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fic post: The Silent Partner (hot fuzz) - Thanks, ants.
Thants.
annlarimer
annlarimer
fic post: The Silent Partner (hot fuzz)
TITLE: The Silent Partner
FANDOM: Hot Fuzz
AUTHOR: annlarimer
WORD COUNT: Oh, call it 600.
RATING: PG for (all together now) the cussin'!
WARNINGS: Movie spoilers, American spelling
SUMMARY: Woad is a funny word.
NOTES: Crit is love.
DISCLAIMER: Hot Fuzz belongs to Rogue and Universal and all those guys.

Like some avenging...angel, the swan appeared in the rear-view mirror, looking very, very shirty.

The swan hissed -- and, Frank Butterman could have sworn, laughed -- and made a lunge for his face.

Frank was too busy being trying to keep his eyes beak-free. He couldn't steer the car, and never so much as noticed the tree. There was an awful, jarring metallic crumple (was that what Irene had felt at the last?), while something went BWOOF! right into his face.

At least the car had stopped.

"Oh, God," Frank murmured to himself. He was hurt, possibly badly, but the airbag had saved his life. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

I should...what should I do? Frank thought. Check myself for injuries. Yes. I should do that. How do I do that exactly? There's a fucking great balloon in my face.

"Looks like you're for it, Frank," said the swan, from somewhere.

Frank sighed, resigned. Something was wrong in his head. The noise of what must have been a completely imaginary helicopter made it difficult to hear his own voice, let alone the swan's. "This was all your fault. I should never have listened to you."

The swan clambered up from behind the seat, feathers ruffled. "My plan was perfect. Your execution -- forgive the pun -- was flawed."

"Dad!" Danny's voice came from somewhere far off. "Hang on!"

"You're caught as well," Frank pointed out.

"Frank, Frank, Frank. Who're they gonna believe? A psychotic, murdering copper, or one of the Bishop's mute swans? Think about it, Frank. The best you'd get is the bin instead of prison."

"Dad! You all right?" Danny's face appeared in the side window, Nicholas Angel behind him. Danny looked awful. No, wait -- Danny had the head of a pantomime bear. Then Frank blinked, and he only looked like Danny again. But awful.

I ought to feel bad about that, Frank thought, But I'm not sure I feel anything right now.

"You know what happens to rats in Sandford, Frank," the swan muttered in his ear. "So, schtum."

Frank managed, with a twitch of his hand, to click the button that rolled down the side window. It was only polite.

"Don't move," Angel warned. He was wearing an old-fashioned, ruffled clown collar, with big puffballs. Wait. No he wasn't.

"This isn't over," Frank growled.

The swan hissed softly, then winked at him.

"Oh, Frank, it is over," Angel said. There was a note of pity in his voice, which only made Frank hate him more than ever. Angel carefully reached in and took Frank's gun.

"Not you," Frank told him.

"Did you hit your head, Dad?" Danny asked.

"Who can say, son?"

"Well, you could," Danny said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Which, now Frank thought about it, Danny specialized in.

Betrayed by my own son. My own son, who is, god bless him, thicker than a tub of jelly with thickening agent added for extra thickness. "I wish you'd shot me, you young idiot."

Danny actually smiled at him. It was a disconcerting smile, what with the Zorro mask. "Now, now, none of that."

"Please take that off." There were sirens in the distance now, as well as the helicopter.

"He definitely hit his head," Danny told Angel. Angel nodded. They were back to themselves, now, apart from the woad. "Stay still, okay, Dad?"

Woad is a funny word, Frank thought. Woad. Woaaaad. "Woad."

"What?" said Danny.

"Woad," agreed the swan.

"Frank Butterman, you are argle boingy boingy throggle," said Angel. "If you flink margarine dustmite underpants coingle mashmarsh harpy bin. Bismuth Hampstead glyph tiny things."

Someone will pay for this, Frank thought.

"SMERSH wrangle flarg later in court."

"Woad?" said Danny.

"Woad," said the swan.

I do hope it's not me.



Thanks to: viedma for the swell betage.

Tags: , ,
where: DINING ROOM! DINING ROOM!
mood: bitchy bitchy

Flavogg heard 16 supplications or speak to the Mighty Flavogg
Comments
cageyklio From: cageyklio Date: August 20th, 2008 12:23 am (UTC) (linkage)
Woad!
annlarimer From: annlarimer Date: August 20th, 2008 12:38 am (UTC) (linkage)
Woad!
laughingacademy From: laughingacademy Date: August 20th, 2008 02:40 am (UTC) (linkage)
"SMERSH wrangle flarg later in court."

Damn right!
annlarimer From: annlarimer Date: August 20th, 2008 05:35 pm (UTC) (linkage)
inorite!
mshcherbatskaya From: mshcherbatskaya Date: August 20th, 2008 05:09 am (UTC) (linkage)
I do not speak nearly enough of your brilliance or my adoration of it.
annlarimer From: annlarimer Date: August 20th, 2008 09:28 pm (UTC) (linkage)
*blush*

Fridgemasher kiln wombat cube. Fridgemasher kiln wombat cube.
twigcollins From: twigcollins Date: August 20th, 2008 01:19 pm (UTC) (linkage)
Betrayed by my own son. My own son, who is, god bless him, thicker than a tub of jelly with thickening agent added for extra thickness.

<3
thistlethorn From: thistlethorn Date: August 20th, 2008 03:25 pm (UTC) (linkage)
Oh, God, yes -- I wish I'd thought to mention that line, too -- it was so perfect.
thistlethorn From: thistlethorn Date: August 20th, 2008 01:54 pm (UTC) (linkage)
Poor crazy sodding Frank. Goddamn, you're an amazing writer, Ann. Have I mentioned that lately? 'Cause, *wow*.
alpha_orionis_v From: alpha_orionis_v Date: August 20th, 2008 04:46 pm (UTC) (linkage)
Youv'e been on a bit of a swan kick lately, haven't ya?


<3
annlarimer From: annlarimer Date: August 20th, 2008 05:33 pm (UTC) (linkage)
Well, if 'lately' means 'we've been working on this crap since, like, March or April,' then yeah. :D
big_twinkie From: big_twinkie Date: August 21st, 2008 12:38 am (UTC) (linkage)
poor frank, taking orders from a swan. he should've known better, as they are the most trecherous birds of the anatidae family . :)

"If you flink margarine dustmite underpants coingle mashmarsh harpy bin. Bismuth Hampstead glyph tiny things."

*lol* That's telling him, Sgt. Angel.
annlarimer From: annlarimer Date: August 22nd, 2008 07:47 pm (UTC) (linkage)
Still, they're not as bad as those bastard toucans.
beccavox From: beccavox Date: August 25th, 2008 11:57 pm (UTC) (linkage)
"Did you hit your head, Dad?" "Who can say, son?"

That was the line I laughed at the least. And I laughed over that for at least 43 seconds.

Swan! (He was the true leader of the NWA--you and viedma have now convinced me).

tootsiemuppet From: tootsiemuppet Date: August 26th, 2008 01:10 pm (UTC) (linkage)
Win!

Absolute win. :D
mikes_grrl From: mikes_grrl Date: August 29th, 2008 01:27 pm (UTC) (linkage)
I am so wayyy behind on my fic reading, but hey, I'm not going to complain because I get jewels like this! Once again your wonderful, quirky way with Hot Fuzz leaves me tongue tied. A short story but so much to love. Really liked:

There's a fucking great balloon in my face.

"Looks like you're for it, Frank," said the swan, from somewhere.


Because, yeah, that is EXACTLY how it went down.
Flavogg heard 16 supplications or speak to the Mighty Flavogg