Saturday: Free for All

[havenward.livejournal.com]

Happy Weekend, folks! Today's our Free for All! All prompts are welcome today -- no theme, no holds barred.


Just follow the rules: no more than 5 prompts in a row, no more than 3 per fandom. No spoilers in the prompt, and if your fic response has spoilers, please warn and leave adequate space.

Play nice and leave prompts that make our beloved codemonkeys' job easier:

For example:
Justified, Raylan, well ain't that just the way to go
Criminal Minds/Castle, Reid/Castle, book talk

Remember you can also write from our lonely prompts too! And tomorrow is lonely prompt day.


Alright, folks, let's see what you've got!

Comments

Fill: The Gambit Pileup [2/3]

[marbleglove.livejournal.com]

Arthur was more surprised, however, when the man who was dragged out of the manager’s office was decidedly not Kerrigan.

It was a lanky kid, and okay he was maybe thirty years old and therefore not a kid, but if anyone deserved to be called a kid, this was it. He was lanky and awkward looking and sniffed like he had a drippy nose. Arthur was guessing drugs.

And sure enough, “Whoa, are you guys real? Like, really-real? Cause I think I underpaid my dealer. This stuff is awe-some.”

Arthur wanted to wince and he was pretty sure the head of the bank robbers really was wincing even though Arthur couldn’t see his face from this angle.

“You’re the bank manager?” His voice was decidedly dubious.

“Yeah.” The-bank-manager-who-was-not-Kerrigan said rather dolefully. “My daddy says I need to learn how to work.”

The robbers were definitely wincing. So too were the hostages.

Actually, Arthur realized, a couple of the hostages who worked at the bank were looking studiously blank. It wasn’t the blank of someone who was embarrassed either, it was the blank of someone who didn’t quite know what was going on but was going to go with the flow anyway. In the dream business, you saw that look a lot.

He re-assessed the guy claiming to be the bank manager. He was dressed like a bank manager should be, but the tailoring was off. It wasn’t badly tailored, that would have been normal enough, alas. The tailoring was excellent, in fact, but it was working for a different purpose than it should have been. Most bank managers or businessmen of any type dressed to make themselves look fitter and more trim. This guy’s suit was cut to hide muscles and weapons. It was a special kind of tailoring that took a special kind of tailor.

“Okay, Mr. Kerrigan. We’re robbing this bank and you’re going to help us into the safe, you got that?” The main robber spoke in a professional manner. He seemed like the kind of guy

“Sure, man. Call me Kerry.” Kerry swayed a bit more. Then he leaned towards the robber despite the fact that the guy already had a grip on his arm and was holding a gun pointed at his gut and stage whispered. “I can’t feel my feet.” He giggled.

The robber looked almost physically pained and after a moment, holstered his gun again. Clearly Kerry was not going to understand much less fear a physical threat. “Okay, Kerry. What is the code to the vault?”

“The vault?”

“Yes, the vault. Tell me the code.” He sounded stern but calm. Arthur was impressed, by both of them really. Whoever Kerry really was, he had managed to get the gun pointed away from him and Arthur would bet a great deal that there wasn’t a bit of drugs in his system. And whoever the bank robber was, he was dealing calmly and capably with a whole lot of set-backs. He wondered what Kerry planned to do about the vault code.

“Oh, the vault code.” Kerry said with sudden understanding. “It’s my girlfriend’s birthday. You’re not supposed to make it a family member’s birthday, but Tiffany isn’t family. She’s my girlfriend.” He nodded happily, apparently quite pleased with himself.

“That’s very smart of you,” the robber said and somehow managed to sound serious. “What is Tiffany’s birthday?”

“It’s, uh, it’s, she was mad at me cause I didn’t remember it, so I made it the vault code, I told her because she was just that important to me. She’s important to me. Really. I don’t care about Rachel at all. You know?”

“When was she mad at you?” There were definitely some gritted teeth in there.

“I told you, it was her birthday!”