Day 15 - Runs In The Family
Title: Runs In The Family
Author: Grundy (jerseyfabulous)
Rating: FR13
Crossover: Indiana Jones
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: Immortality isn't the only thing they have in common.
Word Count: 690
Dawn glared at the fedora-wearing stranger Buffy had dragged home- well, to Council Headquarters. Which was pretty much home these days. There was something irritatingly familiar about him, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Buffy hadn’t explained, just rocketed off in search of Willow with the words ‘don’t let him out of your sight, and for god’s sake, don’t hand him this.’
This being a coiled bullwhip, currently gripped firmly in Dawn’s hand.
The stranger- who Buffy had referred to as Indy, with a slightly sarcastic emphasis- sat on his chair like a good little hostage. Probably a good decision, seeing as Dawn didn’t need to see or hear them to know that there were at least three Slayers within easy reach of the foyer. His pose of careful nonchalance said that he’d played this game before.
Dawn uncoiled the whip, eying it critically. It was well made, and well-kept. No dirt or sand was imbedded in the leather, and it obviously was looked after periodically with leather dressing to keep it supple and flexible. Not for show, then. This was a working whip- and given the vibe she got from Indy, it was a weapon.
“You should be careful with that,” the man suggested. “You can hurt yourself if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Dawn looked up, eying his face.
“Is that how you got the scar?” she asked, making it clear with one sentence that she hadn’t missed it, and wasn’t intimidated by his hint that little girls shouldn’t play with dangerous toys.
To her surprise, he nodded.
“First time I used a whip. Was too cautious about it. It cracked me in the face.”
Dawn smirked. Everyone had their own first timer’s mistakes with weapons. Given some of the ones she’d seen and heard over the years, hitting yourself in the face with a whip in a non-maiming way was getting away fairly lightly.
“So what’s your name? Or are we just supposed to call you Indy?”
He grinned.
“What, no story to tell about your first mishap with a weapon?” he asked.
Dawn’s eyes narrowed.
“I asked first,” Dawn pointed out.
This time he laughed.
“You asked a question. I answered. Then you asked another one. By the usual rules, I should get a question of my own answered.”
Dawn rolled her eyes. Indy couldn’t be too dangerous, or Buffy wouldn’t have brought him in the front door, much less left him untied, Slayers or no Slayers.
“Fine. I learned that crossbows are not toys when I accidentally shot our friend’s cat.”
“How do you accidentally shoot a cat?”
Dawn would normally have pointed out that according to his rules, it was her turn to do the asking, but the tone of disbelief got under her skin.
“You accidentally shoot a cat when you’re an idiot teenager who left a crossbow sitting around with a bolt in it and already drawn, your older sister tells you to clean up the living room because your stuff is everywhere, and the cat happens to be in the exact wrong place when you pick the bow up carelessly and it goes off. And then not only do you freak out, you get yelled at for half an hour like you don’t already feel like the world’s biggest asshole for killing the cat.”
“Still want to know about the name?” Indy asked, clearly not sure what to say to that story.
Dawn raised an expectant eyebrow.
“Henry Jones, Junior. But I didn’t like Junior, so I rechristened myself Indiana.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Dawn said. “What was the issue with Junior?”
“Dad and I didn’t really get along. Father issues seem to be something we pass along in my family. Apparently my grandfather didn’t approve of Dad’s choice of profession. He wasn’t exactly father of the year material, and I didn’t do so great with my son, and I hear he also had a solid lack of parenting skills.”
“Did you stick him with Junior, too?” Dawn snickered.
“Henry Jones III, actually,” Indy admitted. “But instead of changing the Henry, he changed the Jones. Called himself Henry Summers.”
Author: Grundy (jerseyfabulous)
Rating: FR13
Crossover: Indiana Jones
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: Immortality isn't the only thing they have in common.
Word Count: 690
Dawn glared at the fedora-wearing stranger Buffy had dragged home- well, to Council Headquarters. Which was pretty much home these days. There was something irritatingly familiar about him, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Buffy hadn’t explained, just rocketed off in search of Willow with the words ‘don’t let him out of your sight, and for god’s sake, don’t hand him this.’
This being a coiled bullwhip, currently gripped firmly in Dawn’s hand.
The stranger- who Buffy had referred to as Indy, with a slightly sarcastic emphasis- sat on his chair like a good little hostage. Probably a good decision, seeing as Dawn didn’t need to see or hear them to know that there were at least three Slayers within easy reach of the foyer. His pose of careful nonchalance said that he’d played this game before.
Dawn uncoiled the whip, eying it critically. It was well made, and well-kept. No dirt or sand was imbedded in the leather, and it obviously was looked after periodically with leather dressing to keep it supple and flexible. Not for show, then. This was a working whip- and given the vibe she got from Indy, it was a weapon.
“You should be careful with that,” the man suggested. “You can hurt yourself if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Dawn looked up, eying his face.
“Is that how you got the scar?” she asked, making it clear with one sentence that she hadn’t missed it, and wasn’t intimidated by his hint that little girls shouldn’t play with dangerous toys.
To her surprise, he nodded.
“First time I used a whip. Was too cautious about it. It cracked me in the face.”
Dawn smirked. Everyone had their own first timer’s mistakes with weapons. Given some of the ones she’d seen and heard over the years, hitting yourself in the face with a whip in a non-maiming way was getting away fairly lightly.
“So what’s your name? Or are we just supposed to call you Indy?”
He grinned.
“What, no story to tell about your first mishap with a weapon?” he asked.
Dawn’s eyes narrowed.
“I asked first,” Dawn pointed out.
This time he laughed.
“You asked a question. I answered. Then you asked another one. By the usual rules, I should get a question of my own answered.”
Dawn rolled her eyes. Indy couldn’t be too dangerous, or Buffy wouldn’t have brought him in the front door, much less left him untied, Slayers or no Slayers.
“Fine. I learned that crossbows are not toys when I accidentally shot our friend’s cat.”
“How do you accidentally shoot a cat?”
Dawn would normally have pointed out that according to his rules, it was her turn to do the asking, but the tone of disbelief got under her skin.
“You accidentally shoot a cat when you’re an idiot teenager who left a crossbow sitting around with a bolt in it and already drawn, your older sister tells you to clean up the living room because your stuff is everywhere, and the cat happens to be in the exact wrong place when you pick the bow up carelessly and it goes off. And then not only do you freak out, you get yelled at for half an hour like you don’t already feel like the world’s biggest asshole for killing the cat.”
“Still want to know about the name?” Indy asked, clearly not sure what to say to that story.
Dawn raised an expectant eyebrow.
“Henry Jones, Junior. But I didn’t like Junior, so I rechristened myself Indiana.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Dawn said. “What was the issue with Junior?”
“Dad and I didn’t really get along. Father issues seem to be something we pass along in my family. Apparently my grandfather didn’t approve of Dad’s choice of profession. He wasn’t exactly father of the year material, and I didn’t do so great with my son, and I hear he also had a solid lack of parenting skills.”
“Did you stick him with Junior, too?” Dawn snickered.
“Henry Jones III, actually,” Indy admitted. “But instead of changing the Henry, he changed the Jones. Called himself Henry Summers.”