the most you can do is get carried away
Apropos to what I said here about the book Slaughtermatic, I've come to the conclusion that Dante and the Kid are, indeed, eminently slashable. So I did, yay.
Beerlight Serenade
(Findlay Taz/Dante Cubit)
===
Findlay Taz was a full day in Beerlight when he met Dante Cubit, accidentally ran into him or rather vice versa, Dante's lanky body hitting him at full pelt without so much as a by-your-leave and folding them both ungraciously to the concrete. Dante cursed eloquently; Findlay considered the pros and cons of violent overreaction, hand twitching towards the Kafkacell cannon gun under his coat. Then half a dozen squad cars piled around the corner of the nearest intersection, bullets sang in the air around them, and Dante dragged himself upright, offered a hand, said: "Sorry 'bout that. Buy you a drink?"
Fugitive and paranoid, Findlay couldn't think of anything better to do. He took the hand, and they ran.
Three hours later he knew that Dante was a performance criminal, a provisional atheist and mistrustful of anything too small to be seen with the naked eye. Dante knew about his unrelenting depression and his career as an unwilling test subject, and had given up on Findlay calling him anything but Danny.
"Got my eye out for a partner - anything big enough to get noticed's a two-man job."
Findlay considered this, knocked back another Concussion, vodka laced with codeine.
"Much money in this performance crime gig?"
"Not a brass yen," Dante said with cheerful disdain. "But it's dangerous."
"Mortally so?"
"An early demise practically guaranteed!"
"Sure, count me in."
Several more hours later they staggered the streets of Beerlight, brains slippery with chemicals and no concept of destination: Findlay had nowhere to go and Dante couldn't remember how to get to the building he lived in. Findlay was explaining the concept of entropy, how everything was drifting apart, losing coherency, how the universe was only getting bigger and emptier and colder.
"Someone should do something to warm it up, then," Dante suggested, slid a hand under his coat. The line was laughably cheesy, and Findlay would have laughed had his mouth not suddenly been full of Dante's tongue; as it was he gave as good as he got, until they were buckled against an alley wall and Dante answered "mmrgh" to the question "remember where you live yet?" Eventually they found their way to Dante's dingy hole of an apartment (not really much improvement on the alley but who was complaining?) and had improbably good drunken sex, and each made sure the other slept on his side to avert any choking-to-death-on-vomit-while-unconscious incidents.
The following day Findlay decided that The Entropy Kid would make a good working name, being both an apt and concise description of his mental state.
"And it's catchy," he added. "What do you think?"
"Better than Findlay, anyway," agreed Dante.
[/fic]
Beerlight Serenade
(Findlay Taz/Dante Cubit)
===
Findlay Taz was a full day in Beerlight when he met Dante Cubit, accidentally ran into him or rather vice versa, Dante's lanky body hitting him at full pelt without so much as a by-your-leave and folding them both ungraciously to the concrete. Dante cursed eloquently; Findlay considered the pros and cons of violent overreaction, hand twitching towards the Kafkacell cannon gun under his coat. Then half a dozen squad cars piled around the corner of the nearest intersection, bullets sang in the air around them, and Dante dragged himself upright, offered a hand, said: "Sorry 'bout that. Buy you a drink?"
Fugitive and paranoid, Findlay couldn't think of anything better to do. He took the hand, and they ran.
Three hours later he knew that Dante was a performance criminal, a provisional atheist and mistrustful of anything too small to be seen with the naked eye. Dante knew about his unrelenting depression and his career as an unwilling test subject, and had given up on Findlay calling him anything but Danny.
"Got my eye out for a partner - anything big enough to get noticed's a two-man job."
Findlay considered this, knocked back another Concussion, vodka laced with codeine.
"Much money in this performance crime gig?"
"Not a brass yen," Dante said with cheerful disdain. "But it's dangerous."
"Mortally so?"
"An early demise practically guaranteed!"
"Sure, count me in."
Several more hours later they staggered the streets of Beerlight, brains slippery with chemicals and no concept of destination: Findlay had nowhere to go and Dante couldn't remember how to get to the building he lived in. Findlay was explaining the concept of entropy, how everything was drifting apart, losing coherency, how the universe was only getting bigger and emptier and colder.
"Someone should do something to warm it up, then," Dante suggested, slid a hand under his coat. The line was laughably cheesy, and Findlay would have laughed had his mouth not suddenly been full of Dante's tongue; as it was he gave as good as he got, until they were buckled against an alley wall and Dante answered "mmrgh" to the question "remember where you live yet?" Eventually they found their way to Dante's dingy hole of an apartment (not really much improvement on the alley but who was complaining?) and had improbably good drunken sex, and each made sure the other slept on his side to avert any choking-to-death-on-vomit-while-unconscious incidents.
The following day Findlay decided that The Entropy Kid would make a good working name, being both an apt and concise description of his mental state.
"And it's catchy," he added. "What do you think?"
"Better than Findlay, anyway," agreed Dante.
[/fic]