undercover-undiscovered-underutilised-underwear (_unhurt_) wrote,
undercover-undiscovered-underutilised-underwear
_unhurt_

it has been more joy day for 8 minutes here!

(eta: and someone gave me a poetic profile polar bear - thank you someone!)
dear kanzenhanzai! remember last week when you typed this in an email? Tell me about the time Hugh repelled Vikings from Toronto all by himself! well, as it turns out, my memory is broken, because i wrote this instead:



Something highly unlikely was rounding the eastern end of North Island under sail. Trent squinted through his binoculars – yeah, that was definitely a Jolly Roger - and swore quietly, then turned away from the window and cleared his throat. "Guys?"

Everyone ignored him, Hugh because he was crashed out on the couch – with his boots on the upholstery again, Trent noted with annoyance – and Dale and Tim because they were giggling as they finished adding a sharpie moustache and pointed goatee to Hugh's face.

He shook his head. "Guys? Guys! Leave your art project alone for a minute and listen up. We have a situation. Capital S, capital IT, capital Yooation. Wake him up, get kitted out, and meet me downstairs in five. Looks like we've got us some pirates. In five, okay?" He held up one hand, fingers spread for emphasis, then took the fire pole to the ground floor.

**

Two hours later they were all cowering – hiding, Trent mentally corrected himself, undercover vigilante heroes do not cower – behind a rusty dumpster somewhere off Queens Quay East as musket-balls thunked into the metalwork.
"Wow," said Hugh. "I am so glad we went left like you said and not right like I suggested. It's not like I'm the leader or anything."
Trent lifted his mask up long enough to glare properly. "Your sarcasm needs practice. Anyway, your sense of direction is pretty fucking poor. Remember last week when we drove in circles for three hours looking for that Pho place you swore you remembered the way to? And how you wouldn't let me stop and ask for directions?"
"Hey, the place was fucking there, they just changed the contraflow—"
Dale and Tim both coughed. It sounded a lot like "boyfriends".
Trent rounded on them. "We're not fucking-" and stopped when that made Tim snicker and hold up both hands.
"TMI, man. Tee Emm Aye."
"Okay children," interrupted Hugh. "The nasty men with the pistols are still trying to kill us. Maybe we can do this later? Also? I have a plan."

**

"Okay," whispered Dale, "explain to me again exactly how this is going to work?"
Trent groaned. "I'm not sure that it will. He saw it on that stupid show his other boyf – I mean, his friend is on. You know. The actor."

On the other side of the dumpster they could hear Hugh start. "So, hi there. Now, if any of you gentlemen are carrying illegal pistols, cutlasses or – oh hey, nice eyepatch, man, suits you – or other traditional piratical weapons, would you be so kind as to put them on the ground? Yeah. No, really, guys. Thanks. I'd appreciate it. Professional to professional you understand. Anyway..."

Tags: fic, more joy day
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