(no subject)

[slasherofprices.livejournal.com]

[ Sandford, 20 March, 1987: Happy Birthday, Sissy Skinner. Warnings for, er, references. Can you guess to what? ]

A pub is a great place to wind up in when you're having a crappy day. Voluntarily winding up in a pub where it logically would be is even better. Involuntarily winding up in a pub where your house is supposed to be is not so good. Involuntarily winding up in a pub full of animals where your blessedly animal-free house is supposed to be is even worse. It's not the same as being dumped or mocked or seeing off your vehicular baby, but it's definitely not good for one's mental constitution.

Color Simon Skinner, age 37, very WTFBBQ.

Any patron, fuzzy or non, is welcome to tell the tall guy at the door where he is.

Comments

[torch-reporter.livejournal.com]

Today, Chloe sits at the bar with her latte and laptop, working on a recent article for the Planet. She is, of course, paying attention to what's going on around Bar. You never know when there's a scoop waiting to be found.

So, of course, when Simon Skinner walks into the bar, she raises an eyebrow. "Okay, I thought one of was enough."

[slasherofprices.livejournal.com]

Hey, she's looking at him! That means he doesn't have to get her attention! He gulps, then marches straight towards her and asks, "Excuse me, but do you know where I could find my house?"

[torch-reporter.livejournal.com]

"Back out that door you came in."

Beat.

"Bond, James Bond, I presume?"

[slasherofprices.livejournal.com]

Simon Skinner has been called many things. A "Sissy," a "Gaylord," but never a James Bond. Clearly one of those things was not like the other.

Simon fiddles with his tie, letting out a few nervous laughs that sound more like stutters. "N-no...why? Do I look lik--w-where did you say I could find my house again?"

[torch-reporter.livejournal.com]

"Totally," Chloe answers, laughing. "Like, Bond incognito or something. But more like the Timothy Dalton movie guy, not the one that comes here."

She shrugs, jolting a few things down on her laptop. "Out the door you came in through."

[slasherofprices.livejournal.com]

Um.

Seriously. It's like she's speaking English, but it's...Greek. To him. None of what she's saying makes any sense, and he doesn't know how to process it.

Oh, wait, yes he does: he reaches into his pockets, pulls out a lighter and a cigarette, and starts smoking.

"I'm--I'm terribly sorry but not a thing you're saying makes any sense."

What he's saying might not make any sense, either, what with him trying to talk and light a cigarette in his mouth at the same time.

[torch-reporter.livejournal.com]

Chloe's had practice. As for the slow part: she is friends with Clark Kent, isn't she?

"How about we start with introductions." She holds out a hand. "Chloe Sullivan."

[weeper-of-blood.livejournal.com]

That better not be who Le Chiffre thinks it is. And his mind is currently not thinking 'omgz younger Skinner' but far more of 'omgz not another Bond'. Poor Simon might get this from quite a few patrons.

Either way, he's going to go screw with the newbies mind! If Skinner were to look down, he may notice a weasel set on it's hind legs peering up at him.

[slasherofprices.livejournal.com]

He doesn't notice!

He looks down.

Now he does. Another animal.

Simon waves, weakly.

[weeper-of-blood.livejournal.com]

The weasel nods back a greeting, a rather strange action for a creature of his kind.

What's even stranger is the fact it speaks English.

"Hey. New here?"

[slasherofprices.livejournal.com]

TALKING WEASEL

WTF WTF WTF



Like a certain classic Hanna-Barbera cartoon character, Simon leaps about fifty feet in the air* in the direction away from the weasel, landing on his feet in a defensive "BEGONE VILE DEMON" stance.

* A slight exaggeration.

[weeper-of-blood.livejournal.com]

Simon gets a look that clearly suggests he's the weird one out of the two, and that a talking weasel should be a totally normal thing that doesn't need to be getting freaked out over. Somehow the weasel has managed to convey this in his facial expression.

"I'll take that as a yes. But congratulations of such a unique method of answering."

[slasherofprices.livejournal.com]

"Why are you talking?" whines Simon.

[call-me-kick.livejournal.com]

Kick is not an animal, although if she were, she would probably be a hummingburd, or something else that is usually very hyper and flitty and HEY LOOK OVER THERE A CONFUSED GUY --

"Hiya, Mister."

[slasherofprices.livejournal.com]

Why is there a child in his house.

Why is there a bar with animals in his house???

WHYYYYYYYYYYYYY






"Hello," he says, rather gloomily.

[call-me-kick.livejournal.com]

Blink.

"What's the matter?"

[slasherofprices.livejournal.com]

"This isn't my house," he replies, stating the obvious.

[call-me-kick.livejournal.com]

"No."

... she can be a brat, sometimes.

Just fyi.

"It's mine. What're you doing in my house?"

[slasherofprices.livejournal.com]

Uh.

"Dear child, this is not your house."

[badboybutterman]

LOOK OUT, IZ A HAPPY SHEEPDOG COMIN ATCHA!

As Danny bounds toward the 'stranger' he catches a whiff of him within a couple feet, and then suddenly it's a mad scramble to stop stop STOP-

He tumbles into the man's legs with a yelp! He finds his footing again and backs up, the familiar scent of this man confusing the fuck out of him.

Danny hasn't learned yet how to talk, what with being too preoccupied with being a dog, but if he could speak, he's say something like "Holy shit!"

[slasherofprices.livejournal.com]

Simon is knocked backwards onto his rear end at the impact. When he pushes himself up--

DOGGIE!

It's like someone's flipped a switch in him: he's gone from confused and jittery to genuinely elated. Well, as elated as he can be, given the circumstances. He's glad to have a fluffy dog distract him.

"Hell-o," he chimes. "You wouldn't possibly happen to know where I am, would you?" He sounds insane and he knows it. But at least this is a dog. The dog won't laugh at him or agree he sounds insane.

[badboybutterman]

Skinner. Twenty-years younger, at least. WTF.

Danny growls in reply. It's not a particularly threatening growl, just a little one. Maybe with a question mark at the end of it. And you can't really see his bared teeth because of the fuzz on his face. But it's a growl nevertheless.

[slasherofprices.livejournal.com]

Skinner tilts his head, frowning quizzically. "You aren't lost, too, are you?"

[badboybutterman]

"Wuff!" he snorts with a shake of his head.

This would translate roughly into, I know you are, but what am I?

[slasherofprices.livejournal.com]

"Oh. Well."

He doesn't speak dog, so he's not sure how to respond.

"Perhaps you can lead me to someone who can say where I am?"