rionaleonhart | Liar! Our Pay Scheme Is Awful!

Ouch, poor you! >.< Would you like me to write you something drabbly to try and make you feel better? D: If you would, what would you like? :) Anything TG-ish at all that you want! ^-^

Thank you so much! Er, would it be possible for me to request something OT3-ish in the schoolboy universe? Not something from the actual fic, but a sort of... potential scenario.

Of course! :D What would you like, prompt-wise? You can have anything you like! ^-^

Btw, I appear to have missed your birthday - this is an appalling thing for me to have done, so would you like a second school thing for that as well? If you would. just say what you'd like! ;D

Oh, dear, I'm so bad at coming up with prompts!

Er, Jeremy works out that James wants Richard and decides to resolve the problem by suggesting a three-way relationship, much to James' mortification/alarm and Richard's astonishment. Please?

*grins*

I was going to direct you to the manip over on my lj to see if that cheered you up, but I see you've already seen it :D

The most frightening thing, I think, is that Jeremy's love for stockings is canon. ~~Does that make Richard Brad and James Janet?~~

I'm just about to go to sleep, so I'm afraid there won't be any ficlets from me tonight. YOu'll just have to make do with stockinged Jeremy.

*hugs tight*

~~YOU ARE ALARMING. But it so does. Going into an unnerving castle and encountering a lecherous Dr. Clarkson in stockings would be enough to frighten anyone.~~

~~Beats the bunny away with a stick~~

~~chases it back with a promise of doing an illustration if you write a TP/RHPS fic~~

Hmmm I shall see if I still have my ficlet with EvilPiers/Richard hanging about.

It's not that good and it's not been beta read will it do?

“You.. You must be joking you REALLY can not be serious” Richard exclaimed as he back away from the leering face of Piers Morgan.

“No joke” Piers told him reaching out to trace a finger down Richard’s check frowning as the younger man flinched away. “I’ve wanted you for quite sometime and if you want to protect Clarkson and Top Gear you’ll do as I say”.

Richard pulled away from Piers “That’s blackmail if I went to…”

“Who’d believe you?” Piers calmly asked “You have no proof and if we can’t come to an agreement then the pictures I have of Clarkson and your producer, your MALE producer having their little “Meeting” will be on the front page tomorrow morning and Clarkson’s marriage and career will be over shortly after that, he’ll lose it all - his wife , his kids the show… Do you really want to be responsible for all that?”

“If… IF I did this how do I know that you wouldn’t do it any way?” Richard demanded “How do I know you don’t have copies?”

Richard was unable to look the older man in the face so he missed the look of triumph in the newspaper editors eyes, Piers knew he‘d already won, now it was just a matter of when and were. As tempting as it was to just bend Hammond over his desk it was too risky.

“I‘m a man of my word Richard - The only copies are the one‘s you‘ve seen” he reached out he grasped Richard’s chin gently with his fingers and drew the shorter man in for a kiss. “You have to trust me”.

*****************************
Hope your better soon!

This is made even more unnerving by the fact that I am, of course, picturing him as a zombie. AAAAAAH PIERS MORGAN IS SCARY. Poor Richard! (And bless him, doing this to protect Clarkson.)

Thank you!

Perhaps the zombieness comes later? Becuse this Piers is still very much alive.

perhaps after he's told Jeremy he's slept with Richard and Jeremy's killed him in a fit of rage? Or even more scarey James killed him after Richard told him WHY he slept with Morgan.

And you called me evil for a bit of innocent Sam/Ray!

Poor thing :(

Any requests? I'll promise I'll try as hard as I can... After all, fics are better than any medicine.

Or maybe not.

Still.

Hmm. I'm guessing you won't object to something slightly cracky...
(Fingers crossed that I can pull it off)

--

In the short space of time they had spent in Transylvania, things had become slightly weird. Well, more weird than usual.

On the first day, James had been bitten by a very large dog while out walking. On the second day, Richard had come down with two pin pricks on his throat and what appeared to be an anaemic attack. On the third day, Jeremy had been crushed to death by a boulder on a mountain path. Shortly afterwards, Richard became sicker and died of mysterious blood loss.

James had been slightly upset by all of this, so went out for a drive with the Stig.

Unfortunately, the car had broken down in an old cemetery. Even more unfortunately, the inhabitants of said cemetery were six feet higher than one would usually expect, and were rather interested in relieving them of their brains. Fortunately, it was the full moon and James was rather startled to find himself in possession of huge teeth, claws and rather more shaggy hair than he had that morning. Unfortunately, this didn't manage to stop the Stig from being bitten.

All of which had put a slight crimp on filming.

It got slightly better when a bat flew in through James' open bedroom window and transformed into the world's shortest vampire. With sparkly white fangs.

And a better semblance of normality (for a given value of normal) returned when Jeremy's translucent form materialised and demanded at least eight caravans be used for his funeral pyre.

--

Hope you feel better soon.

You--

um, what?

YOU'RE INSANE. YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY INSANE. THIS IS BRILLIANT. I love 'James had been slightly upset by all of this'. Yes, your two friends dying bizarrely is one of those things that can really ruin your day.

Seriously, I am gawping at the way you've managed to fit zombies, vampires (sparkly white fangs! Hee!), werewolves and ghosts into such a tiny space.

Did I mention that you are stunningly, gloriously insane?

Thank you.

Well you know, if you've got one undead creature then you might as well have the others. He'll feel left out if you don't.

I did cheat slightly- it's one of the things I wrote on my long train journey last week: blame the fact I was on my own for six hours at a stretch.

I also did a few little asides and exchanges, like:
"Remember, this is a man who tried to persuade an American to eat black pudding by describing it as 'a fried scab of tastiness'; romance is not on the menu."
"Neither is black pudding anymore."
Which sort of worries me, as I don't know who's talking or what they're on about, but I really want to use it in a fic.

And a better semblance of normality (for a given value of normal) returned when Jeremy's translucent form materialised and demanded at least eight caravans be used for his funeral pyre. = WIN!

Augh! Sickness is yucky! I would love to write you something, especially since you've made me feel better many times before by way of musical moogles. DO you have a request?

gwegt J,EAH,JHGKHRGKJHHKJNAHR BACO IS OFFERING TO WRITE SOMETHING FOR ME

CLEARLY I NEED TO BE ILL MORE OFTEN

Ahem. Er, could I possibly have something involving the time-travelling sky pirates of Ivalice, please? I love you.

I, er, I tried! BALTHIER IS FAR TOO AWESOME TO BE WRITTEN BY ME

(Hee, your response to this had me grinning like a maniac all day. ♥ ♥ ♥)

a) Get well soon; I hope it's nothing serious.
b) No, I don't think it's strange - actually, I think it's normal.

Thank you! I'm feeling a bit better this morning, hurrah. And I'm glad my habit of drawing parallels between real life and fiction doesn't make me too odd.

Euphemisms are WIN.

I would write you a drabble, but I'm supposed to go and be crew and some politics event, where I will laugh at the student societies trying to come across as sane and sensible.

James looked at him sternly, which Jeremy thought was quite a feat for a hatstand. "Now, Jeremy, let's go over this once again, shall we?"

"Fine," Jeremy grumbled.

"You will be friendly. You will not be terrifying. You will at least try to be charming and social, and you will also act like a human being."

"But I'm not!" Jeremy protested. "That's the whole point of being turned into a beast!"

"I've been turned into a hatstand and I'm managing," James replied snippily. "Now, try to start things with a nice compliment, okay?"

"That's what I did last time, and then you said I was a philistine," Jeremy reminded him.

"Telling a nice peasant girl she has a nice rack doesn't count as a compliment," James told him. "Now, come on, let's see what the Stig has brought to the castle this time."

Jeremy grumbled, but followed his servant-turned-hatstand through the large hallway to the dining room. Why did that stupid magician have to turn him into a beast anyway, simply because he had turned him away from his door? It was his castle, surely he could turn annoying magicians away if he wanted to. And now he was cursed, and if he didn't find true love - as if that actually existed - or he'd be doomed to stay a beast forever, and because he now had a lot more hair, the drains were getting clogged every few weeks and the plungers were beginning to complain.

James slowly opened a door to see inside, Jeremy looking over him. "Right, there she -" James stopped. "Stig brought a man. I can't believe he made such a mistake."

Jeremy had ignored the hatstand's waffling and was eyeing the young man staring at his utensils, who were no doubt talking to him. "Never mind, James. I'm sure it'll be fine. Perhaps I've been looking for this true love in the wrong place." He shoved James aside and slammed the door shut.

Ahahaha, complaining plungers! Beast!Jeremy! James the longsuffering hatstand! You are amazing! PLEASE CONTINUE THIS; IT IS FANTASTIC.

No! This was supposed to exorcise the whole Top Gear Does Beauty and the Beast thing!

Did I mention Stig is a horseless white carriage that rides around the forest looking for lost people to drag off to the castle?

Richard stared at his utensils, which were patiently explaining to him that yes, he really was in an enchanted castle in the middle of the forest, and wasn't it nice to be here, with all the lovely food about to be served, and Richard noticed that they didn't mention him leaving, or anything about an exit, or why the odd white horseless carriage had dragged him here in the first place. He had just been gathering wood, getting off the path a bit more than usual, and yes, there had been some odd disappearances lately with local girls coming back after a week and never wanting to say what happened, but that didn't mean some horseless carriage could just kidnap him. "Excuse me," he said, interrupting his fork. "Are you saying I'm supposed to use you to eat?"

"Exactly!" the fork said happily. "Now you've got it."

"Right. So, er, the food's not - not alive, is it?" Richard asked.

"Of course not, silly boy," his tea pot told him. "Now tuck in, you look like you could use a good meal."

Richard nodded, thinking that being kidnapped had made him quite hungry. "I suppose I could stay for dinner," he said.

Suddenly, a door slammed shut, and Richard looked up and saw the most terifying sight of his life. It was some sort of huge hairy monstrosity. For a moment he thought it was a huge bear, but it seemed to be walking on two legs. He also noticed that all his utensils has stopped moving and were lying very still. Oh, god, was this the monster that had kidnapped all the girls from his village for some foul and unthinkable purpose? It slowly approaching him, and Richard could see the glint of claws. It was even bigger than he had first thought, and the monster stopped a few feet away from him, staring down at him.

"Um," Richard said, fighting his fear, "please don't eat me."

The monster growled, and then showed its huge fangs. It leaned over to Richard, and he moved backwards on his seat. "I promise I won't bite. Not unless you ask me to," the massive beast told him in a deep voice.

Richard then told himself that the monster had definitely not leered at him, or had just said what it had said, and that he was probably asleep under a tree and that he'd wake up any minute now.

...YES, JEREMY, THAT IS EXACTLY HOW TO MAKE SOMEONE YOU'VE JUST KIDNAPPED FALL FOR YOU. Good Lord.

Hee, poor confused Richard. 'Please don't eat me.' He is adorable!

I bet Hatstand!James is watching and banging his, er, head against a wall.

This is an annoyingly amount of fun. Damn!

*many hugs* Hope you feel better today!

*thinks*

"Cosy in that tent, then, was it?" Richard snaps.

The door to the bathroom creaks open and Jeremy pokes his head out, looking both bemused and faintly ridiculous; there is a line of shaving foam over his chin and he's clutching a very purple, very fluffy towel. "Hammond! You made it back, then?"

"No thanks to you," Richard mutters, leaning back against the wall. "You and May and your fucking truck."

Jeremy peers at him, a glob of shaving foam trickling slow and unheeded down his neck. "Come on, man, we won fair and square."

Richard cannot think up an answer to this containing a sufficient level of sarcasm, so he settles for rolling his eyes pointedly at Jeremy's retreating back and following the other man into the bathroom, where he perches on the toilet and watches morosely as Jeremy blithely carries on shaving. "Is James around, then?"

Jeremy snorts. "Sulking in his room."

"I'm surprised you two aren't shacked up together again." Richard doesn't mean the comment to sound quite as acerbic as it does, and he feels himself go red as Jeremy stares at him in the mirror, one eyebrow raised.

"Ah."

"What d'you mean, 'ah'?" Richard says defensively, shuffling his knees sideways so that Jeremy can reach the luridly purple towel again. "I was just meaning..."

Jeremy rubs the towel over his face, then tosses it absentmindedly into the bath. "We didn't."

"You - didn't?" Richard is wrong-footed again, as so often with this irritating man, left blinking as he catches up and Jeremy stares at him curiously. "You - oh. You didn't - oh."

"He's a nice bloke, is James," Jeremy says conversationally, while Richard wishes he could sink through the toilet seat and down into the drains and under the ice, "but he drives you round the fucking bend." A grin. "Bit like you. Only, er, not."

Richard nods, a jerk of the head that he's afraid makes him look more than usually like a chicken, and stands up, sidling past Jeremy to get to the door. "Well, um - I should be - unpacking, and..."

Jeremy rolls his eyes. "Hammond, not only are you a sore loser, but you're also crap at a lot of other things you should be bloody good at."

"I am not," Richard begins, indignant, but then finds that Jeremy has grabbed his shoulders and shoved him back against the closed door. He blinks up at the taller man in surprise. "What..."

"Shut the fuck up, Hammond," Jeremy says, conversational, and then for some reason that Richard can't quite figure out in his semi-panicked state he's leaning down and his hand is sliding round to cup the back of Richard's head with gentle fingers and he's really very, very close, and...

Oh. That's why.

The kiss is rather a good one, all told; Jeremy tastes of shaving foam, a bit, and his neck is still damp and the angle is slightly awkward, but there are fireworks going off somewhere in Richard's brain anyway. He doesn't even mind the doorknob pressing into his hip.

"I think James has a crush on you," is, to his mortification, the first thing he blurts out when Jeremy draws back. "I - I really do. I mean, I do too, obviously, but I'm better at it than he is. Aren't I?"

Jeremy laughs, and Richard isn't quite sure whether he should be relieved or not. "We'll see," he says, not entirely comfortingly, and smirks down at him. "Come on, husky-boy. Let's see how good your stamina is."

"That's awful," Richard groans, but when Jeremy kisses him again he doesn't put up much of a protest.

*hides*

Eeee, thank you so much!

My favourite part has to be '"I think James has a crush on you," is, to his mortification, the first thing he blurts out when Jeremy draws back. "I - I really do. I mean, I do too, obviously, but I'm better at it than he is. Aren't I?"' Oh, Richard. You are so charmingly rubbish at expressing yourself. And 'a jerk of the head that he's afraid makes him look more than usually like a chicken' has to be one of the best descriptions ever written.

*chuckles* Glad you liked it!

): *snugs*

I wrote this this morning, but I've been out since 10, so I've only got it typed up now - glad to hear you're feeling a bit better.

*-*-*-*

They fell in through the door panting, the sounds of chaos outside growing to a crescendo. Once they'd registered their surroundings, Jeremy pulled himself up to his full height (amazed he could do so) and looked around the huge room, eyes wide enough to pop.

"It's…"

"I can see that, yeah!"

Their bizarre saviour, the man who'd instructed them to just call him the Doctor, burst in at that moment, slamming the door behind him, clutching his side. His pinstripe suit was badly torn and there appeared to be a suspiciously dark stain spreading out over the fabric.

"Now!" Even in obvious pain the Doctor still bounced around the oddly-proportioned room; pulling levers and flicking switches. "I can see you two – what are your names? Doesn't matter, you can tell me in a minute, might make more sense then – are in a spot of bother. I'd love to help, but I can't. Well, I can, but not me exactly… well, I suppose it is me, but…"

"Will you stop blithering and get to the point?" thundered Jeremy.

"The point?" the Doctor stopped, suddenly weary, brown eyes wide. "The point is I've been shot several times and I'm about to die. But I'll be back in a tick and I'll sort you out then, okay?"

Just as he finished speaking, the Doctor seemed to explode in a series of bursts of golden light. Jeremy and Richard's hands shot to their eyes.

"Bloody hell," yelled Richard, "is it just me, or has it all gone a bit Highlander?"

The light faded and the Doctor blinked groggily at them; now a very different man – the suit now clung uncomfortably to a much more robust frame, and now-blue eyes peered out at them both from behind a mass of shaggy, greying, brown hair.

"James?!"

The Doctor gave Richard an odd look. "I'm sorry?"

Richard slanted a glance at Jeremy. "He's an alien!"

"That explains a lot."

"I'm sorry, do I know you two?"

"For God's sake, James, don't you know who you are?"

"I'm afraid not, no. That's the biggest problem with regenerations, really."

He looked shrewdly at the now baffled men in front of him.

"What did you say my name was?"

"James, you complete buffoon! James May!"

"And I know you because…?"

"We work together, man! Don't you remember anything?"

The Doctor smiled. "I can't remember what hasn't happened yet. Now, gentlemen, if you'd like to step outside, I promise for just a moment…"

Grudgingly, both protesting loudly, Richard and Jeremy did just that. There was a grinding noise that seemed to fill the air around them, and the old police box shimmered in the air for a moment, and then disappeared completely.

"The bastard's run off!"

Even as Richard spoke, the noise started up again and the box reappeared. A familiar head popped out of the door.

"Hello chaps!"

The Doctor, ill-fitting suit now replaced by a garishly striped rugby shirt and dark jeans, flung the door open wide.

"Interesting little paradox we cooked up there, wasn't it? Still, never mind. Get yourselves inside and we'll sort this mess out. Oh and yes, she is and no, Clarkson, you can't take her round the track, and the Stig is not getting anywhere near her. Got it?"

It makes me far too happy that my flist is such a bunch of lunatics. Thank you so much! James would make an alarmingly good Doctor, actually, and I love that they're present at his regeneration after already having met the future him.

I will be terribly, terribly disappointed if the eleventh Doctor does not turn out to be James May.

Noooo, you are illlll! *hugs* Don't be ill (lol at my comforting).

Okay, er, something helpful to make you feel better, er, er, er, idk, my mind is empty. I have no idea what my fingers are going to start typing but I hope it goes some way to making you feel less blurgh.

---

Sam is woken up rather suddenly by Gene rolling off the bed and onto him at crack o' clock in the morning.

"I - er - you're lying on me," he says, intelligently.

"Well done," says Gene. "Keen detective work, that."

"Why are you lying on me?" Sam asks, because he feels it is the sensible thing to ask when one is unexpectedly woken up by a large man falling on you in the early hours of the morning, and Sam is nothing if not sensible. And a bit pedantic, but seeing as that isn't really relevent, he went for the sensible option instead.

"Because your bed doesn't fit a pigeon, you skinny poof, and you decided that lying where I could fall was not an issue. Now move."

Sam looks around; it is very dark, so seeing isn't really an option, but he feels the principle of his sarcastic gazing is not lost. "I can't really move with lots of man lying on me, or had it escaped your notice that you're not exactly Miss Mini-Waist 1973?"

"You could bloody well move last night, you ponce," Gene says, without moving.

"That was different," says Sam, "and what was that about a pigeon? Who judges spaces on whether or not they could fit a pigeon? Most things can fit pigeons. What are we talking about, oh, God, I think I've gone mad."

"Sanest thing you've ever said," says Gene, and falls asleep on Sam's chest.

Sam thinks that, next time, he should be the one to start the night in the bed.

----

FEEL BETTER ILU.

Thank you! I feel far better now.

Sam is nothing if not sensible. And a bit pedantic, but seeing as that isn't really relevent, he went for the sensible option instead.

Heee! And 'crack o'clock' is marvellous, and your Gene is made of brilliance ("Well done," says Gene. "Keen detective work, that." I LOVE YOU, GENE.)

I say crack o'clock all the time. I am not joking. It gets a bit ridiculous.

I AM GLAD YOU ARE FEELING BETTER AND THAT YOU LIKED MY GENE. I don't know why he's so fond of pigeons. Er. Never mind.

I lol'ed at the foreshadowing vomit!
You poor thing, I'll write you a little snippet if you want. Any requests?

Liar! Our Pay Scheme Is Awful!

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