Multi-fandom Crack: Icon Wars pt 1
Feb. 1st, 2009 05:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wolfanficsThis is a charming and far longer than necessary fic. And it's public because, well, it's just that awesome. XD
Title: Icon Wars
Author: sashataakheru
Multifandom: The Chaser/CNNNNverse/Spicks & Specks/Egyptian Mythology/Mock The Week/The Lion King/of Montreal/JJJ/Garbage/James Bond/ABC Newscaff/MS Office/Doctor Who/The Legend of Zelda/metafandom
Starring: 3D Clippit, Andrew Hansen, Charles Firth, Chas Liccardello, Chris Taylor, Craig Reucassel, Dom Knight, Julian Morrow; Adam Hills, Adminch Bunny, Admish Bunny, Hamish Blake, Tim Minchin; Aset, Djehuty, Heru-sa-aset, Sobek, Wepwawet; Dara O Briain, Frankie Boyle, Hugh Dennis, Russell Howard's leg; Kevin Barnes, robot!Shirley Manson, Shirley Manson; Marieke Hardy, Myf Warhurst; Tony Jones. Zira; Mistress Ibdjehuty; The Dot, F1, Office Logo, Merlin, Mother Nature, Links, and Rocky (the other Office XP Office Assistants); references to Google, anti-virus programs and Daleks
Pairings: 3D Clippit/Adam Hills; Adminch Bunny/Admish Bunny; Andrew Hansen/Aset; Charles Firth/Chas Liccardello; Chris Taylor/ cnnnn wank; CNNNN newsbar/Craig Reucassel; Dara O Briain/Djehuty; Dom Knight/Frankie Boyle; Hamish Blake/Heru-sa-aset; Hugh Dennis/Julian Morrow; Kevin Barnes/Marieke Hardy; Mistress Ibdjehuty/Myf Warhurst; Pathetic Christmas lights/robot!Shirley Manson; Russell Howard's leg/Shirley Manson; Sobek/The Chaser logo; Tim Minchin/Tony Jones; Volvox/Wepwawet; Winged human rebel flag/Zira; Adam/Hamish and implied Adam/Tim, as well as the usual Andrew/Charles and Julian/Chas that appear in any fic by default now. XD
Word Count: 5,322/11,506
Parts: 1/2 [Part Two]
Warnings: CRACKCRACKCRACK. 8D
Rating: FRAO
Disclaimer: I don’t know them, not associated with them, just a slashy fangirl admirer with a very active imagination
Author’s Notes: Based on that icon meme where you take the people/characters in your icons, pair them alphabetically and write fic. Just, er, I got a little carried away. XD Also, (80s!)gamer!Andrew has eaten my soul. I apologise. XD
Summary: Ebil!Dara has unleashed an ebil virus onto the internet, and it’s up to Andrew, Adam, Hamish, and their allies, to destroy it and save the internet from very certain destruction. D:
Icon Wars
Adam failed to remember just how this had come about. But there he was, immeasurably attracted to a man dressed like Clippit who seemed incapable of saying anything other than questions. Still, Adam had to admit there were worse circumstances to find yourself in.
Adam had Clippit backed against a wall in his bedroom, kissing him furiously. He was still trying to work out how to have sex with him. Was Clippit a top or a bottom anyway?
“It looks like you're trying to have sex with me. Would you like some help?” 3D Clippit said helpfully in his nasally annoying voice.
“It wouldn't kill you to get your pants off,” Adam said.
“Clippit doesn't understand that command,” 3D Clippit said.
Adam shook his head and did the job for him. Stupid Office Assistant. He really wasn't very useful at all, not unlike most Microsoft products.
“I strongly suggest you get on that bloody bed right now and quit asking me if I need help. I've bedded far cuter guys than you,” Adam growled.
“Clippit will lie on the bed,” Clippit said.
“Good little Clippit,” Adam said.
That glare followed Clippit as he backed towards the bed and lay down on it. Adam followed and rolled Clippit onto his stomach, er, paperclip. Whatever the hell you called his front.
“I decided I was topping,” Adam said.
“It looks like you're trying to penetrate me. Would you like some help?” Clippit said without missing a beat.
“Just shut up with the bloody questions. Do you stay in character all the time?” Adam said. He lubed up and pushed forward slowly, watching for Clippit's reaction
“Clippit does not understand the question,” Clippit said.
“You're nuts,” Adam said, thrusting slowly.
“You're the one fucking 3D Clippit,” Clippit retorted.
Meanwhile, in what could be mistaken for some sort of arena not far from where Adam and 3D Clippit were trying to take down Microsoft, two bunnies stared at each other, one grey, one brown. These were not just ordinary bunnies though. They were plotbunnies, and both represented two different but equally important ships. The brown one had Adminch reflected in his eyes, while the grey fought for his Admish. They’d been taunting each other for months, both trying to reign supreme. Things had come to a head at last.
“I was totally here first. You deserve to die,” said the Admish bunny.
“And I've known him longer. What of it?” the Adminch bunny said.
“Only one of us can survive. I'm the OTP, not you!” the Admish bunny cried as he charged forward.
The Adminch bunny didn't have a chance to reply as it was forced to defend itself from the Admish bunny.
They fought viciously for plotbunnies, but then plotbunnies were not your ordinary bunny either. Neither got a chance to get very far before Adam grasped them both firmly by the scruff of the neck and lifted them up. He had been roused by their fighting and had left Clippit behind to see what all the noise was about.
“And what might you two be fighting for?” Adam said.
“You belong with Hamish,” said the Admish bunny.
“You belong with Tim,” said the Adminch bunny.
“You’re fighting over me? What on earth for? What kind of rabbits are you anyway? And what are you doing in my backyard?” Adam said.
“We’re plotbunnies. And you brought us here by getting in bed with that paperclip!” the Admish bunny said, struggling to free himself.
“What’s Clippit got to do with it?” Adam said, glancing over at Clippit leaning against the wall. Clippit had slunk out after him, just as curious.
“Why don’t you ask Clippit?” the Adminch bunny said pointedly.
“Clippit? Do you know what they’re taking about?” Adam said.
“Clippit does not understand the question and must shut down. Er, I’ll see you later,” Clippit said before scarpering.
“Oi! Come back here!” Adam called.
“You’d better go catch him. He’ll tell otherwise,” the Admish bunny said. “Go pick up Hamish while you’re at it.”
“You two are staying here. I’m not taking two bloody talking rabbits with me,” Adam said, heading back inside.
“We’re plotbunnies, not rabbits! And you can’t leave us behind. We’re part of you. So we’ll be coming too, thanks,” the Admish bunny said.
“Where are we going then?” Adam said, still carrying the bunnies, one under each arm.
“To find Hamish. To the museum,” the Admish bunny said.
“Right. The museum,” Adam said. He let go of the bunnies as he got into his car and drove off to the museum.
Andrew wasn't sure where this lady had come from, or who she was exactly. She didn't seem to mind though. Andrew had been playing Oblivion, unconcerned by the world. Then she had turned up in his room and, well, he was forced to pay attention.
“Quit your snivelling and stand up straight. I want a good look at you,” Aset said.
“Yes, ma'am,” Andrew said, standing up. He had resisted the urge to save his game before he obeyed. Whoever she was, she didn’t look like she appreciated disobedience.
She paced around him, her harsh gaze freezing him to the spot. “What kind of pathetic human do you think you are?”
“What kind of question is that?” Andrew said.
“It was rhetorical. Don't answer back,” Aset said. “Now, I’ve got some work for you to do. Listen up. I’m only going to tell you this once. And stop staring at me. There is no way in this world you’d ever sleep with me. I am not that cheap.”
Andrew nodded his agreement, even if he had never even contemplated such actions. He decided against speaking. She clearly didn’t like that.
“Something’s afoot. I don’t like it. Something has gotten out and wants to cause trouble, but it won’t reveal itself. You seem competent with those computer things. It’s in there. Somewhere. On that internet of yours. I want you to hunt for it. I’ll assist you as much as I can,” Aset said.
Andrew knew better than to call her mad. “Okay. Sounds good. What am I looking for exactly?”
“You’ll know it when you find it,” Aset said.
With a wave of her hands, Andrew found his universe disappearing as he was sucked inside his computer. With the game still running, Andrew found himself taking part in a role playing game in a way he’d never quite wanted to experience. Oh, this was not going to be fun at all, he thought as he ducked out of the way of a rather large sword and looked for a way out. He paused to notice he had grazed his knee and it had hurt. Hell, it was even bleeding. Damn. He would have to be very careful indeed if he didn’t want to be hacked to death.
“Quit wriggling. You'll mess up the knots,” Chas scolded as he looked over his handiwork.
“I distinctly remember this not being my idea, Chas,” Charles said, struggling on the ground.
“Oh, shut up, Charles. We all know you love it,” Chas said.
“I do believe that's not the point,” Charles said. When he was free, oh, was Chas going to be punished.
They both looked up in shock as Andrew tumbled into view, swinging a sword aimlessly. Andrew curled up and looked around.
“Is it gone? It didn’t follow me, did it?” Andrew said. “Charles? Why are you tied up like that?”
“Why did you appear out of thin air? And why do you look like an elf?” Charles countered.
“But-but I came from the forest. There was this guy chasing me- Wait, where am I now? What do you mean I look like an elf?” Andrew said, seeing a distinct lack of forest around him.
“Er, pointy ears? Green tunic? Shiny sword?” Charles offered.
“You serious?” Andrew said. He reached up to feel his ears to find they had indeed become pointy. Glancing down, he noticed his clothes had changed. “Shiiiit. Someone is royally screwing with me.”
“No, you, Hansen, are interrupting, that’s what. Out. Now. I’ve got things to do,” Chas said, pushing Andrew out the door.
Andrew was surprised to find himself in a long corridor. It looked familiar, though he couldn’t place it. It looked old and possibly medieval, if the tapestries on the wall were anything to go by.
“Pick up shield,” came a voice from the air.
“What shield? I don’t see any shield,” Andrew said.
“Over there, dipshit,” the voice replied. Andrew hadn’t noticed it had become a small ball of light and flitted around his head.
There lay a metal shield against one wall. It had some strange markings on the front in blue and red. Andrew picked it up. It felt heavier than he’d expected.
“Is this a proper shield?” Andrew said.
“What do you think? Now go north down that corridor, Einstein,” the voice said.
Andrew felt compelled to go north down the corridor. At least he assumed it was north. He had no way of discerning direction. He found himself in a small room with a lantern lit and a computer sitting on a wooden desk.
“I should probably stop asking what the fuck’s going on,” Andrew mused as he sat down at the desk.
The computer flickered to life. A login screen appeared.
“Okay now what, phantom voice?” Andrew asked.
“Enter your login details,” the voice said.
“That doesn’t help, you know,” Andrew said.
“Use your intuition,” the voice suggested.
Andrew sighed and entered the first login he thought of. Surprisingly, it let him in, though Andrew suspected it would’ve let him in anyway, no matter what he’d typed. A program opened, some sort of strange mix of internet browser, graphics program and word processor, all rolled into one.
“Go on, let out all your deepest darkest secrets. No one will know. It’s all anonymous. He’ll never know you outed him,” the voice said.
Andrew stopped. “What are you trying to get me to do?”
“What is needed,” the voice said.
“Are you sure no one will ever know it’s me?” Andrew said.
“Absolutely. It’s your own private journal. Do with it what you will,” the voice said.
“Only if you fuck off and stop reading over my shoulder,” Andrew said.
“As you wish,” the voice said.
Andrew waited a moment before he started typing and making graphics. Once he’d started, it became difficult to stop until he’d gotten everything out, even if half of them were outright lies.
Chris was having a quiet night in. He was beginning to regret his choice of the internet over the probably safer option of television. He looked over the website in dismay. It really wasn't cool, but he couldn't quite bring himself to protest. Fandom would do what it wanted, even if Chris wanted to protest at their allegations until someone finally believed him.
Chris never made a point of courting fandom. He hated it. He didn’t understand it. Still, there was a part of him that desperately wanted their perverse attention. Chas had sent him the link, as it happened. Chris wasn’t so enthusiastic now.
Livejournal. One hideous den of fandom and wank. One infrequently used Chaser community. Except it had had a lot of activity in the last day or so. It wasn’t as if their rumours weren’t new; he’d heard it all before, the same damn wank about his sexuality. Except this time, it was different. It wasn’t just rumour-mongering. Some anonymous person was claiming things that didn’t seem like mere invention.
Fandom was eating it alive. It was as if someone had let a bomb go off. There was carnage as the wank and shock reverberated across the internet. Oh, yes indeed. There was capslock, macros, giant text, sparkly penis gifs, and wank, wank, wank.
“Shit. I’m gonna kill whoever said those things,” Chris cursed. Once, of course, he worked out who had said them. The allegations were annoyingly unspecific, yet hideously accurate. Whoever wrote that knew him far too well.
“PWNED” was all the livejournal community offered as it sat back and grinned at him with a smug smile. It had evaded capture so far, hiding in wank and trolls and other such dark sides of fandom. It was practically undetectable there. It settled down and planned its next move.
The newsbar was a tetchy little thing. Craig kept glaring at it in frustration. He hated having to write the bloody thing, but they were in the middle of a stupid writer’s strike, and bereft of any other source of news, anyone left on staff had been forced to make things up, so desperate for content were they.
“Glaring at it won't get it written, Craig,” Andrew said as he poked his head in his office. He wasn’t even sure why he had changed locations so instantaneously, but he was glad of it. Craig, at least, wasn’t a disembodied voice. He also seemed to have some knowledge about this universe that he hadn’t had in the previous place he was.
“Yes, well, I'm avoiding Daleks at all costs. I'm not that stumped for ideas,” Craig said, scribbling down another attempt.
“You might have to if all you've got are lame puns like that,” Andrew said, reading over his shoulder.
“Lame puns are what we're good at. And they're not Daleks,” Craig said, writing another idea down.
“Nothing wrong with Daleks. Besides, it’s not like they haven’t been nice to us since they took over the planet,” Andrew said before pausing as he tried to work out why he’d even said that.
“Honey, I know you’re attracted to strange things, but really, Daleks aren’t cool. They’re half the reason we’re reduced to making up stupid newsbar items in the first place,” Craig said, turning to face Andrew.
“They can’t be real Daleks. Real Daleks aren’t this, well, nice. They’re indiscriminate killers. Real Daleks would have wiped this planet of all traces of humanity, not kept most of us alive,” Andrew said.
“Do I look like I care? Go get me some coffee, will you? And come and help me here. I need something other than puns on the word ‘manchester’,” Craig said, holding his coffee mug up.
Andrew sighed and took his mug. Well, there were worse things to spend one’s time doing.
Craig frowned as he turned back to his computer. His page was hardly full. He’d used up most of his plausible ideas over the last two weeks. He barely had anything left, what with there being very little actual real news getting through.
“It looks like you’re trying to write fake news for the newsbar. Would you like some help?”
Chas’ irritating Clippit voice appeared in one ear. Craig turned to find him standing beside him, grinning at him broadly.
“By all means, help away. I got nothing,” Craig said, getting to his feet.
Clippit danced and spun around happily before setting to work. Craig shook his head and wandered out into the hallway. He really needed to get out of here, but with so few working, breaks weren’t encouraged. It was all so shithouse. Stupid Daleks.
Away from Craig’s supervision, Clippit began his insidious work. He hacked into places he needed to hack into and began coding, his fingers working far faster than normal for an ordinary human.
Andrew found himself trapped inside the computer screen again, looking out at Craig’s office and Chas’ detestable smile. Andrew had been reduced to two dimensions. He suddenly had a terrible headache.
“Shit. What do I do now?” Andrew said to himself. He watched the lines of code scrolling past him. He didn’t understand any of it. He needed Charles. He understood programming. It wasn’t a gift Andrew had. He found an instant messaging program over to one side. He looked through the list of usernames. Luckily, he found Charles. Now how to contact him?
At his thoughts, a message window popped up. Andrew’s thoughts typed themselves in. All Andrew had to do was hit ‘send’ and his message was sent. Now to see if Charles would even answer him.
‘What are you after, Reucassel?’ came the reply.
‘Charles. This is Andrew. Chas is programming… something. I don’t know what. It looks evil. I’m trapped inside the computer. Help!’ Andrew sent back.
‘Craig, this is stupid and moronic, even by your standards,’ Charles wrote.
‘It’s me! I swear it’s me, Andrew! I need you to work out what he’s coding. You know I’m no good at programming,’ Andrew sent.
‘It must be you, Hansen. Craig doesn’t spell that well. Can you identify anything he’s typing?’ Charles wrote.
‘No. He’s typing too fast,’ Andrew sent.
‘Do you even know what language he’s using?’ Charles wrote.
‘You’re asking the wrong person. It’s not a bloody website though. That much I can identify,’ Andrew sent.
‘Try and slow it down. I need to know what he’s doing so I know how to shut him down,’ Charles said.
‘I’ll try,’ Andrew sent.
Andrew gazed at the window that was filled with code. He tried to force it to slow down. He managed it briefly enough to memorise a line of code and the program he was using.
‘I’ve never seen the program before. It’s called Plutonics. The code appears to be lists and combinations of letters and numbers. It doesn’t look like the code I’ve seen you write,’ Andrew sent.
‘I’ve never heard of that before. Shit. Um. Leave it with me. I’ll see what I can do. And, uh, hang in there. You’ve got my IP right? If there’s trouble, go find my computer. I’ll leave a safehouse open for you,’ Charles wrote.
Andrew went to reply but Charles had signed off. He got the feeling Charles knew more than he was letting on. He searched for Charles’ IP and managed to find it after burying through pages of registry files and network connection logs. He pinged it, just to make sure it worked.
But how to get there? Andrew spotted his chance when he saw Craig’s mail program still open. He opened a new email and wrote Charles’ address in, attached himself, and threw his shield at the ‘send’ button. There was a rush of energy as he was turned into binary and flung through cyberspace to Charles’ computer.
“Andrew, mate, did you just email yourself to me?” Charles said, surprised to see his friend dangling from the little paperclip in the corner that signified an attachment as the email arrived in his inbox.
‘Yes, I appear to have done so,’ Andrew said, his thoughts typing themselves into an open notepad document.
‘Here, over in the box. I’ll keep you safe. You're a very cute elf, by the way,’ Charles wrote underneath, downloading him into an adorable little house that sat on his desktop. It was quite a nice house, all things considered.
‘When you said, safehouse, I hadn’t realised you meant an actual house,’ Andrew wrote. ‘And I am not an elf.’
‘Yes, you are. And what else did you think it would be? A toadstool? Look, just stay there. Don’t leave. I’ll see what I can do. I managed to track down what program he’s using and the code, but it’ll take a while. I’m not that familiar with it,’ Charles wrote.
'Okay. I don't know what he's up to, but it didn't look normal. Try and stop him if you can,' Andrew wrote.
'Yeah, yeah, just shut up for a moment. Give me time to work. This isn't going to be easy at all,' Charles wrote.
Andrew sat back and waited as Charles got to work. Whatever Chas was doing, it wasn't good at all. He hoped Charles would be able to shut him down. The house appeared to give him three dimensions. Andrew appreciated the space. He hadn’t appreciated being two-dimensional. He sat down on the couch and waited for Charles to finish.
It was a meeting of minds, of that Dara was certain. He sat back in his chair as he watched the ibis-headed man consider his next move. This appeared to be a darker, more sinister part of the Duat, the Egyptian underworld. Perhaps Ibisman just liked the menacing light.
“I've heard you're quite good at this game,” Dara commented.
“I invented this game,” the ibis-man said.
“Doesn't always mean you'll never lose. I am, of course, the most evil genius on the planet,” Dara said.
“That doesn't always mean you'll never lose,” Djehuty replied with a wry grin as he made his next move.
“So why did you summon me here anyway, birdman?” Dara said.
“Call it off,” Djehuty said.
“Call what off?” Dara said.
“You know what. Beat me at a game of senet and it can run wild. If I win, you call it off,” Djehuty said, sick of their current game. At his words, a senet board appeared in its place, the pieces set up ready to start.
“I’m afraid the virus isn’t that obedient. It’s out of my hands now,” Dara said.
“We’ll see about that,” Djehuty said, making his first move.
Dom sighed with relief as the whip hit him again. He had gotten to the point where he didn't even care who was his Master, just that he had one. And Frankie, as it turned out, was a very good one. He knew those gay chubby dating ads would pay off, even if Frankie was neither chubby nor particularly gay.
Frankie had come over a few hours ago. Dom liked the humiliation of being Dommed in his own house, his ownership taken away from him. Frankie had neglected to tell him he had been sent merely to keep Dom occupied so he wouldn’t ruin Dara’s plans. Frankie didn’t mind though. There were worse jobs to be doing.
Dom struggled against his bonds and gasped as his body trembled under the pain again. He didn’t particularly need to fight, but it seemed to help centre him. Soon, he would freeze and the pain would wash through him and leave him calm and content. It was only with that mindset that he ever truly enjoyed playing.
Unfortunately for Dom, Charles wasn't in the mood to let him play. Just as Frankie was about to change whips, Dom's phone rang, breaking him out of his submind.
“Want me t'get that? You're a little tied up at the moment,” Frankie said. Dom nodded his answer. Frankie grabbed his mobile and answered it. “Hello, who might this be then?”
“Charles Firth. Is Dom around? I need to speak to him urgently,” Charles said.
“I'll get him for you, though I'll have t'untie him first. Want him to call back?” Frankie said.
“As soon as possible, if you wouldn't mind,” Charles said.
“I’ll get right on it,” Frankie said and hung up. He looked down at Dom. “That was your friend Charles. Seems he needs you rather urgently. I’ll get ye untied now.”
Dom sighed. Fine. Charles would owe him for this. He waited patiently to be freed before he called him back. Charles was almost desperate to hear from him.
“Dom, quick, I need your help. Get online. I can’t beat this coding without you,” Charles said.
“What are you on about?” Dom said, nevertheless leaving Frankie behind as he made his way to his computer.
“Hack onto Craig’s computer at work. Look at that code. Then help me stop it,” Charles said.
“Jesus, you’re not asking much, are you?” Dom said.
“Just do it, Dom. Try and stop those network connections remotely. I’ll try and contain the mess,” Charles said.
“Alright. I’ll do my best, but this really isn’t my strong point, you know,” Dom said.
“I don’t care. There’s no one else who can help me. Just get on with it,” Charles said.
And at that, Charles hung up. Dom sighed and got on with what Charles had told him to do. He was indeed shocked by the code he could see being typed on Craig’s computer once he’d got a remote connection up and secured.
“Damn. What the fuck is that?” Dom said.
‘Stop asking questions and get on with it. He’s speeding up. I can’t hold him back on my own. Shut down that bloody network connection. Once he’s offline, I can stop that spreading,’ Charles sent over IM.
‘Working on it. Stop badgering me, Firth,’ Dom sent back.
The task was almost beyond him. Dom hadn’t done hacking like this for years. After screwing up a few times, he decided to ask Chas for help. Chas, stupidly, told him what he needed to do, not that Dom knew he was the one typing all the code in. Perhaps his far-too-long friendship with Chas had overridden whatever else had him under a trance. Soon, Chas stopped typing and began fixing his mess. Charles was astounded.
‘What the hell did you do to him?’ Charles sent.
‘I asked Chas for help. I couldn’t remember how to get around the protocols and firewalls. Chas told me what to do,’ Dom sent.
‘Chas was the one typing the code in. How did you get him to fix his own bloody mess?’ Charles sent.
‘Chas was doing that? You serious? I just called him and he told me what to do,’ Dom sent.
‘Okay, fine, whatever. Just – go find him. See if he’s alright. I’ll clean up what’s left of this mess and kill off anything that managed to escape,’ Charles sent.
‘Uh, sure, will do,’ Dom sent.
Chas watched their conversation closely. He finished setting up his own firewall to disguise what he was really doing as he sent out his finished work. Removing all trace of it from the machine, he finished off the newsbar and left the computer. Freed from the trance, Chas now had an awful migraine. He wandered off to find somewhere dark to hide.
“So I hear they call you the brat,” Hamish said, sounding far too cocky for one addressing a god. He had gone to the museum on a whim and had entered the Egyptian exhibition, only to find himself facing a god.
“There's a reason for that, yes. Besides, it's not like I asked to be named after my uncle,” Heru-sa said.
“Shared names suck, man,” Hamish said.
“They totally do. And you are one cute little human,” Heru-sa said.
“I've been told so, yes,” Hamish said. “You're not bad looking yourself.”
There was a flicker of attraction before Hamish felt that hand on his arm and his body brought into Heru-sa's grasp. Hamish clung to him as Heru-sa got ready to fuck him.
“Are you sure we should be doing this in the middle of a museum?” Hamish said, gasping as Heru-sa pushed inside him.
“No one can see us. It’s alright,” Heru-sa said.
A familiar voice interrupted their intimacy. “Hamish! What are you doing?” Adam said, coming up to them.
“Conversing with god. Didn't you say I needed to get some spirituality into me?” Hamish said, ignoring him.
“I didn't mean you had to do that!” Adam said.
“You're just jealous he likes me,” Hamish said.
“I'm not jealous. It's just, everyone's looking and we're in the middle of a museum. You might want to stop humping that statue now,” Adam said.
“Oh. Right. Uh, sure,” Hamish said, respectfully disentangling himself from the basalt statue. He noticed it winked at him as he let the security guards take him away.
Adam shook his head and followed them out. He had left the plotbunnies behind in the car. The last thing he needed was them running rampant in the museum. Hamish was taken to a small room. Adam was allowed in after he had confirmed he knew him. He’d asked for a moment alone to talk to him before they interviewed him.
“Look, I was totally fucking some god. I was not hurting that statue at all,” Hamish said.
“You really think anyone’s going to believe you if you say that?” Adam said.
“It’s the truth. What else should I say?” Hamish said.
“You haven’t taken anything weird lately, have you?” Adam said, looking concerned.
“No, nothing at all. Why would I do that?” Hamish said.
“It’s just-” Adam looked down to find those pesky plotbunnies gnawing on his hems. “What do you want?”
“Where did those rabbits come from?” Hamish said.
“I have no idea. And they’re not rabbits, they’re plotbunnies, apparently,” Adam said.
“Plotbunnies? Yeah, right, now who’s talking crap,” Hamish said.
“Hamish! You’re here! See, you triumph over Tim! I am so right!” the Admish bunny said, launching itself at Hamish’s leg.
“Can I go back to fucking Heru? That at least was enjoyable,” Hamish said.
“No, we need to find Clippit, that’s what,” Adam said.
“Clippit? Who or what is Clippit?” Hamish said.
“That annoying paperclip that keeps thinking you’re trying to write a letter. There’s a 3D version that’s run off on me and we need to catch him,” Adam said.
“I suppose it’s just better to run with this, isn’t it?” Hamish said.
“It is, yes. Now, let’s get out of here,” Adam said.
The bunnies flicked their ears just as Adam and Hamish were about to leave the room, whisking the pair safely out of the way of the waiting security guards.
Julian sat on his couch, trying to look like he regretted nothing of his encounter the previous evening. He couldn’t remember how he’d come to meet the man, but it was sufficiently strange enough that he’d decided to tell Chas, even if he’d have to endure his taunts for the rest of his life. He’d found Chas looking a little lost and tired and offered to take him home for a rest. Chas, glad for his company, accepted his offer and had just taken some painkillers for his migraine. After a coffee, he was beginning to feel a little more human. Julian’s tale of meeting some mysterious man in a pub and ending up at his place for sex also helped.
You see, Julian had innocently just gone to the pub for a drink and had ended up at someone else's place locked in a set of stocks while being made to suck his captor's dick. His captor being, of course, Hugh Dennis. Not that it mattered to Julian. He wasn’t all that familiar with him. Still, there were times when Julian really did enjoy being the bitch. He’d never tell Chas he had enjoyed it, but it didn’t matter. Truth be told, Chas wouldn’t have cared who had Dommed him. It was hilarious enough as it was.
“I hope you realise I'm never letting you live this down, yes? What was he even doing here?” Chas said.
“How should I know? Remind me never to go to that pub again,” Julian said.
“I’m going with you next time. We might meet someone fabulous,” Chas said.
“Do I need to ask why you’re in that Clippit costume?” Julian said.
“No. I was feeling nostalgic. And I was annoying Craig,” Chas said.
“I bet Craig wants to kill you then,” Julian said.
“I dunno, I disappeared before he had a chance. Stupid migraine. He was struggling with the newsbar. I finished it off for him. He’d better bloody appreciate it, that’s all I’m saying,” Chas said.
“Wanna go lie down for a while? You look like you could do with a nap,” Julian said.
“Only if you carry me,” Chas insisted.
Julian shook his head as he agreed, lifting Chas into his arms as he took him back to his room. He lay him down and switched the fan on in the darkened room.
“Want me to stay?” Julian asked.
“If you want. Don’t bother if you have work to do,” Chas said.
“I’ll come and check on you in a while, alright?” Julian said.
“Okay. Seeya later,” Chas said.
“Sleep well, Chassybear,” Julian whispered, blowing him a kiss before he closed the door.
Title: Icon Wars
Author: sashataakheru
Multifandom: The Chaser/CNNNNverse/Spicks & Specks/Egyptian Mythology/Mock The Week/The Lion King/of Montreal/JJJ/Garbage/James Bond/ABC Newscaff/MS Office/Doctor Who/The Legend of Zelda/metafandom
Starring: 3D Clippit, Andrew Hansen, Charles Firth, Chas Liccardello, Chris Taylor, Craig Reucassel, Dom Knight, Julian Morrow; Adam Hills, Adminch Bunny, Admish Bunny, Hamish Blake, Tim Minchin; Aset, Djehuty, Heru-sa-aset, Sobek, Wepwawet; Dara O Briain, Frankie Boyle, Hugh Dennis, Russell Howard's leg; Kevin Barnes, robot!Shirley Manson, Shirley Manson; Marieke Hardy, Myf Warhurst; Tony Jones. Zira; Mistress Ibdjehuty; The Dot, F1, Office Logo, Merlin, Mother Nature, Links, and Rocky (the other Office XP Office Assistants); references to Google, anti-virus programs and Daleks
Pairings: 3D Clippit/Adam Hills; Adminch Bunny/Admish Bunny; Andrew Hansen/Aset; Charles Firth/Chas Liccardello; Chris Taylor/ cnnnn wank; CNNNN newsbar/Craig Reucassel; Dara O Briain/Djehuty; Dom Knight/Frankie Boyle; Hamish Blake/Heru-sa-aset; Hugh Dennis/Julian Morrow; Kevin Barnes/Marieke Hardy; Mistress Ibdjehuty/Myf Warhurst; Pathetic Christmas lights/robot!Shirley Manson; Russell Howard's leg/Shirley Manson; Sobek/The Chaser logo; Tim Minchin/Tony Jones; Volvox/Wepwawet; Winged human rebel flag/Zira; Adam/Hamish and implied Adam/Tim, as well as the usual Andrew/Charles and Julian/Chas that appear in any fic by default now. XD
Word Count: 5,322/11,506
Parts: 1/2 [Part Two]
Warnings: CRACKCRACKCRACK. 8D
Rating: FRAO
Disclaimer: I don’t know them, not associated with them, just a slashy fangirl admirer with a very active imagination
Author’s Notes: Based on that icon meme where you take the people/characters in your icons, pair them alphabetically and write fic. Just, er, I got a little carried away. XD Also, (80s!)gamer!Andrew has eaten my soul. I apologise. XD
Summary: Ebil!Dara has unleashed an ebil virus onto the internet, and it’s up to Andrew, Adam, Hamish, and their allies, to destroy it and save the internet from very certain destruction. D:
Icon Wars
Adam failed to remember just how this had come about. But there he was, immeasurably attracted to a man dressed like Clippit who seemed incapable of saying anything other than questions. Still, Adam had to admit there were worse circumstances to find yourself in.
Adam had Clippit backed against a wall in his bedroom, kissing him furiously. He was still trying to work out how to have sex with him. Was Clippit a top or a bottom anyway?
“It looks like you're trying to have sex with me. Would you like some help?” 3D Clippit said helpfully in his nasally annoying voice.
“It wouldn't kill you to get your pants off,” Adam said.
“Clippit doesn't understand that command,” 3D Clippit said.
Adam shook his head and did the job for him. Stupid Office Assistant. He really wasn't very useful at all, not unlike most Microsoft products.
“I strongly suggest you get on that bloody bed right now and quit asking me if I need help. I've bedded far cuter guys than you,” Adam growled.
“Clippit will lie on the bed,” Clippit said.
“Good little Clippit,” Adam said.
That glare followed Clippit as he backed towards the bed and lay down on it. Adam followed and rolled Clippit onto his stomach, er, paperclip. Whatever the hell you called his front.
“I decided I was topping,” Adam said.
“It looks like you're trying to penetrate me. Would you like some help?” Clippit said without missing a beat.
“Just shut up with the bloody questions. Do you stay in character all the time?” Adam said. He lubed up and pushed forward slowly, watching for Clippit's reaction
“Clippit does not understand the question,” Clippit said.
“You're nuts,” Adam said, thrusting slowly.
“You're the one fucking 3D Clippit,” Clippit retorted.
Meanwhile, in what could be mistaken for some sort of arena not far from where Adam and 3D Clippit were trying to take down Microsoft, two bunnies stared at each other, one grey, one brown. These were not just ordinary bunnies though. They were plotbunnies, and both represented two different but equally important ships. The brown one had Adminch reflected in his eyes, while the grey fought for his Admish. They’d been taunting each other for months, both trying to reign supreme. Things had come to a head at last.
“I was totally here first. You deserve to die,” said the Admish bunny.
“And I've known him longer. What of it?” the Adminch bunny said.
“Only one of us can survive. I'm the OTP, not you!” the Admish bunny cried as he charged forward.
The Adminch bunny didn't have a chance to reply as it was forced to defend itself from the Admish bunny.
They fought viciously for plotbunnies, but then plotbunnies were not your ordinary bunny either. Neither got a chance to get very far before Adam grasped them both firmly by the scruff of the neck and lifted them up. He had been roused by their fighting and had left Clippit behind to see what all the noise was about.
“And what might you two be fighting for?” Adam said.
“You belong with Hamish,” said the Admish bunny.
“You belong with Tim,” said the Adminch bunny.
“You’re fighting over me? What on earth for? What kind of rabbits are you anyway? And what are you doing in my backyard?” Adam said.
“We’re plotbunnies. And you brought us here by getting in bed with that paperclip!” the Admish bunny said, struggling to free himself.
“What’s Clippit got to do with it?” Adam said, glancing over at Clippit leaning against the wall. Clippit had slunk out after him, just as curious.
“Why don’t you ask Clippit?” the Adminch bunny said pointedly.
“Clippit? Do you know what they’re taking about?” Adam said.
“Clippit does not understand the question and must shut down. Er, I’ll see you later,” Clippit said before scarpering.
“Oi! Come back here!” Adam called.
“You’d better go catch him. He’ll tell otherwise,” the Admish bunny said. “Go pick up Hamish while you’re at it.”
“You two are staying here. I’m not taking two bloody talking rabbits with me,” Adam said, heading back inside.
“We’re plotbunnies, not rabbits! And you can’t leave us behind. We’re part of you. So we’ll be coming too, thanks,” the Admish bunny said.
“Where are we going then?” Adam said, still carrying the bunnies, one under each arm.
“To find Hamish. To the museum,” the Admish bunny said.
“Right. The museum,” Adam said. He let go of the bunnies as he got into his car and drove off to the museum.
Andrew wasn't sure where this lady had come from, or who she was exactly. She didn't seem to mind though. Andrew had been playing Oblivion, unconcerned by the world. Then she had turned up in his room and, well, he was forced to pay attention.
“Quit your snivelling and stand up straight. I want a good look at you,” Aset said.
“Yes, ma'am,” Andrew said, standing up. He had resisted the urge to save his game before he obeyed. Whoever she was, she didn’t look like she appreciated disobedience.
She paced around him, her harsh gaze freezing him to the spot. “What kind of pathetic human do you think you are?”
“What kind of question is that?” Andrew said.
“It was rhetorical. Don't answer back,” Aset said. “Now, I’ve got some work for you to do. Listen up. I’m only going to tell you this once. And stop staring at me. There is no way in this world you’d ever sleep with me. I am not that cheap.”
Andrew nodded his agreement, even if he had never even contemplated such actions. He decided against speaking. She clearly didn’t like that.
“Something’s afoot. I don’t like it. Something has gotten out and wants to cause trouble, but it won’t reveal itself. You seem competent with those computer things. It’s in there. Somewhere. On that internet of yours. I want you to hunt for it. I’ll assist you as much as I can,” Aset said.
Andrew knew better than to call her mad. “Okay. Sounds good. What am I looking for exactly?”
“You’ll know it when you find it,” Aset said.
With a wave of her hands, Andrew found his universe disappearing as he was sucked inside his computer. With the game still running, Andrew found himself taking part in a role playing game in a way he’d never quite wanted to experience. Oh, this was not going to be fun at all, he thought as he ducked out of the way of a rather large sword and looked for a way out. He paused to notice he had grazed his knee and it had hurt. Hell, it was even bleeding. Damn. He would have to be very careful indeed if he didn’t want to be hacked to death.
“Quit wriggling. You'll mess up the knots,” Chas scolded as he looked over his handiwork.
“I distinctly remember this not being my idea, Chas,” Charles said, struggling on the ground.
“Oh, shut up, Charles. We all know you love it,” Chas said.
“I do believe that's not the point,” Charles said. When he was free, oh, was Chas going to be punished.
They both looked up in shock as Andrew tumbled into view, swinging a sword aimlessly. Andrew curled up and looked around.
“Is it gone? It didn’t follow me, did it?” Andrew said. “Charles? Why are you tied up like that?”
“Why did you appear out of thin air? And why do you look like an elf?” Charles countered.
“But-but I came from the forest. There was this guy chasing me- Wait, where am I now? What do you mean I look like an elf?” Andrew said, seeing a distinct lack of forest around him.
“Er, pointy ears? Green tunic? Shiny sword?” Charles offered.
“You serious?” Andrew said. He reached up to feel his ears to find they had indeed become pointy. Glancing down, he noticed his clothes had changed. “Shiiiit. Someone is royally screwing with me.”
“No, you, Hansen, are interrupting, that’s what. Out. Now. I’ve got things to do,” Chas said, pushing Andrew out the door.
Andrew was surprised to find himself in a long corridor. It looked familiar, though he couldn’t place it. It looked old and possibly medieval, if the tapestries on the wall were anything to go by.
“Pick up shield,” came a voice from the air.
“What shield? I don’t see any shield,” Andrew said.
“Over there, dipshit,” the voice replied. Andrew hadn’t noticed it had become a small ball of light and flitted around his head.
There lay a metal shield against one wall. It had some strange markings on the front in blue and red. Andrew picked it up. It felt heavier than he’d expected.
“Is this a proper shield?” Andrew said.
“What do you think? Now go north down that corridor, Einstein,” the voice said.
Andrew felt compelled to go north down the corridor. At least he assumed it was north. He had no way of discerning direction. He found himself in a small room with a lantern lit and a computer sitting on a wooden desk.
“I should probably stop asking what the fuck’s going on,” Andrew mused as he sat down at the desk.
The computer flickered to life. A login screen appeared.
“Okay now what, phantom voice?” Andrew asked.
“Enter your login details,” the voice said.
“That doesn’t help, you know,” Andrew said.
“Use your intuition,” the voice suggested.
Andrew sighed and entered the first login he thought of. Surprisingly, it let him in, though Andrew suspected it would’ve let him in anyway, no matter what he’d typed. A program opened, some sort of strange mix of internet browser, graphics program and word processor, all rolled into one.
“Go on, let out all your deepest darkest secrets. No one will know. It’s all anonymous. He’ll never know you outed him,” the voice said.
Andrew stopped. “What are you trying to get me to do?”
“What is needed,” the voice said.
“Are you sure no one will ever know it’s me?” Andrew said.
“Absolutely. It’s your own private journal. Do with it what you will,” the voice said.
“Only if you fuck off and stop reading over my shoulder,” Andrew said.
“As you wish,” the voice said.
Andrew waited a moment before he started typing and making graphics. Once he’d started, it became difficult to stop until he’d gotten everything out, even if half of them were outright lies.
Chris was having a quiet night in. He was beginning to regret his choice of the internet over the probably safer option of television. He looked over the website in dismay. It really wasn't cool, but he couldn't quite bring himself to protest. Fandom would do what it wanted, even if Chris wanted to protest at their allegations until someone finally believed him.
Chris never made a point of courting fandom. He hated it. He didn’t understand it. Still, there was a part of him that desperately wanted their perverse attention. Chas had sent him the link, as it happened. Chris wasn’t so enthusiastic now.
Livejournal. One hideous den of fandom and wank. One infrequently used Chaser community. Except it had had a lot of activity in the last day or so. It wasn’t as if their rumours weren’t new; he’d heard it all before, the same damn wank about his sexuality. Except this time, it was different. It wasn’t just rumour-mongering. Some anonymous person was claiming things that didn’t seem like mere invention.
Fandom was eating it alive. It was as if someone had let a bomb go off. There was carnage as the wank and shock reverberated across the internet. Oh, yes indeed. There was capslock, macros, giant text, sparkly penis gifs, and wank, wank, wank.
“Shit. I’m gonna kill whoever said those things,” Chris cursed. Once, of course, he worked out who had said them. The allegations were annoyingly unspecific, yet hideously accurate. Whoever wrote that knew him far too well.
“PWNED” was all the livejournal community offered as it sat back and grinned at him with a smug smile. It had evaded capture so far, hiding in wank and trolls and other such dark sides of fandom. It was practically undetectable there. It settled down and planned its next move.
The newsbar was a tetchy little thing. Craig kept glaring at it in frustration. He hated having to write the bloody thing, but they were in the middle of a stupid writer’s strike, and bereft of any other source of news, anyone left on staff had been forced to make things up, so desperate for content were they.
“Glaring at it won't get it written, Craig,” Andrew said as he poked his head in his office. He wasn’t even sure why he had changed locations so instantaneously, but he was glad of it. Craig, at least, wasn’t a disembodied voice. He also seemed to have some knowledge about this universe that he hadn’t had in the previous place he was.
“Yes, well, I'm avoiding Daleks at all costs. I'm not that stumped for ideas,” Craig said, scribbling down another attempt.
“You might have to if all you've got are lame puns like that,” Andrew said, reading over his shoulder.
“Lame puns are what we're good at. And they're not Daleks,” Craig said, writing another idea down.
“Nothing wrong with Daleks. Besides, it’s not like they haven’t been nice to us since they took over the planet,” Andrew said before pausing as he tried to work out why he’d even said that.
“Honey, I know you’re attracted to strange things, but really, Daleks aren’t cool. They’re half the reason we’re reduced to making up stupid newsbar items in the first place,” Craig said, turning to face Andrew.
“They can’t be real Daleks. Real Daleks aren’t this, well, nice. They’re indiscriminate killers. Real Daleks would have wiped this planet of all traces of humanity, not kept most of us alive,” Andrew said.
“Do I look like I care? Go get me some coffee, will you? And come and help me here. I need something other than puns on the word ‘manchester’,” Craig said, holding his coffee mug up.
Andrew sighed and took his mug. Well, there were worse things to spend one’s time doing.
Craig frowned as he turned back to his computer. His page was hardly full. He’d used up most of his plausible ideas over the last two weeks. He barely had anything left, what with there being very little actual real news getting through.
“It looks like you’re trying to write fake news for the newsbar. Would you like some help?”
Chas’ irritating Clippit voice appeared in one ear. Craig turned to find him standing beside him, grinning at him broadly.
“By all means, help away. I got nothing,” Craig said, getting to his feet.
Clippit danced and spun around happily before setting to work. Craig shook his head and wandered out into the hallway. He really needed to get out of here, but with so few working, breaks weren’t encouraged. It was all so shithouse. Stupid Daleks.
Away from Craig’s supervision, Clippit began his insidious work. He hacked into places he needed to hack into and began coding, his fingers working far faster than normal for an ordinary human.
Andrew found himself trapped inside the computer screen again, looking out at Craig’s office and Chas’ detestable smile. Andrew had been reduced to two dimensions. He suddenly had a terrible headache.
“Shit. What do I do now?” Andrew said to himself. He watched the lines of code scrolling past him. He didn’t understand any of it. He needed Charles. He understood programming. It wasn’t a gift Andrew had. He found an instant messaging program over to one side. He looked through the list of usernames. Luckily, he found Charles. Now how to contact him?
At his thoughts, a message window popped up. Andrew’s thoughts typed themselves in. All Andrew had to do was hit ‘send’ and his message was sent. Now to see if Charles would even answer him.
‘What are you after, Reucassel?’ came the reply.
‘Charles. This is Andrew. Chas is programming… something. I don’t know what. It looks evil. I’m trapped inside the computer. Help!’ Andrew sent back.
‘Craig, this is stupid and moronic, even by your standards,’ Charles wrote.
‘It’s me! I swear it’s me, Andrew! I need you to work out what he’s coding. You know I’m no good at programming,’ Andrew sent.
‘It must be you, Hansen. Craig doesn’t spell that well. Can you identify anything he’s typing?’ Charles wrote.
‘No. He’s typing too fast,’ Andrew sent.
‘Do you even know what language he’s using?’ Charles wrote.
‘You’re asking the wrong person. It’s not a bloody website though. That much I can identify,’ Andrew sent.
‘Try and slow it down. I need to know what he’s doing so I know how to shut him down,’ Charles said.
‘I’ll try,’ Andrew sent.
Andrew gazed at the window that was filled with code. He tried to force it to slow down. He managed it briefly enough to memorise a line of code and the program he was using.
‘I’ve never seen the program before. It’s called Plutonics. The code appears to be lists and combinations of letters and numbers. It doesn’t look like the code I’ve seen you write,’ Andrew sent.
‘I’ve never heard of that before. Shit. Um. Leave it with me. I’ll see what I can do. And, uh, hang in there. You’ve got my IP right? If there’s trouble, go find my computer. I’ll leave a safehouse open for you,’ Charles wrote.
Andrew went to reply but Charles had signed off. He got the feeling Charles knew more than he was letting on. He searched for Charles’ IP and managed to find it after burying through pages of registry files and network connection logs. He pinged it, just to make sure it worked.
But how to get there? Andrew spotted his chance when he saw Craig’s mail program still open. He opened a new email and wrote Charles’ address in, attached himself, and threw his shield at the ‘send’ button. There was a rush of energy as he was turned into binary and flung through cyberspace to Charles’ computer.
“Andrew, mate, did you just email yourself to me?” Charles said, surprised to see his friend dangling from the little paperclip in the corner that signified an attachment as the email arrived in his inbox.
‘Yes, I appear to have done so,’ Andrew said, his thoughts typing themselves into an open notepad document.
‘Here, over in the box. I’ll keep you safe. You're a very cute elf, by the way,’ Charles wrote underneath, downloading him into an adorable little house that sat on his desktop. It was quite a nice house, all things considered.
‘When you said, safehouse, I hadn’t realised you meant an actual house,’ Andrew wrote. ‘And I am not an elf.’
‘Yes, you are. And what else did you think it would be? A toadstool? Look, just stay there. Don’t leave. I’ll see what I can do. I managed to track down what program he’s using and the code, but it’ll take a while. I’m not that familiar with it,’ Charles wrote.
'Okay. I don't know what he's up to, but it didn't look normal. Try and stop him if you can,' Andrew wrote.
'Yeah, yeah, just shut up for a moment. Give me time to work. This isn't going to be easy at all,' Charles wrote.
Andrew sat back and waited as Charles got to work. Whatever Chas was doing, it wasn't good at all. He hoped Charles would be able to shut him down. The house appeared to give him three dimensions. Andrew appreciated the space. He hadn’t appreciated being two-dimensional. He sat down on the couch and waited for Charles to finish.
It was a meeting of minds, of that Dara was certain. He sat back in his chair as he watched the ibis-headed man consider his next move. This appeared to be a darker, more sinister part of the Duat, the Egyptian underworld. Perhaps Ibisman just liked the menacing light.
“I've heard you're quite good at this game,” Dara commented.
“I invented this game,” the ibis-man said.
“Doesn't always mean you'll never lose. I am, of course, the most evil genius on the planet,” Dara said.
“That doesn't always mean you'll never lose,” Djehuty replied with a wry grin as he made his next move.
“So why did you summon me here anyway, birdman?” Dara said.
“Call it off,” Djehuty said.
“Call what off?” Dara said.
“You know what. Beat me at a game of senet and it can run wild. If I win, you call it off,” Djehuty said, sick of their current game. At his words, a senet board appeared in its place, the pieces set up ready to start.
“I’m afraid the virus isn’t that obedient. It’s out of my hands now,” Dara said.
“We’ll see about that,” Djehuty said, making his first move.
Dom sighed with relief as the whip hit him again. He had gotten to the point where he didn't even care who was his Master, just that he had one. And Frankie, as it turned out, was a very good one. He knew those gay chubby dating ads would pay off, even if Frankie was neither chubby nor particularly gay.
Frankie had come over a few hours ago. Dom liked the humiliation of being Dommed in his own house, his ownership taken away from him. Frankie had neglected to tell him he had been sent merely to keep Dom occupied so he wouldn’t ruin Dara’s plans. Frankie didn’t mind though. There were worse jobs to be doing.
Dom struggled against his bonds and gasped as his body trembled under the pain again. He didn’t particularly need to fight, but it seemed to help centre him. Soon, he would freeze and the pain would wash through him and leave him calm and content. It was only with that mindset that he ever truly enjoyed playing.
Unfortunately for Dom, Charles wasn't in the mood to let him play. Just as Frankie was about to change whips, Dom's phone rang, breaking him out of his submind.
“Want me t'get that? You're a little tied up at the moment,” Frankie said. Dom nodded his answer. Frankie grabbed his mobile and answered it. “Hello, who might this be then?”
“Charles Firth. Is Dom around? I need to speak to him urgently,” Charles said.
“I'll get him for you, though I'll have t'untie him first. Want him to call back?” Frankie said.
“As soon as possible, if you wouldn't mind,” Charles said.
“I’ll get right on it,” Frankie said and hung up. He looked down at Dom. “That was your friend Charles. Seems he needs you rather urgently. I’ll get ye untied now.”
Dom sighed. Fine. Charles would owe him for this. He waited patiently to be freed before he called him back. Charles was almost desperate to hear from him.
“Dom, quick, I need your help. Get online. I can’t beat this coding without you,” Charles said.
“What are you on about?” Dom said, nevertheless leaving Frankie behind as he made his way to his computer.
“Hack onto Craig’s computer at work. Look at that code. Then help me stop it,” Charles said.
“Jesus, you’re not asking much, are you?” Dom said.
“Just do it, Dom. Try and stop those network connections remotely. I’ll try and contain the mess,” Charles said.
“Alright. I’ll do my best, but this really isn’t my strong point, you know,” Dom said.
“I don’t care. There’s no one else who can help me. Just get on with it,” Charles said.
And at that, Charles hung up. Dom sighed and got on with what Charles had told him to do. He was indeed shocked by the code he could see being typed on Craig’s computer once he’d got a remote connection up and secured.
“Damn. What the fuck is that?” Dom said.
‘Stop asking questions and get on with it. He’s speeding up. I can’t hold him back on my own. Shut down that bloody network connection. Once he’s offline, I can stop that spreading,’ Charles sent over IM.
‘Working on it. Stop badgering me, Firth,’ Dom sent back.
The task was almost beyond him. Dom hadn’t done hacking like this for years. After screwing up a few times, he decided to ask Chas for help. Chas, stupidly, told him what he needed to do, not that Dom knew he was the one typing all the code in. Perhaps his far-too-long friendship with Chas had overridden whatever else had him under a trance. Soon, Chas stopped typing and began fixing his mess. Charles was astounded.
‘What the hell did you do to him?’ Charles sent.
‘I asked Chas for help. I couldn’t remember how to get around the protocols and firewalls. Chas told me what to do,’ Dom sent.
‘Chas was the one typing the code in. How did you get him to fix his own bloody mess?’ Charles sent.
‘Chas was doing that? You serious? I just called him and he told me what to do,’ Dom sent.
‘Okay, fine, whatever. Just – go find him. See if he’s alright. I’ll clean up what’s left of this mess and kill off anything that managed to escape,’ Charles sent.
‘Uh, sure, will do,’ Dom sent.
Chas watched their conversation closely. He finished setting up his own firewall to disguise what he was really doing as he sent out his finished work. Removing all trace of it from the machine, he finished off the newsbar and left the computer. Freed from the trance, Chas now had an awful migraine. He wandered off to find somewhere dark to hide.
“So I hear they call you the brat,” Hamish said, sounding far too cocky for one addressing a god. He had gone to the museum on a whim and had entered the Egyptian exhibition, only to find himself facing a god.
“There's a reason for that, yes. Besides, it's not like I asked to be named after my uncle,” Heru-sa said.
“Shared names suck, man,” Hamish said.
“They totally do. And you are one cute little human,” Heru-sa said.
“I've been told so, yes,” Hamish said. “You're not bad looking yourself.”
There was a flicker of attraction before Hamish felt that hand on his arm and his body brought into Heru-sa's grasp. Hamish clung to him as Heru-sa got ready to fuck him.
“Are you sure we should be doing this in the middle of a museum?” Hamish said, gasping as Heru-sa pushed inside him.
“No one can see us. It’s alright,” Heru-sa said.
A familiar voice interrupted their intimacy. “Hamish! What are you doing?” Adam said, coming up to them.
“Conversing with god. Didn't you say I needed to get some spirituality into me?” Hamish said, ignoring him.
“I didn't mean you had to do that!” Adam said.
“You're just jealous he likes me,” Hamish said.
“I'm not jealous. It's just, everyone's looking and we're in the middle of a museum. You might want to stop humping that statue now,” Adam said.
“Oh. Right. Uh, sure,” Hamish said, respectfully disentangling himself from the basalt statue. He noticed it winked at him as he let the security guards take him away.
Adam shook his head and followed them out. He had left the plotbunnies behind in the car. The last thing he needed was them running rampant in the museum. Hamish was taken to a small room. Adam was allowed in after he had confirmed he knew him. He’d asked for a moment alone to talk to him before they interviewed him.
“Look, I was totally fucking some god. I was not hurting that statue at all,” Hamish said.
“You really think anyone’s going to believe you if you say that?” Adam said.
“It’s the truth. What else should I say?” Hamish said.
“You haven’t taken anything weird lately, have you?” Adam said, looking concerned.
“No, nothing at all. Why would I do that?” Hamish said.
“It’s just-” Adam looked down to find those pesky plotbunnies gnawing on his hems. “What do you want?”
“Where did those rabbits come from?” Hamish said.
“I have no idea. And they’re not rabbits, they’re plotbunnies, apparently,” Adam said.
“Plotbunnies? Yeah, right, now who’s talking crap,” Hamish said.
“Hamish! You’re here! See, you triumph over Tim! I am so right!” the Admish bunny said, launching itself at Hamish’s leg.
“Can I go back to fucking Heru? That at least was enjoyable,” Hamish said.
“No, we need to find Clippit, that’s what,” Adam said.
“Clippit? Who or what is Clippit?” Hamish said.
“That annoying paperclip that keeps thinking you’re trying to write a letter. There’s a 3D version that’s run off on me and we need to catch him,” Adam said.
“I suppose it’s just better to run with this, isn’t it?” Hamish said.
“It is, yes. Now, let’s get out of here,” Adam said.
The bunnies flicked their ears just as Adam and Hamish were about to leave the room, whisking the pair safely out of the way of the waiting security guards.
Julian sat on his couch, trying to look like he regretted nothing of his encounter the previous evening. He couldn’t remember how he’d come to meet the man, but it was sufficiently strange enough that he’d decided to tell Chas, even if he’d have to endure his taunts for the rest of his life. He’d found Chas looking a little lost and tired and offered to take him home for a rest. Chas, glad for his company, accepted his offer and had just taken some painkillers for his migraine. After a coffee, he was beginning to feel a little more human. Julian’s tale of meeting some mysterious man in a pub and ending up at his place for sex also helped.
You see, Julian had innocently just gone to the pub for a drink and had ended up at someone else's place locked in a set of stocks while being made to suck his captor's dick. His captor being, of course, Hugh Dennis. Not that it mattered to Julian. He wasn’t all that familiar with him. Still, there were times when Julian really did enjoy being the bitch. He’d never tell Chas he had enjoyed it, but it didn’t matter. Truth be told, Chas wouldn’t have cared who had Dommed him. It was hilarious enough as it was.
“I hope you realise I'm never letting you live this down, yes? What was he even doing here?” Chas said.
“How should I know? Remind me never to go to that pub again,” Julian said.
“I’m going with you next time. We might meet someone fabulous,” Chas said.
“Do I need to ask why you’re in that Clippit costume?” Julian said.
“No. I was feeling nostalgic. And I was annoying Craig,” Chas said.
“I bet Craig wants to kill you then,” Julian said.
“I dunno, I disappeared before he had a chance. Stupid migraine. He was struggling with the newsbar. I finished it off for him. He’d better bloody appreciate it, that’s all I’m saying,” Chas said.
“Wanna go lie down for a while? You look like you could do with a nap,” Julian said.
“Only if you carry me,” Chas insisted.
Julian shook his head as he agreed, lifting Chas into his arms as he took him back to his room. He lay him down and switched the fan on in the darkened room.
“Want me to stay?” Julian asked.
“If you want. Don’t bother if you have work to do,” Chas said.
“I’ll come and check on you in a while, alright?” Julian said.
“Okay. Seeya later,” Chas said.
“Sleep well, Chassybear,” Julian whispered, blowing him a kiss before he closed the door.