Silver Balls
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Runaways
Characters: Victor and Janet Stein, Dale Yorkes, Geoffrey Wilder
Disclaimer: This is me owning nothing.
Summary: Victor and Janet receive a very handy anniversary gift.
It was easier to threaten the Wilders over the phone, when they couldn’t immediately do anything about it. It gave at least an hour to come up with a way to follow up on the threat. Which was why Victor tried to contain his anger to such conversations.
Today’s lesson in anger management red flags began as many had.
"Dammit, Geoffrey, I don’t care!"
And the fight was on.
These arguments could last anywhere from five minutes to half an hour. Today’s lasted about ten.
"I said you and your little plot could suck eggs. Just give me a couple of days and we’ll be good to go!" he snarled into the phone.
"Shut up already," Janet snapped. "I can’t work under this stress."
"You’re distressing my wife. Shut the fuck up. Oh, you think so? Come on over. I’ll bust your damn head in before you can say ‘philoprogenitiveness!’"
He slammed the phone down.
"’Philoprogenitiveness’?" Janet repeated incredulously.
Victor sighed. "It was an interesting-looking word I found in the Abstract," he admitted. Janet laughed at him.
"How’s that coming, baby?" he asked.
Janet spun a knob and tightened something. Adjusted one chemical and sighed. "It’s almost done. Do you want to go find something you could potentially break a skull with?"
He passed her, pausing briefly to kiss her cheek.
"Just try to survive for dinner tonight," she chided.
He was about to ask why and decided that would be one of his less ingenious ideas.
Victor strode across the yard, punched in the five-letter access code to the shed, and stepped inside. The calendar on the wall informed him it was the fifth anniversary of his wedding and he would die a very horrible death if he forgot. He chewed on his lip and tried to think of a way to tease his wife and not die.
Victor dug out a containment device he referred to most fondly as ‘thrice-damned,’ checked the controls, and headed back to the garage.
"He’s out in the shed. Should be back soon."
How did they get here so fast? he wondered frantically.
He checked the thing over again and hurried inside to defend his Janet. Only to find it unnecessary as the visitor was Dale Yorkes standing in the doorway instead.
"Hello, neighbor," Dale greeted him, a bit too cheerily for Victor’s taste.
"Hey."
He would have sagged in relief if Dale hadn’t been there. Instead, he scratched the back of Janet’s neck and set the container down on his workbench.
"May I point out that the creature you retrieved will hardly bust skull?" Janet teased.
"I know."
"I hope you have something in mind, then."
"I do."
She shrugged and returned to the intricacies of counterfeiting.
"So, Victor, I have to ask," Dale said. Victor quirked an eyebrow. "Did you receive a call from Geoffrey Wilder as well?"
Victor nodded.
"And did it sound like something that might have been half-baked and pre-emptive?"
"Many things do."
Dale rolled his eyes as politely as he could.
"Is there a reason you’re here, or did you just come for that?"
Dale gave him an unhappy look. "Perhaps this era doesn’t believe in niceties, but my era does," he said caustically.
"Then go back to it."
Victor turned to help his wife.
"Stacey insisted on sending something over," Dale informed them, pouting a little. "I’ll just leave it here."
He set a ox on the workbench and left.
"I have five dollars that says it’s a bomb," Victor said, holding up a fresh one. Janet giggled.
"Let’s look and see."
It was, in fact, not a bomb, but a very nice set of spheres of different sizes. They had numbers engraved on the surface, ranging from one to thirty.
"Ah, lovely. They’ve sent us Dale’s balls."
Janet gave him a look. "How many does he have?"
Victor pointed at two marked with a one and said, "Just the two. But it’s not like he’s the only guy she’s ever emasculated."
"Then they’ll have sent us your balls, too?"
Victor gave her a very long, very slow look. "You should know. They were involved in making you scream last night."
Janet grinned and cupped her hand around his thigh. "Really? But how do I know she didn’t steal them when you were losing that shouting match about her damned petunias this morning?"
Victor turned an interesting shade of red.
"I will set the petunias on fire and watch them burn," he said. "She threatened to plant pansies."
Janet tried and failed to cover her fit of laughter with coughing.
"What are these things supposed to do, anyway?" he asked, picking up a number three.
"I would suggest not throwing them around to see what happens," she replied. "They might just be bombs."
The lot of them were on a layered tray with handles at the corners. Victor reached in and grabbed the handles, pocketing the number three.
"Hold the box, baby. I’m gonna pull it out."
"Gee, that sounds familiar."
She grabbed the bottom of the box. It took more than a little effort to pull the whole thing out-three hundred metal balls are not light things-but they did eventually get it.
A note fell off of the bottom of the rack. Janet picked it up.
"It says they’re concussive blasts," she said, skimming over it. "The littlest ones cause shock, pain, and confusion, and the biggest ones can bring down a building. Power ranges between the extremes."
"So what would a twenty-three do?" Victor asked.
"Says it’ll set the receiver on fire and knock them back. I would suggest starting with the fives, for Geoffrey," she said. "They cause unconsciousness and general discomfort."
Victor glanced at his watch. "How long do you think until they get here?"
"’Bout twenty-six and a half minutes. Why?"
"Wanna go for a round before Bonnie and Clyde get here?"
She giggled and he chased her into the house.
Fandom: Runaways
Characters: Victor and Janet Stein, Dale Yorkes, Geoffrey Wilder
Disclaimer: This is me owning nothing.
Summary: Victor and Janet receive a very handy anniversary gift.
It was easier to threaten the Wilders over the phone, when they couldn’t immediately do anything about it. It gave at least an hour to come up with a way to follow up on the threat. Which was why Victor tried to contain his anger to such conversations.
Today’s lesson in anger management red flags began as many had.
"Dammit, Geoffrey, I don’t care!"
And the fight was on.
These arguments could last anywhere from five minutes to half an hour. Today’s lasted about ten.
"I said you and your little plot could suck eggs. Just give me a couple of days and we’ll be good to go!" he snarled into the phone.
"Shut up already," Janet snapped. "I can’t work under this stress."
"You’re distressing my wife. Shut the fuck up. Oh, you think so? Come on over. I’ll bust your damn head in before you can say ‘philoprogenitiveness!’"
He slammed the phone down.
"’Philoprogenitiveness’?" Janet repeated incredulously.
Victor sighed. "It was an interesting-looking word I found in the Abstract," he admitted. Janet laughed at him.
"How’s that coming, baby?" he asked.
Janet spun a knob and tightened something. Adjusted one chemical and sighed. "It’s almost done. Do you want to go find something you could potentially break a skull with?"
He passed her, pausing briefly to kiss her cheek.
"Just try to survive for dinner tonight," she chided.
He was about to ask why and decided that would be one of his less ingenious ideas.
Victor strode across the yard, punched in the five-letter access code to the shed, and stepped inside. The calendar on the wall informed him it was the fifth anniversary of his wedding and he would die a very horrible death if he forgot. He chewed on his lip and tried to think of a way to tease his wife and not die.
Victor dug out a containment device he referred to most fondly as ‘thrice-damned,’ checked the controls, and headed back to the garage.
"He’s out in the shed. Should be back soon."
How did they get here so fast? he wondered frantically.
He checked the thing over again and hurried inside to defend his Janet. Only to find it unnecessary as the visitor was Dale Yorkes standing in the doorway instead.
"Hello, neighbor," Dale greeted him, a bit too cheerily for Victor’s taste.
"Hey."
He would have sagged in relief if Dale hadn’t been there. Instead, he scratched the back of Janet’s neck and set the container down on his workbench.
"May I point out that the creature you retrieved will hardly bust skull?" Janet teased.
"I know."
"I hope you have something in mind, then."
"I do."
She shrugged and returned to the intricacies of counterfeiting.
"So, Victor, I have to ask," Dale said. Victor quirked an eyebrow. "Did you receive a call from Geoffrey Wilder as well?"
Victor nodded.
"And did it sound like something that might have been half-baked and pre-emptive?"
"Many things do."
Dale rolled his eyes as politely as he could.
"Is there a reason you’re here, or did you just come for that?"
Dale gave him an unhappy look. "Perhaps this era doesn’t believe in niceties, but my era does," he said caustically.
"Then go back to it."
Victor turned to help his wife.
"Stacey insisted on sending something over," Dale informed them, pouting a little. "I’ll just leave it here."
He set a ox on the workbench and left.
"I have five dollars that says it’s a bomb," Victor said, holding up a fresh one. Janet giggled.
"Let’s look and see."
It was, in fact, not a bomb, but a very nice set of spheres of different sizes. They had numbers engraved on the surface, ranging from one to thirty.
"Ah, lovely. They’ve sent us Dale’s balls."
Janet gave him a look. "How many does he have?"
Victor pointed at two marked with a one and said, "Just the two. But it’s not like he’s the only guy she’s ever emasculated."
"Then they’ll have sent us your balls, too?"
Victor gave her a very long, very slow look. "You should know. They were involved in making you scream last night."
Janet grinned and cupped her hand around his thigh. "Really? But how do I know she didn’t steal them when you were losing that shouting match about her damned petunias this morning?"
Victor turned an interesting shade of red.
"I will set the petunias on fire and watch them burn," he said. "She threatened to plant pansies."
Janet tried and failed to cover her fit of laughter with coughing.
"What are these things supposed to do, anyway?" he asked, picking up a number three.
"I would suggest not throwing them around to see what happens," she replied. "They might just be bombs."
The lot of them were on a layered tray with handles at the corners. Victor reached in and grabbed the handles, pocketing the number three.
"Hold the box, baby. I’m gonna pull it out."
"Gee, that sounds familiar."
She grabbed the bottom of the box. It took more than a little effort to pull the whole thing out-three hundred metal balls are not light things-but they did eventually get it.
A note fell off of the bottom of the rack. Janet picked it up.
"It says they’re concussive blasts," she said, skimming over it. "The littlest ones cause shock, pain, and confusion, and the biggest ones can bring down a building. Power ranges between the extremes."
"So what would a twenty-three do?" Victor asked.
"Says it’ll set the receiver on fire and knock them back. I would suggest starting with the fives, for Geoffrey," she said. "They cause unconsciousness and general discomfort."
Victor glanced at his watch. "How long do you think until they get here?"
"’Bout twenty-six and a half minutes. Why?"
"Wanna go for a round before Bonnie and Clyde get here?"
She giggled and he chased her into the house.