Author's opening message: Another wacky chapter, hope you think it's fun. -NV22
Author's note: Some system or another does not want to support html, so stage directions or whichever are in //'s, word emphasises are in **'s.
Author's feeble request: Please R/R!!!
Disclaimer: Loki and Bartleby were created by Kevin Smith. I am not Kevin Smith. Thank you.
R for language
***
Bartleby settled down on the couch, picked up the remote, and smiled. It was his favorite time of the day; time for Gilligan and his wacky adventures. Loki was locked in his room, tinkering with small explosives. But as long as the TV remained in tact for half an hour, Bartleby didn't really care.
The opening credits began to roll, and Bartleby propped his arms behind his head. Humanity had existed for eons, and as far as he could tell, they'd only done two things right. Microwavable dinners and Gilligan reruns. Damn.
It was Bartleby's favorite episode, the one with the hunter who came and chased Gilligan around the island with one of those huge guns. He was about ten minutes into the show when Loki appeared, looking a little flustered and a lot ashy.
Bartleby looked him over. "This is why you were born an angel and not a scientist."
Loki was breathless as he spoke. "The green liquid?" he gasped, gesturing elaborately, "don't ever, *ever* mix it with the blue liquid."
Bartleby nodded. "Gotcha." He turned his attention back to the screen, but a series of commercials had already started. "Oh, fuck! You made me miss my show!"
"There's still twenty minutes left, and you've seen this episode fifty-five times already. And that was just this year."
"Well, c'mon. Guys with guns. You gotta love it."
Loki shrugged in agreement, and they stared at the screen like any good Gen-Xers. A preview for The Bourne Identity came on, and Bartleby groaned. "Jesus, man, five times a day! You know what this guy's motivation was for this movie? 'I'm Matt Damon. I'm in France and I'm sexy.'"
Loki nodded, eyes riveted to the screen. "Probably," he agreed in a far-off voice.
Bartleby glanced at him, then to the screen, then back again, then back *again*. "You...you look a lot like that guy," he said, pointing.
"What? Of course not!" There was a pause. "I have much better hair."
"Why are you even in here?" Bartleby asked.
"Oh. We need to go to the grocery store. We're out of food coloring."
"What?"
"How else do you think I made the green liquid?"
Bartleby groaned. "Oh, c'mon, my *show's* on! Don't do this to me, man! I let you watch Hey Arnold!"
"You have this on tape." Loki turned off the TV and dragged a grumbling Bartleby outside.
***
The Supermart grocery store on a Thursday afternoon. Fairly empty, a few neighborhood locals milling about, minding their own business as they compared the prices on Fruit Loops and weighed zucchinis.
Then suddenly a blur of black overcoat and blond hair wheeled past, pushing a shopping cart and whooping. The makeshift bobsled turned the corner and disappeared, and a few seconds later, a second man in a black overcoat lumbered past on foot , screaming, "Loki! Get your stupid ass back here!" before also disappearing around the corner.
The shoppers paused, some glancing at each other in confusion, then jumped simultaneously as they heard a loud crash. A single can of tomato sauce rolled in from the next aisle and clattered to a stop.
Over in the canned foods aisle, a shopping cart lay on its side, one lone wheel spinning in the air creakily, as a startled Loki lay on the floor next to it, shaking. Bartleby hurried over to his friend and bent down, wondering if the blond angel was going through trauma.
But as he leaned in closer, Loki laughed in his face. "Man! That fucking rocked! Can we do it again?"
"NO!" Bartleby helped Loki, still laughing, to his feet, and then calmly smacked the Angel of Death in the back of the head. "Do that again and I'll kill you a second time."
"Oh, lighten up."
Bartleby sighed. "Why are we here, again?"
"Food coloring." Loki paused. "And cookies."
"You can't eat cookies. You can't digest."
"They taste good."
"If I buy you food coloring and gum, can we leave?"
"And beer?"
"You. Can't. DRINK! Beer."
"For spitting, dumbass," Loki said irritably, as though this was the most obvious thing in the universe, which, Bartleby supposed, it probably was.
"Fine. But we have to share."
"Okay."
Bartleby tipped the cart right side up and started to push off in search for the food coloring/gum/beer aisles, when Loki coughed loudly behind him. Bartleby turned, his angelic companion was wearing a puppy-dog expression. The Grigori sighed deeply. "You want to ride in the cart, don't you."
Loki nodded.
"Climb on in, old friend."
As the smaller angel hoisted himself into the cart, he leaned over to whisper something in the Watcher's ear. Bartleby laughed.
Less than five minutes later, shoppers in the produce aisle were forced to jump out of the way as a shopping cart bearing two young men rattled past, the blond guy in the cart shouting out triumphantly, "'Cause we Jamaicans have a bobsled team!"
***FIN***
Author's note: Some system or another does not want to support html, so stage directions or whichever are in //'s, word emphasises are in **'s.
Author's feeble request: Please R/R!!!
Disclaimer: Loki and Bartleby were created by Kevin Smith. I am not Kevin Smith. Thank you.
R for language
***
Bartleby settled down on the couch, picked up the remote, and smiled. It was his favorite time of the day; time for Gilligan and his wacky adventures. Loki was locked in his room, tinkering with small explosives. But as long as the TV remained in tact for half an hour, Bartleby didn't really care.
The opening credits began to roll, and Bartleby propped his arms behind his head. Humanity had existed for eons, and as far as he could tell, they'd only done two things right. Microwavable dinners and Gilligan reruns. Damn.
It was Bartleby's favorite episode, the one with the hunter who came and chased Gilligan around the island with one of those huge guns. He was about ten minutes into the show when Loki appeared, looking a little flustered and a lot ashy.
Bartleby looked him over. "This is why you were born an angel and not a scientist."
Loki was breathless as he spoke. "The green liquid?" he gasped, gesturing elaborately, "don't ever, *ever* mix it with the blue liquid."
Bartleby nodded. "Gotcha." He turned his attention back to the screen, but a series of commercials had already started. "Oh, fuck! You made me miss my show!"
"There's still twenty minutes left, and you've seen this episode fifty-five times already. And that was just this year."
"Well, c'mon. Guys with guns. You gotta love it."
Loki shrugged in agreement, and they stared at the screen like any good Gen-Xers. A preview for The Bourne Identity came on, and Bartleby groaned. "Jesus, man, five times a day! You know what this guy's motivation was for this movie? 'I'm Matt Damon. I'm in France and I'm sexy.'"
Loki nodded, eyes riveted to the screen. "Probably," he agreed in a far-off voice.
Bartleby glanced at him, then to the screen, then back again, then back *again*. "You...you look a lot like that guy," he said, pointing.
"What? Of course not!" There was a pause. "I have much better hair."
"Why are you even in here?" Bartleby asked.
"Oh. We need to go to the grocery store. We're out of food coloring."
"What?"
"How else do you think I made the green liquid?"
Bartleby groaned. "Oh, c'mon, my *show's* on! Don't do this to me, man! I let you watch Hey Arnold!"
"You have this on tape." Loki turned off the TV and dragged a grumbling Bartleby outside.
***
The Supermart grocery store on a Thursday afternoon. Fairly empty, a few neighborhood locals milling about, minding their own business as they compared the prices on Fruit Loops and weighed zucchinis.
Then suddenly a blur of black overcoat and blond hair wheeled past, pushing a shopping cart and whooping. The makeshift bobsled turned the corner and disappeared, and a few seconds later, a second man in a black overcoat lumbered past on foot , screaming, "Loki! Get your stupid ass back here!" before also disappearing around the corner.
The shoppers paused, some glancing at each other in confusion, then jumped simultaneously as they heard a loud crash. A single can of tomato sauce rolled in from the next aisle and clattered to a stop.
Over in the canned foods aisle, a shopping cart lay on its side, one lone wheel spinning in the air creakily, as a startled Loki lay on the floor next to it, shaking. Bartleby hurried over to his friend and bent down, wondering if the blond angel was going through trauma.
But as he leaned in closer, Loki laughed in his face. "Man! That fucking rocked! Can we do it again?"
"NO!" Bartleby helped Loki, still laughing, to his feet, and then calmly smacked the Angel of Death in the back of the head. "Do that again and I'll kill you a second time."
"Oh, lighten up."
Bartleby sighed. "Why are we here, again?"
"Food coloring." Loki paused. "And cookies."
"You can't eat cookies. You can't digest."
"They taste good."
"If I buy you food coloring and gum, can we leave?"
"And beer?"
"You. Can't. DRINK! Beer."
"For spitting, dumbass," Loki said irritably, as though this was the most obvious thing in the universe, which, Bartleby supposed, it probably was.
"Fine. But we have to share."
"Okay."
Bartleby tipped the cart right side up and started to push off in search for the food coloring/gum/beer aisles, when Loki coughed loudly behind him. Bartleby turned, his angelic companion was wearing a puppy-dog expression. The Grigori sighed deeply. "You want to ride in the cart, don't you."
Loki nodded.
"Climb on in, old friend."
As the smaller angel hoisted himself into the cart, he leaned over to whisper something in the Watcher's ear. Bartleby laughed.
Less than five minutes later, shoppers in the produce aisle were forced to jump out of the way as a shopping cart bearing two young men rattled past, the blond guy in the cart shouting out triumphantly, "'Cause we Jamaicans have a bobsled team!"
***FIN***