next to impossible to remove from the bottoms of their boots, a small kindness was that the film didn’t grow on the sandstone they’d landed on upon emergence from the Anomaly…though it hurt like the Dickens.
To Mary Tremayne’s eyes, the only ornamentation the land possessed were sponges. But sponges were wholly marine. So is this parallel - no, is it iterative evolution? Something that only looks like a sponge? “Corrected again. Two things worse than both is this… this wall-less ‘Cask of Amontillado’.”
“I take it you mean we’re trapped,” Helen said, knowing better than to complain of having been the landing pad for the pair of them, or for most of the pair of them.
“That is what I said.”
“So,” Lacey asked Helen, the two officers rolling off their newly-acquired prisoner. “Where and when are we?”
“What makes you think that I know?” Helen asked.
“You ran for this Anomaly.”
“You chased me towards it. So you tell me, when are we?”
“Notice she didn’t say ‘where’,” Tremayne said.
“I did notice that,” Lacey agreed.
“We’re right where we’d been,” Helen said. “Roughly. Northern England or southern Scotland.”
“And the when?”
Helen hesitated. “Not a time I’ve been in before.”
“You’ve been doing this for years,” Tremayne said.
“The furthest I have ever been,” Helen said, “was to watch the approach of the Great Ice Sheet.”
“And this?”
“Is clearly after.”
“Why would that be?”
“No pollen,” Lacey said. “Her husband mentioned it when we were in the icebox.”
Helen smiled. “And also the complete lack of insects.”
“So then what do we have?”
“No idea,” with an enthusiastic grin that only served to unworry them. “Let’s find out.”
“No wandering off!” Lacey said.
A push-up was the start of Helen getting to her feet - a motion Lacey and Tremayne had no difficulty repeating. “Where would I go?” Helen asked.
“As we don’t know,” Lacey said. “That’d be the point. Now, sit.”
Helen didn’t move.
“Sit, or we use you for a sofa. Whatcha think, Mary?”
“You can have it to yourself,” Tremayne said. “Too bony for me.” I’m just glad we got up - I was about to have flashbacks to my secondary school’s production of ‘I Claudius.’
Lacey raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want a bony sofa, but you’ll take a chair that’s hard as a rock?”
She shrugged. “I think it’s comfy. And it’s drier than everywhere else.”
“True,” picking up her rifle from where it’d clattered onto the yellow-green when they’d hurled through to this time. Mary wiped it clean, keeping an eye on Helen while Tanya picked up her rifle and started wiping it.
They looked at Helen.
Helen met their stares with amused indifference.
To one-up the situation in their favour, “That Abby scares me,” Tremayne said.
“What’d she do?” Lacey asked. “Try feeding you to that lizard of hers?”
“No; not yet anyways. She asked me if I had any clothes that weren’t so baggy.”
Lacey shrugged, not seeing the problem yet. “I’ve asked you the same thing too. Still not sure how you manage to get your uniform as loose as you do.” Lacey shook her head. “Though compared to what Abby herself wears, yeah that’s puzzling.”
“Gets weirder. She was looking at Connor when she asked me.”
“Checking out the competition, or plotting what’s probably his teenage fantasy?”
“Connor’s a teenager?”
Lacey sighed. “Trust you to miss the joke,” she said good-naturedly.
“I get it,” Mary said. “I just prefer my misinterpretation, as it’s decidedly less creepy.”
“I don’t blame you,” Helen said.
“Methinks you have to be canonized to be able to absolve Mary here,” Lacey said dryly.
Ignoring that, “Nick once tried to interest me in a threesome. Some ditzy redheaded teaching assistant of his.”
No response from either of them.
Helen raised an eyebrow.
“I’m trying to decide who to feel sorrier for,” Lacey said.
“I thought the prisoner was talking to herself,” Tremayne said to Lacey.
“There is that possibility, yeah.”
TBC
...
possibly in the future:
“Y- You,” King said.
“Yeah, me,” Tremayne said. “I’m me.”
“You’re Persian.”
“I’m English.”
“Seriously, you are.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m a steady Labour voter, not a Tudeh member.”
“What party?”
“Communist.”
“Who?”
“Not me.”
Sequel to: Torrid above freezing.
Author: Keenir.
Characters/Pairing: Lt. Tanya Lacey, Lt. Mary Tremayne, Helen Cutter, (King, Hands)
Rating: K+ /M
POV: 3rd Person.
Warnings: Lacey and Helen in close proximity.
Spoilers: none as yet.
Disclaimer: None of these humans are mine. Even Lacey, the OFC, is on loan. Only Lt Tremayne is mine, as are King and Hands (if they survive the transfer from paper to screen - not all muses do); they as well as the flora and fauna of the Distant Era are mine - and they are available for loan to anyone who would like to use them in a fic.
2nd Disclaimer: All errors with British ranks and titles and idioms are my own mistakes.
Summary: The lessons of Guy Fawkes will prove useful - as will those of Dr Grant.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The good news was that, with a concerted leap-and-tackle, Lt.s Lacey and Tremayne managed to finally bring down Helen Cutter.
The bad news was that the three of them had leaped right through an Anomaly in order to do so. Worse news was that the Anomaly was in the process of a rapid downwards motion - scraping the rubber from the bottoms of their boots before it vanished underground.
Mary Tremayne spat dust from her face. “Don’t tell Connor I said this,” she said, because I’d never hear the end of it. Ever. “But I stand corrected, there is something worse than a clone army.”
Tanya Lacey looked up, blinking to get the dust out of her eyes. “Mr. Temple’s excited face when he hears you use ‘Clone Army’ in a sentence?” she joked.
The entire terrestrial landscape was covered by a sludgy green film, most likely an algae. And while they’d find it next to impossible to remove from the bottoms of their boots, a small kindness was that the film didn’t grow on the sandstone they’d landed on upon emergence from the Anomaly…though it hurt like the Dickens.
To Mary Tremayne’s eyes, the only ornamentation the land possessed were sponges. But sponges were wholly marine. So is this parallel - no, is it iterative evolution? Something that only looks like a sponge? “Corrected again. Two things worse than both is this… this wall-less ‘Cask of Amontillado’.”
“I take it you mean we’re trapped,” Helen said, knowing better than to complain of having been the landing pad for the pair of them, or for most of the pair of them.
“That is what I said.”
“So,” Lacey asked Helen, the two officers rolling off their newly-acquired prisoner. “Where and when are we?”
“What makes you think that I know?” Helen asked.
“You ran for this Anomaly.”
“You chased me towards it. So you tell me, when are we?”
“Notice she didn’t say ‘where’,” Tremayne said.
“I did notice that,” Lacey agreed.
“We’re right where we’d been,” Helen said. “Roughly. Northern England or southern Scotland.”
“And the when?”
Helen hesitated. “Not a time I’ve been in before.”
“You’ve been doing this for years,” Tremayne said.
“The furthest I have ever been,” Helen said, “was to watch the approach of the Great Ice Sheet.”
“And this?”
“Is clearly after.”
“Why would that be?”
“No pollen,” Lacey said. “Her husband mentioned it when we were in the icebox.”
Helen smiled. “And also the complete lack of insects.”
“So then what do we have?”
“No idea,” with an enthusiastic grin that only served to unworry them. “Let’s find out.”
“No wandering off!” Lacey said.
A push-up was the start of Helen getting to her feet - a motion Lacey and Tremayne had no difficulty repeating. “Where would I go?” Helen asked.
“As we don’t know,” Lacey said. “That’d be the point. Now, sit.”
Helen didn’t move.
“Sit, or we use you for a sofa. Whatcha think, Mary?”
“You can have it to yourself,” Tremayne said. “Too bony for me.” I’m just glad we got up - I was about to have flashbacks to my secondary school’s production of ‘I Claudius.’
Lacey raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want a bony sofa, but you’ll take a chair that’s hard as a rock?”
She shrugged. “I think it’s comfy. And it’s drier than everywhere else.”
“True,” picking up her rifle from where it’d clattered onto the yellow-green when they’d hurled through to this time. Mary wiped it clean, keeping an eye on Helen while Tanya picked up her rifle and started wiping it.
They looked at Helen.
Helen met their stares with amused indifference.
To one-up the situation in their favour, “That Abby scares me,” Tremayne said.
“What’d she do?” Lacey asked. “Try feeding you to that lizard of hers?”
“No; not yet anyways. She asked me if I had any clothes that weren’t so baggy.”
Lacey shrugged, not seeing the problem yet. “I’ve asked you the same thing too. Still not sure how you manage to get your uniform as loose as you do.” Lacey shook her head. “Though compared to what Abby herself wears, yeah that’s puzzling.”
“Gets weirder. She was looking at Connor when she asked me.”
“Checking out the competition, or plotting what’s probably his teenage fantasy?”
“Connor’s a teenager?”
Lacey sighed. “Trust you to miss the joke,” she said good-naturedly.
“I get it,” Mary said. “I just prefer my misinterpretation, as it’s decidedly less creepy.”
“I don’t blame you,” Helen said.
“Methinks you have to be canonized to be able to absolve Mary here,” Lacey said dryly.
Ignoring that, “Nick once tried to interest me in a threesome. Some ditzy redheaded teaching assistant of his.”
No response from either of them.
Helen raised an eyebrow.
“I’m trying to decide who to feel sorrier for,” Lacey said.
“I thought the prisoner was talking to herself,” Tremayne said to Lacey.
“There is that possibility, yeah.”
TBC
...
possibly in the future:
“Y- You,” King said.
“Yeah, me,” Tremayne said. “I’m me.”
“You’re Persian.”
“I’m English.”
“Seriously, you are.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m a steady Labour voter, not a Tudeh member.”
“What party?”
“Communist.”
“Who?”
“Not me.”