As a way to relieve stress from my –BUSY- life, I'm making an AU of my Jurassic Park AU. This one is supposed to be "parody" fic, we'll see how it goes.
Ian was hot.
The AC had been out for three days. Three very long days. Days filled with sweat, tears, and good old-fashioned hard work. Three cases solved, three days. Ian smirked, thinking 'guess three's my lucky number today.' How right he was.
On the other side of town, rejoicing in his leave from that humid office, Muldoon was taking thunderous strides across the sidewalk. Thunderous strides… thunderous thighs. For that is what Muldoon's thighs were - dappled with early afternoon sunlight, the muscles rippled, nay, shimmered as they worked to keep this mighty man in motion. He was on his way to the Dusty Bone, a popular, albeit ramshackle bar on the bad side of town. A lady archaeologist, beautiful and down on her luck, ran it with the help of her adopted son, Tim. He was an orphan because he was ugly.
Ellie sighed, rolling her shoulders while contemplating death. Not her own, of course, but John Hammond's - Tim's secretly alive grandfather. Ellie had told him that John had been eaten by large insects after falling to his death from the rescue helicopter. She shuddered involuntarily, not wanting to think about their time on that wretched island. Life wasn't exactly great now, but at least she wasn't being chased by velociraptors or being forced to put up with that smarmy bastard Alan's passive-aggressive BULLSHIT! She accidentally yelled this last part out loud, but it didn't matter. The bar was always empty.
'C-H-A-O-T-I-C-I-A-N', Ian enunciated into the phone. Every damn time – you'd think the interviewers would know how to spell it by now, seeing as he'd been on the New York Time's best-seller list for eighteen weeks straight. The man had lunch dates scheduled from now til the end of time, for christ's sake. Ian looked at his watch – it was time for his asshole boss to come in and yell at him, as Alan always did after his smoking break. He had taken it up after Ellie had spit in his face and called him a sentient coprolite. Ian knew that had to hurt, but still, Alan was an a-hole.
'GET YOUR THUMB OUT OF YOUR BUTT AND PUT IT IN MINE!', bellowed Alan, causing some important documents to fly off of the desk and smack dab into Ian's perplexed face.
'Ah, um, did you, by any chance, mean to say that out loud?' Ian queried, his voice slightly muffled as he tried to remove the papers from his face.
'NOT THE LAST PART!' roared the chief of police. Alan had suffered an injury that inexplicably caused him to yell at truly monstrous volumes. The doctors were doing what they could to manage it, but the condition had no name and was hard to treat.
Ian sighed. This was going to be a very, very long day.
I will write more when I do not feel ashamed to be a member of the human race. Some people on this website need to grow up.
