OMG, I wrote a fucking crackfic!
Nov. 21st, 2004 01:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
*grabs nearest lead pipe (as though these things are just lyin’ around >_O) and beats the CRAP outta this plotbunny* It must die. Seriously, read the fic, and you’ll know what I mean. This is what happens when you put me on a caffeine & sugar induced high and then keep me up past midnight...
Title: one REALLY bad morning...
Fandom: Underworld
Pairing(s) : Kraven/two random servant girls, mention of Kraven/Lucian, and mild Kraven/ Soren (Wow, Kraven gets around...)
Rating: R (for language, slash hinting, and general inappropriate silliness...)
Summary: A fic in which Soren consumes excess sugar, bitch-slaps Kraven, flips a couple people off, and swears in Irish.
Notes: “striapach” means “whore”.
“Téigh trasna ort féin” means “go fuck yourself”.
9:00 a.m.
*step*
“Ow.”
*step*
“Fucking lycans...”
*step*
“This...”
*step*
“...is so...”
*step* *wince*
“...stupid!”
*step* CLANG!
“Dammit!” Soren swore loudly.
-------------
9:05 a.m.
After uprighting both himself and the endtable he’d crashed into, Soren managed to stagger back into his room still muttering very inappropriate things under his breath. It had been one hell of a night...emphasis on the “hell” part. Despite Kraven’ssleeping with alliance with Lucian, Soren and the regent’s other supporters were occasionally called upon to go out with the death dealers and fight lycans. Last night was one of those nights.
And Soren hated it. One glance down at his gashed left shin and dislocated ankle was easily enough to confirm which species had fared better after the bloody debacle. It was just a good thing that the back of his trenchcoat hid the spot where the seat of his pants had been ripped off...
~5 hours earlier...~
Soren’s boots hit the pavement loudly, their sound seeming to echo. This was truly one of the most ill-fated hunts he’d ever been on. The vampires had been forced to retreat from their lycan adversaries, and one particularly persistent werewolf had followed the older vampire doggedly. (A/N: Haha! I made a pun!)
Turning sharply at the mouth of an alley, Soren skidded along the conveniently wet pavement. However, being the protagonist in this fic, he didn’t fall over and get violently torn apart by the lycan chasing him. Instead he spied a fence at the end of the alley. Dashing toward this utterly implausible avenue of escape, he jumped onto the garbage cans at the end of the alleyway and was nearly over the fence when...
RIP!
The lycan had gotten closer and leaped with the vampire, and had Soren been any slower, the result would’ve been quite, ah, uncomfortable. Instead, the pursuing lycan’s ravenous jaws had only ruined his clothes, tearing out the seat of his pants à la mailman.
Once on the fictionally exaggerated safety of the other side of the fence, the janissary quickly and sheepishly pulled his trench coat back on, lest anyone see what had happened.
~end flashback~
-------------
9:30 a.m.
Excess amounts of sugar poured into a coffee cup while an idle servant maid watched, wrinkling her prim coutenance in distaste.
“I see you like coffee with your sugar,” she sniped, continuing to stare and marvel at how someone could dump so much sugar into so little coffee.
Soren simply stirred (A/N: Oh, look! Alliteration!) with renewed vigor and added in more sugar if only to spite this little whelp who seemed intent on irking him.
“Just how much are you gonna put in there?” She really couldn’t take a hint...
“As much as I damn well want, you little striapach,” the older vampire snapped.
“I was just trying to help,” she pouted indignatly.
Help indeed! “If you really want to help, then fuck off!”
“Hmmph,” she muttered, stamping her foot almost childishly. “Bugger.”
“Same to you, sweetheart!” the janissary called sarcastically as she stomped off. “Téigh trasna ort féin...” he added under his breath.
-------------
9:47 a.m.
After downing the sugar and coffee concoction, Soren moseyed around the mansion since he was wired as hell from the caffeine and sugar. Even though his leg still hurt from fighting lycans, he limped onward anyways. Unfortunately for him though, it wasn’t long before the janissary’s path crossed that of a gaggle of twittering servant girls.
Trying valiantly to ignore them, Soren’s jaw clenched as he heard the phrases “looks like someone prefers to take it up the ass” and “no kidding, he’s limping something awful”.
Smiling a fake sweet smile, Soren flipped off the stupid biddies and limped/walked away.
-------------
10:03 a.m.
Note to self: Enduring taunts and glares from random death dealers who can’t stand you is worse than rude remarks from oversexed, wannabe femme fatales.
-------------
10:25 a.m.
Okay, Soren thought acidly after having encountered still more vampires, social interaction sucks more than a five-cent whoreand the author should be shot on sight.
And why are all these people awake?! It’s the middle of the frickin’ day!
-------------
10:42 a.m.
Go through the salon, walk up the main staircase, and then you’re practically scot-free!
Soren mentally repeated the hopeful words to himself like a mantra.
“Soren,” someone called.
Shit.
“Kraven.”
The regent was sitting not that far away with two scandalously glad servant girls. “Why don’t you join me?” he asked, smirking at the two simpering females who were practically hanging off him.
The two fledgling girls giggled like nitwits at the suggestion and glanced from Soren to Kraven smiling nefariously at each other.
“I think...I’ll pass,” the older man replied, cringing inwardly. He was about to leave when the regent’s sneering voice called out across the entire—thankfully, almost empty—grand hall.
“Damn, Soren, you’re such a hopeless prude.”
The janissary’s eye twitched severely. That was not what Kraven had been saying a few nights ago...
-------------
10:55 a.m.
Soren walked away from the salon with the servant girls’ outraged gasps following in his wake. The janissary barely resisted the urge to flip off this group of whiny fledglings as well, somehow not really caring if the red mark on Kraven’s face was still there by nightfall.
-------------
11:08 a.m.
By some miracle of gods who actually cared, Soren made it back to his room without *gasp* further incident. (Actually, the author just ran out of things to do to him.)
With the sugar high wearing off, Soren staggered to his bed and collapsed facedown into the pillow. He needed sleep. Badly. He just prayed to every god he could think of that there were no new assignments waiting for him tonight.
--Fin--
Title: one REALLY bad morning...
Fandom: Underworld
Pairing(s) : Kraven/two random servant girls, mention of Kraven/Lucian, and mild Kraven/ Soren (Wow, Kraven gets around...)
Rating: R (for language, slash hinting, and general inappropriate silliness...)
Summary: A fic in which Soren consumes excess sugar, bitch-slaps Kraven, flips a couple people off, and swears in Irish.
Notes: “striapach” means “whore”.
“Téigh trasna ort féin” means “go fuck yourself”.
9:00 a.m.
*step*
“Ow.”
*step*
“Fucking lycans...”
*step*
“This...”
*step*
“...is so...”
*step* *wince*
“...stupid!”
*step* CLANG!
“Dammit!” Soren swore loudly.
-------------
9:05 a.m.
After uprighting both himself and the endtable he’d crashed into, Soren managed to stagger back into his room still muttering very inappropriate things under his breath. It had been one hell of a night...emphasis on the “hell” part. Despite Kraven’s
And Soren hated it. One glance down at his gashed left shin and dislocated ankle was easily enough to confirm which species had fared better after the bloody debacle. It was just a good thing that the back of his trenchcoat hid the spot where the seat of his pants had been ripped off...
~5 hours earlier...~
Soren’s boots hit the pavement loudly, their sound seeming to echo. This was truly one of the most ill-fated hunts he’d ever been on. The vampires had been forced to retreat from their lycan adversaries, and one particularly persistent werewolf had followed the older vampire doggedly. (A/N: Haha! I made a pun!)
Turning sharply at the mouth of an alley, Soren skidded along the conveniently wet pavement. However, being the protagonist in this fic, he didn’t fall over and get violently torn apart by the lycan chasing him. Instead he spied a fence at the end of the alley. Dashing toward this utterly implausible avenue of escape, he jumped onto the garbage cans at the end of the alleyway and was nearly over the fence when...
RIP!
The lycan had gotten closer and leaped with the vampire, and had Soren been any slower, the result would’ve been quite, ah, uncomfortable. Instead, the pursuing lycan’s ravenous jaws had only ruined his clothes, tearing out the seat of his pants à la mailman.
Once on the fictionally exaggerated safety of the other side of the fence, the janissary quickly and sheepishly pulled his trench coat back on, lest anyone see what had happened.
~end flashback~
-------------
9:30 a.m.
Excess amounts of sugar poured into a coffee cup while an idle servant maid watched, wrinkling her prim coutenance in distaste.
“I see you like coffee with your sugar,” she sniped, continuing to stare and marvel at how someone could dump so much sugar into so little coffee.
Soren simply stirred (A/N: Oh, look! Alliteration!) with renewed vigor and added in more sugar if only to spite this little whelp who seemed intent on irking him.
“Just how much are you gonna put in there?” She really couldn’t take a hint...
“As much as I damn well want, you little striapach,” the older vampire snapped.
“I was just trying to help,” she pouted indignatly.
Help indeed! “If you really want to help, then fuck off!”
“Hmmph,” she muttered, stamping her foot almost childishly. “Bugger.”
“Same to you, sweetheart!” the janissary called sarcastically as she stomped off. “Téigh trasna ort féin...” he added under his breath.
-------------
9:47 a.m.
After downing the sugar and coffee concoction, Soren moseyed around the mansion since he was wired as hell from the caffeine and sugar. Even though his leg still hurt from fighting lycans, he limped onward anyways. Unfortunately for him though, it wasn’t long before the janissary’s path crossed that of a gaggle of twittering servant girls.
Trying valiantly to ignore them, Soren’s jaw clenched as he heard the phrases “looks like someone prefers to take it up the ass” and “no kidding, he’s limping something awful”.
Smiling a fake sweet smile, Soren flipped off the stupid biddies and limped/walked away.
-------------
10:03 a.m.
Note to self: Enduring taunts and glares from random death dealers who can’t stand you is worse than rude remarks from oversexed, wannabe femme fatales.
-------------
10:25 a.m.
Okay, Soren thought acidly after having encountered still more vampires, social interaction sucks more than a five-cent whore
And why are all these people awake?! It’s the middle of the frickin’ day!
-------------
10:42 a.m.
Go through the salon, walk up the main staircase, and then you’re practically scot-free!
Soren mentally repeated the hopeful words to himself like a mantra.
“Soren,” someone called.
Shit.
“Kraven.”
The regent was sitting not that far away with two scandalously glad servant girls. “Why don’t you join me?” he asked, smirking at the two simpering females who were practically hanging off him.
The two fledgling girls giggled like nitwits at the suggestion and glanced from Soren to Kraven smiling nefariously at each other.
“I think...I’ll pass,” the older man replied, cringing inwardly. He was about to leave when the regent’s sneering voice called out across the entire—thankfully, almost empty—grand hall.
“Damn, Soren, you’re such a hopeless prude.”
The janissary’s eye twitched severely. That was not what Kraven had been saying a few nights ago...
-------------
10:55 a.m.
Soren walked away from the salon with the servant girls’ outraged gasps following in his wake. The janissary barely resisted the urge to flip off this group of whiny fledglings as well, somehow not really caring if the red mark on Kraven’s face was still there by nightfall.
-------------
11:08 a.m.
By some miracle of gods who actually cared, Soren made it back to his room without *gasp* further incident. (Actually, the author just ran out of things to do to him.)
With the sugar high wearing off, Soren staggered to his bed and collapsed facedown into the pillow. He needed sleep. Badly. He just prayed to every god he could think of that there were no new assignments waiting for him tonight.
--Fin--
no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 07:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 01:34 pm (UTC)That bad?
no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 03:52 pm (UTC)No, not the word I was thinking...
*ponders*
*ponders*
*ponders*
more liked Bad Day for a certain Janissary....
no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 02:36 pm (UTC)=====> O.o
no subject
Date: 2004-11-24 05:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 04:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-24 05:13 pm (UTC)Soren: Noooo!
no subject
Date: 2004-11-21 07:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-25 12:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-22 05:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-25 12:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-29 09:46 pm (UTC)That was bloody excellent.
Well Done!
“Just how much are you gonna put in there?” She really couldn’t take a hint...
“As much as I damn well want, you little striapach,” the older vampire snapped.
Class!!!
*Memorises Irish swear words for future use*
Pappy x
no subject
Date: 2004-11-30 03:18 am (UTC)"*Memorises Irish swear words for future use*"
Swear words always come in handy...no matter what the language!