http://samnotmax.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
samnotmax.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomtownies2008-11-25 10:59 am
samnotmax.livejournal.com) wrote in fandomtownies2008-11-25 10:59 am
Entry tags:
On the Causeway, Tuesday, Midday
The black-and-white 1960 DeSoto barreled down the causeway, six-foot dog at the wheel, furry rabbit lagomorph sitting shotgun.
Literally. Max had his Luger out and was firing behind them, excitedly.
Sam executed a perfect 180-degree handbrake turn and the DeSoto skidded to a stop.
Max turned around so he could fire some more in the same direction, even though they'd lost their pursuers long before. "Hey, Sam, why'd we stop? I already miss the feel of the wind through the fur on my fuzzy white behind!"
"I think we lost 'em, little buddy," Sam said, looking over his shoulder at the island just behind them. "Not a minute too soon. Our destination's on that rock right there."
"I still don't see why we have to come hide out here just because there are hordes of angry citizens clamoring for our skulls on a platter," Max pouted. "If they do that again, I'll just repeal the First Amendment."
"The First Amendment doesn't give you the right not to be skinned and toasted by an angry torch-wielding mob," Sam sighed, throwing the car back into drive and coasting down the Causeway. "And those giant battle robots will run out of power sooner or later. Best to lay low until the impeachment hearings blow over."
And the trials for war crimes. And the special investigators' subpoenas. And whatever else had been cooked up by all the people who were somewhat displeased by Max's current term as President of the United States.
Which would be everyone except for Max, Sam, and Vice-President Spatula, their pet goldfish.
"No, no, Sam, the angry torch-wielding mob was the House of Representatives. The people chasing us today were the friendless nerds who emerged from their parents' basements into the light of day when we destroyed the Internet. They had guns."
"That must be why their aim was so bad," Sam said. "Those geeks probably haven't seen natural sunlight since the mid-1990s."
Look, they had had to destroy the internet. She (yes, she) was working to mass-hypnotize the population of the world. And not in the usual, fun ways, with cheap lures of free porn and offshore banking.
"I got us office space here in town," he explained. "The Commissioner will give us the go-ahead once the mobs die down a little. It'll give us time to figure out who this Roy G. Biv figure is, and plot our next move."
"Natural sunlight is SO overrated," Max sighed, raising a hand to his forehead dramatically.
He put his gun away (don't ask where) and sat down in the seat. "Office space is good. It'll give us a chance to be all... office-y." He wiggled his fingers dramatically, for emphasis. "Plus, I'll bet Leonard wants to get out of the trunk and into a nice, spacious closet, DON'T YOU LEONARD?" There were some muffled thumps from the trunk. "Awww, he's such a softie."
"He's been behaving himself admirably for most of the drive," Sam grinned. "We'll feed him some extra paper clips once we get settled."
They headed back the way they came, to that parking lot on the mainland they'd zoomed by. It seemed like a good enough place to leave the DeSoto, once they'd armed its security system (a series of Post-It notes stuck to the dash warning "PROPERTY OF SAM & MAX: DO NOT STEAL IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIFE").
After that... Fandom. A new office. A new adventure. New people to meet, new cases to solve, new days to save, new semi-innocent bystanders to narrowly avoid slaughtering... A new home.
(Co-written with the fabulous![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
maxnotsam. Establishy, NFI, but broadcast is a-okay, and OOC is love.)
Literally. Max had his Luger out and was firing behind them, excitedly.
Sam executed a perfect 180-degree handbrake turn and the DeSoto skidded to a stop.
Max turned around so he could fire some more in the same direction, even though they'd lost their pursuers long before. "Hey, Sam, why'd we stop? I already miss the feel of the wind through the fur on my fuzzy white behind!"
"I think we lost 'em, little buddy," Sam said, looking over his shoulder at the island just behind them. "Not a minute too soon. Our destination's on that rock right there."
"I still don't see why we have to come hide out here just because there are hordes of angry citizens clamoring for our skulls on a platter," Max pouted. "If they do that again, I'll just repeal the First Amendment."
"The First Amendment doesn't give you the right not to be skinned and toasted by an angry torch-wielding mob," Sam sighed, throwing the car back into drive and coasting down the Causeway. "And those giant battle robots will run out of power sooner or later. Best to lay low until the impeachment hearings blow over."
And the trials for war crimes. And the special investigators' subpoenas. And whatever else had been cooked up by all the people who were somewhat displeased by Max's current term as President of the United States.
Which would be everyone except for Max, Sam, and Vice-President Spatula, their pet goldfish.
"No, no, Sam, the angry torch-wielding mob was the House of Representatives. The people chasing us today were the friendless nerds who emerged from their parents' basements into the light of day when we destroyed the Internet. They had guns."
"That must be why their aim was so bad," Sam said. "Those geeks probably haven't seen natural sunlight since the mid-1990s."
Look, they had had to destroy the internet. She (yes, she) was working to mass-hypnotize the population of the world. And not in the usual, fun ways, with cheap lures of free porn and offshore banking.
"I got us office space here in town," he explained. "The Commissioner will give us the go-ahead once the mobs die down a little. It'll give us time to figure out who this Roy G. Biv figure is, and plot our next move."
"Natural sunlight is SO overrated," Max sighed, raising a hand to his forehead dramatically.
He put his gun away (don't ask where) and sat down in the seat. "Office space is good. It'll give us a chance to be all... office-y." He wiggled his fingers dramatically, for emphasis. "Plus, I'll bet Leonard wants to get out of the trunk and into a nice, spacious closet, DON'T YOU LEONARD?" There were some muffled thumps from the trunk. "Awww, he's such a softie."
"He's been behaving himself admirably for most of the drive," Sam grinned. "We'll feed him some extra paper clips once we get settled."
They headed back the way they came, to that parking lot on the mainland they'd zoomed by. It seemed like a good enough place to leave the DeSoto, once they'd armed its security system (a series of Post-It notes stuck to the dash warning "PROPERTY OF SAM & MAX: DO NOT STEAL IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIFE").
After that... Fandom. A new office. A new adventure. New people to meet, new cases to solve, new days to save, new semi-innocent bystanders to narrowly avoid slaughtering... A new home.
(Co-written with the fabulous
maxnotsam. Establishy, NFI, but broadcast is a-okay, and OOC is love.)
no subject