sunshine_queen | Drabbles ahoy! (Reply)

So, I wrote a whole lotta fics for a whole lotta people.

Weiss-centric. DUDE. Hate Weiss.

I’m the only John Wayne left in this town. - Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy), Big & Rich

Eric Weiss grew up on westerns.

It started with his rocking horse, which went on to cavorting around straddling a stick, waving around a water pistol and a cowboy hat, chasing furiously after Indians (usually his two sisters, who would shriek with horror when sprayed and run in to tell their mother. "ERIC WEISS!" she'd yell out the door, "YOU DROP THAT WATER GUN AND COME INTO THE HOUSE!") and shouting things like, "Yee-haw!" and "Yippee-kai-yay" and "get along, li'l doggie." He did not know if cowboys yelled these things in real life, but he wanted to be prepared just in case.

Now, he is a modern-day cowboy in the Wild West of international crime. "Hi-ho, Silver," he mutters to himself on the first afternoon without any of his co-workers aside from Marshall. Marshall was not a cowboy. Marshall was the man in the General Store who had a curled mustache and jumped in the water barrel to hide when the tumbleweeds began to blow and the soundtrack warbled.

He shakes his head sadly. "I'm the only John Wayne left in this town."

For non_horation

Lark. Go freaking figure.

"My nasty reputation takes me everywhere."
(Skid Row - "Youth Gone Wild")

"Why, Mrs. Vaughn," Sark greets with a purr, "You're so far from home, and in such a state. I'm sure your husband-"

She silences him with a glare. "Perhaps if you worried a little more about my husband and a little more about your job, I wouldn't have had to come out here at such an ungodly hour."

"Darling, you're less upset than you're pretending."

"I was wondering, though- how did you get here so fast? Things amiss in the Vaughn household?"

She glowers again, countered by the shining pink satin of her slip with a black skirt carelessly shimmied over it. "My nasty reputation takes me everywhere," she says drily, as though she were referring to a mode of transportation.

Sark eyes her appreciatively as she unzips the skirt and lets it fall to the floor. "It's everywhere you want to be."

For thepodsquad

Sarkney. Still not kidding.

For you I’d wait til kingdom come ~ Coldplay, Til’ Kingdom Come

Sark often thinks of her.

There's nothing better to do, really, than remember the exact tint of her hair, the color of her eyes, the various shades of lipsticks he's seen on her, to remember the locations where he's seen her, what she's said and what she did and who she went home to (that infernal Michael Vaughn.)

He is aware that this... obsession... of his would be considered unhealthy by most, but he considers it a noble undertaking. He is aware that he is not the kind that girls pledge undying love to, or even the one they would consider sleeping with first. He is there, he's handy, and he's good-looking (if he does say so himself.)

It doesn't matter now, anyway. He's in prison, and of all the colors, orange is the least flattering on him. Besides, she's dead.

He'll wait to leave, to pay her the proper respect she deserves, that she's earned.

For Sydney, he'd wait 'til kingdom come.

And for puggywuggy

Laughn and Lark. What is WITH me?

"I used to touch him; I used to justify him lying to my face with my permission" - "Used to Know Her," Veruca Salt

When she came back, the lies started.

Simple, subtle lies; lies are not always spoken, they're flinched and creased and flashed across faces that would rather see a different eye-color. She feels the inertia of her body and the flaying of her husband's and dealt with trouble the best way she knew: she glossed over it and pretended all was well. He knew full well dinner was at seven, but he called to confirm every night, a ritual, the same way he'd kiss her cheek in the same spot, curve his hand over her hip and warm the same spot every night until she was sure it would glow red with lies and her hidden anger.

He hid it well, and he tried to stay away. She could not blame her husband for being drawn to the flame, but she could hate him for it.

"Your relations, with your husband... what is their status?" Sark asked lazily, his hand idly smoothing a bite that had drawn blood.

"I used to touch him; I used to justify him lying to my face with my permission." Lauren says coolly. "No longer."

"Good," Sark replies, and he tilts her chin up, "That will make this an more pleasant endeavor."