Round 13, Hour 48
Jan. 23rd, 2011 06:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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fic_rush_48This is your final hour.
Of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fic_rush. In January. This year.
Make it count!
If it can't count, make it add or subtract or calculate an average!
Let the words flow still! Let the plot bunnies hop (but not reproduce, not right at this moment please)! Let the wordcounts roll! Let the glowsticks gleam!
And let there be crackfic and commentfic! Let there be wet heroes and piratical penguins! Let there be alien fish for the masses! (Also for the momentums.) Let there be silly hats!
Of
fic_rush. In January. This year.Make it count!
If it can't count, make it add or subtract or calculate an average!
Let the words flow still! Let the plot bunnies hop (but not reproduce, not right at this moment please)! Let the wordcounts roll! Let the glowsticks gleam!
And let there be crackfic and commentfic! Let there be wet heroes and piratical penguins! Let there be alien fish for the masses! (Also for the momentums.) Let there be silly hats!
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Date: 2011-01-23 11:03 pm (UTC)Crack!Commentfic.
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Date: 2011-01-23 11:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-23 11:19 pm (UTC)The Inevitable Outcome Affair
"I don't understand why this always happens to me, not to you." Illya Kuryakin grumbled as he worked at removing a piece of wire from the collar of his shirt so he could unpick the shackles that held his wrists over his head against a stone wall.
"You, ah, don't, do you, partner?" Napoleon Solo said, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice. He'd secretly unlatched his own shackles moments ago, but he was having too much fun watching his partner's actions to intervene. Besides, as CEA it was his job to make sure that his subordinates kept up to date on their escape techniques.
"You don't need to sound so self-satisfied." Illya said. It sounded like "Muu don'th mmth thnn tho thef-thfififed." because Illya had the wire between his teeth and was rolling his head backwards while arching the fingers of his left hand over in an attempt to reach it. The whole posture stretched him into a bowed position that showed off the musculature of the front of his body very well, an effect definitely enhanced by the fact that he was soaked from head to toe and his clothes were becoming ever-more diaphanous.
Illya sighed with relief and rolled a crick out of his neck as he grasped the wire between slender fingers.
"We go on a simple milk run in New York."
"Lovely establishing shots of the East River and the Empire State Building." Napoleon said.
"We get ambushed by Thrush ladies."
"Lovely Thrush ladies." Napoleon said warmly.
"We get chained in a cellar."
"It could be a nicer cellar." Napoleon said, critiquing the interior design.
"And which of us," said Illya, biting his lip and flexing the firm, lithe muscles of his legs to lift himself up as he manipulated the shackles over his head, "which of us, Napoleon, ends up..."
He seemed lost for words, so Napoleon finished the sentence for him, relishing the memory of the scene:
"Which of us ends up having a bucket of Thrush's new experimental fabric-dissolving formula thrown on him?" Napoleon said, no longer hiding his laughter.
"Illya, it could only be you."
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Date: 2011-01-23 11:29 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-01-23 11:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-23 11:33 pm (UTC)