Tin Man drabble: Joys of Other Side Travel
Title: Joys of Other Side Travel
Rating: PG
Characters: Ambrose/Cain
Summary: Pointless Crack. Ambrose and Cain battle the forces of holiday travel.
Ambrose grimaced, leaning forward over the keyboard of his laptop so he could rub his lower back. "This chair is getting harder by the minute."
"Then sit on the floor," Cain snapped, his temper on its last legs after almost a full day of travel. Horrible, painful, nauseating and annoying holiday travel. Involving airplanes that were rerouted due to weather, buses that had to stop for three hours in order to put on chains. An agonizing taxi ride back to the airport in search of their luggage, which for some unknown reason had been placed on a later flight that had managed to land in the correct city. And Ambrose. Who had gotten his bag already.
"Any sign of your bag yet?"
Grinding his teeth, Cain took several deep, slow breaths to keep from strangling his lover. "No."
"What about that? Is that your bag coming down the ramp?"
"No," Cain repeated through a clenched jaw. "In fact, it's the same suitcase that has been circling the conveyor belt for the last forty minutes. Because no two people on this gods forsaken Other Side would voluntarily own a seafoam green bag that they've tied together with fuzzy pink yarn." He paused. "I hate that bag."
Ambrose sighed, frowning at his computer. "I thought this place had wireless. I'm not getting any networks on this thing."
"Ambrose, I have no idea what that means."
"That's okay, no one expects you to," Ambrose said in that infuriatingly patient voice that made Cain want to start gnawing on the nearest cement pillar.
Cain couldn't stand it anymore. Wishing he had his gun (but the rules wouldn't let him travel with it), he instead jumped up onto the slow moving baggage carousel and made his way toward the curtain of rubbery slats.
Fumbling to keep from dropping his computer, Ambrose shot to his feet. "Cain! What do you think you're doing?!"
"I'm going to find my bag."
"You can't go back there!" Ambrose hissed, running to catch up to the moving belt and reaching up to catch Cain's hand.
Keeping his feet moving to stay in one place, Cain glared at the opening that mocked him. "I know they're back there, laughing at me. See those cameras? They're just sitting there, watching us, waiting until we're just about to give up and leave before tossing that last suitcase onto the belt. Because they can."
"Don't be ridiculous," Ambrose pulled hard, the unexpected tug throwing Cain off balance, bringing him down from the carousel and sending them both tumbling into a tangled pile on the floor.
"Ow," Ambrose grunted. "Elbow...ribs."
"You're the one that yanked me down," Cain groaned, rolling to the side. Tilting his head, he swore he heard laughter from behind the black curtain.
Just before the familiar, battered grey suitcase emerged, as if it had been waiting all along.
**
End
Rating: PG
Characters: Ambrose/Cain
Summary: Pointless Crack. Ambrose and Cain battle the forces of holiday travel.
Ambrose grimaced, leaning forward over the keyboard of his laptop so he could rub his lower back. "This chair is getting harder by the minute."
"Then sit on the floor," Cain snapped, his temper on its last legs after almost a full day of travel. Horrible, painful, nauseating and annoying holiday travel. Involving airplanes that were rerouted due to weather, buses that had to stop for three hours in order to put on chains. An agonizing taxi ride back to the airport in search of their luggage, which for some unknown reason had been placed on a later flight that had managed to land in the correct city. And Ambrose. Who had gotten his bag already.
"Any sign of your bag yet?"
Grinding his teeth, Cain took several deep, slow breaths to keep from strangling his lover. "No."
"What about that? Is that your bag coming down the ramp?"
"No," Cain repeated through a clenched jaw. "In fact, it's the same suitcase that has been circling the conveyor belt for the last forty minutes. Because no two people on this gods forsaken Other Side would voluntarily own a seafoam green bag that they've tied together with fuzzy pink yarn." He paused. "I hate that bag."
Ambrose sighed, frowning at his computer. "I thought this place had wireless. I'm not getting any networks on this thing."
"Ambrose, I have no idea what that means."
"That's okay, no one expects you to," Ambrose said in that infuriatingly patient voice that made Cain want to start gnawing on the nearest cement pillar.
Cain couldn't stand it anymore. Wishing he had his gun (but the rules wouldn't let him travel with it), he instead jumped up onto the slow moving baggage carousel and made his way toward the curtain of rubbery slats.
Fumbling to keep from dropping his computer, Ambrose shot to his feet. "Cain! What do you think you're doing?!"
"I'm going to find my bag."
"You can't go back there!" Ambrose hissed, running to catch up to the moving belt and reaching up to catch Cain's hand.
Keeping his feet moving to stay in one place, Cain glared at the opening that mocked him. "I know they're back there, laughing at me. See those cameras? They're just sitting there, watching us, waiting until we're just about to give up and leave before tossing that last suitcase onto the belt. Because they can."
"Don't be ridiculous," Ambrose pulled hard, the unexpected tug throwing Cain off balance, bringing him down from the carousel and sending them both tumbling into a tangled pile on the floor.
"Ow," Ambrose grunted. "Elbow...ribs."
"You're the one that yanked me down," Cain groaned, rolling to the side. Tilting his head, he swore he heard laughter from behind the black curtain.
Just before the familiar, battered grey suitcase emerged, as if it had been waiting all along.
**
End