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ds_flashfictionTitle: Aphorisms Don't Equal A Flathead Screwdriver
Rating: G
Pairing: none, gen (features Fraser, dead!Bob and a smidgen of RayK)
Length: 435 words
Prompt: #17 "There are two kinds of men in this world. Those who win and those who want to win."
Rating: G
Pairing: none, gen (features Fraser, dead!Bob and a smidgen of RayK)
Length: 435 words
Prompt: #17 "There are two kinds of men in this world. Those who win and those who want to win."
~ ~ ~
"There are two kinds of men in this world," declared Fraser, Sr. with a decisive nod, "Those who win and those who want to win."
"Thank you, Dad. That's very helpful." Fraser tried once again to unscrew the locking mechanism from the door of the small, airless room in which he was trapped. The malfeasants had stripped him of his Sam Brown, lanyard, tunic and most distressingly, his hat, before locking him in and leaving him to suffocate.
The majority of useful implements he kept upon his person were not available to him, but 'proper preparation prevented poor performance,' and after his and Ray's near-miss upon the Henry Allen, Fraser had taken to securing a back-up assortment of useful items in his jodhpurs: tweezers, matches, a set of handcuff keys, a compass and a phillips screwdriver. Unfortunately, he was now faced with four very firmly embedded flathead screws.
"If you'd really wanted to succeed, Benton, you'd have a flathead on you as well." Fraser, Sr. shook his head and tutted sadly. "Proper preparation prevents poor performance."
"I know, Dad." The end of the tweezers made an acceptable substitute for a flathead screwdriver, but the prongs were too short to for a proper grip. Perhaps he could fashion a handle using one of his boot heels.
"This reminds me of the time Duck-Billed Sal locked his mother in the tool shed because she wouldn't let him marry Marjorie Qamaniq. It seems Sal's mum had an on-going feud with Majorie's father over an unacknowledged gift of canned peaches that Sal's mum's grandmother Eloise had presented to Marjorie's father's great-uncle, Iqaluit, in 1885. Now, the peaches were actually received by Two-Toed Terence, the town's mail carrier. He had a great fondness for sweets, and when he--"
Fraser whirled around. "Perhaps now would be a good time to pay heed to another cherished aphorism, 'If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem.'"
"Why, I've no idea what you mean."
"I can't concentrate on preventing my untimely demise by suffocation," said Fraser, his voice rising, "if you keep blithering at me!" Behind him, he heard a click and the door creak open.
"Fraser," said Ray. "You only been trapped in here a couple hours. You can't've gone nuts on us already. Who're you yelling at?"
"Ah," said Fraser, turning around. "Yes. Ray. Well, you see--"
"Save it. You can tell me about it over dinner, after I'm done gloating about rescuing you. I can't believe you didn't get yourself outta here. C'mon, Fraser, my six-year old nephew coulda picked this lock."
Fraser sighed. "Understood."
"There are two kinds of men in this world," declared Fraser, Sr. with a decisive nod, "Those who win and those who want to win."
"Thank you, Dad. That's very helpful." Fraser tried once again to unscrew the locking mechanism from the door of the small, airless room in which he was trapped. The malfeasants had stripped him of his Sam Brown, lanyard, tunic and most distressingly, his hat, before locking him in and leaving him to suffocate.
The majority of useful implements he kept upon his person were not available to him, but 'proper preparation prevented poor performance,' and after his and Ray's near-miss upon the Henry Allen, Fraser had taken to securing a back-up assortment of useful items in his jodhpurs: tweezers, matches, a set of handcuff keys, a compass and a phillips screwdriver. Unfortunately, he was now faced with four very firmly embedded flathead screws.
"If you'd really wanted to succeed, Benton, you'd have a flathead on you as well." Fraser, Sr. shook his head and tutted sadly. "Proper preparation prevents poor performance."
"I know, Dad." The end of the tweezers made an acceptable substitute for a flathead screwdriver, but the prongs were too short to for a proper grip. Perhaps he could fashion a handle using one of his boot heels.
"This reminds me of the time Duck-Billed Sal locked his mother in the tool shed because she wouldn't let him marry Marjorie Qamaniq. It seems Sal's mum had an on-going feud with Majorie's father over an unacknowledged gift of canned peaches that Sal's mum's grandmother Eloise had presented to Marjorie's father's great-uncle, Iqaluit, in 1885. Now, the peaches were actually received by Two-Toed Terence, the town's mail carrier. He had a great fondness for sweets, and when he--"
Fraser whirled around. "Perhaps now would be a good time to pay heed to another cherished aphorism, 'If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem.'"
"Why, I've no idea what you mean."
"I can't concentrate on preventing my untimely demise by suffocation," said Fraser, his voice rising, "if you keep blithering at me!" Behind him, he heard a click and the door creak open.
"Fraser," said Ray. "You only been trapped in here a couple hours. You can't've gone nuts on us already. Who're you yelling at?"
"Ah," said Fraser, turning around. "Yes. Ray. Well, you see--"
"Save it. You can tell me about it over dinner, after I'm done gloating about rescuing you. I can't believe you didn't get yourself outta here. C'mon, Fraser, my six-year old nephew coulda picked this lock."
Fraser sighed. "Understood."
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