2nd Badfic Challenge, by jadelennox
Sep. 8th, 2009 08:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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ds_flashfictionTitle: The Who Really Wrote Shakespeare Mystery
prompt: Okay, so like we just did this poem Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? And it's totally Fraser talking about ray! And Ray is totally an immortal! because he says Death can't brag about having killed him. But he's sad becauseFrasers not so how can they be together?
prompt written by:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mergatrude
rating: G
warnings: I can't write in Old English, LOL, so just fake it! And there's tons of history here, and I checked it with wikipedia so I know it's all accurate!!!
"Ah, Ray," Fraser said, reading a printout of sonnets and conducting to the tune in his gorgeous head. "The Bard was such a genius."
"Nah, he wasn't," groused the other man, putting his feet up on the dashboard while he drove.
"Now, Ray," Fraser admonished, as they burst through several red lights. "I know you don't like poetry, but I think you'll find --" he blushed, suddenly his cheeks turning the same color as The Uniform. "-- well, some of Shakespeare's poems are quite, ahem, moving."
"Nah, that's not it," complained the spiky-haired blond. "the poems are fine, ya know? It's just that Shakespeare didn't write them, it's all a, whaddaya call it? A hoax. This guy named Roger, whassisname, Porkchop wrote them."
"Oh no, Ray!" Fraser expostulated, frustrated. "That's quite a debunked theory!"
"Theory, shmeory," said Ray, grinning at Fraser. "I was there."
The spikey-haired sherriff adjusted his favorite leather doublet and kicked his feet up on the pommel of his black mustang's saddle. "Look, Will," he said. "You got problems, I got problems, the Queen's got problems. The Pope's probably got problems, even, not that I care what the Pope thinks, because I am a loyal servant of Good Queen Bess. But you got problems, I hear you. I respect that, I do. But the fact is this Mister..." He checked his notes. "-- Donne here says you owe him a play by today, according to the contract, or he'll call in his ye olde goons, and they'll break your stomacher and pinch your codpiece."
"Good Master Raymond," pleaded the balding man, sticking one finger in his ruff and tugging nervously. "My dear sweet wife has been ill, and the hens have stopped laying, and I have the pox, and also the griffin is shedding madly. [N.B. Also he left his powercord at home before he got on the train to NYC, LOL! Life imitates art! xoxoxo, your author] I'll have to bring you the story tomorrow. But I swear I'll have it! I have an amazing bunny about a man who sells his soul to the devil and then there is a big storm and a pine tree with cloves in it!"
"Look, Billy," sighed Ray. "That confuses me, but whatever. I don't like pressuring you on behalf of that no-goodnik, believe me. But he owns the Lord Mayor, what with gambling debts and all, and the best I could do was try to come in myself to get the play, instead of letting him send Guiderius and Malvolio, the Sicilian thugs, to do a classic goodfellas shakedown."
Will lowered his head into his hands and wept. His long hair got damp with tears. "Is it okay if I get my friend's help on the draft? I can never do this on my own!"
Ray whistled pointedly and looked around. "What? I don't see nothin'. Nobody here but me and my monkey." He petted the mustang absently. Will looked at him blankly. "Go!" Ray hissed. "I'm pretendin' I don't see nothin'. Get your friend's help! I'll wait."
"Thanks!" yelped Will, smiling gratefully. He ran off, and was back a few minutes later with a pile of parchment. It was yellow and curling with age, and Ray had trouble reading it because the letters were all curly and decorated. "My friend Roger said I could use his most recent, Hamnet. Will that get Donne off my back?" Will looked concerned.
"Sure thing, Will-o my lad," answered Ray, tucking the manuscript into his doublet and jeans. "Title's kind stupid, though. Might wanna think about changing it." Will nodded, looking thoughtful and pensive. "I'll scoot this off for you, shall I?" asked Ray.
And riding off, fast as the wind, Constable Dogberray "Ray" Kowalski didn't see Will falling all over his friend Bacon in gratitude. Will wept and knelt at his friend's feet and hugged him around the waist. He groveled his thanks to his embarrassed and demurring friend. His blue-eyed, tall, brown-haired, polite Canadian friend Roger Bacon.
"You're shittin' me!" cried Ray, when Fraser told his side of the story.
"I assure you I am not, Ray," said Fraser, and then they kissed a lot. It wasn't ancient history at all.
prompt: Okay, so like we just did this poem Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? And it's totally Fraser talking about ray! And Ray is totally an immortal! because he says Death can't brag about having killed him. But he's sad becauseFrasers not so how can they be together?
prompt written by:
mergatruderating: G
warnings: I can't write in Old English, LOL, so just fake it! And there's tons of history here, and I checked it with wikipedia so I know it's all accurate!!!
"Ah, Ray," Fraser said, reading a printout of sonnets and conducting to the tune in his gorgeous head. "The Bard was such a genius."
"Nah, he wasn't," groused the other man, putting his feet up on the dashboard while he drove.
"Now, Ray," Fraser admonished, as they burst through several red lights. "I know you don't like poetry, but I think you'll find --" he blushed, suddenly his cheeks turning the same color as The Uniform. "-- well, some of Shakespeare's poems are quite, ahem, moving."
"Nah, that's not it," complained the spiky-haired blond. "the poems are fine, ya know? It's just that Shakespeare didn't write them, it's all a, whaddaya call it? A hoax. This guy named Roger, whassisname, Porkchop wrote them."
"Oh no, Ray!" Fraser expostulated, frustrated. "That's quite a debunked theory!"
"Theory, shmeory," said Ray, grinning at Fraser. "I was there."
The spikey-haired sherriff adjusted his favorite leather doublet and kicked his feet up on the pommel of his black mustang's saddle. "Look, Will," he said. "You got problems, I got problems, the Queen's got problems. The Pope's probably got problems, even, not that I care what the Pope thinks, because I am a loyal servant of Good Queen Bess. But you got problems, I hear you. I respect that, I do. But the fact is this Mister..." He checked his notes. "-- Donne here says you owe him a play by today, according to the contract, or he'll call in his ye olde goons, and they'll break your stomacher and pinch your codpiece."
"Good Master Raymond," pleaded the balding man, sticking one finger in his ruff and tugging nervously. "My dear sweet wife has been ill, and the hens have stopped laying, and I have the pox, and also the griffin is shedding madly. [N.B. Also he left his powercord at home before he got on the train to NYC, LOL! Life imitates art! xoxoxo, your author] I'll have to bring you the story tomorrow. But I swear I'll have it! I have an amazing bunny about a man who sells his soul to the devil and then there is a big storm and a pine tree with cloves in it!"
"Look, Billy," sighed Ray. "That confuses me, but whatever. I don't like pressuring you on behalf of that no-goodnik, believe me. But he owns the Lord Mayor, what with gambling debts and all, and the best I could do was try to come in myself to get the play, instead of letting him send Guiderius and Malvolio, the Sicilian thugs, to do a classic goodfellas shakedown."
Will lowered his head into his hands and wept. His long hair got damp with tears. "Is it okay if I get my friend's help on the draft? I can never do this on my own!"
Ray whistled pointedly and looked around. "What? I don't see nothin'. Nobody here but me and my monkey." He petted the mustang absently. Will looked at him blankly. "Go!" Ray hissed. "I'm pretendin' I don't see nothin'. Get your friend's help! I'll wait."
"Thanks!" yelped Will, smiling gratefully. He ran off, and was back a few minutes later with a pile of parchment. It was yellow and curling with age, and Ray had trouble reading it because the letters were all curly and decorated. "My friend Roger said I could use his most recent, Hamnet. Will that get Donne off my back?" Will looked concerned.
"Sure thing, Will-o my lad," answered Ray, tucking the manuscript into his doublet and jeans. "Title's kind stupid, though. Might wanna think about changing it." Will nodded, looking thoughtful and pensive. "I'll scoot this off for you, shall I?" asked Ray.
And riding off, fast as the wind, Constable Dogberray "Ray" Kowalski didn't see Will falling all over his friend Bacon in gratitude. Will wept and knelt at his friend's feet and hugged him around the waist. He groveled his thanks to his embarrassed and demurring friend. His blue-eyed, tall, brown-haired, polite Canadian friend Roger Bacon.
"You're shittin' me!" cried Ray, when Fraser told his side of the story.
"I assure you I am not, Ray," said Fraser, and then they kissed a lot. It wasn't ancient history at all.
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no subject
Date: 2009-09-09 01:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-09 02:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-09 01:26 am (UTC)This really is a bad!fic, I shall not lie to you.
A testament to skill and craft, 'tis sure not due to luck,
For thou has writ a tale that makes me murmur what the fuck?"
no subject
Date: 2009-09-09 02:17 am (UTC)Sad souls are slain in merry company!
no subject
Date: 2009-09-09 01:33 am (UTC)methinks I dost love you for that
no subject
Date: 2009-09-09 02:18 am (UTC)I *know* I love you for that.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-09 02:03 am (UTC)LOL!
Nice one! Or bad one, I suppose. :)
no subject
Date: 2009-09-09 02:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-09 08:50 pm (UTC)That may be the most brilliant bit of bad dialog I've ever had the pleasure to read. Hilarious.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-10 12:13 am (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2009-09-10 04:43 am (UTC)(Seriously, I want to hug you just for the Shakespeare = Old English joke in the warning.)
no subject
Date: 2009-09-10 04:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-12 01:10 am (UTC)Just taking all the ridonkulous thing RayK always does while driving that he really shouldn't do in the middle of modern-day city traffic, and taking them that extra step further. Also, you should probably win the "Most Far-Flung Premise" award. :-D
no subject
Date: 2009-09-21 03:58 am (UTC)