FIC: Oz drabbles (various characters, PG)
Oh hey, I just realized that I never archived the four drabbles I wrote for April's Comes on Little Cat Feet drabble tree at oz_wishing_well. Better late than never! (And the spooky nature of the first two are perfect for a Halloween re-reading! o_O)
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Prompt: forming a protective barrier, from ozsaur
(Murphy)
Word Count: 219
Everything in Em City is made of concrete, metal, or plexiglass. The only wood Sean can find in the whole damn place is the desk in Tim's office. It will have to do.
Sean takes his nightstick and smashes it hard against the desk, his face a mask of grim determination. Before he knows it, O'Reily is by his side, swinging a nightstick of his own. Sean doesn't ask where it came from.
Suddenly, Beecher and Alvarez are there, too. They pick up the pieces of shattered wood, and an impromptu assembly line forms. Busmalis and Rebadow are naturals at whittling the ends into sharp points. Fiona and Kiki distribute the final product to what's left of Oz's population.
Their small group gathers at the entrance to Em City. On the other side of the doors stands a creature that resembles the late Tim McManus, the fresh blood of Sister Pete dripping from its fangs. It scratches at the glass while more shapes dance in the shadows behind it.
"Please, Sean," it whines. "Let me in."
The prisoners move in front of Sean, forming a protective barrier. But Sean says, "No, it's alright," in a voice that's surprisingly strong and steady. Taking a deep breath, he raises his wooden stake high in the air and says, "Unlock the doors."
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Prompt: bone shrine, from severina2001
(Groves)
Word Count: 136
The wizened, old detective looked at his partner in exasperation. Their good-cop/bad-cop routine was going nowhere.
Maybe the kid's parents had simply split town, like he said. Maybe there was no dark, sinister mystery behind their disappearance. Maybe.
"Thanks for answering our questions," he said, standing up from the table. "We better get going. Can I use your bathroom first?"
"Sure," said Donald. "Second door on the right."
The detective walked down the hallway, quietly stealing peeks behind each door. Looking into the last room, his gut flipped. Below a framed photograph of Mr. and Mrs. Groves sat a neatly arranged bone shrine, illuminated by candlelight.
He stood in a stupor until his partner’s voice brought him running back to the kitchen.
"That stew sure smells good. Mind if I have a taste?"
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Prompt: midnight, from severina2001
(Beecher/Keller)
Word Count: 169
Time’s Square. New Year’s Eve. Easy marks abound.
Chris studies a group of drunken college guys, undoubtedly there to check off another box on some bucket list. He makes eye contact with the blond, the one who’s laughing a little too hard, a little too often.
Chris has a sixth sense for people uncomfortable in their own skin, ripe for the picking. He grins and moves in.
At midnight, the ball drops, Auld Lang Syne plays, and couples kiss. Chris grabs the blond, holds him tight, and plants one on deliciously soft lips that taste of whiskey.
Chris notes with interest that the blond is surprisingly slow to push him away.
"Sorry," Chris apologizes. "Got caught up in the moment." He retreats and quickly melts into the crowd.
Minutes later, Chris tosses the credit cards and pockets the cash. But he lingers over the driver’s license, mesmerized by the eyes of one Tobias Beecher. Eventually, he reads the address and smiles.
A road trip to Boston sounds like fun.
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Prompt: we have to talk, from cmk418
(Beecher/Keller)
Word Count: 100
"Chris, we have to talk."
"Talkin’ leads to fightin’. I’d rather fuck."
"Said wants me to sing in the choir with him."
"What? Is that some kinda code for somethin’?"
"No! See, McManus has this idea… "
"Say no more. But why do you wanna join?"
"Said thinks it’ll be fun. Plus, I’m a pretty good singer. At least, when I’m not dressed in drag and high as a kite."
"So that’s what this is about."
"You could join, too."
"Pass. But I’ll help you practice."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I know just the thing that’ll help you to hit those high notes."
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Prompt: forming a protective barrier, from ozsaur
(Murphy)
Word Count: 219
Everything in Em City is made of concrete, metal, or plexiglass. The only wood Sean can find in the whole damn place is the desk in Tim's office. It will have to do.
Sean takes his nightstick and smashes it hard against the desk, his face a mask of grim determination. Before he knows it, O'Reily is by his side, swinging a nightstick of his own. Sean doesn't ask where it came from.
Suddenly, Beecher and Alvarez are there, too. They pick up the pieces of shattered wood, and an impromptu assembly line forms. Busmalis and Rebadow are naturals at whittling the ends into sharp points. Fiona and Kiki distribute the final product to what's left of Oz's population.
Their small group gathers at the entrance to Em City. On the other side of the doors stands a creature that resembles the late Tim McManus, the fresh blood of Sister Pete dripping from its fangs. It scratches at the glass while more shapes dance in the shadows behind it.
"Please, Sean," it whines. "Let me in."
The prisoners move in front of Sean, forming a protective barrier. But Sean says, "No, it's alright," in a voice that's surprisingly strong and steady. Taking a deep breath, he raises his wooden stake high in the air and says, "Unlock the doors."
_________________
Prompt: bone shrine, from severina2001
(Groves)
Word Count: 136
The wizened, old detective looked at his partner in exasperation. Their good-cop/bad-cop routine was going nowhere.
Maybe the kid's parents had simply split town, like he said. Maybe there was no dark, sinister mystery behind their disappearance. Maybe.
"Thanks for answering our questions," he said, standing up from the table. "We better get going. Can I use your bathroom first?"
"Sure," said Donald. "Second door on the right."
The detective walked down the hallway, quietly stealing peeks behind each door. Looking into the last room, his gut flipped. Below a framed photograph of Mr. and Mrs. Groves sat a neatly arranged bone shrine, illuminated by candlelight.
He stood in a stupor until his partner’s voice brought him running back to the kitchen.
"That stew sure smells good. Mind if I have a taste?"
_________________
Prompt: midnight, from severina2001
(Beecher/Keller)
Word Count: 169
Time’s Square. New Year’s Eve. Easy marks abound.
Chris studies a group of drunken college guys, undoubtedly there to check off another box on some bucket list. He makes eye contact with the blond, the one who’s laughing a little too hard, a little too often.
Chris has a sixth sense for people uncomfortable in their own skin, ripe for the picking. He grins and moves in.
At midnight, the ball drops, Auld Lang Syne plays, and couples kiss. Chris grabs the blond, holds him tight, and plants one on deliciously soft lips that taste of whiskey.
Chris notes with interest that the blond is surprisingly slow to push him away.
"Sorry," Chris apologizes. "Got caught up in the moment." He retreats and quickly melts into the crowd.
Minutes later, Chris tosses the credit cards and pockets the cash. But he lingers over the driver’s license, mesmerized by the eyes of one Tobias Beecher. Eventually, he reads the address and smiles.
A road trip to Boston sounds like fun.
_________________
Prompt: we have to talk, from cmk418
(Beecher/Keller)
Word Count: 100
"Chris, we have to talk."
"Talkin’ leads to fightin’. I’d rather fuck."
"Said wants me to sing in the choir with him."
"What? Is that some kinda code for somethin’?"
"No! See, McManus has this idea… "
"Say no more. But why do you wanna join?"
"Said thinks it’ll be fun. Plus, I’m a pretty good singer. At least, when I’m not dressed in drag and high as a kite."
"So that’s what this is about."
"You could join, too."
"Pass. But I’ll help you practice."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I know just the thing that’ll help you to hit those high notes."