YGO drabble and another Carmen drabble
First, a quick YGO drabble here for the competition.
However, Carmen is once again on my mind; I made another gifset here, this time from footage of the two pilot eps. Ideally, I'd like to gif the notable Rockapella moments that are available on yt in decent quality, starting from the beginning and going all the way to the end of S5. We'll see how well this project goes; I know I'm limited due to unavailable eps and eps in poor quality. But I'll try.
And I bring another Carmen drabble! This is pure silliness that was inspired by a post on Shakespearean insults on tumblr.
“One of these days, Techie,” the Informant sighed, as he retrieved his clothes from the one of the driers at ACME’s laundry wing. “I’m hoping that you’ll be able to come up with a device that can do the entire laundry load, transfer it to the drier, and fold them and put them away without us actually having to be here.”
The Techie chuckled as he retrieved his own clothes from another drier.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “I’m not sure if the Chief will greenlight that much funding on a frill like that, though.”
“You can say that again,” the Inspector grunted, already finished with folding his clothes. “With our budgetary restrictions, we’re lucky to have these driers; it wasn’t too long ago that we were still hanging stuff out on clotheslines in the alley to dry.”
The Informant nodded in agreement as he began to fold his clothes and place them in a laundry basket.
“What’s this about the alley clotheslines?” the Messenger asked, now entering the laundry room. “We don’t have to use them again, do we?”
“No, I was just reminding the Informant here that we’re lucky to have these new driers in,” the Inspector said.
“Oh, yeah, I hear you,” the Messenger agreed. “You know the number of times I had to race the rain to get the clothes down from the line before they got soaked? Wasn’t always successful, either.”
He began to whistle as he retrieved his clothes from a fourth drier and unceremoniously dumped them in another laundry basket. A bouncy ball fell from one of the pockets of one of the shirts and started ricocheting around the room.
“So that’s where it went!”
“…Aren’t you going to fold the clothes?” the Informant asked, indicated the messy pile in the basket.
“Eh, eventually,” he said, retrieving the bouncy ball. “You guys are just about finished; I don’t want get left behind here folding clothes.”
“Yeah, but where were you all this time?” the Techie asked.
“Oh, around,” he replied, cryptically.
The Inspector froze.
“What did you do?” he asked.
“Why, my old friend, I’m shocked!” the Messenger exclaimed in mock horror, placing his hands on the sides of his face. “What makes you think I did anything?”
The Informant, who had been heading out the door with his laundry basket, also stopped in his tracks.
“Well, for one thing, Mr. Schwemphf is storming down the hall in a huff, heading right for us,” the boy said.
He retreated back into the room as the vice-chief rounded on the Messenger, thrusting a finger in his face.
“You!” he accused.
“Me?” he asked, innocently.
“You’re behind it! Don’t try to deny it!”
“Deny what?” the Techie asked. “What happened?”
Wordlessly, Schwemphf handed the Techie a post-it note. There were words on it, printed out by a label maker so as to hide the perpetrator’s handwriting.
“‘The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes.’” The Techie read.
“That’s Shakespeare!” the Informant exclaimed, snapping his fingers after a moment. “Coriolanus, I believe…”
“Oh? And can you source this one?” Schwemphf asked, handing a second post-it note to him.
The boy held up the note.
“‘Take you me for a sponge?’ Umm… Oh, that’s Hamlet!”
“There are more,” Schwemphf hissed, handing him a handful of them. “And that’s only a few of them-my office walls are covered with these!”
“‘I do desire we may be better strangers.’ That’s As You Like It. ‘His wit’s as thick as a Tewksbury mustard.’ Hey, that’s Henry IV, my favorite! And this one is from Henry V: ‘There’s no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune.’ …These are all from Shakespearean plays!”
“I don’t care if they’re from the Guinness Book of World Records; that Messenger put them on my walls!”
“Me?” the Messenger exclaimed, pointing at himself.
“You did this to thumb your nose at me for not giving you a tip for yesterday’s delivery!” Schwemphf accused.
“Sir, I am not that petty! Especially when I know that the day you give me a tip is the day I need to be very afraid for the state of the universe, for that is the day when the pigs will fly, when Hades will freeze over, when-!”
“I get the idea!”
“My statement stands,” the Messenger said, folding his arms.
Schwemphf turned away in disgust. “Fine. You, Informant-are you certain that these are all Shakespearean quotes?”
“Yup, every single one of them…” the boy said.
“So,” Schwemphf stated. “Upon closer inspection, it seems that whoever posted these in my office did so by choosing the words of the Immortal Bard, suggesting class and refinement-it couldn’t possibly be him.”
“Hey!” the Informant quipped. “You can’t talk about him like that!”
“He’s got plenty of class!” the Techie nodded, frowning.
“And it was also wrong of you not to tip him just because of your animosity towards him,” the Inspector added, scowling.
“Oh, my dear comrades, your defense of my honor touches me,” the Messenger sighed. “But he shall never see the light; I have accepted that.”
“And I don’t have anymore time for your palaver!” Schwemphf snarled.
He immediately turned on his heel and left the laundry wing.
“Sometimes, he really makes me wanna…” the Informant trailed off, fuming. “Ah, forget it. You know better than to believe him, right, Buddy?”
“Sure! I’ve got plenty of class and refinement because I chose to decorate his office with the words of the Immortal Bard, remember?” the Messenger mused, pulling out an almost-empty post-it note stack. “He even admitted that.”
“So it was you,” the Inspector said, not sounding at all surprised. “Well, at least you got him back for refusing you a tip.”
“Of course it was me! But this wasn’t about the tip,” the Messenger said. “When the Chief heard what had happened, she offered to pay the tip herself; I turned her down. Like I told Schwemphf, I’m not that petty, and I know there’s no love lost between him and me. Come to think of it, I don’t even want his money!”
“Then why the Shakespearean sticky-note insults?” the Informant asked.
“Because I didn’t like the verbal browbeating he gave Techie yesterday because he accidentally dropped that circuit board,” the Messenger said, as the Techie went red at the memory. “I mean, the thing was still working, but nooooo, he had to chew Techie out just to make a point about being more careful with expensive equipment. Like yelling was really going to help? Tch.”
The Informant placed a hand on the Techie’s shoulder, who smiled at him and then looked back at the Messenger.
“Thanks,” he said, softly.
“Oh, believe me, Techie… It was my pleasure.”
And no one doubted that one bit.
However, Carmen is once again on my mind; I made another gifset here, this time from footage of the two pilot eps. Ideally, I'd like to gif the notable Rockapella moments that are available on yt in decent quality, starting from the beginning and going all the way to the end of S5. We'll see how well this project goes; I know I'm limited due to unavailable eps and eps in poor quality. But I'll try.
And I bring another Carmen drabble! This is pure silliness that was inspired by a post on Shakespearean insults on tumblr.
“One of these days, Techie,” the Informant sighed, as he retrieved his clothes from the one of the driers at ACME’s laundry wing. “I’m hoping that you’ll be able to come up with a device that can do the entire laundry load, transfer it to the drier, and fold them and put them away without us actually having to be here.”
The Techie chuckled as he retrieved his own clothes from another drier.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “I’m not sure if the Chief will greenlight that much funding on a frill like that, though.”
“You can say that again,” the Inspector grunted, already finished with folding his clothes. “With our budgetary restrictions, we’re lucky to have these driers; it wasn’t too long ago that we were still hanging stuff out on clotheslines in the alley to dry.”
The Informant nodded in agreement as he began to fold his clothes and place them in a laundry basket.
“What’s this about the alley clotheslines?” the Messenger asked, now entering the laundry room. “We don’t have to use them again, do we?”
“No, I was just reminding the Informant here that we’re lucky to have these new driers in,” the Inspector said.
“Oh, yeah, I hear you,” the Messenger agreed. “You know the number of times I had to race the rain to get the clothes down from the line before they got soaked? Wasn’t always successful, either.”
He began to whistle as he retrieved his clothes from a fourth drier and unceremoniously dumped them in another laundry basket. A bouncy ball fell from one of the pockets of one of the shirts and started ricocheting around the room.
“So that’s where it went!”
“…Aren’t you going to fold the clothes?” the Informant asked, indicated the messy pile in the basket.
“Eh, eventually,” he said, retrieving the bouncy ball. “You guys are just about finished; I don’t want get left behind here folding clothes.”
“Yeah, but where were you all this time?” the Techie asked.
“Oh, around,” he replied, cryptically.
The Inspector froze.
“What did you do?” he asked.
“Why, my old friend, I’m shocked!” the Messenger exclaimed in mock horror, placing his hands on the sides of his face. “What makes you think I did anything?”
The Informant, who had been heading out the door with his laundry basket, also stopped in his tracks.
“Well, for one thing, Mr. Schwemphf is storming down the hall in a huff, heading right for us,” the boy said.
He retreated back into the room as the vice-chief rounded on the Messenger, thrusting a finger in his face.
“You!” he accused.
“Me?” he asked, innocently.
“You’re behind it! Don’t try to deny it!”
“Deny what?” the Techie asked. “What happened?”
Wordlessly, Schwemphf handed the Techie a post-it note. There were words on it, printed out by a label maker so as to hide the perpetrator’s handwriting.
“‘The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes.’” The Techie read.
“That’s Shakespeare!” the Informant exclaimed, snapping his fingers after a moment. “Coriolanus, I believe…”
“Oh? And can you source this one?” Schwemphf asked, handing a second post-it note to him.
The boy held up the note.
“‘Take you me for a sponge?’ Umm… Oh, that’s Hamlet!”
“There are more,” Schwemphf hissed, handing him a handful of them. “And that’s only a few of them-my office walls are covered with these!”
“‘I do desire we may be better strangers.’ That’s As You Like It. ‘His wit’s as thick as a Tewksbury mustard.’ Hey, that’s Henry IV, my favorite! And this one is from Henry V: ‘There’s no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune.’ …These are all from Shakespearean plays!”
“I don’t care if they’re from the Guinness Book of World Records; that Messenger put them on my walls!”
“Me?” the Messenger exclaimed, pointing at himself.
“You did this to thumb your nose at me for not giving you a tip for yesterday’s delivery!” Schwemphf accused.
“Sir, I am not that petty! Especially when I know that the day you give me a tip is the day I need to be very afraid for the state of the universe, for that is the day when the pigs will fly, when Hades will freeze over, when-!”
“I get the idea!”
“My statement stands,” the Messenger said, folding his arms.
Schwemphf turned away in disgust. “Fine. You, Informant-are you certain that these are all Shakespearean quotes?”
“Yup, every single one of them…” the boy said.
“So,” Schwemphf stated. “Upon closer inspection, it seems that whoever posted these in my office did so by choosing the words of the Immortal Bard, suggesting class and refinement-it couldn’t possibly be him.”
“Hey!” the Informant quipped. “You can’t talk about him like that!”
“He’s got plenty of class!” the Techie nodded, frowning.
“And it was also wrong of you not to tip him just because of your animosity towards him,” the Inspector added, scowling.
“Oh, my dear comrades, your defense of my honor touches me,” the Messenger sighed. “But he shall never see the light; I have accepted that.”
“And I don’t have anymore time for your palaver!” Schwemphf snarled.
He immediately turned on his heel and left the laundry wing.
“Sometimes, he really makes me wanna…” the Informant trailed off, fuming. “Ah, forget it. You know better than to believe him, right, Buddy?”
“Sure! I’ve got plenty of class and refinement because I chose to decorate his office with the words of the Immortal Bard, remember?” the Messenger mused, pulling out an almost-empty post-it note stack. “He even admitted that.”
“So it was you,” the Inspector said, not sounding at all surprised. “Well, at least you got him back for refusing you a tip.”
“Of course it was me! But this wasn’t about the tip,” the Messenger said. “When the Chief heard what had happened, she offered to pay the tip herself; I turned her down. Like I told Schwemphf, I’m not that petty, and I know there’s no love lost between him and me. Come to think of it, I don’t even want his money!”
“Then why the Shakespearean sticky-note insults?” the Informant asked.
“Because I didn’t like the verbal browbeating he gave Techie yesterday because he accidentally dropped that circuit board,” the Messenger said, as the Techie went red at the memory. “I mean, the thing was still working, but nooooo, he had to chew Techie out just to make a point about being more careful with expensive equipment. Like yelling was really going to help? Tch.”
The Informant placed a hand on the Techie’s shoulder, who smiled at him and then looked back at the Messenger.
“Thanks,” he said, softly.
“Oh, believe me, Techie… It was my pleasure.”
And no one doubted that one bit.