Just something that I found on my computer; they somewhat amused me. I suppose they were little ideas that I had, and planned, but I never had the time to expand them into full oneshots. Then, I noticed that they were all less than 200 words, and so I stuck them all together and thought that I'd share. They're ridiculous and half-formed and undedited, but the way I am, if I don't post them, they will be forever lost in a void of words, thoughts, and... um, laziness. -Mels
Murdoch Mysteries drabbles- in 200 words or less
Safety
Julia was extremely lax when it came to her own safety, and this frustrated William beyond measure. He would have thought, having had many close encounters with death, that she would be exceedingly cautious- but this was not the case. She had stepped on many toes in her time, and habitually she would nonchalantly tell him of threats made to her. Said threats would have put anyone on edge, but not his Julia. She had proved many a times that she could take care of herself- namely, when she knocked three attacking men unconscious whilst her arm was immobile in a sling- but William still worried. How could do anything else?
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Oddities
There was no denying that George Crabtree was a thoughtful man. Almost every day, he had some gift or other for Emily- but, she thought, grimacing, she wished that he would present her with normal things. Flowers and chocolates would do nicely. Just in the past week, Emily had received several bedraggled pages of George's novel, a spider frozen in a chunk of ice, a snake fang ("it belonged to my Aunt Lily," he had claimed proudly. "She killed the snake herself."), and a slab of brick with an odd pattern etched into its center. George had even begun to talk enthusiastically about the squirrel head that he had found. Tremendously alarmed, Emily had assured him that, while she appreciated the thought, she did not want an animal head on her wall.
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Inebriated
Inspector Brackenreid promised himself that he would never touch another drop of alcohol. Never again did he want to experience such hammering in his head; it was as if the gates of Hell themselves were rattling! He hadn't a clue how he was to get through the rest of the day- and what a day it was proving to be, with Murdoch droning on and on about science, and George assuring him that he had seen a fairy the other day. They were all nutcases! Nutcases with enormously loud voices… had Higgins just slammed the door of his office on purpose? That lad was going to pay, thought Brackenreid, grimly. He'd deal with him, and all of the good-for-nothing, snickering constables…. right after he took a short nap….
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Useless
If there was one adjective with which to describe Constable Jackson, it was useless. Crabtree was feather-brained and doo-laley, Higgins was irritating and complained to no end, but at least the pair of them got work done. Jackson fumbled with even the smallest of tasks, and seemed unable to carry his duties out without some measure of help. Even hearing the man talk caused Brackenreid to cringe- though, admittedly, when he was in this mood, hearing anybody talk made him seethe. Why had he even been bloody hired? Jackson was as dull as a brick! Simmering with impatience, Brackenreid stalked away. I need a drink.
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Arrows
William often wondered whether or not it was wise for Julia to practice her archery when angered. It did improve her aim further- William had watched, open-mouthed, as she had struck the bulls-eye twelve times in a row, fuming all the while- but he worried about the safety of the others at the archery site. He felt that one day an innocent passerby would take an arrow to the knee… a perfectly aimed and executed arrow, but an arrow nonetheless.
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Complaints
Why does he have to do this? Why him? Why are the jobs so long, tedious, and pointless? Why can't George do them? Why won't George shut up about essential work? Why isn't Detective Murdoch helping? Why is everyone in the station house so stupid? No, check that, why is everyone in this world so stupid? How does George have a sweetheart before me? How can George get so excited about such insignificant things? How can he get out of this awkward job? He hates doing this. That's utterly idiotic. So what? Who cares?
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Darkness
Julia had never been afraid of the dark. In fact, she had teased Ruby about her aversion to it… so, what had changed? Why did she now dread turning off the light, and becoming enveloped in a velvety blanket of darkness? Was it because she had been in darkness, enclosed, trapped, the air slowly draining from her lungs?
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Hatred
Julia hated James Gillies, beyond doubt, and beyond credulity. That in itself was fairly reasonable, as the criminal had murdered her husband and attempted to murder her several times… but there was the puzzle. She didn't hate him because of that. She hated the way that he made her feel. He brought out in her the ugliest of emotions; she wanted him to die, for God's sake! She wanted him to feel pain, to be in absolute agony, and these thoughts disturbed her even more than Gillies himself.
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Helpful
Henry wasn't.
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Hiccups
George was ailed with a very strong case of the hiccups. Normally, this wouldn't have bothered him- Henry would sniggered and then all would have been forgotten- but they happened to strike in the middle of one of Inspector Brackenreid's speeches. Much to George's dismay, the inspector thought that he was mocking him, and stormed away, incensed. George, in an attempt to gain his favor, as well as placate him, had later told him a lengthy and humorous story about his aunts. Unfortunately, this had only annoyed the Inspector further- and George had been put on prisoner-toilet duty for the remainder of the week.