2 Extended Prompt Table fics - I knew in the silence... / If zombies are chasing us...

Jun 05, 2015 19:11

Remember when I used to write things...No...me either. It feels unnatural.

I knew in the silence that anything could happen here | Charlie, Monroe, Miles, OC | Brother | PG | (939 words)

Author Note: I was just thinking, Charlie's protective/maternal instincts would have to go somewhere...Plus I adore the idea of Charlie being saddled with two boisterous, legendary killers with epic emotional issues who can't remember to eat in between all the drinking unless she tells them to. And who have a total thing about men hitting on her. Both electing themselves protectors of her virtue, and sternly ignoring the fact that she's the one who initiates the flirting in most situations. And driving her absolutely bonkers. Except that they're also like big stupid puppy dogs and she's annoying fond of them. And it's kind of nice to be important to someone like she was to Danny a million years ago. Hence this prompt creating this ficlet...

- - -

Monroe's Tent, 8AM:

Charlie stands perfectly still, her briefing in one hand, a worn mug in the other for a long moment thinking.

Because this isn't actually her job, despite what Miles and Monroe and the whole Texas government seem to think, she’d never signed up to be Monroe’s babysitter.

The only reason she’s here now is because Miles had sent her to see what was taking Monroe so long.

And from where she stands, the answer's pretty obvious. Drink and debauchery. Looking every inch the tormented soul, Monroe’s lying on his stomach, half obscured by blankets, with one of the local whores curled up next to him.

Janice? Julie? Janet? Charlie shakes her head. Monroe never favors one woman long enough for her to get their names straight.

As if summoned by Charlie's thoughts, the mystery woman's eyes blink open and meet hers.

Motioning for her to be quiet, Charlie quickly places the mug and briefing on the bedside table and reaches into her jacket for a few coins, as the other woman slips out from under Monroe's arm. It'll be better for everyone's sake if Miles doesn't walk in on this.

Waiting as the woman pulls her dress back down and locates her shoes, Charlie holds out her hand, "Four?"

Janice, or Julie, or whoever this woman is nods, taking the coins with a sympathetic smile, and Charlie feels her own smile tighten in response. Coz seriously, she's not this man's babysitter.

What does she need to do to prove that to everybody? Set him on fire?

As soon as she's gone, Charlie sits down on the edge of the bed with a sigh. Miles had given her fifteen minutes to return with Monroe.

She now has ten minutes left, or all hell is going to break loose. Behind her Monroe groans and rolls onto his back, "Charlotte?"

She rolls her eyes at the unvoiced implication. "In your dreams, perv. Your lady of the night just left."

"What are 'y doin' here 'en?" Monroe mumbles, rubbing at his eyes with both hands. His hair is sitting at some really odd angles and Charlie fights against the frankly ridiculous instinct she has to smooth it down.

"That's a good question," she eyes the briefing on the bedside table, then her eyes drop to the large number of empty bottles littering the floor.

"Are you okay?" Charlie turns to look him in the eyes, because he's probably going to laugh her off, or say something crude, and for whatever reason she needs to know the truth.

Monroe sits up with a frown, "Hey, this had better not be an intervention. For one thing, Miles isn't even-"

"Is this about Connor?"

The flash of pain in his eyes is brief, but Charlie still sees it.

She purses her lips, what he needs (what they all need) is to be busy, and that means leaving right now. Standing, Charlie offers Monroe a hand up, "Come on, if we're not at the gate in eight minutes Miles is going to come looking for us."

Monroe takes her hand with a wince, "Where are we going again?"

"Away," Charlie says, pulling him to his feet. She lets her gaze drop, before returning it to his face. "You might need pants though."

Monroe smirks at her, and shuffles over to the dresser. "So, Miles sent you to check up on me?"

"Well, apparently it's in my job title," Charlie says dryly, walking back to the tent opening to flag down a passing cadet. "I need you to remind General Matheson to settle the tab at the Rusty Crow before we leave, and to tell whichever lackey he sends to hand the money to Shirley, not her husband because he'll just spend it on whores."

The boy makes to leave and Charlie reaches out to snag his sleeve and pull him back, "And I need you tell him that it's going to be another ten minutes before General Monroe sobers up enough to pull his thumb out of his ass."

"Woman, I can hear you," Monroe yells from inside the tent. "You're the one who insisted that I needed pants!"

The cadet looks ready to bolt and Charlie can't blame him. "Ten minutes," she reiterates and lets go of his sleeve, and in a flash he's gone.

She hasn't seen someone move that fast since Miles threatened to castrate the next man he caught leaving her tent.

Charlie steps back into inside and winces.

It looks like a tornado hit in the last thirty seconds, scattering clothes all over the floor, and Monroe's planted himself right in the middle of it, pants on, shirt half undone. She watches him struggle with the buttons for a moment, before moving in to take over.

"Ask me again," she says, and it takes him a moment in his muddled state, but he gets there.

"What are you doing here, Charlotte?"

She smiles as she does up his last button, and smoothes her hand down his chest to get rid of the wrinkles. "Babysitting, the biggest baby I know." Giving in to the impulse, Charlie reaches up and smoothes down his curls with both hands, "Now pack your crap, we're keeping everyone waiting." She gives him a push that sends him rocking back on his heels.

"Yes, Ma'am." Monroe salutes.

- - -

They make it the gate with twenty seconds to spare, Miles glowering at them from his seat on the wagon.

"What was the the hold up?"

Charlie and Monroe exchange a look and answer at the same time.

"I slept in."

"Someone found your whiskey stash."

( Prompt fic version)


If zombies are chasing us, I'm tripping you | Bass, Charlie, Miles | Zombies | PG (swearing) | Utter crack. Basically | (739 words)

Author note: Picking up from the end of Chapter 3, ignoring you know what. (I had a slow day at work.)

- - -

It’s quiet for a moment, the realisation that they’re on their own hitting hard.

Then, Bass turns to Miles, “So, Butch,” he inclines his head towards Charlie, “Etta, are we going out in a fiery hail of gunfire, or are we going to Rachel this thing?”

Charlie elbows him, and lets her quiver clatter to the ground, “I don’t know, I was hoping we could Connor this by trying to kill you and then doing a runner.”

“You mean pull a Miles?”

“No. A Connor is when you act on impulse. Not plan it for months and then chicken out.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. We might as well make our final moments count.”

“With my death?”

“Guys, time and place.”

“We’re about to die, Miles. Screw civility.”

“Pithy,” Charlie nods. “Yet true.”

Charlie and Bass stare at Miles expectantly.

“Now’s the part where you say you love us,” Bass prompts.

“And that you wouldn’t want to be torn apart by zombies with anyone else,” Charlie adds.

“Because you’ve secretly always hated everyone else.”

“Secretly?” Charlie questiones.

“Okay, not so secretly,” Bass grins.

“I’m glad you both think this is so hilarious.”

"Miles, come on.” Monroe gestures towards the zombie hoard blocking the alley. “We’re the only thing standing between zombies and world domination. Reach back and remove the stick already.”

"Sobriety’s ruined your sense of humor,” Charlie mutters.

“Speaking of,” Bass produces a flask from his jacket pocket. He raises it, “To the end of an era.” He takes a sip and passes the flask to Charlie.

“And everyone who tried to keep us on the straight and narrow.” She takes a sip, and holds it out to Miles.

He takes it and holds it aloft, looking sad. “To this messed up family.” He takes a long swig, emptying the flask, and tosses it to the ground.

Bass frowns. “That was my favourite flask.”

“Well maybe the zombies will bury you with it if you ask nicely,” Miles replies, dryly.

“Actually,” Charlie says. Then hesitates, when they both turned to stare at her. “ I was thinking we could maybe just not die?”

“You want to give in?”

Charlie shrugs. “I think we kept this going for as long as we could. But there’s nowhere left to run or hide, we’re literally outnumbered billions to one. So ask yourself, will our deaths mean anything in the grand scheme of things? Or will it be yet another empty prideful gesture that this family’s becoming well known for?”

Bass frowns at her. “This is a really shit time for you to have an existential crisis, Charlotte.”

“You just want to die the way you lived-”

“Awesome and misunderstood?”

“Violent and delusional.”

Bass places a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

Charlie raises an eyebrow. “Or at least I’ve tried to.”

“Sooooo,” Miles draws their attention back to him, “we just stop fighting, become zombies and…move here?”

“As long as we’re not all living together. I draw the line at cohabitating like the goddamn Brady family.”

“And not across the street from each other either.”

“Yeah, I don’t think zombie Rachel’s going to be any more fun than normal Rachel.”

“We’re going to have to get jobs.” Charlie muses. “I wonder if the ice cream shop’s hiring?”

“I’m almost afraid to ask what Connor does here.”

“With his repressed daddy issues, my money’s on stripper.”

Bass glares at Charlie, “Pot meet kettle. How’d you figure out where I was again? Some bartender ‘happened’ to mention it?”

Charlie glares back. “Firstly, too soon. Secondly, what I do in my spare time is none of your goddamn business.”

“Charlotte picks up pretty boys,” Bass says to Miles. “She likes them dumb and eager to please.”

“Whereas your type is anyone Miles has looked at twice,” Charlie shoots back. “That’s so much healthier.”

“Guys, can we not make a scene in front of the zombies,” Miles interrupts. “So it’s agreed. We’re surrendering?”

Charlie nods. “Worst case scenario, we become a functional family who 'enjoys’ spending time together.”

“Best case scenario, loading us into the Matrix overloads the little bastards and we get to rub it in Rachel’s smug face,” Bass shrugs. “It’s win-win.”

Miles licks his bottom lip, looking resolved. “Okay, zombieism it is.”

“And separate houses.”

“And ice cream.”

Rolling his eyes, Miles turns his attention back to where zombie Connor and Rachel are waiting. “What are you waiting for, a fucking invitation?”

( Prompt fic version)

(p): bass/charlie/miles, (g): humour, (g): crack, (r): pg, (l): ficlet, (ep): chapter 3, (g): au, (misc): prompt table fill, (fw): fanfic

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