storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2012-01-20 12:20 pm
storypaint) wrote2012-01-20 12:20 pm
Entry tags:
[Lamb] kick up highway dust (Biff gen)
Title: kick up highway dust
Fandom: Lamb by Christopher Moore (/Aristocats)
Length: 528 words
Prompt: Lamb and cats for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ohsoboring
Pairing: Biff gen
Other: n/a
Excerpt: It was generally hard for me to decide when I'd had too much to drink, because the more I drank, the more I wanted to have just one more. Just-one-more can really add up after a while.
It was generally hard for me to decide when I'd had too much to drink, because the more I drank, the more I wanted to have just one more. Just-one-more can really add up after a while.
But even I was beginning to realize I was smashed, because there was an orange tomcat sitting on the fence outside, and I was having a great conversation with him. I mean, maybe I didn't think everyone wanted to be a cat, but I did like his wandering-stray attitude. Sometimes I felt like a wandering stray too. Joshua and I had been all over the world by now, I thought. In fact, if he'd known that there were other continents (denoted by Land of the Free and Kangaroo Junction on my handy place-mat map), he probably would have jumped in the ocean and started swimming. And I would have had to follow him, because Jews are horrible swimmers. It's all the guilt -- we start sinking right when we jump in.
Before the cat and I could really become bosom buddies, Joshua managed to extract himself from the party and poked his head out the door, looking for me. I was decorating the fence with this evening's dinner (kind of an abstract piece, although it would probably fetch millions in today's markets). He seemed both relieved and disgusted to find me there.
"You owe someone money," he informed me as I retched. The orange tomcat disappeared into the night with an unimpressed twitch of his tail.
"That doesn't really narrow it down," I said, with a final disgusting cough. When I turned around, Joshua had bent down to pet a much prettier cat -- probably belonging to the owner of a nearby house, judging by the cleanliness of her coat. She butted her head against Joshua's hand. He gets all the ladies.
"So I'm thinking we should leave before you pass out," he continued, as the cat purred. "I don't really feel like carrying you home, and if that guy finds you, I'll be doing it in pieces."
"Can you heal that?" I asked woozily.
"Rather not test it," he answered firmly, and gave the cat one last pat before getting to his feet and taking my arm. This was helpful, as the ground and I were also in disagreement as to where my feet should go. I even got out of the alley without kicking any garbage.
"You have a drinking problem," he told me as we -- mostly he -- navigated the streets.
"Yeah? So do you," I slurred in return. "You don't drink enough to find me funny."
"I'd rather not be poisoned," he said cheerfully. "I have things to do."
I hung my head and didn't answer. I knew. He wouldn't quit telling everyone about this crazy idea of his. Didn't know if he could heal someone torn into pieces, and yet he was willing to give himself up for death? When I was sober, I really was going to have to tie him up and have a talk about this. Maggie would probably hold his arms.
"They'd probably be easier to do drunk," I offered, and he just laughed indulgently as we made our zig-zagging way back home.
Fandom: Lamb by Christopher Moore (/Aristocats)
Length: 528 words
Prompt: Lamb and cats for
ohsoboringPairing: Biff gen
Other: n/a
Excerpt: It was generally hard for me to decide when I'd had too much to drink, because the more I drank, the more I wanted to have just one more. Just-one-more can really add up after a while.
It was generally hard for me to decide when I'd had too much to drink, because the more I drank, the more I wanted to have just one more. Just-one-more can really add up after a while.
But even I was beginning to realize I was smashed, because there was an orange tomcat sitting on the fence outside, and I was having a great conversation with him. I mean, maybe I didn't think everyone wanted to be a cat, but I did like his wandering-stray attitude. Sometimes I felt like a wandering stray too. Joshua and I had been all over the world by now, I thought. In fact, if he'd known that there were other continents (denoted by Land of the Free and Kangaroo Junction on my handy place-mat map), he probably would have jumped in the ocean and started swimming. And I would have had to follow him, because Jews are horrible swimmers. It's all the guilt -- we start sinking right when we jump in.
Before the cat and I could really become bosom buddies, Joshua managed to extract himself from the party and poked his head out the door, looking for me. I was decorating the fence with this evening's dinner (kind of an abstract piece, although it would probably fetch millions in today's markets). He seemed both relieved and disgusted to find me there.
"You owe someone money," he informed me as I retched. The orange tomcat disappeared into the night with an unimpressed twitch of his tail.
"That doesn't really narrow it down," I said, with a final disgusting cough. When I turned around, Joshua had bent down to pet a much prettier cat -- probably belonging to the owner of a nearby house, judging by the cleanliness of her coat. She butted her head against Joshua's hand. He gets all the ladies.
"So I'm thinking we should leave before you pass out," he continued, as the cat purred. "I don't really feel like carrying you home, and if that guy finds you, I'll be doing it in pieces."
"Can you heal that?" I asked woozily.
"Rather not test it," he answered firmly, and gave the cat one last pat before getting to his feet and taking my arm. This was helpful, as the ground and I were also in disagreement as to where my feet should go. I even got out of the alley without kicking any garbage.
"You have a drinking problem," he told me as we -- mostly he -- navigated the streets.
"Yeah? So do you," I slurred in return. "You don't drink enough to find me funny."
"I'd rather not be poisoned," he said cheerfully. "I have things to do."
I hung my head and didn't answer. I knew. He wouldn't quit telling everyone about this crazy idea of his. Didn't know if he could heal someone torn into pieces, and yet he was willing to give himself up for death? When I was sober, I really was going to have to tie him up and have a talk about this. Maggie would probably hold his arms.
"They'd probably be easier to do drunk," I offered, and he just laughed indulgently as we made our zig-zagging way back home.