It's a strange arrangement, I don't claim to understand it. (Childfic for hey_capn_jack)
Sark spent twenty minutes calculating whether or not he owed Harkness anything at all. Certainly, the man had saved his life, but considering a few months ago, Harkness's sadistic alter ego had rammed a metal skewer into his chest, he'd like to think that they were even now. Evidently, he was wrong.
"We would hate to impose on you," the Weevil went on, staring down at the little bundle in her arms. It wriggled and cried out and with a warbling that sounded like two gears grinding together, the Weevil gently shushed it. That done, she looked back up and Sark had to turn away if only to press the flat of his palm against his forehead to see if that might calm the raging headache he felt coming on. "You have done so much for us in slaying the sewer dragon."
"Well, we were in the area. No trouble at all, really." Sark was suddenly very glad he was trying to fend off a headache and therefore wasn't looking at Harkness. If he had to stare at that smug, heroic grin he could just imagine on his face, he was going to throw up.
The Weevil went on for a bit about how their heroic deeds would be written down in their (regrettably small, at the present) archives and songs would be sung about how they slayed the dragon that had been terrorizing their people for months, and Sark wished that people would stop calling him noble. Really, between the Weevil and Ragnar, his reputation was completely shot.
"-And the prophecy..."
Sark suddenly came out of his moment of just tuning everything that the Weevil was saying out when he heard those words and jerked his head around to narrow his eyes at her. "Pardon?" Prophecy was a word he'd laughed at back when Rambaldi was an issue, even as everything Rambaldi predicted came true and he was forced to eat his skepticism.
The Weevil looked completely unperturbed by his scathing tone of voice. "Our chief prophet foretold of your arrival. This child will be our savior, but he must be raised by two noble and valiant surfacedwellers."
Hah. Noble and valiant. Them. Sark opened his mouth to say something and Harkness promptly elbowed him in the ribs. It hurt a lot more than it should have, which served as an unpleasant reminder that getting on Harkness's bad side was generally perceived as a bad idea.
"Well, I can't say I'm really one for prophecies," Harkness said casually. "But..." The rest of that sentence was promptly cut off by the Weevil thrusting the child (albeit in an oddly gentle manner that one wouldn't really expect of a creature like that) at him.
Sark made a few incoherent noises as the Weevil began to retreat back down the tunnels with little more than a goodbye and good luck and then promptly pinched the bridge of his nose and attempted to breathe, which was more difficult given the sewer air was... Well, exactly what you'd expect sewer air to be like. "What the hell was that?" He demanded through gritted teeth.
"I think we just became the fathers of the sewer Messiah," Harkness replied, matter of factly, still staring at the child in his arms, somewhat blankly.
Dead silence followed as Sark accessed the following week- tortured, poisoned, nearly killed by a dragon, stuck with Jack Harkness in the sewers, and now this.
Right. As far as worst weeks ever go, this one definitely ranked.
Word Count: 585
(OOC: Not legally binding to any muse. Any problems with characterization with muses not mine are purely my fault, because I fail. Sark hates everything and he'd like everyone to know that. A sewer dragon had to die in writing this fic, because it was a sacrifice the island demanded.)
"We would hate to impose on you," the Weevil went on, staring down at the little bundle in her arms. It wriggled and cried out and with a warbling that sounded like two gears grinding together, the Weevil gently shushed it. That done, she looked back up and Sark had to turn away if only to press the flat of his palm against his forehead to see if that might calm the raging headache he felt coming on. "You have done so much for us in slaying the sewer dragon."
"Well, we were in the area. No trouble at all, really." Sark was suddenly very glad he was trying to fend off a headache and therefore wasn't looking at Harkness. If he had to stare at that smug, heroic grin he could just imagine on his face, he was going to throw up.
The Weevil went on for a bit about how their heroic deeds would be written down in their (regrettably small, at the present) archives and songs would be sung about how they slayed the dragon that had been terrorizing their people for months, and Sark wished that people would stop calling him noble. Really, between the Weevil and Ragnar, his reputation was completely shot.
"-And the prophecy..."
Sark suddenly came out of his moment of just tuning everything that the Weevil was saying out when he heard those words and jerked his head around to narrow his eyes at her. "Pardon?" Prophecy was a word he'd laughed at back when Rambaldi was an issue, even as everything Rambaldi predicted came true and he was forced to eat his skepticism.
The Weevil looked completely unperturbed by his scathing tone of voice. "Our chief prophet foretold of your arrival. This child will be our savior, but he must be raised by two noble and valiant surfacedwellers."
Hah. Noble and valiant. Them. Sark opened his mouth to say something and Harkness promptly elbowed him in the ribs. It hurt a lot more than it should have, which served as an unpleasant reminder that getting on Harkness's bad side was generally perceived as a bad idea.
"Well, I can't say I'm really one for prophecies," Harkness said casually. "But..." The rest of that sentence was promptly cut off by the Weevil thrusting the child (albeit in an oddly gentle manner that one wouldn't really expect of a creature like that) at him.
Sark made a few incoherent noises as the Weevil began to retreat back down the tunnels with little more than a goodbye and good luck and then promptly pinched the bridge of his nose and attempted to breathe, which was more difficult given the sewer air was... Well, exactly what you'd expect sewer air to be like. "What the hell was that?" He demanded through gritted teeth.
"I think we just became the fathers of the sewer Messiah," Harkness replied, matter of factly, still staring at the child in his arms, somewhat blankly.
Dead silence followed as Sark accessed the following week- tortured, poisoned, nearly killed by a dragon, stuck with Jack Harkness in the sewers, and now this.
Right. As far as worst weeks ever go, this one definitely ranked.
Word Count: 585
(OOC: Not legally binding to any muse. Any problems with characterization with muses not mine are purely my fault, because I fail. Sark hates everything and he'd like everyone to know that. A sewer dragon had to die in writing this fic, because it was a sacrifice the island demanded.)