A/N: Hey guys – welcome to 'Blake' – a series of one-shots compiled together to make a whole story giving an insight into Blake Collins' life; pre Director-ship, and while he's Director of MSA. Don't worry, nothing too heavy, most humorous (we hope) and just to explain, Reuben DeFlash and Nikki-of-Stormhold are co-writing this – the first one-shot is written by Nikki and we'll be posting in alternate chapters.
R and R please because there is nothing more heart breaking that people adding it to their fave's or looking at it but not giving some kind of criticism or praise. Also, we like the shivers we get when we see someone has been kind enough to write one (Creepy but I think everyone knows what we're talking about)
:D OK got that? Enjoy.
The Remote
Chase slid further into the sofa as his older brother sat down beside him. His chin was almost touching his chest as he lolled lazily, a bowl of pop corn resting precariously on his knees. His eyes were glued to the television screen, where an old black and white film was keeping him amused. Blake looked at his brother, looked at the screen, and then looked back at his brother.
"Man, does Andie know you watch this crap?" he asked.
Chase turned his head slowly.
"You know for a director of arts, you lack artistic appreciation, brother," he said, grinning and rustling his pop corn.
Blake blinked in silence. Locating the remote was simple- it laid innocently on the coffee table where Chase's legs were propped up. Blake looked at it.
"Don't do it, man" Chase warned without even looking at him.
"It's my house!" Blake said indignantly.
"And I live with you. It's 50/50 over TV; we agreed that when mom and dad let me move in with you."
"So when do I get my 50?" Blake said moodily, leaning back into the sofa. He eyed up the remote, looked sideways at his brother and made a split second decision. He lunged forward toward the coffee table, grabbed the remote and changed the channel. Chase turned very slowly to look at him, frowning.
"Dude, you should not have done that." He lowered his legs from the coffee table and put his popcorn bowl down carefully. He looked up at Blake, who did the only thing he could think of to do- and ran. Chase shot up after him, screaming mild obscenities and threats. Upon reaching the kitchen, Blake realized that he was trapped, and still gripping the remote he crawled under the dining table and out of the other side.
"What are you, some kind of jungle dweller?" Chase yelled, tearing back into the living room where Blake now stood in front of the couch. Chase stood in the doorway and sighed.
"This is your last chance. Give up the remote and I won't hurt you."
"What makes you think you can hurt me? We are both adult males here, Chase," Blake said, retreating slightly.
"Yeah, and you're old and I'm not."
"I'm 30!" Blake said, again wearing his indignant face.
"Like I said, you're old."
There was a brief silence, during which Blake contemplated legging it out of the patio doors, but gave up on this mission upon remembering that he'd locked them the night before. There was only one thing for it- he'd have to stand his ground and fight. Suddenly, Chase hurled himself at Blake full pelt, and they both fell heavily backwards onto the couch. The scrambling began, growing gradually more violent. They migrated onto the floor, where Chase sat on Blake and pressed his face into the carpet.
"Eat dust, bro," he shouted triumphantly as he prized the remote from Blake's hand.
"CHASE! GET OFF OF ME! Or I swear I will make your life a misery at school for the next two months!"
"Give it up, old man," Chase said, rolling off of his brother and scrambling onto his feet. He changed the TV channel and was about to sit down and resume his viewing when Blake grabbed his legs from under him.
"Who the heck are you calling old, you little cretin!" It was Blake's turn to sit on Chase, and as he did so he began to stuff pop corn into his younger brother's mouth and down the neck of his shirt. It was a while before either of them noticed their neighbor, Trevor, standing in the doorway.
There was a long pause. Chase lay on the floor, his mouth full of an extraordinary amount of popcorn, which also bulged inside his shirt in places. Blake sat on him, the almost empty popcorn bowl in one hand and a handful of popcorn in the other, poised and ready to stuff it into Chase's clothing. The remote lay a few yards away from them.
"Err, hi guys," Trevor said, taking a moment to cast his eyes over the scene.
"Hi Trev," Blake said innocently, lowering the popcorn bowl.
"Is everything ok? Only…I heard a lot of noise and thought I'd come round to check." Trevor looked around at the tipped over furniture and popcorn mess.
"Everything's fine, right Chase?" Blake looked down at his brother.
Chase mumbled something totally incoherent.
"Sorry Chase, I didn't quite catch that," Blake said, wielding a fistful of popcorn over Chase's face.
Trevor looked confused.
"The film ends and I let you go. Deal?"
Chase thought for a moment, and nodded.
Blake rolled off of his brother and stood up, switching the TV over to a sport channel and throwing himself down onto the couch. Chase spat popcorn everywhere, and greeted Trevor politely.
"Thanks Trev, just a minor dispute between brothers. Nothing to worry about."
With that Trevor left, looking worried.
Chase sat down next to Blake on the sofa and sighed.
"I can report you, you know, for grievous bodily harm and excessive trauma." He put his legs up once again on the now wonky coffee table.
"Do that and I throw you out," Blake said with a satisfied smile. "You could always go live back with mom and dad…"
The two of them sat for a while to recover. They had not had this much fun in ages.