silveryscrape (silveryscrape) wrote,
silveryscrape
silveryscrape

so, I don't know, I think I'm ramping up to writing again, but I'm not sure I know those guys anymore... came close to watching making the tour the other day, but then I got distracted by dollhouse, which is just so shiny. and by reviewing evidence from my latest ghost hunt, which is just. so. boring.

anyway, doing that thing a lot lately where you read your old stuff & simultaneously heart it and also cringe... I found this little snippet which made me so! happy! I had plans for this cracked out thing where the guys drive their new bodyguard crazy, as you know had to happen regularly - in this case by making him complicit in planning a party on some beach somewhere, where they were going to roast a whole pig or cow or something by means of converting a papasan chair into a laser using some sheet metal and a plasma cutting torch... omg, I had so much fun planning it, and the first section still makes me cackle like a 10 yr old. poor kevin-the-bodyguard.



[entitled "trickyfish wtf," I no longer recall why. a cry for help, no doubt]


His buds had slapped him on the back and wanted to shake his hand, and his mother had been impressed, proudly gossiping to her friends until he begged her to stop, but Kevin was beginning to wonder. Situation came through his snazzy new headset, what’s the hold up, and Lonnie’s voice was bland as ever, but that was worse, that was just about it.

“Code, I have a code blue,” he fumbled, and he could hear his voice was shaking, and cringed. “Uh -- I mean, I need, I could use some help.” The dark-haired short one whose name he hadn’t learned yet was watching him with interest. He turned away, cupping a hand over his ear. “Lonnie, I can’t get Justin to --”

Ears, the headset snapped, unsecure channel. Report. Is this a medical emergency?

“What? No!” The short one was beginning to grin. He lowered his voice again. “No, no emergency! I, uh. J -- Chicken Little, he, uh. He won’t --”

We’re moving in ten minutes, Newbie One. Assemble the team, the headset said, and went dead.

Assemble the team. Assemble the fucking team, and his handle was Newbie One, and Justin had told him very politely but very firmly no when he’d given him the wakeup call. The short one had a look of unholy glee on his face and was whispering to the blond one, Lance, and Lance was smiling and watching everything like this was the most awesome comedy routine ever.

Well, he was right. It certainly wasn’t a fucking job.

Kevin lowered his hand and squared his shoulders and turned to face them. “Ten minutes,” he said, trying for calm and authoritative, wondering if he sounded at all like Lonnie and Mike, even a little bit.

Lance nodded. “Thanks,” he said. “Hey, want me to go get Justin and JC? I think they’re still at breakfast.”

“Oh, thank you,” Kevin said sincerely, and fuck, there went his cool, right there. But -- “Thanks, Lance. And, uh --”

“Chris,” the short one said, the smile dropping off his face.

“Sorry.”

“No problem, Newbal Harshaw.” The smile was back, with an edge. “Point of advice?”

He made himself nod.

“You’ll do a lot better with Lonnie if you don’t tell him Justin stopped breathing. Get me?”

Oh. Oh. He watched numbly as Chris followed Lance out the door, and wished he could head in the opposite direction, fast.





ahahahhaaaaa, oh god.



anyhow, I have to head off to the store for food, and then prepare for my paranormal team meeting, which will last around six hours, because the leader is the real thing, i.e., thoroughly professional, driven, and an awesome, brilliant, pain in the ass -- and then I have to look for a job, because once in a while I can't help remembering I need to do that. I have 2 cats and a landlord to support.
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