100 words prompts
Fandom: The X-Files
Character: Scully, Mulder
Word: Sleep
Disclaimer: this is from EP Syzygy
What she hated most about this god-awful case was how he treated her. Twice now she's wanted to wipe that smug little arrogant smile of his face. And when did Mulder ever care about someone's scent, or perfume? Maybe, she hoped he hadn't fallen for her, and thus why she's kept a rather good distance from the man and that hasn't changed one bit. She would have a talk with AD Skinner about his behaviour during this trip and kept it private from her field notes on this case.
Scully, never really felt hatred before but since she's been around those girls all she's picked up how people annoy the ever living piss out of her.
So, she paces, her mind going in all directions, but not really about the case. Yes, the town's folk are mad. They are tiny little sheep, when one leads the others will follow. If one more word comes out of Mulder's mouth about astrological signs, planetary alignments causing this ordeal she'll gut him like a fish, or worse, shoot him in the leg.
Nothing felt right with her. Her fingers twitched, like there's something missing a need, a want so great that made her light a cigarette. For a brief moment she wanted to pack that bag as she quipped about earlier that day but knew deep down it was more of a lazy threat, since there's been several unnatural deaths which meant there was something to investigate. And to prove once and for all science was behind these deaths.
Mulder felt the icy winds of hurricane Scully right after they drove in the wrong direction looking for this one horse town. He was used to her "Shut up Mulder" and the "No Mulder" eye roll, but this time it made him feel really damn upset that she blew him off with a "Whatever!" and it boiled his blood.
He searched for what was the only place in town that sold liquor and looked around for orange juice and picked up the first thing he saw, frozen can of
concentrated orange juice. He rarely drank, well, the odd scotch, and good strong ale with The Lone Gunmen was about it.
"Give me a micky of whatever is the cheapest shit you got." He hears the price, throws the money on the counter and heads to the hotel noting that Scully was in fact still in town. But he sensed that they would not even remotely sleep well tonight.
Fin