Every time I ask my brother, Jsun, for a prompt, he usually makes it Destiny-related. I told him to do something different, so he thought for a minute, and told me, "No beta, we die like men. Write but don't go back and edit." So I agreed, and he gave me the prompt. Overwatch, with McCree thinking that horses are honestly called meat cars. I'm so sorry. No beta, we die like men.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Mercy asked incredulously.
McCree rolled his eyes as if she were missing something obvious. "I said, since there ain't no automobiles 'round here, it'd be nice to get ourselves some meat cars and ride on outta here."
Mercy continued to stare at him as if he were wearing three party hats over his ears and nose. The gunslinger couldn't understand what she was so confused by.
"Ya know… meat cars? Them little four-legged critters with hooves?" McCree prompted.
"Y-you mean horses?" suggested the Swedish doctor. "Please tell me you mean horses…"
"Of course I mean horses. Y'all don't call 'em meat cars 'round here?"
"No! Where on Earth did you come up with 'meat cars'?"
McCree put his hands on his hips and huffed, muttering something about the Midwest being different from "big-city states in the East". He looked back at Mercy and tried to explain.
"Look darlin', out where I'm from, we do things a little differently," he said.
"I know that," replied Mercy defensively.
McCree held up his hands. "This is the American Midwest we're talkin' about. Out there, the corn has ears. You can scream all you like in the cornfield. Sometimes, the corn screams back and you hope it's just a lost hog. Other times, it's dark and you have to beat the eyes home."
"The… eyes?"
"Redder'n a fox in a fire. And angry. My Paw told me never to run into the cornfield at night. He said the Demon in the Corn was hungry for children and that it would gobble you up soon as look at you."
Now Mercy was seriously considering a mental checkup for one Jesse McCree. She hoped that she could convince him to lay in a CAT scan without raising any suspicion from him - maybe she could say that she had detected some radiation leaks on this mission and-
"Angela? You alright?"
Mercy snapped out of her thoughts and shook her head to clear it, smiling at McCree. "I'm just fine," she lied. She would have to ask Winston for a lot of equipment when they returned to base.
McCree grinned and adjusted his hat by the rim. "Good. Now let's see if we can't find us some meat cars."
He took off running, and as Mercy followed, she couldn't bring herself to tell him that there weren't any horses on the set of Six-Gun Killer in Hollywood.
Well, there it is. I hope you enjoy reading this Jsun because I nearly exploded trying not to go back and edit this abomination. Does anyone even read the author's notes? Was JelloApocalypse right in saying that they're overrated and largely ignored? Can I say down here that my house exploded, and would anyone care? The world may never know (because they don't read these).