In the Hot Zone (Mythklok Interstitial)
May. 18th, 2011 07:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: In the Hot Zone (Mythklok Interstitial)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Liam and Boon make an Important Film
Warnings: Slash, AU, OCs, swearing, zero Metalocalypse content
Notes: This is a completely self-indulgent exercise containing nothing but my own OCs, and thus will be of interest to absolutely nobody.
"Boon!"
"I think we need to set the camera over here at sunset..."
"Boon!"
"...and I'm gonna use the red filter to being out the colors..."
"Boon!"
"...and we could have our interview subject posed in the foreground...."
"BOON!" This time Liam emphasized the call with a quick leap up and tug to his friend's collar. Said tug, Liam being the size he was, brought the lighter man back down from atop the barricade to safely behind the same.
"Don't you think that would be a good framing shot?" asked Elias.
"It's lovely, dude. You do realize when you stand on top of the fucking barricade there are GUYS SHOOTING AT YOU?"
"Oh. Yeah. I noticed."
"Your dads wouldn't be happy if I brought you back with another hole in your head."
"Noted. But what about the framing shot?"
Liam shook his head. His cousin was fucking brilliant, there was no doubt. Probably one of the most brilliant minds in the whole entire world. But, god, he was a dipshit sometimes! Well, he was dating Liam's sister, after all - what did that tell you?
"It's good. It's brilliant. Just, dude, don't make me bring you home in a box, OK? Unky Sariel would have my head on a pike."
"No he wouldn't! My dad is a softie!"
Liam snorted. Uncle Sariel was a softie indeed: in any and all matters relating to his adored only son. Uncle Sariel was completely fucking batshit in any other matters, most especially including the issue of any harm, real or imagined, coming to his adored only son.
He had told Sariel before this trip that they were going on a class project. Which was sort of true. Sort of.
"Do we have interview subjects lined up?" Elias asked.
"Well, according to the Mlle Monique, my tres charmant informant," and here LIam extended an arm to indicate an indeed rather comely young woman, "there will be a coterie of the rebel leadership arriving here within the hour."
Most parties agreed Liam resembled a somewhat slighter, somewhat more redheaded version of his father, the god king, Wotan. But in at least one important aspect - besides the reddish-feathered wings he usually kept magically folded up during his encounters with humans - he took after his mother: he could, upon hearing a mere handful of sentences, completely master pretty much any language, human or supernatural. So he already had a firm grasp of the French dialect that was spoken in this east African nation. He found this talent to be rather advantageous when one went about impressing good looking local women, of which Mlle Monique definitely qualified.
Elias blinked politely at Mlle Monique, who quite suddenly decided that she had better cease batting her eyes at the attractive Liam and perhaps instead turn her attentions towards this striking new person. If one is speaking of ancestry, then one must mention that Elias' father, among his many other duties as a Hindu deity, was a genuine love god, and that Elias had inherited, along with rather pleasant looks overall, eyes that had been voted seventh sexiest in all of India. One could be certain, were Mlle Monique voting in this poll, she may have rated them rather higher.
"Enchanté," agreed Elias, who spoke English, Hindi, and a rather passable French Caribbean dialect.
"He has a girlfriend," Liam dryly informed Mlle Monique. "Who carries a really big sword," he continued, to a sudden look of bafflement on the young lady's part.
But Mlle Monique's bafflement was interrupted by a sharp cry and the entry of a new personage into the bunker. This khaki-clad man sported a scruffy beard, a bright red bandana, and a rather large automatic weapon, which he was now pointing in the general direction of Elias's head.
"And who is this?" Elias, who appeared oddly unruffled by this change in circumstance.
"Well. I hope he ain't a film critic," Liam proposed, as Mlle Monique cowered behind him.
"Oh, I do seem to remember his from Cannes," Elias noted. "Or maybe that was Brad Pitt I'm thinking of."
"Hard to tell with the scruffy beard," Liam agreed.
The individual shouted something in the French dialect common to this east African nation, emphasizing his points by waving the weapon.
"Should we politely suggest that he refrain from doing that?" Elias ventured.
"That's probably not a good idea," Liam told Scruffy Beard.
Scruffy replied by launching into a veritable tirade, which was interrupted, one supposes, quite early in the making by the sudden appearance of a young brunette woman, who, after quickly slicing his weapon to ribbons with a rather large broadsword, then held the same sword against the now much quieted man's neck.
"ARE YOU BOTHERING MY SWEETIE?" she demanded, blue eyes flashing as her swordpoint drew a tiny drop of red blood.
"I'm OK," Elias assured her. "I think he only wanted to make a speech or something."
"He's little. We should probably just toss him back," Liam ventured. Abby nodded and stepped back, at which point her brother gripped Scruffy Beard by his collar and belt and, as easily as one might toss a softball, pitched the man back over the barricade.
Mlle Monique batted her eyes once again at Liam, now more appreciative of his charms.
"I thought you were due in court," Liam told Abby.
"You forgot your lunch!" she told Elias, holding out a paper sack.
"Oh, you're so considerate, sweetie!" Elias told her, as they exchanged a quick kiss.
"You're welcome sweetie," Abby gushed.
"YOU GUYS!" Liam wailed. "Quit DOING THAT! We're making an important film!"
Abby glowered at her brother, but Elias contented himself with surveying the contents of his sack lunch. He sat down on a crate, declaring, "I'm so hungry! Is there pie?"
"I put in a slice."
"Abby, we can't have people chasing after us with sack lunches when we're in a war zone!"
Abby remained silent, but brought out a second brown sack.
"Oh, cool, is there pie?" asked a suddenly mollified Liam, grabbing the bag.
Mlle Monique suddenly piped up. "A rebel leader?" asked Abby, who shared her brother's facility with languages.
"OH MY GOD BOON GET YOUR FUCKING CAMERA!"
"But, there's pie!" Elias noted.
"Fuck the pie, get the camera."
Elias obediently stuck the remainder of a generous portion of strawberry rhubarb into his mouth and scrambled for his video recording device.
"Rebels? That sounds cool!" Abby noted, jumping up onto the barricade for a look.
"Abby you're gonna get your stupid head shot off your stupid neck! And then you'll just be stupid!" Liam eloquently warned.
The two young men scrambled for their equipment, and then ran to greet the approaching ground forces of the country's ragtag rebellion. Liam was chatting with the leader when Abby jumped down beside him.
"Are you the leader?" she demanded of the surprised chief.
"Abby!" Liam scolded.
"Do you call that a line? Where's your fucking artillery? You're gonna get flanked!"
"Abby! We're trying to make an important film about the beleaguered freedom fighters in this oppressed land!" Liam told her.
"Well no fucking wonder they're beleaguered. Have you guys ever run an assault before? You need to pull some troops over there!" she said, pointing with her sword.
Abby, as the daughter of one of the most famed and accomplished generals in the history of the Legion, the legendary angelic army, as well as a rather well regarded warrior king, despised military campaigns which evinced sloppiness. "Where's your assault plan?" she demanded of the leader, who, while perhaps not the most experienced military leader, had not risen to his position on stupidity nor inflexibility, and so sketched out his plan to this odd young sword-wielding woman, and then scrambled to incorporate her suggestions, which were, to be fair, rather phrased as marching orders.
In the end, what Liam and Elias and their brand new production assistant, Mlle Monique, ended up filming was the surprising assault and conquest of the east African nation's regional capital by a ragtag group of freedom fighters.
The ensuing celebration, they were all pleased to find, included the consumption of much beer that was found cached in the erstwhile palace of the rather nasty and obnoxious recently former governor of the region. Liberation, all agreed, was sweet.
"Abigail?"
Abby looked up from her suds, and suddenly stood up at the appearance of the well dressed Indian man in the midst of the celebration.
"Young lady, you were supposed to be back in court 20 mintues ago," said the man, pointing to his stylish wristwatch.
"I'm sorry Uncle Ganesh," Abby told him. "I was leading a rebellion," she noted, waving an arm at the now quite jovial crowd.
"I don't care what you do in your spare time, but court sessions are important! I could have given this internship to any number of people! I don't want to show favoritism to a person who is unappreciative."
"Yessir, I'm appreciative," Abby told him.
"Off with you," Ganesh ordered, and Abby was quite suddenly no longer in the room.
The boys attempted, unsuccessfully as it turns out, to hide themselves behind beer glasses
"Now. Liam," Ganesh continued.
"Uh. Yes, Uncle Ganesh?"
"Your father would like to know if you have completed your journalism term paper?"
"Uhhhhhh..."
"That is not the answer I was seeking young man!"
"I was gonna do it after we finish here?"
"You will finish it tonight. No more late assignments! He wants your grade point average up this semester!"
"But I need to edit-"
"You may edit later. Elias!"
"Yes, dad?" Elias asked.
"Have you completed your art project?"
"Oh, yes, I have a conceptual project that regards forms with an equivalency-"
"Have you completed an art project which any of your professors will be able to comprehend?"
"Er. Maybe. If I explain it to them?" Ganesh's lovely eyes, staring at his son, were now at least the seventh sternest in India. "Er. Maybe I should work on a secondary project, just to be sure?" Elias ventured.
"That sounds like a sensible decision. Now. You two finish up here, and home by seven. Lord Wotan and Lady Raziel are expecting us all for dinner. Scrubbed and ready!"
"Yessir," muttered two voices. And with that, Ganesh was no longer in the room.
Elias made a rather impressive showing of downing an entire pint glass of the local lager in under 30 seconds. He then burped rather more loudly than one might expect of someone of his stature. "I better get home. I need to come up with a second project. You wanna edit after dinner maybe?"
"Yeah," muttered Liam. "See ya," as Elias too disappeared.
Mlle Monique, who seemed a bit baffled at all the disappearing, still appeared to be quite fond of Liam. "Sorry, babe," he told her in English. "You're cute as hell, but I can't flunk outta Berkeley, my mom would kill me. And I mean, literally kill me." Mlle Monique blinked at him, confused.
Then, going to a language understood by all, Liam leaned quite close to her. Whispering, "Au revoir ma petite," as she fluttered her eyes closed, he gave her a quick kiss. When she reopened her eyes, he was no longer in the room.
"Ooh la la, les hommes!" she commented, finishing her beer.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Liam and Boon make an Important Film
Warnings: Slash, AU, OCs, swearing, zero Metalocalypse content
Notes: This is a completely self-indulgent exercise containing nothing but my own OCs, and thus will be of interest to absolutely nobody.
"Boon!"
"I think we need to set the camera over here at sunset..."
"Boon!"
"...and I'm gonna use the red filter to being out the colors..."
"Boon!"
"...and we could have our interview subject posed in the foreground...."
"BOON!" This time Liam emphasized the call with a quick leap up and tug to his friend's collar. Said tug, Liam being the size he was, brought the lighter man back down from atop the barricade to safely behind the same.
"Don't you think that would be a good framing shot?" asked Elias.
"It's lovely, dude. You do realize when you stand on top of the fucking barricade there are GUYS SHOOTING AT YOU?"
"Oh. Yeah. I noticed."
"Your dads wouldn't be happy if I brought you back with another hole in your head."
"Noted. But what about the framing shot?"
Liam shook his head. His cousin was fucking brilliant, there was no doubt. Probably one of the most brilliant minds in the whole entire world. But, god, he was a dipshit sometimes! Well, he was dating Liam's sister, after all - what did that tell you?
"It's good. It's brilliant. Just, dude, don't make me bring you home in a box, OK? Unky Sariel would have my head on a pike."
"No he wouldn't! My dad is a softie!"
Liam snorted. Uncle Sariel was a softie indeed: in any and all matters relating to his adored only son. Uncle Sariel was completely fucking batshit in any other matters, most especially including the issue of any harm, real or imagined, coming to his adored only son.
He had told Sariel before this trip that they were going on a class project. Which was sort of true. Sort of.
"Do we have interview subjects lined up?" Elias asked.
"Well, according to the Mlle Monique, my tres charmant informant," and here LIam extended an arm to indicate an indeed rather comely young woman, "there will be a coterie of the rebel leadership arriving here within the hour."
Most parties agreed Liam resembled a somewhat slighter, somewhat more redheaded version of his father, the god king, Wotan. But in at least one important aspect - besides the reddish-feathered wings he usually kept magically folded up during his encounters with humans - he took after his mother: he could, upon hearing a mere handful of sentences, completely master pretty much any language, human or supernatural. So he already had a firm grasp of the French dialect that was spoken in this east African nation. He found this talent to be rather advantageous when one went about impressing good looking local women, of which Mlle Monique definitely qualified.
Elias blinked politely at Mlle Monique, who quite suddenly decided that she had better cease batting her eyes at the attractive Liam and perhaps instead turn her attentions towards this striking new person. If one is speaking of ancestry, then one must mention that Elias' father, among his many other duties as a Hindu deity, was a genuine love god, and that Elias had inherited, along with rather pleasant looks overall, eyes that had been voted seventh sexiest in all of India. One could be certain, were Mlle Monique voting in this poll, she may have rated them rather higher.
"Enchanté," agreed Elias, who spoke English, Hindi, and a rather passable French Caribbean dialect.
"He has a girlfriend," Liam dryly informed Mlle Monique. "Who carries a really big sword," he continued, to a sudden look of bafflement on the young lady's part.
But Mlle Monique's bafflement was interrupted by a sharp cry and the entry of a new personage into the bunker. This khaki-clad man sported a scruffy beard, a bright red bandana, and a rather large automatic weapon, which he was now pointing in the general direction of Elias's head.
"And who is this?" Elias, who appeared oddly unruffled by this change in circumstance.
"Well. I hope he ain't a film critic," Liam proposed, as Mlle Monique cowered behind him.
"Oh, I do seem to remember his from Cannes," Elias noted. "Or maybe that was Brad Pitt I'm thinking of."
"Hard to tell with the scruffy beard," Liam agreed.
The individual shouted something in the French dialect common to this east African nation, emphasizing his points by waving the weapon.
"Should we politely suggest that he refrain from doing that?" Elias ventured.
"That's probably not a good idea," Liam told Scruffy Beard.
Scruffy replied by launching into a veritable tirade, which was interrupted, one supposes, quite early in the making by the sudden appearance of a young brunette woman, who, after quickly slicing his weapon to ribbons with a rather large broadsword, then held the same sword against the now much quieted man's neck.
"ARE YOU BOTHERING MY SWEETIE?" she demanded, blue eyes flashing as her swordpoint drew a tiny drop of red blood.
"I'm OK," Elias assured her. "I think he only wanted to make a speech or something."
"He's little. We should probably just toss him back," Liam ventured. Abby nodded and stepped back, at which point her brother gripped Scruffy Beard by his collar and belt and, as easily as one might toss a softball, pitched the man back over the barricade.
Mlle Monique batted her eyes once again at Liam, now more appreciative of his charms.
"I thought you were due in court," Liam told Abby.
"You forgot your lunch!" she told Elias, holding out a paper sack.
"Oh, you're so considerate, sweetie!" Elias told her, as they exchanged a quick kiss.
"You're welcome sweetie," Abby gushed.
"YOU GUYS!" Liam wailed. "Quit DOING THAT! We're making an important film!"
Abby glowered at her brother, but Elias contented himself with surveying the contents of his sack lunch. He sat down on a crate, declaring, "I'm so hungry! Is there pie?"
"I put in a slice."
"Abby, we can't have people chasing after us with sack lunches when we're in a war zone!"
Abby remained silent, but brought out a second brown sack.
"Oh, cool, is there pie?" asked a suddenly mollified Liam, grabbing the bag.
Mlle Monique suddenly piped up. "A rebel leader?" asked Abby, who shared her brother's facility with languages.
"OH MY GOD BOON GET YOUR FUCKING CAMERA!"
"But, there's pie!" Elias noted.
"Fuck the pie, get the camera."
Elias obediently stuck the remainder of a generous portion of strawberry rhubarb into his mouth and scrambled for his video recording device.
"Rebels? That sounds cool!" Abby noted, jumping up onto the barricade for a look.
"Abby you're gonna get your stupid head shot off your stupid neck! And then you'll just be stupid!" Liam eloquently warned.
The two young men scrambled for their equipment, and then ran to greet the approaching ground forces of the country's ragtag rebellion. Liam was chatting with the leader when Abby jumped down beside him.
"Are you the leader?" she demanded of the surprised chief.
"Abby!" Liam scolded.
"Do you call that a line? Where's your fucking artillery? You're gonna get flanked!"
"Abby! We're trying to make an important film about the beleaguered freedom fighters in this oppressed land!" Liam told her.
"Well no fucking wonder they're beleaguered. Have you guys ever run an assault before? You need to pull some troops over there!" she said, pointing with her sword.
Abby, as the daughter of one of the most famed and accomplished generals in the history of the Legion, the legendary angelic army, as well as a rather well regarded warrior king, despised military campaigns which evinced sloppiness. "Where's your assault plan?" she demanded of the leader, who, while perhaps not the most experienced military leader, had not risen to his position on stupidity nor inflexibility, and so sketched out his plan to this odd young sword-wielding woman, and then scrambled to incorporate her suggestions, which were, to be fair, rather phrased as marching orders.
In the end, what Liam and Elias and their brand new production assistant, Mlle Monique, ended up filming was the surprising assault and conquest of the east African nation's regional capital by a ragtag group of freedom fighters.
The ensuing celebration, they were all pleased to find, included the consumption of much beer that was found cached in the erstwhile palace of the rather nasty and obnoxious recently former governor of the region. Liberation, all agreed, was sweet.
"Abigail?"
Abby looked up from her suds, and suddenly stood up at the appearance of the well dressed Indian man in the midst of the celebration.
"Young lady, you were supposed to be back in court 20 mintues ago," said the man, pointing to his stylish wristwatch.
"I'm sorry Uncle Ganesh," Abby told him. "I was leading a rebellion," she noted, waving an arm at the now quite jovial crowd.
"I don't care what you do in your spare time, but court sessions are important! I could have given this internship to any number of people! I don't want to show favoritism to a person who is unappreciative."
"Yessir, I'm appreciative," Abby told him.
"Off with you," Ganesh ordered, and Abby was quite suddenly no longer in the room.
The boys attempted, unsuccessfully as it turns out, to hide themselves behind beer glasses
"Now. Liam," Ganesh continued.
"Uh. Yes, Uncle Ganesh?"
"Your father would like to know if you have completed your journalism term paper?"
"Uhhhhhh..."
"That is not the answer I was seeking young man!"
"I was gonna do it after we finish here?"
"You will finish it tonight. No more late assignments! He wants your grade point average up this semester!"
"But I need to edit-"
"You may edit later. Elias!"
"Yes, dad?" Elias asked.
"Have you completed your art project?"
"Oh, yes, I have a conceptual project that regards forms with an equivalency-"
"Have you completed an art project which any of your professors will be able to comprehend?"
"Er. Maybe. If I explain it to them?" Ganesh's lovely eyes, staring at his son, were now at least the seventh sternest in India. "Er. Maybe I should work on a secondary project, just to be sure?" Elias ventured.
"That sounds like a sensible decision. Now. You two finish up here, and home by seven. Lord Wotan and Lady Raziel are expecting us all for dinner. Scrubbed and ready!"
"Yessir," muttered two voices. And with that, Ganesh was no longer in the room.
Elias made a rather impressive showing of downing an entire pint glass of the local lager in under 30 seconds. He then burped rather more loudly than one might expect of someone of his stature. "I better get home. I need to come up with a second project. You wanna edit after dinner maybe?"
"Yeah," muttered Liam. "See ya," as Elias too disappeared.
Mlle Monique, who seemed a bit baffled at all the disappearing, still appeared to be quite fond of Liam. "Sorry, babe," he told her in English. "You're cute as hell, but I can't flunk outta Berkeley, my mom would kill me. And I mean, literally kill me." Mlle Monique blinked at him, confused.
Then, going to a language understood by all, Liam leaned quite close to her. Whispering, "Au revoir ma petite," as she fluttered her eyes closed, he gave her a quick kiss. When she reopened her eyes, he was no longer in the room.
"Ooh la la, les hommes!" she commented, finishing her beer.
