MEME: AU Drabble Things

[aintnoconvict]

Speaking of AUs: I am blaming Dien and her tumblr for this.

1.) Tag in with your characters.
2.) Someone else tags you with with an alternate universe setting. Inclusion of their character(s) in the AU is totally cool.
3.) Write a three-sentence fic drabble-like thing in response.
4.) You tag others with AU prompts and get drabble-things in return.

GO GO GO!

Comments

the one where Sofo's endlessly reminded of that one Boston Legal ep

[hasaheart]

The official story is that he's a Kansas boy, born and raised, because he looks the part and almost talks the part; and the easy explanation for how he's missing large chunks of pop culture (and not just pop culture, but general history and technology know-how) trivia is home schooling in a very religious home that put exceedingly little stock in the glory of television...or the radio...or newspapers.

Not that they actually need much of a cover story with how few actual friends Paul has. And it isn't as though Immigration tends to look for good, wholesome, currently unemployed white folk. Not as though they can go to Boston, or any place Paul could be recognized. In the end, it's easy enough to go somewhere Paul calls Fuck-where-am-I, Nowhereville, which is actually a perfectly normal place, with an equally ludicrous place name as Paul's version (but apparently, Wyatt doesn't get to talk about place names being from the Outer-fucking-Zone).

But, that aside, for the sake of learning, and for the noble cause of making his cover story at least plausible, Cain spends a lot of time the first few weeks at the local library. He reads anything and everything he can find - and like many immigrants, end up knowing a fair bit more about American history and the goings-on in the world at large than the average U.S citizen.

This, of course, is in no way, shape or form indicative of just how ill prepared he actually is to see a ranch for the first time in his life.

It started as a fun thing, an idea - a tangent spawning an idea over dinner and one too many glasses of wine - one of Paul's ideas that Wyatt couldn't fault at the time. Sure, it would be neat to get outdoors, see the sights away from the big city, maybe do some horseback riding (at which Paul had waggled his eyebrows and made a lewd observation that made Wyatt scrunch up his eyebrows and give a fond sigh).

No amount of cowboy movies could prepare him, no amount of 'surfing' the 'web' for information (something he didn't like doing, because good grief the 'dial-up' tone. Not to mention the computer specific lexicon made him want to climb the walls). Nothing.

They all look like cops. Like they're all in vaguely too colourful, weirdly patterned police uniforms, right down to the hat. Some wear vests, some don't, and by the time the city folk all gather round to go on a horseback ride in the country side (with a tour guide), Wyatt's close to tears of sheer, utter frustration.

"Oh, gods," he groans, planting his face in his hands, while Paul just stands there, grinning like a cat out of a story book, or maybe a hyena on poppers.

"Told ya so. Cowboy, baby."

"I hate you."

"No you don't, daaahling," says Paul with perverse amounts of cheer. "Buck up, get back in the saddle, time to giddy on up and ride into the sunset like real, manly men. Like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, who were so manly they couldn't just get their cocks out and get a room, but they had to run together, side by side into death, guns a-blazing. You're the Kid."

"Aw, shucks," Wyatt drawls sourly as they both climb into their respective saddles, on their 'hand-picked, especially for them' horses. "How romantic of you."