Disclaimer, Author, Rating : Same as always
Title : Reproductions
Summary : I don't remember. Something about one girl, a million faces, she has to save everyone, who will save her.
Dedication : All my reviewers - you're the bomb-shizzle!!!
******************************************************************************
Vaughn was using Woody's opponent, Buzz, to tie Bob up into a corner. Sydney nearly laughed at the disgust that was on Vaughn's face. It was much like having to do a school project with that sweaty kid in the third grade. (the one who never took a bath/shower, not the one who was just continually sweating)
However, Vaughn was not creating a replica of the pyramids using sugar cubes that Bob found interesting to eat. Vaughn was not writing a report on Betty Friedan while Bob ate the markers. No. Vaughn was *just* restraining Bob, so if he should wake, he wouldn't be able to do anything.
Quite suddenly and without warning, Vaughn's phone rang. Mikey ran to his tossed off suit jacket and pulled out his cell.
"Vaughn - Speak." He barked. "Oh, hey Marshall . . . Umm, can you hold on a second? . . . Marsh - Marshall . . . Marshall! I'll call you back. OK? . . . Great."
Vaughn flipped his cell shut and glanced sheepishly at Sydney who was sending him a death glare.
"You just *forgot* it was there?"
"Well, I didn't even think to . . ."
"Yeah, you *obviously* didn't think."
"I love you."
"Ugh! Don't even try that, spy-boy. You're just lucky I'm not a heinous bitch like your wife. Or semi-wife."
"Are you sure you're not forgiving me because you love me and could never stay mad at me?"
"Stop with the Jedi mind tricks. They only worked in that one movie . . . What's it called?"
"How to Deal?"
"Now *that's* why I love you. How many other he-man spy-boys can name off teen-bopper-romance movies like you?"
"It must be the accent."
"Of which you should use more. Boys, or should I say . . . *men*, with accents are hot. Just look at Sark," Sydney teased.
"Should I be worried by that comment?"
"Let me think. . ."
"You realize I'm going to bash his head in next time I see him, now."
"I'm sorry, Vaughn. Maybe you should cut off his balls . . . of his feet instead. We wouldn't want to lose that fabulous head of his. After all, it is from where his voice sounds." Sydney fluttered her eyelids flirtatiously. She found it way too much fun to twist his words.
"Not commenting. . ."
"Suit yourself. Back to the cell. Do you think Marshall can get us an instant translation for Sanskrit?"
"I'll check." Vaughn flipped his cell open and hit speed dial, 5.
"Number five? Who are one through four?"
"How'd you know it was five? You don't have the vantage point."
"Hello, spy training. Even *you* can identify numbers by their pitch."
"Ouch, Syd, that hur . . . Hello? Marshall? . . . Yeah, I'm here. . . No, that's OK. . . I'll hold on." Sensing Sydney's confused look, Vaughn turned towards her placing his hand on the mouthpiece of the phone. "He had a mishap when testing one of his new instant appearance generators."
"Does it strike you as odd that Marshall and Bob are working on similar projects?"
"Yeah, they'd probably love each other. . . No, Marshall. It's no one. . . Yeah, I'm here with Sydney. . . No! Don't hang up. We need your help. . . Yes, you. . . Well you see . . . Yeah . . . OK, well, Sydney is chained up with . . . I don't know. . . Yeah. . . No, that's not the important thing . . . No that's not it . . . MARSHALL! The handcuffs are invisible and are loosened by a magic word, but the instructions are in Sanskrit. . . I don't know . . . How does *that* relate? . . . Fine, I'll ask. Syd, do your chains feel more like rubber bands or metal?"
"What does that have to do with Sanskrit?"
"Don't ask me, I'm just the messenger. Well, I'm not, but I'm looking into it."
"Hold on. . . They're more . . . elastic-like."
"Marshall, she said elastic. . . No! That's not important. Just translate the Sanskrit for us. . . What do you mean you don't speak Sanskrit? . . . I know, but you should just know. You're Marshall. . . You're right. . . I'm sorry. . . OK, I said I was sorry . . . Marshall, can you at least tell us how to build a translator. . . I'm aware that the plan isn't logical. . . I know you can't build a translator with out being there. . . Marshall, shut the hell up and tell me what to do. . . Well why didn't you just say that? . . . OK, OK. . . FINE! . . . Marshall, I love you dearly, but . . . Of *course* I mean in a non-prison movie sort of way. . . Just tell me what we need . . . OK . . . OK. . . I've got that . . . WHAT! . . . I heard what you said, but there is NO way I'm going to be able to find a long rubber balloon, a hose, and an umbrella. . . OK . . . Marshall . . . Marshall! I'll call you back when I have all the supplies . . . OK . . . OK . . . bye."
Sydney rolled her eyes. "You have longer conversations with him than you do with me."
"Not by choice," Vaughn muttered.
"Ouch! I think Marshall is a righteous dude. That's what all the kids think, too."
"Yeah, OK, Ferris."
"Just because you have no respect for the movies of *the* era. (A/N: Sorry, I hate to do this, but I, personally, am NOT a big fan of the 80's. That's all). Doesn't mean you have the right to insult the rest of us."
"No comment." Vaughn looked down at the crumbled body lying, or is it laying, in the chair. "Do you think he has a hose, an umbrella, and a long balloon?"
"Changing the subject is so betraying the rules of engagement."
"That's what you think."
"Ha! It doesn't matter anyways. You have all three of those items."
Vaughn looked up in surprise. "I do?"
"Oh, honey, I thought you'd never say it! I do, too! Although you could've been more convincing. Hold on. Let's rewind and try again. You have all three of those items."
"I - Wait just one moment! We are not getting married or engaged or ANYTHING until we get out of here. To get out of here we have to have an umbrella, a hose, and a long balloon. So what do you mean I have those items?"
"I think you know what I mean," Sydney commented. Vaughn looked confused, then rolled his eyes. Syd continued, not giving him a chance to butt in. "I have an umbrella in the inner left breast pocket of my suit jacket over there under Bob. It's a super-compact one that Marshall made. There's a hose in the hallway. I remember Bob mentioning how he likes to take it out on really hot days and dance in the water. Well . . . I'm just assuming you have a rubber, tube-like thing that could pass as a balloon."
"What makes you think that? I don't carry balloons with me everywhere."
"Sure you don't. Come on, Vaughn. Do I have to spell it out for you? CONDOM. YOU HAVE A CONDOM."
"Aren't condoms more latex-y than rubber-y and less 'stretchable'?"
"Why? Why do I have to love this stupid, sensible man? ARGH!!! He's got me talking in oxymorons."
"You know, I think Bob's starting to rub off on you."
"Well, Vaughn, just be glad he's not rubbing on you." Vaughn's face turned green.
Title : Reproductions
Summary : I don't remember. Something about one girl, a million faces, she has to save everyone, who will save her.
Dedication : All my reviewers - you're the bomb-shizzle!!!
******************************************************************************
Vaughn was using Woody's opponent, Buzz, to tie Bob up into a corner. Sydney nearly laughed at the disgust that was on Vaughn's face. It was much like having to do a school project with that sweaty kid in the third grade. (the one who never took a bath/shower, not the one who was just continually sweating)
However, Vaughn was not creating a replica of the pyramids using sugar cubes that Bob found interesting to eat. Vaughn was not writing a report on Betty Friedan while Bob ate the markers. No. Vaughn was *just* restraining Bob, so if he should wake, he wouldn't be able to do anything.
Quite suddenly and without warning, Vaughn's phone rang. Mikey ran to his tossed off suit jacket and pulled out his cell.
"Vaughn - Speak." He barked. "Oh, hey Marshall . . . Umm, can you hold on a second? . . . Marsh - Marshall . . . Marshall! I'll call you back. OK? . . . Great."
Vaughn flipped his cell shut and glanced sheepishly at Sydney who was sending him a death glare.
"You just *forgot* it was there?"
"Well, I didn't even think to . . ."
"Yeah, you *obviously* didn't think."
"I love you."
"Ugh! Don't even try that, spy-boy. You're just lucky I'm not a heinous bitch like your wife. Or semi-wife."
"Are you sure you're not forgiving me because you love me and could never stay mad at me?"
"Stop with the Jedi mind tricks. They only worked in that one movie . . . What's it called?"
"How to Deal?"
"Now *that's* why I love you. How many other he-man spy-boys can name off teen-bopper-romance movies like you?"
"It must be the accent."
"Of which you should use more. Boys, or should I say . . . *men*, with accents are hot. Just look at Sark," Sydney teased.
"Should I be worried by that comment?"
"Let me think. . ."
"You realize I'm going to bash his head in next time I see him, now."
"I'm sorry, Vaughn. Maybe you should cut off his balls . . . of his feet instead. We wouldn't want to lose that fabulous head of his. After all, it is from where his voice sounds." Sydney fluttered her eyelids flirtatiously. She found it way too much fun to twist his words.
"Not commenting. . ."
"Suit yourself. Back to the cell. Do you think Marshall can get us an instant translation for Sanskrit?"
"I'll check." Vaughn flipped his cell open and hit speed dial, 5.
"Number five? Who are one through four?"
"How'd you know it was five? You don't have the vantage point."
"Hello, spy training. Even *you* can identify numbers by their pitch."
"Ouch, Syd, that hur . . . Hello? Marshall? . . . Yeah, I'm here. . . No, that's OK. . . I'll hold on." Sensing Sydney's confused look, Vaughn turned towards her placing his hand on the mouthpiece of the phone. "He had a mishap when testing one of his new instant appearance generators."
"Does it strike you as odd that Marshall and Bob are working on similar projects?"
"Yeah, they'd probably love each other. . . No, Marshall. It's no one. . . Yeah, I'm here with Sydney. . . No! Don't hang up. We need your help. . . Yes, you. . . Well you see . . . Yeah . . . OK, well, Sydney is chained up with . . . I don't know. . . Yeah. . . No, that's not the important thing . . . No that's not it . . . MARSHALL! The handcuffs are invisible and are loosened by a magic word, but the instructions are in Sanskrit. . . I don't know . . . How does *that* relate? . . . Fine, I'll ask. Syd, do your chains feel more like rubber bands or metal?"
"What does that have to do with Sanskrit?"
"Don't ask me, I'm just the messenger. Well, I'm not, but I'm looking into it."
"Hold on. . . They're more . . . elastic-like."
"Marshall, she said elastic. . . No! That's not important. Just translate the Sanskrit for us. . . What do you mean you don't speak Sanskrit? . . . I know, but you should just know. You're Marshall. . . You're right. . . I'm sorry. . . OK, I said I was sorry . . . Marshall, can you at least tell us how to build a translator. . . I'm aware that the plan isn't logical. . . I know you can't build a translator with out being there. . . Marshall, shut the hell up and tell me what to do. . . Well why didn't you just say that? . . . OK, OK. . . FINE! . . . Marshall, I love you dearly, but . . . Of *course* I mean in a non-prison movie sort of way. . . Just tell me what we need . . . OK . . . OK. . . I've got that . . . WHAT! . . . I heard what you said, but there is NO way I'm going to be able to find a long rubber balloon, a hose, and an umbrella. . . OK . . . Marshall . . . Marshall! I'll call you back when I have all the supplies . . . OK . . . OK . . . bye."
Sydney rolled her eyes. "You have longer conversations with him than you do with me."
"Not by choice," Vaughn muttered.
"Ouch! I think Marshall is a righteous dude. That's what all the kids think, too."
"Yeah, OK, Ferris."
"Just because you have no respect for the movies of *the* era. (A/N: Sorry, I hate to do this, but I, personally, am NOT a big fan of the 80's. That's all). Doesn't mean you have the right to insult the rest of us."
"No comment." Vaughn looked down at the crumbled body lying, or is it laying, in the chair. "Do you think he has a hose, an umbrella, and a long balloon?"
"Changing the subject is so betraying the rules of engagement."
"That's what you think."
"Ha! It doesn't matter anyways. You have all three of those items."
Vaughn looked up in surprise. "I do?"
"Oh, honey, I thought you'd never say it! I do, too! Although you could've been more convincing. Hold on. Let's rewind and try again. You have all three of those items."
"I - Wait just one moment! We are not getting married or engaged or ANYTHING until we get out of here. To get out of here we have to have an umbrella, a hose, and a long balloon. So what do you mean I have those items?"
"I think you know what I mean," Sydney commented. Vaughn looked confused, then rolled his eyes. Syd continued, not giving him a chance to butt in. "I have an umbrella in the inner left breast pocket of my suit jacket over there under Bob. It's a super-compact one that Marshall made. There's a hose in the hallway. I remember Bob mentioning how he likes to take it out on really hot days and dance in the water. Well . . . I'm just assuming you have a rubber, tube-like thing that could pass as a balloon."
"What makes you think that? I don't carry balloons with me everywhere."
"Sure you don't. Come on, Vaughn. Do I have to spell it out for you? CONDOM. YOU HAVE A CONDOM."
"Aren't condoms more latex-y than rubber-y and less 'stretchable'?"
"Why? Why do I have to love this stupid, sensible man? ARGH!!! He's got me talking in oxymorons."
"You know, I think Bob's starting to rub off on you."
"Well, Vaughn, just be glad he's not rubbing on you." Vaughn's face turned green.
