The F. Scarius Clownus Virus
Dec. 25th, 2011 05:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jackofknavesTitle: The F. Scarius Clownus Virus
Author:jackofknaves
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gen
Summary: The ongoing tales of a zombie fighter and her hapless sidekick.
"Where are we going?" he asked, ducking his head to fit into the passenger seat. She checked one of the shotguns, sighting it before nodding in approval and laying it on the floor of the back seat.
"Pennsylvania," she said shortly, gunning the car and backing out of the gas station.
He used to wait for her to explain why, but had learned after a few weeks that curt statements, sometimes completely useless without other information, was all she ever offered. Talking to her was worse than pulling teeth; more like having surgery by a ten-year-old with a butter knife.
Without anesthesia.
"For?" he prompted.
She glanced at him, and once again he was struck by the feeling that she occasionally imagined tossing him onto the side of the road. "Clowns."
"... clowns?"
She nodded. "They're like a virus. Inherently scary, but subtle. You know there's something wrong about them, but you never think about it until you hear someone say, 'Man, clowns are fucking scary' and you really look at one and think, 'Man, clowns are fucking scary.' And then you meet someone and they say 'What's wrong with clowns?' and you say, 'Man, clowns are fucking scary' and so on. Virus."
He sat silently for a moment, contemplating this new information.
She stared at the road, finally asking him without looking his direction, "What's on your mind?"
He shrugged. "Man. Clowns are fucking scary."
Author:
jackofknavesRating: PG
Pairing: Gen
Summary: The ongoing tales of a zombie fighter and her hapless sidekick.
"Where are we going?" he asked, ducking his head to fit into the passenger seat. She checked one of the shotguns, sighting it before nodding in approval and laying it on the floor of the back seat.
"Pennsylvania," she said shortly, gunning the car and backing out of the gas station.
He used to wait for her to explain why, but had learned after a few weeks that curt statements, sometimes completely useless without other information, was all she ever offered. Talking to her was worse than pulling teeth; more like having surgery by a ten-year-old with a butter knife.
Without anesthesia.
"For?" he prompted.
She glanced at him, and once again he was struck by the feeling that she occasionally imagined tossing him onto the side of the road. "Clowns."
"... clowns?"
She nodded. "They're like a virus. Inherently scary, but subtle. You know there's something wrong about them, but you never think about it until you hear someone say, 'Man, clowns are fucking scary' and you really look at one and think, 'Man, clowns are fucking scary.' And then you meet someone and they say 'What's wrong with clowns?' and you say, 'Man, clowns are fucking scary' and so on. Virus."
He sat silently for a moment, contemplating this new information.
She stared at the road, finally asking him without looking his direction, "What's on your mind?"
He shrugged. "Man. Clowns are fucking scary."
