No Whimsy, Sugar (taste_is_sweet) wrote,
No Whimsy, Sugar
taste_is_sweet

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Hey, look! I wrote a snippet of vaguely James Cameron-esque sci-fi ridiculousness!

With lots of swearing in it. Go figure.

It's slightly edited from a snippet I wrote as comment fic for a prompt in today's post at wrisomifu. The prompt was from Eddie Izzard:

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I did an original sin. I poked a badger with a spoon.



His actual name was 'Rex' or 'Rick' or something. Bryan was pretty sure it was Rick--he looked like a Rick; all the Ricks Bryan had ever known were batshit insane--but everyone called him 'Skunk' for no reason Bryan could fathom except that he answered to it.

So here he was, trapped in the copilot's seat of a Badger X02 (experimental, because it turned out that the Air Force was batshit insane too), and apparently they were going so fast that if the 'internal dampers' (no, wait, it was something to do with inertia) things failed, he and Skunk would be smushed hamburger at the back of the spaceship.

Yes, they were in a fucking spaceship. Bryan really hadn't joined up for this.

Skunk, however, seemed to be enjoying himself. They were supposed to be engaging in a mock dogfight with the other Badger, but regrettably the other Badger was piloted by Jerry Spoon--who'd lost his first name the instant he got off the bus, naturally--and Spoon was a pretty decent guy, really, except that he happened to loathe Skunk with the heat of a thousand fiery suns.

This was a mutual loathing, of course (Skunk was nothing if not reciprocal), which meant that currently Skunk was screaming in homicidal rage while their Badger twisted into an inverted dive that managed to have Bryan's stomach in his throat even with the internal whatevers. It did mean that Spoon's next shot missed, however.

"YOU ARE DEAD, SPOON! YOU ARE DEAD, YOU GOT ME?" Skunk was bellowing into the radio. "NO ONE POKES MY BADGER, GOT IT? YOU ARE FUCKING DEAD, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

"Oh God, oh God, oh God, please slow down, Skunk. Please, please slow down," Bryan chanted. He could hear Spoon laughing over the radio and Spoon's copilot (Susan 'The Mir cat') screaming in terror beside him.

"You go ahead and try, asshole," Spoon sneered, which only made Skunk howl in rage.

"OH YEAH?" Skunk had a very impressive vocal range when he was pissed. "YOU WANNA POKE ME? POKE THIS, FUCKER."

"Uh, we're going to ram them, Skunk," Bryan pointed out helpfully as Skunk changed course and steered their Badger directly towards Spoon's. "I really think we're going to ram them if you don't--Oh my God! Pull up! PULL UP!"

In desperation, Bryan heaved backwards on his yoke. He was fighting both inertia (just because he couldn't feel it didn't mean it wasn't happening) and Skunk and Skunk's wrath-fueled adrenaline, but there was a lot to be said for imminent death being a fantastic motivator. Bryan's Badger skimmed the top of Spoon's, missing a collision by centimeters.

"Gee," Skunk said, blinking, as their Badger continued upwards on its curving trajectory. Apparently the slap of reality was enough to cool his ire somewhat. "We almost died."

"Yes, yes we did," Bryan said numbly. He leaned back in his seat and looked up, out of the canopy at the distant, whirling stars. "Maybe I can still transfer to the bomb squad."
Tags: check it, sci-fi, writing
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