![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
writedragon posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ds_flashfictionRating: G
Word Count: 1,111
Relationships: Benton Fraser & Ray Kowalski
Additional Tags: fluff, video games
Notes: Dialogue inspired by (and occasionally stolen from) the game Sam and Max Hit the Road by LucasArts, 1995. Written for the due South flash fiction challenge prompt: Video Games, and originally published on January 30, 2019.
Summary: Ray has a new toy, and something about it seems very familiar to Fraser.
-------------
Fraser strode across the bullpen of the Two-Seven twirling his Stetson. As soon as he reached Ray’s desk, he leaned over his friend’s shoulder and said into his ear, “What is oscillating?”
Ray jerked backwards in his chair and quickly twisted the brightness knob on his computer monitor so Fraser couldn’t get a good look at what he was doing.
“Jesus Fraser! Don’t sneak up on a guy like that.”
“Sorry.”
“Did you just ask me if I’m osculating? Because, whatever the hell that means, no, I’m not.”
Fraser raised an eyebrow. “Osculating means kissing, and clearly you are not currently engaged in a romantic encounter.” Or maybe he was, depending on how you looked at it, but that was neither here nor there.
“I asked you,” Fraser continued, “what is oscillating. Jiggling. Wobbling.”
Ray lowered his eyebrows and stared at him for several seconds, his jaw working on the toothpick in his mouth. “Do you … do you mean, ‘What’s shakin’?’”
“Right. Shaking. Yes. Apologies.”
“You’re a freak.”
“Understood.”
The only thing shaking right now was Ray’s head, in utter bemusement, as was so often the case when interacting with his weird friend-slash-partner.
“Whaddaya want, Fraser?”
“Are you busy? I was thinking of getting something to eat and wondered if you would care to join me.”
Ray put on his best, “Who, me? I’m not up to anything I shouldn’t be doing” face before answering.
“Uh, just finishing some paperwork,” he said, rearranging files on his desk in what Fraser observed to be a completely random pattern.
“What was that on your screen?”
“Not porn, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Fraser blushed. “I wasn’t suggesting anything so tawdry. Or illegal, for that matter. What I saw looked like a cartoon.”
“And?”
“Ray, are you watching broadcast television on your computer during work hours? And if you are, how are you doing that? Not even our Consular internet access has that technological capability.”
“It’s my lunch hour. And, if you must know, Mister Nosy Parker, it’s a video game, OK?”
“A game.”
“Yeah. It’s new. Supposed to be good.”
“What kind of game?”
“It’s about two freelance cops who have to track down a missing Bigfoot named Bruno, and his giraffe-necked girlfriend.”
“I thought we solved that case last month?”
“Yeah, well, they must’ve been looking over our shoulders.”
Ray turned back to face his computer, adjusting the brightness knob so the screen lit up again. Electronic elevator music began to play and two characters walked on screen: a dog wearing a trenchcoat and fedora, and a small white rabbit with a rather sinister-looking toothy grin. Ray began clicking his mouse cursor around the screen, making the characters move and talk.
Fraser rested his hat atop the haphazard pile of papers threatening to spill out of Ray’s inbox and bent towards the screen to have a better look.
“Sasquatch,” he said, after a long pause.
“Gesundheit.”
“What? No. Sasquatch is another name for the creature you colloquially referred to as Bigfoot. It is believed to be an Anglicization of the Salish Sasq’ets, meaning “wild man” or “hairy man.” The Sts’ailes First Nations people believe that Sasquatch has the ability to move between the physical and spiritual realms.”
“I’ll move you to the spiritual realm if you don’t shut up for a minute. I’m trying to concentrate.”
“As you wish.” After a thirty second pause, Fraser interrupted the game again. “What are they doing?”
“Playing whack-a-mole. Only with rats.”
Fraser watched him for a moment. “What is the purpose of this activity?”
“I have to win the rat game before I can move on.”
“I see,” Fraser said, not understanding at all. “You’re quite skillful at that.”
“Yeah, well, I get a lot of practice down in the basement of my apartment building every time I do laundry.”
“I should think that such gratuitous acts of senseless violence would constitute cruelty to animals.”
“It’s a game, Fraser. Besides, gratuitous acts of senseless violence are my forte.”
“Your sadism is a credit to your profession.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Now what are they doing?”
Ray clicked the mouse a few times before answering. “Bungee jumping off Mount Rushmore.”
“I believe that is a felony, is it not?”
“It’s a GAME, Fraser.”
Fraser watched Ray for a few more minutes, fascinated.
“Ray, if you don’t mind my asking, what is the name of the adorable yet hostile rabbit character?”
“Max. The Sam Spade dog is Sam.”
“Originally enough. Hmmm.”
“What?”
“It’s not important.”
“Nothing is ever not important with you. Spill it.”
“My mind is a swirling miasma of scintillating thoughts and turgid ideas.”
“Speak English, Fraser.”
“I was just thinking that Max reminds me of someone.”
“Who?”
“Whom.”
“If you say he reminds you of me, I swear I’ll pop you one.”
“Then I shall refrain from saying that.”
The scene on the screen changed, along with the music. “Now they’re going to the world’s largest ball of twine,” Ray said, “which is totally stupid.”
“Not to mention inane and grotesque. Although I must admit that, much to our national embarrassment, Canada has a large ball of twine too. Only, half of ours is French.”
“Har de ha ha.” Ray played for another minute. “Now they have to stop by the Snuckeys to get stuff before heading off to visit the Celebrity Vegetable Museum in Texas.”
“Snuckey’s?”
“You know, like Stuckey’s. Those truckstop places where they sell pecan logs.”
“They sell logs made out of pecans?”
“It’s candy.”
“Ah. I see,” Fraser nodded.
“Now I want a pecan log. You hungry?” Ray asked, saving his place and shutting down the computer. He ejected the CD-ROM, snapped it into its case, and tucked it carefully under the Canadian Impressionism book in the bottom drawer of his desk.
“Indeed I am. Even more than when I arrived,” Fraser said, reminding Ray of why he had come to the Precinct in the first place.
“Right,” Ray said, standing up. “I forgot. Sorry. Got caught up in the game.”
“Where would you like to eat?”
“Let’s go to that ‘50s diner down the street.” Ray plucked the Stetson from the inbox and handed it to Fraser. “It’s cheesy but they do a killer chocolate shake.”
“Are you implying that you enjoy its somewhat comical retro ambiance?”
“That’s what I said — cheesy.” Ray turned and swaggered off towards the door.
Fraser followed and put a hand on Ray’s back. “Shall we strike the thoroughfare, my friend?”
Ray shook his head again. “It’s ‘hit the road,’ Fraser. Let’s hit the road.”
Fraser smiled and said under his breath, too quietly for Ray to hear, “Whatever you say, Max.”
The End
no subject
Date: 2019-01-30 05:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-30 06:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-31 03:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-31 03:05 am (UTC)I was trying to be "period appropriate". Writing DS is sometimes like writing historical fiction....
no subject
Date: 2019-02-01 11:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-02-01 11:30 am (UTC)