[Swedish Idol 2005] - "Blood and Guts and Zombie Aliens" {Måns; Ola}
Title: Blood and Guts and Zombie Aliens*
Author: kenzimone
Disclaimer: Oh, if only!
Fandom: (Swedish) Idol 2005
Rating: PG
Word count: 2,200
Summary: AU parody/action. A Jedi warrior (Ola) teams up with an alcoholic ex-CIA agent (Måns) to save the earth from aliens.
Note: Written for a prompt from the Plot-o-Matic: "Action: A Jedi warrior teams up with an alcoholic ex-CIA agent to save the earth from aliens. In the process they accidentally kill a super intelligent chimpanzee. By the end of the movie they beat up 19 oogly aliens and end up winning the admiration of their universe, living happily ever after. Think Die Hard meets Pride and Prejudice."
*Note: Said fic does not contain either blood, guts or zombie aliens.
They met over coffee. Ola would have preferred the rowdy environment of a bar to the calm and subdued atmosphere of the coffee house, but he couldn’t expose Måns to hard liquor and still keep his conscience as clean as he liked it to be.
Across the table, Måns stared down into his coffee cup. He looked tired; eyelids heavy, hair tousled and his blue and white striped shirt not buttoned all the way up. A small part of Ola doubted that Måns would be the best one for the job, but he smothered that voice as fast as he could; before life stabbed Måns in the back - several times - he had been the best. A first class CIA agent. Ola could remember late nights out on the town, unwinding from one mission or the other.
That had of course been before Måns’ girlfriend left him for a known gang banger, his land lord threw him out of his apartment and Måns sought solace in the bottom of a glass.
“Aliens,” Måns repeated slowly, stirring his drink. A bagel lay untouched on the plate before him, and he looked at it in distaste.
Ola shifted in his seat; felt the cold steel handle of his lightsaber come in contact with his upper thigh. He readjusted his robes. “That’s right. Callisians.”
“When?” To someone who didn’t know him as well as Ola did, nothing in either Måns’ stance or tone of voice had changed. But the blond knew better; there was a slight tilt of interest in Måns’ voice. He was sure of it.
“Tonight.” He pushed his empty coffee cup away, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table top. “Eight o’clock. Central Park.”
Måns nodded. Looked over his shoulder; they could never know if someone had followed either of them here, and was now listening in on the conversation. He encountered a few curious gazes - it was, after all, unusual to see a Jedi warrior drinking coffee with someone as ungroomed as Måns suspected he looked.
“You in?” Ola’s blue eyes were hard. Måns knew that he wanted to help his friend, of course he did. What he didn’t understand was why Ola had come to him. He wasn’t CIA. Not anymore.
But he nodded neitherless; “I’m in.”
Ola smiled; a grin bordering on a beam. Then he stood, dark robes moving thickly at the motion, making a swishing noise Måns knew so well and realized he had missed during his time on the other side of the glass. He reached down to pull out his wallet out of his pocket, and when he looked up again Ola was gone, without as much as a whisper of a hint.
Damn him. Always sticking Måns with the bill.
Ola hadn’t gone far after all; when Måns exited the coffee house he was standing in the shadows of a nearby alley, waiting. Måns felt around in the pocket of his jacket and caught hold of a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. Shielding the lighter’s flame with his hand, he let the cigarette hang from his mouth before taking a long drag.
“Tailing me now?”
Ola laughed; stepped out from the shadows. “If I was, you’d never know it.”
Måns grunted; knew it was probably true. “Where to know?”
“Jonah.”
Måns plucked the cigarette from his mouth and turned, unintentionally exhaling a plume of smoke in the Jedi’s face as he spoke, “I’ve never liked that ape.”
Ola scowled against the smoke, turning away until it had cleared. “Neitherless, he’s the only one who can tell us when the Callisians intend to land.”
“I thought we already knew. Eight o’clock.”
Ola sniffed. “That’s what I told you before you were in. Truthfully, because of the speed of their ships approaching Earth, we know they’re planning on landing sometime between now and seven o’clock in the evening.”
Måns took one last drag and flicked the cigarette to the ground; mashed it into the cement with the heel of his shoe. The clock in the tower across the street showed a few minutes past noon. “Bastard.”
Ola laughed again, resting a hand on Måns’ shoulder. “Come now, you know better than that,” he whispered in the man’s ear. “Who knows who’ll be listening?”
Then he stepped away, turning, and Måns caught a glimpse of the green lightsaber beneath his robes. Ola threw a glance over his shoulder before he began to walk down the sidewalk, a quick look to make sure Måns was following. The brown haired man muttered something about know it all Jedis, but hurried to catch up nonetheless.
Ola led the way to his ship, standing where he’d left it after landing behind the city’s courthouse. He jumped onboard, waiting for Måns to scale the side of the ship under curses and grunts of exertion. As soon as Måns fell into the back seat, Ola slid the canopy back in place and lifted off.
Jonah was busy typing away before a large computer terminal when they arrived. Måns hadn’t been to the lab since his CIA days, and every dislike he’d had against the place now resurfaced; he made a face at the numerous banana peels that were thrown around the room, lying in various stages of decomposition. Ola didn’t even seem to notice them.
“Jonah,” he called.
A small and hairy face peeked up from behind a monitor. Måns watched as Jonah pushed away from his desk and slid off the chair, walking towards them on his hind legs. Through the thick lenses of his glasses he stared up at his two visitors.
“Ola,” he greeted courteously, before frowning at the rugged looking man beside the Jedi. “…And you.”
“Hello Jonah,” Måns replied, taking satisfaction in that the dislike was mutual and that he didn’t have to feel like a total ass.
“We were wondering if you’d finished calculating the Callisians’ time of arrival,” Ola soothingly cut in, hand brushing his robes to the side and displaying his lightsaber for all to see. Måns could take the hint.
Apparently Jonah could too; he might be a short, furry glasses wearing chimpanzee with a banana fetish, but he was also super intelligent, thankyouverymuch. “Yes, of course,” he said, waddling back towards his computer terminal.
Måns and Ola followed, the latter’s boots sounding sharply against the tiled floor. Jonah was up in his chair again, tapping away at his keyboard, looking very busy and professional, his tail swinging in wide circles behind him. Måns impatiently tapped his feet, wishing for a drink; Ola seemed to have no problem with the wait, having crossed his arms before his chest and closed his eyes. Sensing the force and all that bullshit, Måns thought sourly.
Finally, after what seemed like ages but the ticking of the clock on the wall told a disgruntled Måns had only been five minutes, Jonah spun around in his chair.
“Twenty minutes,” he said, adjusting his glasses that had slid slightly off to one side.
Ola nodded serenely; seemingly not at all alarmed at the short time frame they were suddenly dealing with. Måns sighed, picking up a strange looking apparatus from a nearby table and turning it over in his hands; he was just about to put it back when a high pitched shriek startled him.
“No! Don’t touch that, you buffoon!” He looked up just in time to see a hairy face with bared teeth flying at him through the air. Instinctively, he crouched to the ground and covered his head with his arms as Jonah sailed over his head, snatching the apparatus from Måns’ hand as he did so.
The chimpanzee hit the floor with a sharp thud, the machine he’d tried to save getting trapped between his stomach and the floor. Måns turned, disoriented as strong hands gripped his biceps and pulled him to his feet.
“Come!” Ola yelled over the mindless chatter Jonah had suddenly started to utter; Måns could see that the primate was convulsing violently on the floor. “We have to get out!”
The urgency in his friend’s voice made Måns move, even though he didn’t understand the danger. They had reached the final corridor before the exit, the glass doors almost in sight, when the explosion rocked the building. Måns could feel himself getting tackled from behind, and Ola’s breath against the back of his neck as he crashed through the doors and out into the parking lot.
As soon as he hit the ground he started rolling over, trying to get as far away from the collapsing building as possible. His stomach hit something hard, and it was only after a few minutes, when the smoke had cleared and the dust settled that he realized that he’d rolled right into one of the oak trees lining the lot. In front of him, he could see Ola climb to his feet, coughing and brushing off his robes as he did so.
“What was that?” Måns finally managed to utter.
Ola looked up, dust plastered to the sweat covering his face, making him seem pale as death. “I don’t know. But come, we can’t think of that now. The Callisians land in fourteen minutes!”
Once again, Måns was being dragged to his feet and pushed along by his Jedi friend.
They had arrived to Central Park with seven minutes to spare, and for the past six, Måns had been lying beside his friend, hidden beneath several thick bushes. Ola had pulled his hood over his had, hiding his pale hair, and was now breathing slowly and deeply, staring intently into the for the day empty park.
Måns wished, again, that he had a drink.
He didn’t realize that something was happening until Ola’s hand shot out from beneath his robes to take a firm hold of Måns’ forearm. He gestured upwards, to the tree tops above them, and when Måns looked up he saw a very large ship hovering in the sky. Three quick beams shot out of its underside, making absolutely no sound at all, before disappearing into thin air. Again, they shot out, and did so in intervals six more times.
Beside Måns, Ola exhaled. “There they are,” he whispered, and Måns nodded; he could see them too.
Eighteen things, resembling jellyfish more than anything else Måns could think of, were jiggling in the middle of the park. The Callisians, clearly.
“Are you armed?” Ola asked, blue eyes staring intently into Måns’ brown ones. Måns gave a short nod. “Good. On three; one, two, three!”
Ola was first out of the bushes, robes slapping against Måns’ face before he let them fall off his arms. By the time his lightsaber was in his hands, its vibrating hum filling the air, Måns had a gun in his hands and his sights trained on the alien nearest him.
The Callisians, thought entirely transparent, were formed in the likeness of the human body; where a normal human’s liver should be, Måns could make out a grey blurb of a mass. Whether it was a heart or a brain, he did not know, but fired anyway, certain that if he hit it, it would mean the end of that one alien.
To his right, Ola was slicing through aliens in twists and turns, vaulting over them to cut them from behind, and assaulting them from up above. The screams from the Jedi’s unfortunate opponents mingled with the ones struck with Måns’ bullets. Soon enough, there were none left.
Standing up to his ankles in some strange kind of alien goo, Måns looked across the clearing to grin at Ola. The Jedi returned the gesture, before bending his knees and taking off vertically, jumping up towards the spaceship still hovering dangerously low over the tree tops. Lightsaber swinging through the air, he cut a deep hole in the underside of the ship, before disappearing into it.
Måns stepped back, watching the ship soon begin to sway back and forth, before crashing to the ground in an impressive upheaval of grass and dirt. He took off running towards what he thought must be the door, just as it slid open and Ola tumbled out.
The Jedi quickly climbed back up onto his feet as the nineteenth alien burst out of the spaceship. Unlike its companions, it was made up of a dark green substance, and like a snail it left a trail as it snaked its way down the door and onto the grass.
Taking a sloppy aim, Måns fired his gun at the creature’s midsection, just as Ola in a flying leap dislocated what must have been its head from the rest of its body. As if melting, the alien sank to the ground, green puss seeping out into the grass.
“Another job well done,” Ola said, wiping some of the smelly alien gunk off his forehead. Måns nodded in agreement. It sure was.
Author: kenzimone
Disclaimer: Oh, if only!
Fandom: (Swedish) Idol 2005
Rating: PG
Word count: 2,200
Summary: AU parody/action. A Jedi warrior (Ola) teams up with an alcoholic ex-CIA agent (Måns) to save the earth from aliens.
Note: Written for a prompt from the Plot-o-Matic: "Action: A Jedi warrior teams up with an alcoholic ex-CIA agent to save the earth from aliens. In the process they accidentally kill a super intelligent chimpanzee. By the end of the movie they beat up 19 oogly aliens and end up winning the admiration of their universe, living happily ever after. Think Die Hard meets Pride and Prejudice."
*Note: Said fic does not contain either blood, guts or zombie aliens.
They met over coffee. Ola would have preferred the rowdy environment of a bar to the calm and subdued atmosphere of the coffee house, but he couldn’t expose Måns to hard liquor and still keep his conscience as clean as he liked it to be.
Across the table, Måns stared down into his coffee cup. He looked tired; eyelids heavy, hair tousled and his blue and white striped shirt not buttoned all the way up. A small part of Ola doubted that Måns would be the best one for the job, but he smothered that voice as fast as he could; before life stabbed Måns in the back - several times - he had been the best. A first class CIA agent. Ola could remember late nights out on the town, unwinding from one mission or the other.
That had of course been before Måns’ girlfriend left him for a known gang banger, his land lord threw him out of his apartment and Måns sought solace in the bottom of a glass.
“Aliens,” Måns repeated slowly, stirring his drink. A bagel lay untouched on the plate before him, and he looked at it in distaste.
Ola shifted in his seat; felt the cold steel handle of his lightsaber come in contact with his upper thigh. He readjusted his robes. “That’s right. Callisians.”
“When?” To someone who didn’t know him as well as Ola did, nothing in either Måns’ stance or tone of voice had changed. But the blond knew better; there was a slight tilt of interest in Måns’ voice. He was sure of it.
“Tonight.” He pushed his empty coffee cup away, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table top. “Eight o’clock. Central Park.”
Måns nodded. Looked over his shoulder; they could never know if someone had followed either of them here, and was now listening in on the conversation. He encountered a few curious gazes - it was, after all, unusual to see a Jedi warrior drinking coffee with someone as ungroomed as Måns suspected he looked.
“You in?” Ola’s blue eyes were hard. Måns knew that he wanted to help his friend, of course he did. What he didn’t understand was why Ola had come to him. He wasn’t CIA. Not anymore.
But he nodded neitherless; “I’m in.”
Ola smiled; a grin bordering on a beam. Then he stood, dark robes moving thickly at the motion, making a swishing noise Måns knew so well and realized he had missed during his time on the other side of the glass. He reached down to pull out his wallet out of his pocket, and when he looked up again Ola was gone, without as much as a whisper of a hint.
Damn him. Always sticking Måns with the bill.
Ola hadn’t gone far after all; when Måns exited the coffee house he was standing in the shadows of a nearby alley, waiting. Måns felt around in the pocket of his jacket and caught hold of a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. Shielding the lighter’s flame with his hand, he let the cigarette hang from his mouth before taking a long drag.
“Tailing me now?”
Ola laughed; stepped out from the shadows. “If I was, you’d never know it.”
Måns grunted; knew it was probably true. “Where to know?”
“Jonah.”
Måns plucked the cigarette from his mouth and turned, unintentionally exhaling a plume of smoke in the Jedi’s face as he spoke, “I’ve never liked that ape.”
Ola scowled against the smoke, turning away until it had cleared. “Neitherless, he’s the only one who can tell us when the Callisians intend to land.”
“I thought we already knew. Eight o’clock.”
Ola sniffed. “That’s what I told you before you were in. Truthfully, because of the speed of their ships approaching Earth, we know they’re planning on landing sometime between now and seven o’clock in the evening.”
Måns took one last drag and flicked the cigarette to the ground; mashed it into the cement with the heel of his shoe. The clock in the tower across the street showed a few minutes past noon. “Bastard.”
Ola laughed again, resting a hand on Måns’ shoulder. “Come now, you know better than that,” he whispered in the man’s ear. “Who knows who’ll be listening?”
Then he stepped away, turning, and Måns caught a glimpse of the green lightsaber beneath his robes. Ola threw a glance over his shoulder before he began to walk down the sidewalk, a quick look to make sure Måns was following. The brown haired man muttered something about know it all Jedis, but hurried to catch up nonetheless.
Ola led the way to his ship, standing where he’d left it after landing behind the city’s courthouse. He jumped onboard, waiting for Måns to scale the side of the ship under curses and grunts of exertion. As soon as Måns fell into the back seat, Ola slid the canopy back in place and lifted off.
Jonah was busy typing away before a large computer terminal when they arrived. Måns hadn’t been to the lab since his CIA days, and every dislike he’d had against the place now resurfaced; he made a face at the numerous banana peels that were thrown around the room, lying in various stages of decomposition. Ola didn’t even seem to notice them.
“Jonah,” he called.
A small and hairy face peeked up from behind a monitor. Måns watched as Jonah pushed away from his desk and slid off the chair, walking towards them on his hind legs. Through the thick lenses of his glasses he stared up at his two visitors.
“Ola,” he greeted courteously, before frowning at the rugged looking man beside the Jedi. “…And you.”
“Hello Jonah,” Måns replied, taking satisfaction in that the dislike was mutual and that he didn’t have to feel like a total ass.
“We were wondering if you’d finished calculating the Callisians’ time of arrival,” Ola soothingly cut in, hand brushing his robes to the side and displaying his lightsaber for all to see. Måns could take the hint.
Apparently Jonah could too; he might be a short, furry glasses wearing chimpanzee with a banana fetish, but he was also super intelligent, thankyouverymuch. “Yes, of course,” he said, waddling back towards his computer terminal.
Måns and Ola followed, the latter’s boots sounding sharply against the tiled floor. Jonah was up in his chair again, tapping away at his keyboard, looking very busy and professional, his tail swinging in wide circles behind him. Måns impatiently tapped his feet, wishing for a drink; Ola seemed to have no problem with the wait, having crossed his arms before his chest and closed his eyes. Sensing the force and all that bullshit, Måns thought sourly.
Finally, after what seemed like ages but the ticking of the clock on the wall told a disgruntled Måns had only been five minutes, Jonah spun around in his chair.
“Twenty minutes,” he said, adjusting his glasses that had slid slightly off to one side.
Ola nodded serenely; seemingly not at all alarmed at the short time frame they were suddenly dealing with. Måns sighed, picking up a strange looking apparatus from a nearby table and turning it over in his hands; he was just about to put it back when a high pitched shriek startled him.
“No! Don’t touch that, you buffoon!” He looked up just in time to see a hairy face with bared teeth flying at him through the air. Instinctively, he crouched to the ground and covered his head with his arms as Jonah sailed over his head, snatching the apparatus from Måns’ hand as he did so.
The chimpanzee hit the floor with a sharp thud, the machine he’d tried to save getting trapped between his stomach and the floor. Måns turned, disoriented as strong hands gripped his biceps and pulled him to his feet.
“Come!” Ola yelled over the mindless chatter Jonah had suddenly started to utter; Måns could see that the primate was convulsing violently on the floor. “We have to get out!”
The urgency in his friend’s voice made Måns move, even though he didn’t understand the danger. They had reached the final corridor before the exit, the glass doors almost in sight, when the explosion rocked the building. Måns could feel himself getting tackled from behind, and Ola’s breath against the back of his neck as he crashed through the doors and out into the parking lot.
As soon as he hit the ground he started rolling over, trying to get as far away from the collapsing building as possible. His stomach hit something hard, and it was only after a few minutes, when the smoke had cleared and the dust settled that he realized that he’d rolled right into one of the oak trees lining the lot. In front of him, he could see Ola climb to his feet, coughing and brushing off his robes as he did so.
“What was that?” Måns finally managed to utter.
Ola looked up, dust plastered to the sweat covering his face, making him seem pale as death. “I don’t know. But come, we can’t think of that now. The Callisians land in fourteen minutes!”
Once again, Måns was being dragged to his feet and pushed along by his Jedi friend.
They had arrived to Central Park with seven minutes to spare, and for the past six, Måns had been lying beside his friend, hidden beneath several thick bushes. Ola had pulled his hood over his had, hiding his pale hair, and was now breathing slowly and deeply, staring intently into the for the day empty park.
Måns wished, again, that he had a drink.
He didn’t realize that something was happening until Ola’s hand shot out from beneath his robes to take a firm hold of Måns’ forearm. He gestured upwards, to the tree tops above them, and when Måns looked up he saw a very large ship hovering in the sky. Three quick beams shot out of its underside, making absolutely no sound at all, before disappearing into thin air. Again, they shot out, and did so in intervals six more times.
Beside Måns, Ola exhaled. “There they are,” he whispered, and Måns nodded; he could see them too.
Eighteen things, resembling jellyfish more than anything else Måns could think of, were jiggling in the middle of the park. The Callisians, clearly.
“Are you armed?” Ola asked, blue eyes staring intently into Måns’ brown ones. Måns gave a short nod. “Good. On three; one, two, three!”
Ola was first out of the bushes, robes slapping against Måns’ face before he let them fall off his arms. By the time his lightsaber was in his hands, its vibrating hum filling the air, Måns had a gun in his hands and his sights trained on the alien nearest him.
The Callisians, thought entirely transparent, were formed in the likeness of the human body; where a normal human’s liver should be, Måns could make out a grey blurb of a mass. Whether it was a heart or a brain, he did not know, but fired anyway, certain that if he hit it, it would mean the end of that one alien.
To his right, Ola was slicing through aliens in twists and turns, vaulting over them to cut them from behind, and assaulting them from up above. The screams from the Jedi’s unfortunate opponents mingled with the ones struck with Måns’ bullets. Soon enough, there were none left.
Standing up to his ankles in some strange kind of alien goo, Måns looked across the clearing to grin at Ola. The Jedi returned the gesture, before bending his knees and taking off vertically, jumping up towards the spaceship still hovering dangerously low over the tree tops. Lightsaber swinging through the air, he cut a deep hole in the underside of the ship, before disappearing into it.
Måns stepped back, watching the ship soon begin to sway back and forth, before crashing to the ground in an impressive upheaval of grass and dirt. He took off running towards what he thought must be the door, just as it slid open and Ola tumbled out.
The Jedi quickly climbed back up onto his feet as the nineteenth alien burst out of the spaceship. Unlike its companions, it was made up of a dark green substance, and like a snail it left a trail as it snaked its way down the door and onto the grass.
Taking a sloppy aim, Måns fired his gun at the creature’s midsection, just as Ola in a flying leap dislocated what must have been its head from the rest of its body. As if melting, the alien sank to the ground, green puss seeping out into the grass.
“Another job well done,” Ola said, wiping some of the smelly alien gunk off his forehead. Måns nodded in agreement. It sure was.