August licenseartistic prompt
Title / Prompt: Landing/ Giant's Causeway
Character: Roger Smith
Warnings: None
Pairings: Mike/Draco
Fandom: Big O
Word count: 778
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Many Japanese and American companies own him.
Author's note: This is the Roger Smith I RP with, so very little in this is canon. And if either Mike or Draco seem out of character, their muns can kick me at their leisure.
"Where are we?!" Roger yelled over the wind. The storm that hadn't been there moments ago had already swallowed them, leaving them in a roiling grey landscape punctuated by lightning. He felt like a bedraggled cat, the cloak heavy over his ruined suit, his hair plastered into his eyes. He managed to unlock the fingers of his left hand from the broomstick long enough to smear his bangs back out of his face before he resumed his deathgrip on the wood.
This was supposed to have been a nice day. Draco had volunteered to teach him how to fly on a broom, even if Roger could fly without it. It was one of the many fun things in the wizarding world had to offer and Roger was quite eager to try. Most magic, Draco had told him, was actually the effort of will over the environment. There were some things that he'd never be able to do as a Muggle, but things that were magicked could be manipulated.
Roger's first efforts had caused Mike great amusement, considering how many times he'd ended up on his butt while the broom ran away. Shaking his head fondly, Draco would easily call it back and they'd start again. After some trial and effort, Roger had managed to get the thing going while remaining on it. He found that wrapping one long leg around it helped a lot in keeping him seated.
He was sure this storm probably didn't look like much from the ground, but, up here, it felt like Armageddon. It felt like his last battle in Paradigm City. And here he had no Megadeus to keep him protected.
Mike arced up ahead of them, courting the lightning. Draco looked just as miserable as he did. It wasn't any use trying to cast any spells to dry himself, as he'd only be wet again in seconds.
"Shouldn't we try to land?!" he yelled over to the young man he considered to be a brother.
"We will," Draco hollered back, "after Mike's had his fun. I can't see enough to know whether or not we'll ditch ourselves into the Channel!"
In other words, neither of them had any idea where they were.
Roger looked around at the constant grey, weirdly homesick for a second before he saw a break in the clouds. Draco had seen it first and was already angling his broom in that direction. Roger followed him. Just before Draco dropped out of sight, he waved wildly for Roger to come.
The clouds thinned into a grey sky over lush green and stone. Draco aimed for the stone, slowing until he could settle gracefully down. Roger's landing was not quite so practiced and he ended up ass over teakettle with the broom and his cape tangled around him.
"Where are we?" he asked after he managed to right himself with Draco's help.
"Giant's Causeway," Draco said. "Welcome to Ireland."
The area was aptly named in Roger's opinion. Large stones dominated the area before the craggy peak beyond. They were obviously cut, shaped, not at all natural to his eye.
"Is it? A giant's causeway?"
Draco nodded. "Of course, the Muggles don't believe that, but we have a number of stories of how and why this causeway was built." He looked up at the sky as thunder rumbled, but it was obvious the storm was passing them by.
"Except Muggles who know better," Roger grinned. He slung off the cape and wrung it as dry as he could. His suit, he knew was ruined. His fault, though. Draco had warned him he shouldn't be dressed so nicely, especially for his first lesson.
"Scourgify," Draco commanded, cleaning them both up instantly.
"It'd be so nice to do that."
"One of the many perks of being a wizard." He gazed up again at the sky. Though Roger didn't pry, he could feel Draco reaching his husband telepathically. "Mike's going to be a while," he finally muttered. He sat on his broom, letting it float him along as Roger walked alongside on their way to the grass beyond. The stones were unevenly spaced, a couple of them sunk so low that Roger would leap across them rather than jump down and jump back up.
"We could go to the Bushmills Inn," Draco suggested. "Get something to eat. Mike'll find us there."
Roger agreed eagerly. After fighting with a broom in a storm, he was more than hungry. "Bushmills, isn't that a whiskey?"
Draco nodded. "The very same. And this is the oldest distillery."
Roger grinned. "What are we waiting for, then?"
With as big a smile, Draco apparated them to the hotel to wait for Mike.
Character: Roger Smith
Warnings: None
Pairings: Mike/Draco
Fandom: Big O
Word count: 778
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Many Japanese and American companies own him.
Author's note: This is the Roger Smith I RP with, so very little in this is canon. And if either Mike or Draco seem out of character, their muns can kick me at their leisure.
"Where are we?!" Roger yelled over the wind. The storm that hadn't been there moments ago had already swallowed them, leaving them in a roiling grey landscape punctuated by lightning. He felt like a bedraggled cat, the cloak heavy over his ruined suit, his hair plastered into his eyes. He managed to unlock the fingers of his left hand from the broomstick long enough to smear his bangs back out of his face before he resumed his deathgrip on the wood.
This was supposed to have been a nice day. Draco had volunteered to teach him how to fly on a broom, even if Roger could fly without it. It was one of the many fun things in the wizarding world had to offer and Roger was quite eager to try. Most magic, Draco had told him, was actually the effort of will over the environment. There were some things that he'd never be able to do as a Muggle, but things that were magicked could be manipulated.
Roger's first efforts had caused Mike great amusement, considering how many times he'd ended up on his butt while the broom ran away. Shaking his head fondly, Draco would easily call it back and they'd start again. After some trial and effort, Roger had managed to get the thing going while remaining on it. He found that wrapping one long leg around it helped a lot in keeping him seated.
He was sure this storm probably didn't look like much from the ground, but, up here, it felt like Armageddon. It felt like his last battle in Paradigm City. And here he had no Megadeus to keep him protected.
Mike arced up ahead of them, courting the lightning. Draco looked just as miserable as he did. It wasn't any use trying to cast any spells to dry himself, as he'd only be wet again in seconds.
"Shouldn't we try to land?!" he yelled over to the young man he considered to be a brother.
"We will," Draco hollered back, "after Mike's had his fun. I can't see enough to know whether or not we'll ditch ourselves into the Channel!"
In other words, neither of them had any idea where they were.
Roger looked around at the constant grey, weirdly homesick for a second before he saw a break in the clouds. Draco had seen it first and was already angling his broom in that direction. Roger followed him. Just before Draco dropped out of sight, he waved wildly for Roger to come.
The clouds thinned into a grey sky over lush green and stone. Draco aimed for the stone, slowing until he could settle gracefully down. Roger's landing was not quite so practiced and he ended up ass over teakettle with the broom and his cape tangled around him.
"Where are we?" he asked after he managed to right himself with Draco's help.
"Giant's Causeway," Draco said. "Welcome to Ireland."
The area was aptly named in Roger's opinion. Large stones dominated the area before the craggy peak beyond. They were obviously cut, shaped, not at all natural to his eye.
"Is it? A giant's causeway?"
Draco nodded. "Of course, the Muggles don't believe that, but we have a number of stories of how and why this causeway was built." He looked up at the sky as thunder rumbled, but it was obvious the storm was passing them by.
"Except Muggles who know better," Roger grinned. He slung off the cape and wrung it as dry as he could. His suit, he knew was ruined. His fault, though. Draco had warned him he shouldn't be dressed so nicely, especially for his first lesson.
"Scourgify," Draco commanded, cleaning them both up instantly.
"It'd be so nice to do that."
"One of the many perks of being a wizard." He gazed up again at the sky. Though Roger didn't pry, he could feel Draco reaching his husband telepathically. "Mike's going to be a while," he finally muttered. He sat on his broom, letting it float him along as Roger walked alongside on their way to the grass beyond. The stones were unevenly spaced, a couple of them sunk so low that Roger would leap across them rather than jump down and jump back up.
"We could go to the Bushmills Inn," Draco suggested. "Get something to eat. Mike'll find us there."
Roger agreed eagerly. After fighting with a broom in a storm, he was more than hungry. "Bushmills, isn't that a whiskey?"
Draco nodded. "The very same. And this is the oldest distillery."
Roger grinned. "What are we waiting for, then?"
With as big a smile, Draco apparated them to the hotel to wait for Mike.