Drabble: Traditions
Dec. 27th, 2011 10:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aprilvolitionI give you my first foray into my beloved X-Files fandom. It's short (writing for these characters scares me), but hopefully enjoyable :)
Title: Traditions
Fandom: X-Files
Rating: It has some curse words, but otherwise you're safe.
Summary: See title. I'm not saying anything else.
Author's Note:lady_of_scarlet fixed the boo-boos, but I may have tweaked a few things after. Any mistakes left are my own.
The sound of the door hitting its wooden frame heralds a welcomed silence. Mulder's hand remains pressed against their last defense from what lay behind the seemingly innocuous entrance to an anything but ordinary house.
Hands on her knees, hunched over at the farthest edge of the porch, Scully's breath comes out in little puffs in the cold night air. It isn't the winter chill that causes her to shiver though, but the remembrance of non-corporeal forms passing through her just seconds ago. She watches as Mulder's hand slides slowly towards the doorknob. The sudden rush of annoyance at Mulder's never-ending curiosity doesn't help in her efforts to get enough oxygen into her lungs.
But on a ragged breath, she manages to get the words out, "Don't. You. Dare."
Mulder's hand stops when his sense of self-preservation kicks in at the sound of Scully's voice. He turns towards her, and the glare she sends his way only reaffirms her words are not meant to be ignored. Of course, his sense of self-preservation must not be quite as evolved as it should, because he can't help but send her a smug smile along with a few last words.
"So, you concede it's haunted then? Because even you can't explain what we just saw, Scully."
No, she can't. Dancing ghosts swaying about to classical music, all straight from the 18th century is pretty hard to ignore. Unless she decides to do some blood-work and discovers Mulder slipped her a hallucinogenic. She's fairly certain he didn't. And even if she could throw a few other explanations his way, she won't. Because it's Christmas Eve, and yet again he's dragged her to a haunted house. No, she won't add ‘allegedly’ in front of that. She can still hear the music in her head, even though it was silenced as soon as the door slammed shut, and she isn't going to try to deny it.
"If you promise never to drag me along to investigate any paranormal phenomenon on Christmas Eve again, and we can get the hell out of here, I will still give you your Christmas present instead of burning it in the first fireplace I find, and I'll refrain from even trying to explain this particular experience away."
"But it's our thing, Scully!" His hand motions back and forth between them, eyes wide trying to pull off hurt and shock at her harsh words. She isn't buying it, and rather than respond, she starts to make her way down the porch. Angry footsteps connect harshly with aged wood, causing it to creak and groan beneath her.
Her feet have just touched dirt when she hears the clanking of a doorknob being turned, and the night air is suddenly filled with the sounds of a piano and a chorus of voices singing a forgotten Christmas carol.
They're in the middle of nowhere. She has the car keys, and she's pissed off enough to ditch him since he practically kidnapped her in the first place. She smiles.
Eyes staring on in wonder at the spectacle before him, and ears completely tuned to sound of merry voices singing, he doesn't hear the car door being shut or its engine roaring to life. But tires turning harshly against gravel can't be ignored. Sudden realization dawns on Mulder.
"Oh shit."
Title: Traditions
Fandom: X-Files
Rating: It has some curse words, but otherwise you're safe.
Summary: See title. I'm not saying anything else.
Author's Note:
lady_of_scarlet fixed the boo-boos, but I may have tweaked a few things after. Any mistakes left are my own. The sound of the door hitting its wooden frame heralds a welcomed silence. Mulder's hand remains pressed against their last defense from what lay behind the seemingly innocuous entrance to an anything but ordinary house.
Hands on her knees, hunched over at the farthest edge of the porch, Scully's breath comes out in little puffs in the cold night air. It isn't the winter chill that causes her to shiver though, but the remembrance of non-corporeal forms passing through her just seconds ago. She watches as Mulder's hand slides slowly towards the doorknob. The sudden rush of annoyance at Mulder's never-ending curiosity doesn't help in her efforts to get enough oxygen into her lungs.
But on a ragged breath, she manages to get the words out, "Don't. You. Dare."
Mulder's hand stops when his sense of self-preservation kicks in at the sound of Scully's voice. He turns towards her, and the glare she sends his way only reaffirms her words are not meant to be ignored. Of course, his sense of self-preservation must not be quite as evolved as it should, because he can't help but send her a smug smile along with a few last words.
"So, you concede it's haunted then? Because even you can't explain what we just saw, Scully."
No, she can't. Dancing ghosts swaying about to classical music, all straight from the 18th century is pretty hard to ignore. Unless she decides to do some blood-work and discovers Mulder slipped her a hallucinogenic. She's fairly certain he didn't. And even if she could throw a few other explanations his way, she won't. Because it's Christmas Eve, and yet again he's dragged her to a haunted house. No, she won't add ‘allegedly’ in front of that. She can still hear the music in her head, even though it was silenced as soon as the door slammed shut, and she isn't going to try to deny it.
"If you promise never to drag me along to investigate any paranormal phenomenon on Christmas Eve again, and we can get the hell out of here, I will still give you your Christmas present instead of burning it in the first fireplace I find, and I'll refrain from even trying to explain this particular experience away."
"But it's our thing, Scully!" His hand motions back and forth between them, eyes wide trying to pull off hurt and shock at her harsh words. She isn't buying it, and rather than respond, she starts to make her way down the porch. Angry footsteps connect harshly with aged wood, causing it to creak and groan beneath her.
Her feet have just touched dirt when she hears the clanking of a doorknob being turned, and the night air is suddenly filled with the sounds of a piano and a chorus of voices singing a forgotten Christmas carol.
They're in the middle of nowhere. She has the car keys, and she's pissed off enough to ditch him since he practically kidnapped her in the first place. She smiles.
Eyes staring on in wonder at the spectacle before him, and ears completely tuned to sound of merry voices singing, he doesn't hear the car door being shut or its engine roaring to life. But tires turning harshly against gravel can't be ignored. Sudden realization dawns on Mulder.
"Oh shit."
