Happy Valentine's Day to all
Well I did ask other people for drabble requests. By the way, a Thankyou to everyone who requested a one-sentence drabble! As you can see they have made me oh so addicted productive. And so, this is for Xandra, who hates Valentine's day: a Valentine ficlet of 300 words: In which small fandoms crossover with inside jokes, and Mischa is annoyed. Oh who am I kidding. It's just absolute crack.
p.s. All Dark Illustrations characters property of Xandra, but the Oasis mythos is all mine!Bwaha belongs to both of us.
When Mischa woke up the second time, he felt hot and sticky; it was midday and they had been driving for hours, days, and Charon's head was doing nothing to block the glare of sunlight that reflected down from sky to open sand --
Stretching as far as desert, and just as empty.
Well.
They'd been beating the road now for days without stop, without regard for stoplights, or rest stops even, never checking the rear view mirror because they were too afraid to look -- afraid that maybe speeding in tandem behind Charon's road-eating van they would see a black business limo. Or Sethan himself tailing them with seven league boots. Hey, it could happen. Who knew the full extent of Sethan's capabilities, anyway?
"We're still driving through the desert," Mischa noted, less energetically than usual.
They'd slowed down speed too; that accounted for why Mischa and -- then he looked backseat -- everyone else had fallen asleep.
Charon's head nodded, boredly.
"You said we'd get through this desert past nightfall -- that was yesterday."
"Minor difficulties."
Mischa thought: Oh lord. "We're lost. We're freaking LOST? Why can't you ask for directions like a normal person?!"
By then the rest of them were waking up; their eyes half-open and sardonic, they seemed
to say 'Normal, Angel boy? Us Normal? Been there, done that, bought the
Lost in Translation t-shirt.'
Their delightful host of a driver cracked a yawn. "Not lost: in the Middle of Nowhere.
Isa difference. Being that we'll be stopping and --"
And.
With sand flying across the windshield, and tires screaming out sympathy with their
near death by seatbelts (Always remember those seatbelts, kids) the Van from Hell did indeed stop in front of a large wooden building.
It seemed to have come out of nowhere. It seemed old, and well worn in places where the sand had stripped away wood varnish and bleached it to bone white. There were several modernized additions too Mischa noted, one of which was a starbucks. A sign was papered to its display window.
Welcome to the Oasis.
p.s. All Dark Illustrations characters property of Xandra, but the Oasis mythos is all mine!Bwaha belongs to both of us.
When Mischa woke up the second time, he felt hot and sticky; it was midday and they had been driving for hours, days, and Charon's head was doing nothing to block the glare of sunlight that reflected down from sky to open sand --
Stretching as far as desert, and just as empty.
Well.
They'd been beating the road now for days without stop, without regard for stoplights, or rest stops even, never checking the rear view mirror because they were too afraid to look -- afraid that maybe speeding in tandem behind Charon's road-eating van they would see a black business limo. Or Sethan himself tailing them with seven league boots. Hey, it could happen. Who knew the full extent of Sethan's capabilities, anyway?
"We're still driving through the desert," Mischa noted, less energetically than usual.
They'd slowed down speed too; that accounted for why Mischa and -- then he looked backseat -- everyone else had fallen asleep.
Charon's head nodded, boredly.
"You said we'd get through this desert past nightfall -- that was yesterday."
"Minor difficulties."
Mischa thought: Oh lord. "We're lost. We're freaking LOST? Why can't you ask for directions like a normal person?!"
By then the rest of them were waking up; their eyes half-open and sardonic, they seemed
to say 'Normal, Angel boy? Us Normal? Been there, done that, bought the
Lost in Translation t-shirt.'
Their delightful host of a driver cracked a yawn. "Not lost: in the Middle of Nowhere.
Isa difference. Being that we'll be stopping and --"
And.
With sand flying across the windshield, and tires screaming out sympathy with their
near death by seatbelts (Always remember those seatbelts, kids) the Van from Hell did indeed stop in front of a large wooden building.
It seemed to have come out of nowhere. It seemed old, and well worn in places where the sand had stripped away wood varnish and bleached it to bone white. There were several modernized additions too Mischa noted, one of which was a starbucks. A sign was papered to its display window.
Welcome to the Oasis.