Post by sigmarie on Jun 6, 2007 22:03:45 GMT -5
Title: Murphy's Law.
Author: Rieka De-Volka, aka Siggy.
Rating: PG-13 (Sans swearing, you know, Murphy's.)
Pairing/Characters: Murphy/Clyde.
Word Count: +/- 560.
Author Notes: 'Cause Clover asks ever so nicely. ;) And while I don't doubt Murphy's ability to reach a bar first thing on land, I just can see Clyde being... Clyde. Silly, short, crack-y. Just a shot at trying to make a friend smile. Concrit and comments very welcome and highly encouraged. ;)
Murphy walked down the street, hands on his pockets, shoulders dropped and scowl in place. There had to be a bar around somewhere, of course, somewhere to sit down, drink a little, ignore the hurt-puppy eyes and possibly gather some information to keep Hassan happy and chirping.
Why was he on babysitting duty, again? He wasn't nice, goddammit. He was sulky and angry and generally not-nice and who the hell thought he cared?
Am I a burden? The kid had said, God, he didn't deserve this.
"Murphy?" Murphy ignored the tentative question. After all, if he managed to get round the corner, there would be a bar, right? And if there was a bar, he would get booze and Clyde would shut up. "Murphy?"
Only he didn't seem particularly keen on getting the hint. Sighing irritably, Murphy turned around, to find Clyde giving him - sneer - whipped-puppy;-aren't-I-cute stare #27.
"What now?"
"Do you have change?"
Murphy stared.
"Change."
Clyde smiled that bubbly smile of his, all bright and cheery; the type that made instantaneous ulcers pop inside Murphy's stomach. He was pointing to a vending machine a few feet behind them, looking hopeful with his big, bright green eyes. Murphy wondered if it was physically possible to feel one's own teeth spontaneously develop cavities. He licked his left fang and sighed again.
"Please?"
"Are you going to shut up afterward?" But nevertheless, he was already digging into his pocket for a couple coins, and threw them at the kid.
"Eeeee!" Clyde let out a little happy sound and scrambled back to the vending machine, skipping a little.
"Are you for real?" Murphy asked no one in particular, but merely hissed another sigh and waited.
Half a block had never seemed so damn far before.
"Can we go now?" He was half tempted to add a little rhetoric 'please' to the mix, but he refrained and merely huffed when Clyde nodded emphatically, munching on a chocolate bar. "Good."
They walked three, perhaps four yards toward the corner, when across the street, a happy group of completely drunk guys stumbled around, singing horribly off key. Murphy wouldn't have paid them any mind, had the loudest not started to sing a very familiar, very annoying, very murder-inducing verse.
"About two o'clock in the morning after empty'ing the jug-"
Clyde felt more than heard the spluttering snarl, and he turned slightly to catch Murphy baring his teeth in the general direction of the merry group.
Of course, he didn't see where he was stepping, caught a crack in the sidewalk and down went tumbling Clyde, chocolate bar flying out of his grip.
Murphy had a few choice words to the group, but then he heard Clyde squeak at his right, and he finished turning three-sixty, only to find the younger boy face against the dirt. Murphy looked at Clyde, then at the group, who was already a block away, then at the sky, and sighed.
God damn it.
"Let's go." He jerked Clyde back to his feet, not being particularly gentle about it, and brought forth patience he hadn't known he possessed.
"But-"
"Let's. Go."
"'kay."
Murphy finally turned the corner and found the bar, and once he entered, allowed himself a little content sigh. Nothing could go wrong inside the bar, could it?
No, of course not...
The Alcohol Gods forbade it.
Author: Rieka De-Volka, aka Siggy.
Rating: PG-13 (Sans swearing, you know, Murphy's.)
Pairing/Characters: Murphy/Clyde.
Word Count: +/- 560.
Author Notes: 'Cause Clover asks ever so nicely. ;) And while I don't doubt Murphy's ability to reach a bar first thing on land, I just can see Clyde being... Clyde. Silly, short, crack-y. Just a shot at trying to make a friend smile. Concrit and comments very welcome and highly encouraged. ;)
Murphy's Law.
"If there's more than one possible outcome of a job or task, and one of those outcomes will result in disaster or an undesirable consequence, then somebody will do it that way."
"If there's more than one possible outcome of a job or task, and one of those outcomes will result in disaster or an undesirable consequence, then somebody will do it that way."
Murphy walked down the street, hands on his pockets, shoulders dropped and scowl in place. There had to be a bar around somewhere, of course, somewhere to sit down, drink a little, ignore the hurt-puppy eyes and possibly gather some information to keep Hassan happy and chirping.
Why was he on babysitting duty, again? He wasn't nice, goddammit. He was sulky and angry and generally not-nice and who the hell thought he cared?
Am I a burden? The kid had said, God, he didn't deserve this.
"Murphy?" Murphy ignored the tentative question. After all, if he managed to get round the corner, there would be a bar, right? And if there was a bar, he would get booze and Clyde would shut up. "Murphy?"
Only he didn't seem particularly keen on getting the hint. Sighing irritably, Murphy turned around, to find Clyde giving him - sneer - whipped-puppy;-aren't-I-cute stare #27.
"What now?"
"Do you have change?"
Murphy stared.
"Change."
Clyde smiled that bubbly smile of his, all bright and cheery; the type that made instantaneous ulcers pop inside Murphy's stomach. He was pointing to a vending machine a few feet behind them, looking hopeful with his big, bright green eyes. Murphy wondered if it was physically possible to feel one's own teeth spontaneously develop cavities. He licked his left fang and sighed again.
"Please?"
"Are you going to shut up afterward?" But nevertheless, he was already digging into his pocket for a couple coins, and threw them at the kid.
"Eeeee!" Clyde let out a little happy sound and scrambled back to the vending machine, skipping a little.
"Are you for real?" Murphy asked no one in particular, but merely hissed another sigh and waited.
Half a block had never seemed so damn far before.
"Can we go now?" He was half tempted to add a little rhetoric 'please' to the mix, but he refrained and merely huffed when Clyde nodded emphatically, munching on a chocolate bar. "Good."
They walked three, perhaps four yards toward the corner, when across the street, a happy group of completely drunk guys stumbled around, singing horribly off key. Murphy wouldn't have paid them any mind, had the loudest not started to sing a very familiar, very annoying, very murder-inducing verse.
"About two o'clock in the morning after empty'ing the jug-"
Clyde felt more than heard the spluttering snarl, and he turned slightly to catch Murphy baring his teeth in the general direction of the merry group.
Of course, he didn't see where he was stepping, caught a crack in the sidewalk and down went tumbling Clyde, chocolate bar flying out of his grip.
Murphy had a few choice words to the group, but then he heard Clyde squeak at his right, and he finished turning three-sixty, only to find the younger boy face against the dirt. Murphy looked at Clyde, then at the group, who was already a block away, then at the sky, and sighed.
God damn it.
"Let's go." He jerked Clyde back to his feet, not being particularly gentle about it, and brought forth patience he hadn't known he possessed.
"But-"
"Let's. Go."
"'kay."
Murphy finally turned the corner and found the bar, and once he entered, allowed himself a little content sigh. Nothing could go wrong inside the bar, could it?
No, of course not...
The Alcohol Gods forbade it.
Fixed the typo, and yeah, I think -I- have heard that song. The lyrics are awfully familiar.
I have a theory about Hassan, you know, something I want to write, but it'll wait. For the love of god, let me at least finish Invidia before embarking me into another epic, yes?
