Second Thoughts
Thu, 02/16/2006 - 06:00 — Daiseechain
"Have you betrayed us?"
Avon looked stuck somewhere between constipation and awe.
"Have you betrayed me?!!!"
Ok. So he hadn't voiced the extra exclamation marks, but Blake still knew they were there.
Avon's face contorted again. God! Not more gurning. Much more of this and he'd shoot himself and save Avon the trouble.
But he was too late! Avon fired first. As the laser-type-bullet-type-infrared-projectile-type-thing hit him, Blake winced. It was all a bit too much really. And after he'd spent so long setting this place up, too. Luckily Deva had convinced him to discard the party balloons and streamers.
He needed to explain. He really needed to tell the shorter blonde man how much he needed him. Not in any way connected with innuendo of course, but in a platonic way. A way which spoke of having survived hell together and come away with such a deep understanding of each other that the bonds were so deep they could never be severed.
Avon shot him again.
This wasn't going as well as he'd hoped. The firing had attracted the attention of his friends whom he had asked to dress up as Federation troopers in honour of the good old days, but the Liberator crew seemed to be confused by them, and had begun firing randomly at them.
Not good! Not good! His old friends were killing his new friends, and vice versa. And also, his shirt was now very dirty with blood. It would be difficult to remove the stain.
As the older, curly haired rebel collapsed to the floor, his old acquaintance came and towered over him in a menacing manner. Blake was now regretting his comment, years earlier, that he had always trusted Avon. It seemed he might have been a tad wrong.
From the corner of his vision he saw both the female rebels, whom he had not met till now, fall, shot dead. Such tragedy. Who could he ask to wash his jerkin now? Certainly not Avon, who seemed insistent on causing his old, platonic friend as much pain as possible.
Avon raised his gun in the direction of Blake's head.
No! Blake thought desperately. I haven't come up with a decent parting line yet!
Blake belatedly has second thoughts. Badfic, spring 2006 season.
Rating |
G
|
Spoilers |
None
|
"Have you betrayed us?"
Avon looked stuck somewhere between constipation and awe.
"Have you betrayed me?!!!"
Ok. So he hadn't voiced the extra exclamation marks, but Blake still knew they were there.
Avon's face contorted again. God! Not more gurning. Much more of this and he'd shoot himself and save Avon the trouble.
But he was too late! Avon fired first. As the laser-type-bullet-type-infrared-projectile-type-thing hit him, Blake winced. It was all a bit too much really. And after he'd spent so long setting this place up, too. Luckily Deva had convinced him to discard the party balloons and streamers.
He needed to explain. He really needed to tell the shorter blonde man how much he needed him. Not in any way connected with innuendo of course, but in a platonic way. A way which spoke of having survived hell together and come away with such a deep understanding of each other that the bonds were so deep they could never be severed.
Avon shot him again.
This wasn't going as well as he'd hoped. The firing had attracted the attention of his friends whom he had asked to dress up as Federation troopers in honour of the good old days, but the Liberator crew seemed to be confused by them, and had begun firing randomly at them.
Not good! Not good! His old friends were killing his new friends, and vice versa. And also, his shirt was now very dirty with blood. It would be difficult to remove the stain.
As the older, curly haired rebel collapsed to the floor, his old acquaintance came and towered over him in a menacing manner. Blake was now regretting his comment, years earlier, that he had always trusted Avon. It seemed he might have been a tad wrong.
From the corner of his vision he saw both the female rebels, whom he had not met till now, fall, shot dead. Such tragedy. Who could he ask to wash his jerkin now? Certainly not Avon, who seemed insistent on causing his old, platonic friend as much pain as possible.
Avon raised his gun in the direction of Blake's head.
No! Blake thought desperately. I haven't come up with a decent parting line yet!
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