Auld Lang Synister
Dec. 25th, 2011 05:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jackofknavesTitle: Auld Lang Synister
Author:jackofknaves
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gen
Summary: The ongoing tales of a zombie fighter and her hapless sidekick.
She let out a low moan, choking off the sound when it echoed through her head like a tourist's voice in the Grand Canyon.
"Are we dead?" he asked, screwing his face up into an all-over wince.
"Maybe." She paused, cautiously feeling her way to him. "This feels like hell."
"Yeah."
They both waited in silence for a minute before he carefully swung one of his legs off the edge of the bed and inadvertently kicked an empty bottle out of the way. They both whimpered as the glass rolled across the floor, finally colliding with an impossibly loud crash against the wall.
"If we're not dead, I'll kill you for that," she muttered. "Don't do it again."
"Agreed."
"Can you see?" she said after a moment. He glared in the direction of her voice, then cautiously opened his eyes until he had a narrow slit of vision to peer through.
"Kind of. If it's above, below, or to the sides, no."
She considered this. "That'll do. Find the blinds and pull them shut. Quietly."
He edged forward, hands thrust in front of him like a blind man and taking short, shuffling steps to the window. The curtains swung into place and he breathed out a deep sigh of relief.
"You can open your eyes now."
"I'd rather not."
"Neither would I, but you made me."
Silence descended on them again, and he rubbed at his temples, bringing his fingers around to massage the bridge of his nose. The motions did little to assuage the pounding in his head.
"Get the guns."
He sat up straighter, shooting a quick glance around the room. When he detected nothing except two suspiciously empty bottles of tequila left over from their impromptu celebration party last night (to commemorate the New Year and another day of not dying, which, in his mind, was much more important than the first) and the faint, vinegar smell of the remains of the tequila wafting through the enclosed room, he turned back to her. "Why?"
"For the gnomes with pickaxes in my head. I'm going to hunt them down one by one, salt them, and burn their bones. Then take the ashes and--"
He held a hand up and used the other to cover his mouth. "Please. I don't want to hear what else."
She groaned and leaned her head back against the pillow that had somehow ended up on the floor. A brief flash of memory assaulted his senses, and he closed his eyes.
"Zombies," she had said, swinging the bottle around precariously, not seeming to notice when several shotglasses full had sloshed onto the ground beside her. She tilted forward, an action that seemed more accidental than deliberate, and concentrated on pouring another glass. "Zombies," she continued, slurring the word, "are easy. Just bam! Right between the eyes--"
She tapped two fingers against her forehead, then took another shot. The cheap alcohol stopped burning a few shots ago and they were both knocking them back like they had throats lined with iron.
"Bam!"
"You said that," he pointed out.
She waved a dismissive hand. "Two shots, then. Bam. Three. Jus' in case. Bes' to blow the whole head off. Make sure they're dead." She snickered. "Better have gore in order to be sure. If there's a head, it ain't dead. If--"
Groaning, he found himself back in the present, unable to recall any more of her morbid sayings. "What do you remember from last night?"
She cast suspicious eyes at him, the effect dimmed significantly by the fact her face looked pale and sickly in the manner of most hangover victims. "Why?"
"Just--I can't... there's big black spots."
"Gremlins," she said under her breath.
"Agave gremlins, maybe."
"Maybe." She sniffed. "God, it stinks in here."
He pointed vaguely to the puddle drying in a sticky, disgusting mass on the floor.
She stepped over it gingerly, making her way to the dresser with her gun. It was a comforting habit for her, he had noticed, to unload the clip, put it back in, chamber a bullet, and sight it before nodding satisfactorily.
"That was you," she remarked. "I can hold my liquor better than you."
He was about to voice his doubts, before realizing she was probably right. He shrugged without embarrassment, then stood and stretched, muscles in his body protesting. He stopped when a sudden thought hit him.
"You don't think... we..." She stared at him, then made an impatient gesture with her hand that was polite compared to most of her other gestures. "I mean, did we, are you--"
"Cut to the chase."
He blushed and looked at the unmade bed. "I just thought, if neither of us remembered--"
She grinned at him suddenly, arching an eyebrow. "Did we rock the casbah last night?"
"Well--"
"Do the nasty?"
"Will you--"
"Danced the horizontal mambo?"
"Shut up," he said, turning to look under the sheets for his shirt.
"No, no, it's a fine theory. Just one major flaw."
He sighed and braced himself for it. "What?"
She winked at him. "If we had, you'd remember it." She checked the gun one last time before slipping out the door, missing the look of dazed amazement on his face as she walked outside.
Author:
jackofknavesRating: PG
Pairing: Gen
Summary: The ongoing tales of a zombie fighter and her hapless sidekick.
She let out a low moan, choking off the sound when it echoed through her head like a tourist's voice in the Grand Canyon.
"Are we dead?" he asked, screwing his face up into an all-over wince.
"Maybe." She paused, cautiously feeling her way to him. "This feels like hell."
"Yeah."
They both waited in silence for a minute before he carefully swung one of his legs off the edge of the bed and inadvertently kicked an empty bottle out of the way. They both whimpered as the glass rolled across the floor, finally colliding with an impossibly loud crash against the wall.
"If we're not dead, I'll kill you for that," she muttered. "Don't do it again."
"Agreed."
"Can you see?" she said after a moment. He glared in the direction of her voice, then cautiously opened his eyes until he had a narrow slit of vision to peer through.
"Kind of. If it's above, below, or to the sides, no."
She considered this. "That'll do. Find the blinds and pull them shut. Quietly."
He edged forward, hands thrust in front of him like a blind man and taking short, shuffling steps to the window. The curtains swung into place and he breathed out a deep sigh of relief.
"You can open your eyes now."
"I'd rather not."
"Neither would I, but you made me."
Silence descended on them again, and he rubbed at his temples, bringing his fingers around to massage the bridge of his nose. The motions did little to assuage the pounding in his head.
"Get the guns."
He sat up straighter, shooting a quick glance around the room. When he detected nothing except two suspiciously empty bottles of tequila left over from their impromptu celebration party last night (to commemorate the New Year and another day of not dying, which, in his mind, was much more important than the first) and the faint, vinegar smell of the remains of the tequila wafting through the enclosed room, he turned back to her. "Why?"
"For the gnomes with pickaxes in my head. I'm going to hunt them down one by one, salt them, and burn their bones. Then take the ashes and--"
He held a hand up and used the other to cover his mouth. "Please. I don't want to hear what else."
She groaned and leaned her head back against the pillow that had somehow ended up on the floor. A brief flash of memory assaulted his senses, and he closed his eyes.
"Zombies," she had said, swinging the bottle around precariously, not seeming to notice when several shotglasses full had sloshed onto the ground beside her. She tilted forward, an action that seemed more accidental than deliberate, and concentrated on pouring another glass. "Zombies," she continued, slurring the word, "are easy. Just bam! Right between the eyes--"
She tapped two fingers against her forehead, then took another shot. The cheap alcohol stopped burning a few shots ago and they were both knocking them back like they had throats lined with iron.
"Bam!"
"You said that," he pointed out.
She waved a dismissive hand. "Two shots, then. Bam. Three. Jus' in case. Bes' to blow the whole head off. Make sure they're dead." She snickered. "Better have gore in order to be sure. If there's a head, it ain't dead. If--"
Groaning, he found himself back in the present, unable to recall any more of her morbid sayings. "What do you remember from last night?"
She cast suspicious eyes at him, the effect dimmed significantly by the fact her face looked pale and sickly in the manner of most hangover victims. "Why?"
"Just--I can't... there's big black spots."
"Gremlins," she said under her breath.
"Agave gremlins, maybe."
"Maybe." She sniffed. "God, it stinks in here."
He pointed vaguely to the puddle drying in a sticky, disgusting mass on the floor.
She stepped over it gingerly, making her way to the dresser with her gun. It was a comforting habit for her, he had noticed, to unload the clip, put it back in, chamber a bullet, and sight it before nodding satisfactorily.
"That was you," she remarked. "I can hold my liquor better than you."
He was about to voice his doubts, before realizing she was probably right. He shrugged without embarrassment, then stood and stretched, muscles in his body protesting. He stopped when a sudden thought hit him.
"You don't think... we..." She stared at him, then made an impatient gesture with her hand that was polite compared to most of her other gestures. "I mean, did we, are you--"
"Cut to the chase."
He blushed and looked at the unmade bed. "I just thought, if neither of us remembered--"
She grinned at him suddenly, arching an eyebrow. "Did we rock the casbah last night?"
"Well--"
"Do the nasty?"
"Will you--"
"Danced the horizontal mambo?"
"Shut up," he said, turning to look under the sheets for his shirt.
"No, no, it's a fine theory. Just one major flaw."
He sighed and braced himself for it. "What?"
She winked at him. "If we had, you'd remember it." She checked the gun one last time before slipping out the door, missing the look of dazed amazement on his face as she walked outside.
