Story [Multi fandom] Drokk, that was brutal [UDC VIII drabbles - completed]

DRABBLES UDC VIII [Completed]​

WEEK ONE

VALOR

Agent Romanova tucked the mobile phone between her ear and shoulder as she shrugged her way out of the ropes expertly tying her to the remains of the chair hanging below her backside.

“No, you have the Big Guy.” Agent Colson was telling her.

For drokk’s sake! She thought, a shiver of trepidation overcoming her at the thought of approaching Doctor Banner in India. Why me?

There is valour and there is valour.

“Agent...that one with the arrows, has been compromised.”

"Agent Barton?"

"Barton, yes."

Romanova nodded to herself. That changed everything.

"On it, Boss." She acknowledged, shutting the phone.


* * * *
HONOR

Jax did not angry often, especially with friends, but in his eyes, Das, his mate of fifteen years, was inexplicably impugning the honour of the space film that they were both fans of.

"Look, you are just going to have to accept that it is not perfect." The film buff, two years shy of Jax' age, seemed not to notice his narrowed eyes and one hand curving into a tight fist.

There were cries of delight from their host's sitting room, prompting Das to head inside.

Jax slowly exhaled through his nostrils, and relaxed the hand, The moment had passed.


* * * *
SACRIFICE

What is sacrifice?

It can be something that a person does selflessly, like offering a seat on a bus to the infirm, deliberately buying food for the homeless, or when that was the furthest thing from your mind and you are already waiting to pay, contemplating the haul, and thinking about diverting some to a more needy cause.

Then, at the other end of the spectrum, where selfless doesn't apply, there is stringing up a beautiful blonde woman by the wrists on the jungle side of your big wooden wall, and blowing a horn to summon a big **** off ape.


* * * *
DEFEAT

They fought, rolling across the ground, Mary trying not to get bitten; her barrel-chested, mesomorph vampire attacker trying to pin her down, losing purchase on her wrists as she tried to combine backtracking on her bum with kicking him in the face.

He was barely visible in the dark, but the sulphurous yellow eyes let her know where he was.

Her ra-ra skirt was taut under her, the waistband pulling at her waist, then he managed to get his right knee over her left thigh, pinning it to the ground in the arch between his own knee and his foot.


* * * *
VICTORY

She would not be able to hold him for long, and shooting him would not be a good idea, for getting drenched in a vampire's blood risked her getting waxed by E-Branch just as easily as if she'd rolled into base camp with a vampire bite.

Instead, she nosed her Bren inside the back of his t-shirt, then one-handedly jettisoned a silver-jacketed bullet from the barrel.

Silver was like acid to these things, and sure enough, he started screaming, trying reach behind himself and buck her off with the same intensity that she had been trying to do to him.

 

love to see your characters in this story. Mary is victorious again

 

earlybird-obi-wan - Thank you for looking in. I got so desperate, that I co-opted and edited down earlier moments from the E-Branch thread to create those two last drabbles.

 

Nice, taut drabbles - and TCM showed King Kong '33 this week, so the Kong one really resonated. What is UDC?

 

Thank you, pronker

UDC VIII is the The Ultimate Drabble Challenge VIII: Return of the Drabble which has just started.

Five drabble prompts are posted in one go each week, for twenty weeks.

Competitors can do a drabble a day, but have to post all five in one go, and to win, or beat the challenge, you must have done all one hundred drabbles by the end.

Check it out!

 

WEEK TWO

Theme: I've lost the feel for an Archer-themed Star Trek fic I was trying to do, so I'm drabbling the existing material.


NAME

The silver-haired matriarch and captain of the Nova-class starship, the USS Archer Vice, was slumped in her command chair, right hand closed around a cocktail glass, while the forward viewer showed a Borg cube dwarfing her vessel.

The confident voice of the Security Chief, came over her communicator, to her relief. "Yeah, what's up?"

"Sterling? Sterling?" She shrilled urgently, "Lana's team is in trouble!"

"Elaborate voicemail hoax." The voice announced with an infuriatingly smug tone. "Idiot."

Malory angrily mashed the communicator into her armrest, shrapnel arcing into the lap of her red-shouldered black jumpsuit. "Idiot?" She echoed. "He's the idiot."


* * * *
TITLE

Sterling Archer leapt out of bed at the strident moo-wheeeeEE alarm, noting the red lighting, remembering his ex-girlfriend, Lana, was aboard the alien vessel that they had found.

"I need to go help Lana!"

"Well, how do you think that makes me feel?"

"I don't care, Pam." There was a path of clothes to the their bed, including their jumpsuits. He glared with disdain at his own; obviously he wasn't beaming across wearing that.
He hauled open a drawer, pulling out a grey rifle, which he threw on the bed.

"Well, hello there, Game Changer" She purred down at it.


* * * *
NUMBER

"Pam, that's for me." He glanced up at his chubby blonde "bed companion". Even just covered in a sheet, she had a definite beached whale vibe to her.
"You get to the torpedo room and arm one of the Mark IIIs in case we need it."

"In case you want to put one in there?" She drawled suggestively with the accent of a Southern Belle.

"Phrasing."

"I meant, in case you want to beam it aboard the enemy vessel."

"YES! Liaise with Krieger." He snapped, referring to their bearded, possibly clinically insane, science officer, and transporter chief.


* * * *
DATE

"Stardate 47024.5" The golden sparkles resolved into an actual person as Archer beamed onto a deserted, scarlet-bathed metal bridge that had twins of itself several dozen metres to the left and right.

"Christ, Krieger, I said to beam me to Lana's location." He muttered, bringing up the Compression Phaser Rifle that Pam had fawned over, aiming it into the darkness before and behind him. "Would that have been so hard?" He inhaled and called "Lana!"

Silence.

"LANA!!"

More silence.

"LLLAAA-" His bellow echoed around the gargantuan cavern. "-NNNAAA!!!"

"WWHHAATT??" Her annoyed shout came back from somewhere.

"Yeah, take that tone."


* * * *
LEGACY

Knowing she was alive, and thinking to find her, the Security Chief was confident in his choice of clothing. He felt his jumpsuit uniform unsuitable for such missions.

Back in his quarters, he had dropped into a squat before the drawer under his mattress, reaching in to rummage under the folded spare bedclothes, glaring into the dark gash in concentration, then smiling broadly as he hauled out his legacy, the old-style security uniform, red long-sleeved top with gold braid around the wrists, and black boot-cut trousers.

Now, he tapped the small golden comm-badge pinned to that tunic. "Archer to Kreiger."

---

Note: Re. the last one, in the Archer cartoon, Sterling feels that he alone invented the use of the black turtleneck jumper for spy missions, and feel most aggrieved when he sees enemy agents doing it too, referring to them as "copy cats".

​

Dr Carole Marcus ('Into Darkness) meets Michael Burnham (Discovery)​

 

That's too bad to lose the feel for the original fic. I think these bits show all about how to rework things that one simply cannot toss out as ideas, so there's that. Upon first G-imaging 'archer cartoon' I thought, hey, that looks like Jonny Quest, and sure enough much of the style derives from Wildey's memorable work.

 

Thank you for looking in.

And for the Storm (title of abandoned fic) condolences.

 

Mira_Jade

In the cartoon, Pam is desperate for affection, but her personality and appearance puts people off. After a night of imbibing some serious potency of alcohol, Archer (BTW, Malory is his Mom) "remembers" having the best *** ever with a smoking hot pole-dancer.

He faints upon realising it was Pam, but cannot resist coming back for more.

So Starfleet Pam may be in Stirling's quarters, but there is no actual romance there.


And you called it right, on his oblivious tactlessness. Ramped up to Eleven.

 

WEEK THREE

Theme: Miami Vice pilot, 1980s


HELPLESS

Undercover Miami cop, Sonny Crockett, inwardly tensed as the sleek cigarette boat glided close to the night-time dock.

With his lowlife informant; their heavily accented and well-financed Jamaican client, and the drug supplier that they were supposed to meet, Crockett expected a successful bust.

The three climbed from the boat, secured it, and moved to meet The Man.

Crockett pulled up short. Scottie? What the heck was he doing here?

Sonny looked past Scottie at the red and blue lights of arriving police cars.

Sonny looked back at the engine growl of the Jamaican making off in the money-laden boat!


SATISFIED

“Left the keys in the speed boat?” Scottie quipped with good humour.

Crockett flashed his friend a speechless glance, then blurted, “Like heck!” He jumped into the sedan, peeling out of the lot.

The Jamaican didn’t know the waterways, so kept his boat on the main river, Crockett able to parallel his route on the road.

The boat steered into a small inlet, and Crockett knew a bridge.

He dropped into the boat, surprising the Jamaican. Fight!

Crockett prevailed, standing over him, and drawing his gun to cover him. Sonny pulled his badge up from under his t-shirt. “Vice! Miami.”


ENOUGH

Crockett was triumphant. He had salvaged something from this. He’d gotten his boat and the buy money back, as well as this Jamaican off the street

But wait!

The dark suspect, his palms up in surrender, very slowly opened his suit jacket, and pulled a black wallet out, opening it to show with a grin, a badge of his own: “Well done, Pal. New Yark.”

Oh, enough already!

As Crockett had furiously railed to his lieutenant later, “Three of the four people tonight were cops! Me, Scottie Wheeler, and Doctor Voodoo here putting in a surprise appearance from Fun City!”


NON-STOP

Crockett had taken the New York cop, Tubbs, back to his undercover yacht, ‘The St. Vitus’ Dance’.

It was non-stop, he mused as they drank beers. Columbian drug kingpin, Francisco Calderone, certainly got around; he had slain Tubb’s detective brother, up in New York, blown up Crockett’s partner, Corky. Been one step ahead of everyone. Dammit, there must be a leak in the Department.

Tubbs drained his bottle.

“There’s more below deck.” Crockett nodded.

“Erie, Mon.” Tubbs ducked down the steps, then shrieked and shot back up, chased by a chained alligator!

“Oh yeah. Ricardo Tubbs,” Sonny laughed. “meet Elvis.”



BURN

Crockett played it calm. He played it cold.

He had had Calderone’s phone calls traced, his eyes only.

He drove out to Scottie’s, parking in front of the one storey suburban home. Sonny keyed the mike. “Tell Lieutenant Rodrigues that I found the leak.”

Dodging dinner invites from Scottie’s wife and kids, he got his subdued friend outside.

“They gave me a suitcase.” Scottie explained. “Compliments of Mr Calderone.”

“How much to buy you?!” Tears sprang from Crockett’s eyes as their relationship burned to the ground, him flailing blindly at his former friend until Tubbs arrived to pull him away.

​

Detectives Tubbs and Crockett​

 

I don't really know all of the fandoms you've used but in set one I really enjoyed Victory (which I'm not sure what it's from) because I have a soft spot for vampire things, and Valor, which was a good look at Natasha in that moment.

In set two Date really made me laugh. The sarcasm was strong!

Set three Burn was really moving and sad. Even not being familiar with Miami Vice (other than it exists), I could feel the betrayal he was feeling.

Great drabbles.

 

I can see what you mean by your last set being in sync with mine! A rough, persistent man working in the underworld who has to make some terribly hard decisions. I'm old enough to remember Miami Vice and you've got that flavor down. Bring on the pastel jackets!

 

Love to see Star Trek and Miami Vice in your drabbles. I loved those cops

 

Thank you for comments, everyone.

There may be something to Mira_Jade 's idea of doing an arc across the five drabbles, with the last acting as the payload.

 

WEEK IV

HUNGER

Mr Fantastic headed to the vending machine, where the vast glass front reflected his blue spandexed torso.

He put the requisite coinage in, and tapped his selection, watching the metal spiral turning to release his fare, but the red KitKat shifted only slightly, rather than falling into the tray.

His forehead hit the pane. "Son of a *****." The glass fogged with his breath. "Alright..."

He elongated his left arm to slide his hand into the slot at shin-level, bounce up off the rounded extraction tray, push up through two panels of black metal, stretch up to collect the chocolate bar.


THIRSTY

The four walls mock me, daring me to breach them.

But to where?

How I thirst for good companionship, for friends to share food, drink, or to visit the cinema.

A pretty girl to impress with my conversation, to drink with, and maybe more.

All I have is the AI in that discrete black cylinder on the coffee table.

"Alexa, tell me a joke."

"Your love life."

Even Alexa mocks me. That *****.

Red rage descends over my vision, and I roundhouse kick her off the table, her power lead snapping as she hits the wall in pieces.

"Wi-Fi signal, lost."


ITCH

"Itch!" Exclaimed Starfleet security officer Stirling Archer as he took the Koba Yoshimaru simulation test, pitting his vessel against a holographic Klingon adversary. "Son of an itch! Fire torpedoes, full spread!"

"Torpedoes offline." The computer warned pleasantly.

"Fire phasers!"

"Phaser array-"

"-offline, yes I get it. Ass!" Stirling fell to one side as the bridge canted under simulated fire, "Computer, beam bags of itching powder into the enemy vessel's environmental systems. That ought-"

"Not a real thing, ass-" Lana Kane started to reminded tartly over the comm.

"Shut up." He retorted before she finished. "Why do you never shut up?"


YEARN

Agent Mary Formal sat at her E-Branch computer, online browsing while around her, telepaths, empaths, locators, scryers, engaged in the everyday business of saving the world from vampires.

They would call her if they needed her. Or wanted a cup of tea.

She hankered for a new pair of shoes. Blue ones. Heels. Mary Janes, court shoes, or strappy sandals, or t-barred platforms with soles so thick that they increased the height without some crazy heel elevation.

Shades from so dark as to be almost black, to an aqua palette so light as to look white in the right light


IMPULSE

It's when their back is turned, isn't it?

That the impulse kicks in.

To chase and pursue if they run.

To stalk if you are a feline, from Big Cat down to domestic.

Frankly, some of those house cats on Youtube are taking a chance. "Dude, it's a snake! Stop dabbing it on the back of the head with your paw!"

To run at, full gallop with head down, if you are a goat or ram.

"Even some of us, we see someone bending over unawares...we're sentient, we'll resist the urge to put a boot up it, but...... it's there. "

 

LOL those were funny. All the different fandoms.
Hunger; getting that Kitkat
Thirsty with the GSM
Itch with Archer. That one was really fun. Itching powder should knock out some Klingons
Yearn for a pair of shoes
Impulse with the backs

 

WEEK V

Theme: A Mary Formal and E-Branch sequel project that I have not yet started thinking about. Basically an OC insert into the storyline of the next book in the E-Branch trilogy, Avengers. Reluctant Necroscope, Jake Cutter, does a runner from E-Branch to take care of unfinished business.


DINNER

Mary crossed her arms and gazed warily across the round wooden table at her normally hostile boss, the bald Ben Trask, while other patrons of Pizza Express sat on equally rickety chairs, and found something to be enthused about with the restaurant's typically thin-crusted fare.

Ben set his meal to one side and slid a familiar-looking yellow-and-black tome next to her Sloppy Giuseppe: Francais for Dummies.

"Jake's in France?" She guessed, not knowing why else E-Branch would want her learning French.

"French Riviera."

She nodded. "Ah right, Castellano. That mobster who killed his girlfriend."

"Find our necroscope. Bring him back."


THEATER

Giddy with excitement, the E-Branch agent ignored the jostling of paparazzi as she stopped under the blue windows of the impressive Palais des Festivals et des Congrès, where she would be attending Cannes.

Last night, Mary had fallen across her hotel bed and laughed uproariously at being told by London HQ that Luigi Castellano would be here tonight, and that Cutter might make his move.

Her sleeveless figure-hugging bandage dress and heels matched the red carpet being trodden by movie stars and filmmakers of the world, just metres from her.

Grinning, she reached up and patted her freshly coiffed hair.


PINT

Making a break, Mary pushed through a security door, surprised by an arm encircling her from behind, easily lifting her up, a hand slapping over her eyes!

She felt her abductor stepping sideways into another world, a fearsome emptiness that had her dropping her clutch and digging fingernails into the only security she had, the sleeve of the arm holding her.

Then sanity and gravity returned as she was slid down her captor's torso, pushed away.

"Wh-where are w-we?" She stuttered, tottering unsteadily on her heels.

"Back in England. A Wetherspoons' somewhere in Nottingham. Go upstairs and have a pint."


SHOT

Glancing around to the faint smell of urine, she noticed from the stalls and urinals that they were in the toilets, while Jake turned from her to conjure a Moebius door to take him back to Cannes. Just one problem... "Let go or lose it."

Formal felt him try to shake off her iron grip on his sleeve.

She took her best shot, pirouetting towards him to re-wrap that arm around her, her right arm clamping it as her back re-met his front, only this time she dropped to both knees with her head ducked.

Jake simply stepped over her.



ALCOHOL

"Well, you are certainly feisty." Jake observed impatiently as his attempts to get his arm back, only lifted the shivering girl off the damp floor. She remained in traumatised hedgehog mode. "What was that?"

"Drop Seoi-nage?"

He nodded, recognising the judo term. "Was that meant to work? I was SAS."

"And I'm an UNCLE agent." She countered defensively, maintaining that elaborate fib. "Got you back in Britain, didn't I?"

One of the stall doors clicked loudly, a middle-aged dock-worker type stepping out, belting his jeans. He headed towards the white sink. "Theur twoa wanna lay off t' alcohol." He slurred.

---

Notes: - Sloppy Giuseppe is a style of pizza, topped with Hot spiced beef, green pepper, red onion, mozzarella and tomato.
- Wetherspoons is a pub chain.
- A main Necroscope power is teleportation and time travel through a vast, empty, intermediate dimension called the Moebius Continuum.
- Thanks to the English to Northern dialect translator - www.whoohoo.co.uk - for the pub patron. Translation: "You two wanna lay off the alcohol."

 

love your story in these five drabbles. She getting him back and all the nice references to SAS and UNCLE

 

Thank you both for commenting. Most appreciated.

---

WEEK VI

Theme: Dr Who. This arc was going to be based on the 11th Doctor's assault on Demon's Run to rescue Amy, but morphed to address the missing Captain Jack Harkness.
The actor was unable to get away from his other television project. He now plays Malcolm Merlyn on Arrow, a tv series based on comic character, the Green Arrow. River Song's actress, Alex Kingston, is on the same show.
Thank you to IMDB and TVTropes for research assistance.



DREAM

The intense buzz of the Doctor's sonic screwdriver was all that remained of Amy's dream when she awoke, but rather than being in her familiar Queen-sized bed at home, or on her TARDIS bunk-bed, it was like she was inside a brightly lit, white coffin. Or maybe one of those Japanese hotel capsules she had read about.

A panel snapped back, like on a prison door, a woman with an eyepatch and too much makeup beaming in.

"Looks like you are almost ready to pop!" She observed.

Amy looked down and spotted her distended abdomen! She was pregnant!

She screamed.


STARS

Legion of Assassins' head, Malcolm Merlyn, heard the sound elsewhere in the mansion, reaching over his compound bow for his throwing stars, as he rolled out of bed, wanting to avoid the drywall repairs.

Was it Oliver McQueen, the Arrow, that had penetrated his security? The lad was normally stealthier than this.

"Captain Jack Harkness?" A short, dumpy silhouette enquires.

"Noooo."

"The Doctor requires your assistance. He is building an army."

"What part of 'no' do you not get? And who are you?"

"Commander Strax. Fifth Sontaran Battle Group." The intruder steps into the light. "Sir, Demon's Run awaits us."


BARRIER

Malcolm Merlyn stalked the labyrinthine white corridors of the Demon's Run asteroid that the Silence had taken as their base, thinking this was an elaborate fancy dress show!

Up ahead of him, a young man dressed as a Roman Centurion, tried to breach a metal door, whilst beyond him, one of the enemy soldiers turned the corner, raising his blaster.

Merlyn pulled on his compound bow, tossing the soldier away.

"Thanks, Jack." The Centurion, Rory, nodded.

"I'm not Jack." Merlyn reminded.

"No killing, Jack!" The Doctor cried as he hurried past, cassock hood flailing behind his neck.

"I'm not Jack."


RAIN

Although regarded by many in Starling City as a villain, Merlyn felt himself a misunderstood hero.
Thus, this mission to rescue the Doctor's companion, Amy, and her newborn, was right up his street.

As the tide of battle turned, he fell back with her to the cover of a large crate, picking off Headless Monks as they stepped out of the shadows.

Behind him, the girl cradled her gurgling baby, cute lickle- spleurt!!

Oily white liquid dropped through her arms, filling her lap and raining across his spats.

"What the drokk?!"

"RORY???" Amy screamed.

"What. The. Drokk." Merlyn repeated, staring.



HOME

Had it been a trap? Merlyn did not know. A massive mis-direction, certainly.

The little Sontaran fellow had been slain while he had still been reeling from seeing the baby..... what?

Many of the cute reptile ladies had been killed too. Mostly looking the wrong way when the Monks counter-attacked.

There seemed to be a fraught family reunion going on, over by an ornately carved wooden cradle.

"River!" The Doctor's voice spiked as he ran into his TARDIS machine. "Take everybody home." He stopped to give an armed, curly-haired woman a weird look.

Merlyn did a double-take. "Dinah? Dinah Lance?"

 

Thank you, Mira_Jade . I am particularly pleased with Barrier myself, both for the fancy dress and someone dressed as a Roman, and for the mistaken identity thing that you liked. And yes, Rain...that was definitely a WTF moment for me when I watched that episode the first time.

---

WEEK VII

TANGY

Jack Napier's night had gone awry; his main clue being the finned Batmobile chasing his dented Pontiac through the night-time industrial complex.

Bullets hit his car, shattering the rear window.

A rocket brought a smokestack down before him, making him swerve into a wall as bricks skittered across the bonnet.

Jack bailed, running inside the factory, up the nearest steps.

The ominous dark shape pursued.

A railing collapsed under Jack's weight, dropping him into the coloured liquid within a giant vat, his spiky hair disappearing under the surface. Bubbles, then his head reappeared, the gangster licking his lips. "Mm, tangy."


SWEET

Bubba parked his truck close to the edge of the meadow, and unpacked his to remote control vehicles.

One, a scaled down version of a dumper truck; the other, a white plastic quad-copter drone.

He had separate controls for each on the passenger seat.

If this worked out, one of the quad-copter rotors would cut the beehive from it's tree, to fall into the small dumper truck that he was going to park underneath it, then bring both vehicles back here.

"How are you gonna get the honey out of the hive?" His internal voice piped up.

Bubba paused. "Crap."


SPICY

Crying, Haley Hotchner scrambled up the stairs on all fours, stalked closely by the fiend that she had thought was a Witness Protection agent.

She backed into the bedroom, whilst at the doorway, light gleamed down the killer’s blade.

Boom.

Boom.

Knee cartilage and blood sprayed across the carpet, the killer dropping, exclaiming in disbelief, “Aaron?!”

“Aaron’s miles away.” A British-accented voice confirmed as its’ owner kicked the Reaper’s knife away. “Owen Harper. Torchwood. Sorry I’m late, Mrs Hotchner. Stopped off to get some Ghost Peppers.”

He tossed rubber gloves and the peppers to her. "I normally wouldn't advocate torture."


BITTER

Detective Sergeant Nicole Gravely steamed silently at her desk, glaring balefully at the blinds of Lieutenant Backstrom’s office.

She had seen her chance, volunteering, “I should do this undercover, Lieutenant! I do have actual experience.”

“Which went so badly that you ended up here.” He had countered, “Pacquet can do it.”

Gravely used to be a rising star in Vice, and had gotten twenty-one busts as an undercover prostitute, but something had gone wrong, voiding all those arrests, almost getting her fired, and the story had gone out that she had slept with the customers.

Of course she was bitter.


BLAND

“Ridin’ round the city wit' some bland new heat, bland new car, bland new feet-” played from the radio, clearly sang by someone that didn’t give a lat’s ass how this last drabble was achieved.

Owen played with the Hotchner kid while Haley lay on a reclining chair with a cold compress laid over her swollen face.

She had ignorantly touched her face with her pepper-coated gloved fingers.

A car screeched into the driveway, a voice calling. “Haley? Jack?”

“Daddy!” Jack leapt off Owen’s lap.

Owen watched fondly as the small boy was swept up into the FBI agent’s arms.

---

Note: the song on the radio is "Brand New" by Lil Wayne, with some r's transposed by l's.