Prison Break - Misc. drabbles
Title: Incognito
Author: clair-de-lune
Character, pairing: Sara (hint of Michael/Sara)
Genre: Gen
Rating: G
Summary: I have always had some sort of sick fascination with pirates.
Beta-reader: Thanks to be_cool_bec for the beta of the English version
Prompt by mille_volts: Sara, pirates
I have always had some sort of sick fascination with pirates. Pirates, not privateers. With barrels of rum, parrot on their shoulder, high kneed boots and wide open shirt - the more cliché, the better - attacked ships and stolen freight. It felt like some righter of wrongs to me: redistribution of goods, proof of freedom, etcetera, and etcetera. Quite romantic for someone who, like me, revels in her cynicism.
I look at the key I’ve just dropped into my purse and I turn around to leave the infirmary. The door will stay open. I think of Michael Scofield; I think about the way my reason has been pillaged, my feelings assaulted, my free will stealthily abducted; and I tell myself, damn... if pirates don’t even have a parrot on their shoulder anymore so you can spot them...
-*-
Title: Addiction
Author: clair-de-lune
Character: Lincoln
Genre: Gen
Rating: G
Summary: He has a soft spot for them.
Beta-reader: Thanks to be_cool_bec for the beta of the English version
Prompt by mille-volts: Lincoln, olives
He has a soft spot for them. Plain. Stuffed. Black. Green. In a salad. On a pizza (he used to steal them from Michael’s, and his brother never failed to complain about that). With a martini. Directly eaten from the jar. He has a soft spot for them and he’s really not picky about the cooking or trimmings.
He hasn’t had any for three years. He doesn’t know why, but his fondness wasn’t shared by the guys in Fox River’s kitchens, and right now, if he had the choice between an olives jar and... anything else (okay... almost anything else...), he’s ninety-eight percent sure he would choose the olives.
Michael opens the box he has just laid on his knees, cuts as well as he can the pizza and, with a slight smile, he delicately pushes all the olives to the side. To Lincoln’s side.
Lincoln salivates.
God bless his brother.
-*-
Title: Encaged
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Michael, Lincoln
Genre: Gen
Rating: G
Summary: I remember a bear...
Beta-reader: Thanks to be_cool_bec for the beta of the English version
Prompt by anna-tarawiel: Lincoln, Michael, bear
I remember a bear I once saw at the zoo when I was six or seven. It was standing up behind the fence; on the one hand, its eyes were shining with incomprehension and anger for being there; on the other hand, there was the apparent softness of its fur; and altogether, it seemed so sadly and quietly resigned to its fate. I had stood frozen in front of its cage, and had needed mom’s injunctions and Linc’s hands on my shoulders to make me let go of the grid fence. The image stuck with me.
The image is still here. Lincoln is crouching, slightly leaning against the wall, and he watches the yard, beyond the fence, with the same sad and quiet resignation the bear had been displaying. The other inmates look at him with the mixture of fear, respect and pity that the visitors at the zoo had shown, unable to see beyond appearances.
This time, nothing and no one will keep me from opening the cage.
-*-
Title: Duckie
Author: clair-de-lune
Character: Michael
Genre: Gen, Humor
Rating: G
Summary: He doesn’t often have a bath, he prefers showers.
Beta-reader: Thanks to be_cool_bec for the beta of the English version
(Mean) prompt by spinefox: Michael (grown-up), yellow rubber bath duck
He doesn’t often have a bath, he prefers showers. They’re more energizing, less time-consuming, more ecological, more efficient. More masculine, too, if he really has to follow that train of thought.
But when, exceptionally, he does have a bath, he conforms to a strict ritual. Phones are off the hook. The bathroom is neat and flawless - no clothes or towels on the floor... not that there usually are any, when he thinks about it. A piece of classical music. A glass of wine. Citrus bath salts (nothing with vanilla or flowery scent, thank you very much).
Bath salts are quite essential. Not to mention the fact they are more masculine than bubble bath - if he really has to follow that train of thought - they also allow him to spot Duckie a lot more easily. Because he has lost it before in a bubble bath, and shifting in the tub and looking for Duckie is anything but relaxing. In these moments, Duckie is evasive. Slippery. Soapy. Elusive.
Duckie is the bath duck (a yellow rubber bath duck, with a slightly darker beak and big blue eyes... a satisfactorily traditional bath duck) that Veronica gave him for his birthday. It had been a joke. The first time he invited Duckie in to his bath also had been a joke.
And then he thought he was a grown-up, and if he felt like it, he was totally entitled to share a tub with a rubber duck, while enjoying a glass of Merlot or Cabernet Sauvignon in his citrus salted bath, Mozart playing in the background.
It’s not like anybody will know about it.
-*-
End notes: I rarely use the first person POV... don’t know what possessed me this time ^__^
Author: clair-de-lune
Character, pairing: Sara (hint of Michael/Sara)
Genre: Gen
Rating: G
Summary: I have always had some sort of sick fascination with pirates.
Beta-reader: Thanks to be_cool_bec for the beta of the English version
Prompt by mille_volts: Sara, pirates
I have always had some sort of sick fascination with pirates. Pirates, not privateers. With barrels of rum, parrot on their shoulder, high kneed boots and wide open shirt - the more cliché, the better - attacked ships and stolen freight. It felt like some righter of wrongs to me: redistribution of goods, proof of freedom, etcetera, and etcetera. Quite romantic for someone who, like me, revels in her cynicism.
I look at the key I’ve just dropped into my purse and I turn around to leave the infirmary. The door will stay open. I think of Michael Scofield; I think about the way my reason has been pillaged, my feelings assaulted, my free will stealthily abducted; and I tell myself, damn... if pirates don’t even have a parrot on their shoulder anymore so you can spot them...
-*-
Title: Addiction
Author: clair-de-lune
Character: Lincoln
Genre: Gen
Rating: G
Summary: He has a soft spot for them.
Beta-reader: Thanks to be_cool_bec for the beta of the English version
Prompt by mille-volts: Lincoln, olives
He has a soft spot for them. Plain. Stuffed. Black. Green. In a salad. On a pizza (he used to steal them from Michael’s, and his brother never failed to complain about that). With a martini. Directly eaten from the jar. He has a soft spot for them and he’s really not picky about the cooking or trimmings.
He hasn’t had any for three years. He doesn’t know why, but his fondness wasn’t shared by the guys in Fox River’s kitchens, and right now, if he had the choice between an olives jar and... anything else (okay... almost anything else...), he’s ninety-eight percent sure he would choose the olives.
Michael opens the box he has just laid on his knees, cuts as well as he can the pizza and, with a slight smile, he delicately pushes all the olives to the side. To Lincoln’s side.
Lincoln salivates.
God bless his brother.
-*-
Title: Encaged
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Michael, Lincoln
Genre: Gen
Rating: G
Summary: I remember a bear...
Beta-reader: Thanks to be_cool_bec for the beta of the English version
Prompt by anna-tarawiel: Lincoln, Michael, bear
I remember a bear I once saw at the zoo when I was six or seven. It was standing up behind the fence; on the one hand, its eyes were shining with incomprehension and anger for being there; on the other hand, there was the apparent softness of its fur; and altogether, it seemed so sadly and quietly resigned to its fate. I had stood frozen in front of its cage, and had needed mom’s injunctions and Linc’s hands on my shoulders to make me let go of the grid fence. The image stuck with me.
The image is still here. Lincoln is crouching, slightly leaning against the wall, and he watches the yard, beyond the fence, with the same sad and quiet resignation the bear had been displaying. The other inmates look at him with the mixture of fear, respect and pity that the visitors at the zoo had shown, unable to see beyond appearances.
This time, nothing and no one will keep me from opening the cage.
-*-
Title: Duckie
Author: clair-de-lune
Character: Michael
Genre: Gen, Humor
Rating: G
Summary: He doesn’t often have a bath, he prefers showers.
Beta-reader: Thanks to be_cool_bec for the beta of the English version
(Mean) prompt by spinefox: Michael (grown-up), yellow rubber bath duck
He doesn’t often have a bath, he prefers showers. They’re more energizing, less time-consuming, more ecological, more efficient. More masculine, too, if he really has to follow that train of thought.
But when, exceptionally, he does have a bath, he conforms to a strict ritual. Phones are off the hook. The bathroom is neat and flawless - no clothes or towels on the floor... not that there usually are any, when he thinks about it. A piece of classical music. A glass of wine. Citrus bath salts (nothing with vanilla or flowery scent, thank you very much).
Bath salts are quite essential. Not to mention the fact they are more masculine than bubble bath - if he really has to follow that train of thought - they also allow him to spot Duckie a lot more easily. Because he has lost it before in a bubble bath, and shifting in the tub and looking for Duckie is anything but relaxing. In these moments, Duckie is evasive. Slippery. Soapy. Elusive.
Duckie is the bath duck (a yellow rubber bath duck, with a slightly darker beak and big blue eyes... a satisfactorily traditional bath duck) that Veronica gave him for his birthday. It had been a joke. The first time he invited Duckie in to his bath also had been a joke.
And then he thought he was a grown-up, and if he felt like it, he was totally entitled to share a tub with a rubber duck, while enjoying a glass of Merlot or Cabernet Sauvignon in his citrus salted bath, Mozart playing in the background.
It’s not like anybody will know about it.
-*-
End notes: I rarely use the first person POV... don’t know what possessed me this time ^__^