Drabbles 11-15

Green

Author’s notes: Virgil, prompt #2, being the muscle. Inspired by fic_simplicity’s prompt #23, Green.


Green?

Hell, yes, I was green when we brought down Fireflash. We’d practiced various scenarios training for this moment, but nothing could prepare me for the real thing. For the real, heart-pounding fear watching this potentially deadly aircraft looming huge in your rear-view mirror. For the real, sickening panic when an elevator car fouled, careening off the runway, necessitating another try. For the real, stomach-roiling nausea from rolling over and over as the lead car could take no more and went out of control.

Inexperienced, nauseous, you name it. Yeah, I was green… once upon a time.


Adoration In Art

Author’s notes: Alan’s reaction to Virgil’s painting in “Move and You’re Dead”. A response to the “Hugs, love, and kisses” challenge by KremlinDusk at lunaescence.com.


I didn’t like it.

I mean, Virgil’s passion for painting has led him down some strange paths. He’s constantly trying to emulate one painter or another. He went crazy over Monet, then Gaugin, and later, Grant Wood. All styles of art a guy can get into because they actually look like something. But I had no idea what artist he was fond of when he painted that surrealist picture of me with my trophy!

Still, I couldn’t say much when Grandma saw it, looked it over with a critical eye, declared, “I love it!” and gave Virgil an affectionate kiss.


Weaknesses

Author’s notes: Virgil, prompt #4, being the muscle. Written for the challenge from thehoodedmenace at FanLib: Write a story where an essential part of the plot involves a spork. Mega Kudos if the story is serious.


Virgil opened the packet, sighing. The internal warmer had heated the ready-cooked food to eating temperature, but the meal’s aroma was overpowered by the fire’s acrid stench.

He found himself staring blankly at the only implement provided: a plastic spork. It occurred to him that this was how he felt: not strong or sharp enough to efficiently grab, not whole enough to catch and carry. The lives lost because he insisted he was fine when he really wasn’t haunted him, and would for a long while.

He dug the spork into the meal, then stopped. I’m not hungry anymore.


Stalker

Author’s notes: Inspired by ArtisticRainey’s entry in the “Challenge in a can” prompt at International Rescue: The Next Phase forum. Prompt words: moccasin, heartbeat and erstwhile.


He padded along, leather moccasins masking his footsteps in the jungle foliage. Things were quiet, making the hunt more difficult. He could feel his heartbeat, hear his pulse in his ears. His prey was ahead of him, undisturbed, complacent in his hiding spot.

Suddenly, like a bolt from above, the erstwhile stalker pounced. His prey let out a cry, but could not get away.

“Aww, geeze, Scott! You could give a man a heart attack sneaking up on them like that!”

Scott smirked. “You’ll wish you’d had one when Dad gets finished with you for coloring the pool water orange.”


Only So Much

Author’s notes: Inspired by fic_simplicity’s prompt #30, boredom.


Gordon has his swimming.

Virgil has his paints and piano.

John has his writing and telescope.

Alan has… Tin-Tin.

But what do I have when boredom strikes?

Not much.

There’s only so much maintenance Thunderbird One needs. Only so much training we can take. Only so many miles I can run. Only so much apple pie I can eat. Only so much chess or snooker I can play.

When those are exhausted, I itch for action. I find myself watching the news, waiting for some disaster where we’ll be needed.

What’s that? The emergency signal! Thank God! Something to do!

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