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lonelybritAt some point I must have got a wee bit merry during the run-up to Christmas and attempted to write a multi-fandom crack!drabble. In any case, it was forgotten until I recently refound it and decided to just finish it off. Short and silly, but hopefully harmless and not offensive.
Title: Oh Little Town
Rating: PG
Fandoms: Angel, Supernatural, Torchwood, Franz Ferdinand, and mentions of others.
Pairing: This is crack!fic, anything can be implied if you're looking for it.
Summary: The run up to Christmas, such a pleasant time, when fandoms unite. In a similar vein to 'Cos The World's Gone Mad'.
Christmas was shaping up to be a merry affair, and also incredibly busy.
“Man this guest-list just keeps on growing,” Gunn grumbled, turning over yet another page in the notebook. “You know, there was a time when fangirl meant being true and loyal to your one chosen fandom.”
“Try to be a little sympathetic,” said Wesley placidly as he fed the Christmas cake another capful of dark rum. “You can’t expect them to forsake all others for the rest of time, it’d be terribly lonely. Besides, Fred seemed quite happy with her foray out, and I don’t remember you kicking up a fuss at having to don the suit again.”
“Anyway, I thought you liked Dean,” Alex pointed out from where he and Bob were discussing menus, specifically what should be served as the main. The front runner this year was pheasant, with Alex insisting he knew a good recipe and Dean himself offering to go and shoot the bird. “Wasn’t it yesterday you were telling him he could come and help you polish your hubaxe?”
Gunn glared but Alex’s expression remained perfectly guileless and only Wesley caught the sly look exchanged with Bob when Gunn finally turned away.
“Look, I like them, they’re good guys,” Gunn agreed. “But last time it was just a few of us, it was manageable, and now we’re talking about a full-on banquet.”
“Hmm, yes and last time it was ‘just a few of us’ trying to keep Angel and Lilah apart. Do you remember the fun that was?”
There was a pause as both Wesley and Gunn recalled the arctic conditions and ice-thin cordiality that had dogged the whole evening. The silence lasted until the back door opened to admit a blast of cold air and a stack of firewood disguised as Dean.
“Where do you want this?” he asked, voice muffled behind the mass of twigs and kindling.
Wesley pointed to the bare patch next to the fireplace and Dean promptly deposited his load in a crackling of bark and a small cloud of tree-dust.
“Damn it’s getting chilly out there,” he said, brushing himself down and picking a stray leaf off his collar. “Of course Mr Jack Innuendo Harkness was no help whatsoever – no offence,” he added quickly, hands raised as Wesley shot him a mildly reproachful look, “I know he’s a friend yours and all, but seriously he could at least have offered to help carry some of this lot back.”
“He probably thought you were strong enough to cope by yourself,” Bob murmured almost to himself, not raising his eyes from the book before him. “Besides, you know how him and Sam get on, I’m sure they’re lending each other a hand right now.”
Into the nasty pause that followed, wherein Dean levelled Bob a look that impressed even Gunn, there came the growing sound of voices approaching down the corridor.
“Guess who we found out front!” Jack announced, exploding through the door with a flash of that smile and arms full of what appeared to be shopping bags. Two figures followed in his greatcoat-flapping-wake. “And about time too. I don’t want to offend anyone’s kitchen pride here, but you guys need a little caffeine-making education.”
“I might have known you only wanted me for my coffee.”
The shopping bags were deposited into Dean’s arms as he opened his mouth to ask something, Jack turning back to the stranger and leaving Dean visibly seething whilst attempting not to lose what appeared to be a stray box of crackers.
“Ianto,” he said smoothly over the sound of ripping plastic, “you know it only leads to threats of law suits if I try saying I want you for anything else.” He bestowed another smile before turning back to the room, “Everyone, this is Ianto Jones. Worker of coffee magic and always perfectly on time.”
Ianto smiled wearily at Sam, who was trying to hide his amusement behind studious flattening of his fringe as he followed them into the room. “I have to work with this, I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a swap?”
“Sammy you even contemplate saying anything and I’ll kick your ass so hard you’ll be crossing over into Sarah-Jane before you can blink.”
“Dean, you know I’d never swap you for anything less than half a million,” said Sam sweetly, coming over with the others as the process of unpacking began. “Who’s Sarah-Jane?”
“Some older chick I met on the way back,” Dean shrugged, continuing to sort through the bags of sprouts and potatoes. “She was talking to this weird English dude with a flashy kind of blue phone box.”
“He’s here already?” Jack butted in, face alight and completely oblivious to Dean’s annoyed expression. “Where were they?”
Clearly recognising this as a prime opportunity to be rid of his unwanted companion, Dean instantly pointed back through the door to the outside. “Two fields back, by the large oak.”
“Thank you.” There was a grey and pinstriped blur, a second wash of icy dry air, and then Jack had departed, dragging Ianto behind him. Gunn just about caught Jack’s delighted comment of ‘Come on, he’s going to love you,’ before the door clicked shut behind them.
With a long-suffering sigh, Gunn returned to the notebook, pen scratching out yet more names. “And that’s another three places we need to find.”
“I think there’re still a few rooms in the East wing,” Wesley mused aloud. “If it comes down to it, I’m sure people won’t mind sharing.”
There was a noted universal brightening of expressions at this and by the time the wine was being put away discussion had turned to the likelihood of Father Christmas being awake enough to drop by for mince pies on Boxing Day.
fin.
Title: Oh Little Town
Rating: PG
Fandoms: Angel, Supernatural, Torchwood, Franz Ferdinand, and mentions of others.
Pairing: This is crack!fic, anything can be implied if you're looking for it.
Summary: The run up to Christmas, such a pleasant time, when fandoms unite. In a similar vein to 'Cos The World's Gone Mad'.
Christmas was shaping up to be a merry affair, and also incredibly busy.
“Man this guest-list just keeps on growing,” Gunn grumbled, turning over yet another page in the notebook. “You know, there was a time when fangirl meant being true and loyal to your one chosen fandom.”
“Try to be a little sympathetic,” said Wesley placidly as he fed the Christmas cake another capful of dark rum. “You can’t expect them to forsake all others for the rest of time, it’d be terribly lonely. Besides, Fred seemed quite happy with her foray out, and I don’t remember you kicking up a fuss at having to don the suit again.”
“Anyway, I thought you liked Dean,” Alex pointed out from where he and Bob were discussing menus, specifically what should be served as the main. The front runner this year was pheasant, with Alex insisting he knew a good recipe and Dean himself offering to go and shoot the bird. “Wasn’t it yesterday you were telling him he could come and help you polish your hubaxe?”
Gunn glared but Alex’s expression remained perfectly guileless and only Wesley caught the sly look exchanged with Bob when Gunn finally turned away.
“Look, I like them, they’re good guys,” Gunn agreed. “But last time it was just a few of us, it was manageable, and now we’re talking about a full-on banquet.”
“Hmm, yes and last time it was ‘just a few of us’ trying to keep Angel and Lilah apart. Do you remember the fun that was?”
There was a pause as both Wesley and Gunn recalled the arctic conditions and ice-thin cordiality that had dogged the whole evening. The silence lasted until the back door opened to admit a blast of cold air and a stack of firewood disguised as Dean.
“Where do you want this?” he asked, voice muffled behind the mass of twigs and kindling.
Wesley pointed to the bare patch next to the fireplace and Dean promptly deposited his load in a crackling of bark and a small cloud of tree-dust.
“Damn it’s getting chilly out there,” he said, brushing himself down and picking a stray leaf off his collar. “Of course Mr Jack Innuendo Harkness was no help whatsoever – no offence,” he added quickly, hands raised as Wesley shot him a mildly reproachful look, “I know he’s a friend yours and all, but seriously he could at least have offered to help carry some of this lot back.”
“He probably thought you were strong enough to cope by yourself,” Bob murmured almost to himself, not raising his eyes from the book before him. “Besides, you know how him and Sam get on, I’m sure they’re lending each other a hand right now.”
Into the nasty pause that followed, wherein Dean levelled Bob a look that impressed even Gunn, there came the growing sound of voices approaching down the corridor.
“Guess who we found out front!” Jack announced, exploding through the door with a flash of that smile and arms full of what appeared to be shopping bags. Two figures followed in his greatcoat-flapping-wake. “And about time too. I don’t want to offend anyone’s kitchen pride here, but you guys need a little caffeine-making education.”
“I might have known you only wanted me for my coffee.”
The shopping bags were deposited into Dean’s arms as he opened his mouth to ask something, Jack turning back to the stranger and leaving Dean visibly seething whilst attempting not to lose what appeared to be a stray box of crackers.
“Ianto,” he said smoothly over the sound of ripping plastic, “you know it only leads to threats of law suits if I try saying I want you for anything else.” He bestowed another smile before turning back to the room, “Everyone, this is Ianto Jones. Worker of coffee magic and always perfectly on time.”
Ianto smiled wearily at Sam, who was trying to hide his amusement behind studious flattening of his fringe as he followed them into the room. “I have to work with this, I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a swap?”
“Sammy you even contemplate saying anything and I’ll kick your ass so hard you’ll be crossing over into Sarah-Jane before you can blink.”
“Dean, you know I’d never swap you for anything less than half a million,” said Sam sweetly, coming over with the others as the process of unpacking began. “Who’s Sarah-Jane?”
“Some older chick I met on the way back,” Dean shrugged, continuing to sort through the bags of sprouts and potatoes. “She was talking to this weird English dude with a flashy kind of blue phone box.”
“He’s here already?” Jack butted in, face alight and completely oblivious to Dean’s annoyed expression. “Where were they?”
Clearly recognising this as a prime opportunity to be rid of his unwanted companion, Dean instantly pointed back through the door to the outside. “Two fields back, by the large oak.”
“Thank you.” There was a grey and pinstriped blur, a second wash of icy dry air, and then Jack had departed, dragging Ianto behind him. Gunn just about caught Jack’s delighted comment of ‘Come on, he’s going to love you,’ before the door clicked shut behind them.
With a long-suffering sigh, Gunn returned to the notebook, pen scratching out yet more names. “And that’s another three places we need to find.”
“I think there’re still a few rooms in the East wing,” Wesley mused aloud. “If it comes down to it, I’m sure people won’t mind sharing.”
There was a noted universal brightening of expressions at this and by the time the wine was being put away discussion had turned to the likelihood of Father Christmas being awake enough to drop by for mince pies on Boxing Day.
fin.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-01-14 11:20 pm (UTC)Jack hitting on Sam and not helping Dean and Wes being all calm and wise and Gunn worrying about where everyone will sit and Sarah-Jane and the doctor and stick a fork in me cos I am done.
*sighs in cracked contentment*
no subject
Date: 2007-01-16 12:28 am (UTC)