Sep. 19th, 2008

[identity profile]
Crowley awoke, not in his comfortable bed inside Club 33, but disoriented and hung over on a bench in front of the castle, an empty bottle of rum still clutched in one hand, mouth fuzzy, and head pounding.


He brought up the other hand to guard his bleary, uncovered eyes from the glaring sun. It took him a moment to realize that there was a great deal more frilly sleeve around his wrist than there should be. Another second later, Crowley ever so cautiously moved his hand down to again discover a mustache and double braided beard.

"Why is the rum always gone?"

It wasn't what he meant to say.
[identity profile]
There were times when having a habit of talking to yourself had definite benefits. Sunshine had no sooner started muttering to herself as she started in on the days baking before she realized she'd just referred to her pantry as "the bung hole," and froze in horror.

Last year, the whole thing had struck her as funny, right up until it led to things...happening between her and her closest friend in the park. And while she herself would have been willing to try to laugh the whole thing off, Fett's reaction hadn't exactly been in line with that course of action: it had pretty much been The Thing Of Which We Do Not Speak for months now.

The idea of it happening all over again? No. Sunshine headed immediately back to the storage room that served as her bedroom and went and put on the baggiest, least alluring t-shirt and jeans she possessed, went and hung the "Closed" sign on the restaurant door, and then, mouth firmly shut, set about baking a pan of Bitter Chocolate Death. She had a feeling she'd need it.
[identity profile]
Beaufort woke up and realised something was incredibly wrong, even before he spoke. His clothes were...distinctly not a suit and not made in the 1940s. In fact, it struck him more as something distinctly historical. He frowned, wondering when he invaded one of the exhibits for clothes, how drunk he was, and where the hell he got that much alcohol from. There was also a sword. He was pretty sure it was not a good idea to go to sleep with a sword attached. After having woken up and realising his accent was...coarser, less educated and more prone to swearing at the situation, he shook his head and decided to head outside to see what the hell was going off.

Part of him, somewhere, was looking for one man in particular, as there was a pirate in him. A rather angry pirate.

((Peanut gallery is most welcome, but don't, um, interfere just yet, pleaaase))


A world of laughter. A world of tears. A world of hope. A world of fears.

December 2016

1112131415 1617

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 22nd, 2017 12:46 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios