Ganked from
wal_lace Give me two characters from different fandoms you know I'm familiar with, and I'll give you a dialogue happening between the two of them. Without justifying how the crossover would work, how their worlds clashed, or how they could even meet each other. Just a silly crossover conversation with no backstory, for fun. Uh, if I have EVER
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Hermione reads about changing tires. Of course she does. Hehe.
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No, I was born one. The stick makes it easier to BE a wizard."
"So I can't buy one."
Harry sighed. "No."
Joe sipped from his beer. "Huh. So uh, Harry? That your real name?"
"Yeah."
"Any relation to that Po-"
"Harry Potter is a fictional character, and I was born way before he was ever even thought of." Harry rattled it off like he had it committed to memory. Which he did, in addition to several thousand spells, incantations, and mystical facts. And strangely, the abridged oeuvre of They Might Be Giants.
Joe laughed. "Sorry, man, I had to ask."
"You're awfully nosy," Harry said suddenly, wondering where the guy had even come from. "Anybody ever tell you that?"
Joe smiled. "Sorry man, just my job to collect information."
"What for?"
Joe saluted with his glass. "Books. I write books."
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"It's an eyesore."
"It's classic."
"It's something I have managed to avoid for thirteen hundred years."
"The tie hasn't been around that long-"
"Well, not THAT tie, but the concept of a tie."
Jeanette wrapped the bolo around his neck. "If you don't wear the tie, I won't let you ride in the saddle." She winked and wiggled her hips a little.
Methos grinned wildly. "Oh! I LOVE this tie!"
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Bob blinked. "What? Is it the silk charmeuse? Because I totally have a plan for that." Bob winked. "See, the ladies love the charmeuse. It's sex-ay."
Tim frowned. I'm more worried about the lack of arm holes. in your garment."
"It's pasted on." Bob's flames flickered. "Like performance art."
Tim frowned. "Won't you run the risk of it falling off?"
Bob sighed. "It's lingere, Tim. I think it's supposed to fall off." The eye flames flickered and dimmed like the closing of lids. "Slowly, yeah, like that, while the background plays The Girl From Ipanema..yeah."
Tim stepped back and gave the garment another look over. "All right, but you know the judges. Nina is going to--"
Bob snorted. "You let ME worry about Senora Garcia."
Tim all but fled the workstation. "Carry on."
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andIthinkshedesigneditherselfwhydopeoplethinkthatjustbecausetheycansewtheycandesigniamagreatseweryouknow
iamthefastestandthebestandihavethebesthairdoyoulikemyhairthismorningiwasgoingtojustletitgobutthenithought--"
"Blow me," Bob said, and set the man's dress form on fire. Sadly, it refused to ignite the product in his hair.
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Tim swirled the umbrella in his daiquiri. "Oh heavens no. I'm here because a friend wanted to come." He smiled toothily. "It's a little too gauche for my taste."
Methos said nothing into his beer.
"I mean," Tim blurted apologetically, "If you like it here that's fine I just-"
"No," Methos said. My friend Joe likes the shrimp."
Tim breathed a sigh of relief for a nearly missed faux pas. "Oh, well, then, if one likes shrimp."
Methos shrugged and glanced at the bathroom. "Your friend's been gone a long time."
Tim sighed. "Yes, he does this," he replied. "I just said that he might want to rethink his sweater vest, and..." He needed another daiquiri.
Methos set his glass down on the bar and looked around furtively. "To be honest, I kind of like their cheese biscuits."
Tim grinned. "Me too."
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