I asked vanillafluffy if this was okay and the answer was yes. I haven't started one of these for years, so apologies if it's all a bit slapdash.
( Read more... )
Re: FILL-How about some crack? (PART 3) (Rated G)teardrop_tattooDecember 8 2011, 05:39:27 UTC
George was terribly, unbearably nervous as he stood behind the corner of a tiny grocery store, watching Robert Singer and two young men walk down the street with paper bags of food in their arms. He was beginning to sweat under the heavy fabric of his robe, but put that down to his anxiety.
He’d been watching Robert Singer and his sons for the past three days, following them as discreetly as he could, and now was the time to act. It was early morning, so he could just stab the old man and run before giants managed to figure out what was going on. He could do this.
You so can’t do this.
He growled a little in his throat and pulled out the knife Reginald had given him to use, which he suspected was an elaborate letter opener but had decided not to ask. Reginald didn’t like him, and to prove his worth he would use whatever blade he was given. The blade itself was about the length of his hand, the guard curved downwards and nestled against his fingers. It was simple steel, with no real decorations or embellishments. The grip was cool against his damp fingers.
Robert was close now. George took a deep breath as the older man barked something at the two boys, who shared a small smile and then headed towards a shiny black car. Robert was still headed in his direction. He gathered his wits. In his mind, he would swoop forwards and stab the old man in the stomach, then swoop away while the two boys ran over.
What actually happened was he stumbled and fell flat on his face, knife still concealed by his robes, when he managed to step on his own hemline and topple over his feet. He blinked when he realized there was a sharp pain in his right side.
“You alright, son?” Robert Singer set his grocery bag on the sidewalk beside him and crouched next to him, sounding concerned. George was still trying to get over the fact that he had stabbed himself.
“I-I-...Uh…I…” He stammered over his words as a strong hand wrapped around his cloak-covered bicep and hauled him to his feet. He immediately covered over where the bloodstain was going to be with the other hand. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you!” He squeaked and tried his best to slowly walk away, avoiding people on the street with careful steps. He needed to find a hospital.
***
Bobby watched as the weird kid in the cloak ran off, picking up his groceries with a frown.
“Hey Bobby, who was that?” Sam called from the car. Dean revved the engine impatiently.
“Yeah yeah, hold onto your skirt, ya ijdit.” Bobby stuck the bag in the trunk and closed it with a bang, then slid into the backseat. “Dunno who it was. Some weird kid trying to make a fashion statement, I figure.” He shrugged. “Did I tell you? That hunter I sold the book about angels to bit the dust. Damn fool went and got himself poisoned.”
“You don’t say.” Dean put the car into gear and nosed out of the parking space, frowning a little. “Any idea who poisoned him?”
“He wasn’t exactly a loveable bunny, now was he?” Bobby rolled his eyes. “Probably one of the hunters he pissed off by trying to kill them.”
***
Reggie sighed and stared at George, who was lying in the hospital bed and glaring at him.
“I quit! I never even wanted to be a librarian; I wanted to be a lounge singer! You know who never gets stabbed? Lounge singers!”
“George, please.” He really was causing a scene. Reggie adjusted his robe primly. He knew it made him better looking because the nurses were all staring at him, unabashedly admiring how regal he looked. Regal Reggie (Who was almost certain those two words were similar for a reason, and vowed to look into it again later) was almost embarrassed about George’s behaviour.
“No!” George looked like he was about to hyperventilate.
Reginald wondered if it was too late to recruit Regina into stabbing Robert Singer.
Re: FILL-How about some crack? (PART 3) (Rated G)claudiapriscusDecember 8 2011, 06:02:50 UTC
Oh my god! So! Much! Love! Seriously. I have had a long, long, long crappy day, and was in a very sour mood and then I read this and now I am just cracking up. Thank you!
He’d been watching Robert Singer and his sons for the past three days, following them as discreetly as he could, and now was the time to act. It was early morning, so he could just stab the old man and run before giants managed to figure out what was going on. He could do this.
You so can’t do this.
He growled a little in his throat and pulled out the knife Reginald had given him to use, which he suspected was an elaborate letter opener but had decided not to ask. Reginald didn’t like him, and to prove his worth he would use whatever blade he was given. The blade itself was about the length of his hand, the guard curved downwards and nestled against his fingers. It was simple steel, with no real decorations or embellishments. The grip was cool against his damp fingers.
Robert was close now. George took a deep breath as the older man barked something at the two boys, who shared a small smile and then headed towards a shiny black car. Robert was still headed in his direction. He gathered his wits. In his mind, he would swoop forwards and stab the old man in the stomach, then swoop away while the two boys ran over.
What actually happened was he stumbled and fell flat on his face, knife still concealed by his robes, when he managed to step on his own hemline and topple over his feet. He blinked when he realized there was a sharp pain in his right side.
“You alright, son?” Robert Singer set his grocery bag on the sidewalk beside him and crouched next to him, sounding concerned. George was still trying to get over the fact that he had stabbed himself.
“I-I-...Uh…I…” He stammered over his words as a strong hand wrapped around his cloak-covered bicep and hauled him to his feet. He immediately covered over where the bloodstain was going to be with the other hand. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you!” He squeaked and tried his best to slowly walk away, avoiding people on the street with careful steps. He needed to find a hospital.
***
Bobby watched as the weird kid in the cloak ran off, picking up his groceries with a frown.
“Hey Bobby, who was that?” Sam called from the car. Dean revved the engine impatiently.
“Yeah yeah, hold onto your skirt, ya ijdit.” Bobby stuck the bag in the trunk and closed it with a bang, then slid into the backseat. “Dunno who it was. Some weird kid trying to make a fashion statement, I figure.” He shrugged. “Did I tell you? That hunter I sold the book about angels to bit the dust. Damn fool went and got himself poisoned.”
“You don’t say.” Dean put the car into gear and nosed out of the parking space, frowning a little. “Any idea who poisoned him?”
“He wasn’t exactly a loveable bunny, now was he?” Bobby rolled his eyes. “Probably one of the hunters he pissed off by trying to kill them.”
***
Reggie sighed and stared at George, who was lying in the hospital bed and glaring at him.
“I quit! I never even wanted to be a librarian; I wanted to be a lounge singer! You know who never gets stabbed? Lounge singers!”
“George, please.” He really was causing a scene. Reggie adjusted his robe primly. He knew it made him better looking because the nurses were all staring at him, unabashedly admiring how regal he looked. Regal Reggie (Who was almost certain those two words were similar for a reason, and vowed to look into it again later) was almost embarrassed about George’s behaviour.
“No!” George looked like he was about to hyperventilate.
Reginald wondered if it was too late to recruit Regina into stabbing Robert Singer.
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Poor George, he never had a chance!
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I like George. He makes me smile XD
So I can take another fill, yes? Cause I'm eyeing one down at the bottom.
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I'm sad you've had a shitty day, though! GO READ THE FIC AGAIN! *nod* *pets*
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