Vanilla 2
Author: tjatorra
Prompt: Vanilla 2 - sniffles
Title: The Flu
Word Count: 228
Rating: PG (bit of cussing)
Verse: Us vs. the Apocalypse
Summary: Poor Mason has the manplague.
"God, I hate this weather," Aura muttered as she climbed into the cab of the truck. The short run from the outbuilding had left her nearly soaked, and she jammed her coffee into the cup holder before peeling off her dripping rain jacket and tossing it into the back seat. "Only five more months of this!" she cracked, flicking water from her bangs. "I would take our shitty summer over..." She paused when she noticed Mason slouched in his seat, his arms braced on the top of the steering wheel and his forehead pressed against them. "Um," she asked, and reached over to gently prod him in the ribs. "You okay?"
"No," he said, his voice thick.
"Dammit, Mase, are you hungover again? I told you to knock that shit off before -"
"Not hangin'," he slurred, his voice doing little to dispel the notion. "I'm fuggin' sick."
"You're what?"
"Got the fuggin' flu," he said, and sniffed loudly for emphasis. It was enough to make her snort a laugh, and when he lifted his head to shoot her a red-eyed glare she only laughed harder. "Wha' so funny?" he asked.
"You're like a grumpy little kid," she giggled as she pulled on her seatbelt. "It's hilarious."
"Oh yeah, yuck it up," he groused in his congested voice. "Guess you wanna be walkin' to Port Ennis today."
Prompt: Vanilla 2 - sniffles
Title: The Flu
Word Count: 228
Rating: PG (bit of cussing)
Verse: Us vs. the Apocalypse
Summary: Poor Mason has the manplague.
"God, I hate this weather," Aura muttered as she climbed into the cab of the truck. The short run from the outbuilding had left her nearly soaked, and she jammed her coffee into the cup holder before peeling off her dripping rain jacket and tossing it into the back seat. "Only five more months of this!" she cracked, flicking water from her bangs. "I would take our shitty summer over..." She paused when she noticed Mason slouched in his seat, his arms braced on the top of the steering wheel and his forehead pressed against them. "Um," she asked, and reached over to gently prod him in the ribs. "You okay?"
"No," he said, his voice thick.
"Dammit, Mase, are you hungover again? I told you to knock that shit off before -"
"Not hangin'," he slurred, his voice doing little to dispel the notion. "I'm fuggin' sick."
"You're what?"
"Got the fuggin' flu," he said, and sniffed loudly for emphasis. It was enough to make her snort a laugh, and when he lifted his head to shoot her a red-eyed glare she only laughed harder. "Wha' so funny?" he asked.
"You're like a grumpy little kid," she giggled as she pulled on her seatbelt. "It's hilarious."
"Oh yeah, yuck it up," he groused in his congested voice. "Guess you wanna be walkin' to Port Ennis today."