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hs_olympics2012-06-10 01:02 am
hso_mods) wrote in hs_olympics2012-06-10 01:02 am
Entry tags:
BONUS ROUND 1
Bonus Round 1
Genre-Mixing
Hey, shippers! Welcome to your very first bonus round proper--we hope you have lots of fun with it! This time around we're going to be asking you to mix it up a little--each fanwork posted for this round will be a mish-mash of two different genres, blended together in a delightful incestuous slurry to create an UNSTOPPABLE CREATIVE CONCOCTION--er. Or. Something.
Yeah, we're genre-mixing. That's what we're doing this round.
Rules
- Submit prompts! Prompts should consist of two different genres and one ship. This cannot be your team's ship! These are worth 5 points each, for a maximum of 100 points per team.
- Look through the prompts and fill whichever you like!
- You may not fill prompts for your ship, nor may you fill your own team's prompts.
- Fills should be posted as replies to the prompts which they are for, following the format below. They may be any medium.
Title Format
If you are starting a new thread, please use this format in your title.
Replace [YOUR SHIP] with the name of the team YOU belong to; please use the characters and quadrant, not whatever portmanteau or nickname you've come up with.
If your team name is not in this format and in the title we cannot guarantee that it will be counted.
If you are filling a prompt, use this format in your title.
Replace [YOUR SHIP] with the name of the team YOU belong to; please use the characters and quadrant, not whatever portmanteau or nickname you've come up with.
If your team name is not in this format and in the title we cannot guarantee that it will be counted.
Posts not using this format in the title will be understood to be unofficial discussion posts, no matter what they contain. They, like all comments on the comm, are subject to the Wank Policy.
Scoring
For prompt posts: 5 points each (maximum of 100 per team)
For fills (as stated here):
First 5 entries in each post: 30 (per entry)
Entries 6-10 in each post: 20 (per entry)
Entries 11-15 in each post: 10 (per entry)
Entries 16+ in each post: 5 (per entry)
All scored content must be created/assembled new for this round.
If you have any questions, please ask them at the FAQ post here, or email them to us (homestuck.shipping at gmail). Otherwise, we cannot guarantee that we will see them in a timely fashion!
PROMPT: TEAM KARKAT <3 NEPETA
Americana + adventure
FILL: TEAM DAVE<3TEREZI
There is nothing worse than the smell of burning petrol on a hot day. Your eyes water as you step out of the car to inspect the damage. You allow yourself to loosen your tie – after all, there is no-one here to judge you on the trim of your lawn or the cut of your jib.
Freedom at last.
The bonnet springs open and scatters dust everywhere. You’re not exactly enthused by the smoking mess of metal before your eyes. You were never very good with cars, but you told her “I’ll handle it”, because even though you know she doesn’t care what you do, you still want to put on a good front. Swiping some of the steam away from your face, you lean forward. Hesitantly, you wrest the pen from your breast pocket and prod one of the metal contortions with it. It creaks slightly, but otherwise it doesn’t seem to have done anything. Surprise, surprise.
There’s a hand on your shoulder as she pulls you away from the bonnet and plunges headfirst into the steam. You didn’t even hear her leave the car.
“Alright, let’s take a look at this fucker,” she says, bending over. You refrain from admiring her posterior or letting her obscenity rustle your jimmies – no, you’re above that. You stand back at a safe distance and let her tinker.
“Well, I’m out.” She pulls away from the bonnet and, wiping the sweat off her face, walks away from the car.
“Wait, wait, what’s the problem with it?” you ask, turning after her.
“It’s fucked. We’re fucked.”
“Well hold on just a minute, there’s got to be a gas station around here somewhere!” you yell after her. She’s already put a few good yards between herself and the car.
“And where d’you think I’m going, hey?”
Point taken. You take brisks strides to catch up with her, taking off your tie completely and balling it up in your trouser pocket.
By the time of you reach a gas station, not a word exchanged on the whole half-hour walk, and you’re thanking your lucky stars that you didn’t leave your fedora in the car – otherwise you might as well have burnt to a crisp. Your shirt is unbuttoned and you’re wetter than a theme park waterslide. Your heart beats in double time as a fragment of a memory flies into your mind – but now is not the time to think about the theme park where you were going to take your son John next week. John’s safe at home with his Nanna, and you know he’ll be alright.
He doesn’t need to be caught up in all of this.
You turn your attention back to reality just in time to realise that you’ve walked through a jangling door behind her and into a mechanic’s workshop at the gas station. You’re not in the deep desert anymore, there are brands on these shelves that you’ve heard of (which is more than you can say for what you saw at your last brief stop) and an air conditioner that appears to be in full working order. Not far from civilisation now. You button up your shirt.
Your head is swimming – you don’t know how she puts up with the heat so well, but she’s holding a perfectly cogent conversation with the mechanic and leading him out, pointing him down the highway to where your car broke down. He nods and says he’ll take a look at it, and she tips him a greenback.
“There’s a diner ‘round the side,” she says, nudging you to a higher plane of consciousness. “We might as well get a tipple.”
You nod vacantly. If nothing else, some food will help bring you back to life.
The diner reeks of deep-fried grease and you can tell, the moment you enter, that it’s not exactly going to give you the best meal of your life, but you’re beyond caring. The two of you sit down at a table near the back exit (for a quick escape, if need be) and a waitress wearing an apron so lumpy it looks like she might be hiding several kittens under it comes ‘round with two menus.
“Just a drink for me,” your partner in crime says, “y’do any cocktails?”
“Honey, we don’t serve no alcohol before six pm here,” the waitress says with a snort.
The lovely lady sitting across from you looks awfully dejected; it doesn’t suit her features. “Fine,” she grumbles, drumming her fingers on the table, “I’ll get a lime milkshake.”
The waitress nods. “And for you, mister?”
“I’ll get a coke and, uh... do you do nachos?”
“We sure as heck do,” she says, scribbling down your order. “Want me to put some phosphorous in your coke, make it taste like in the olden times?”
You wrinkle your nose slightly – the fumes from your car will suffice for your daily noxious gas quota. “No thanks.”
Once the waitress is gone, she reaches across the table and strokes your face. “Nachos, Egbert? Really?”
You shrug. “I need to have something to fill the void in my stomach right now.”
She smirks. “You know I’m always here to fill any voids you have, baby.”
You smile.
You hear the distant sound of tyres coming to a quick stop on some tarmac, and glance out the wind— oh lord.
She’s seen it too, and she quickly snatches her hand away. “It’s the fuzz!” she hisses, and you think it’s adorable that she feels the need to talk like she’s in a bad cop movie. You would have taken longer to dwell on that pleasant thought, but she’s already grabbed up her bag and she’s heading for the exit.
You quickly jump up and follow her, not bothering to look back at the waitress’s doubtless-judgemental expression.
The two of you beat a hasty escape just in time to see the mechanic pulling up with your car. “Out of water!” he shouts, slightly amused.
“Never mind what was wrong with it,” you snap, “just give me the keys!”
He cottons on pretty quick. “The cops here for you?”
“What do you think, wise guy?” you say.
She hands him a wad of notes pulled indiscriminately from her bag. “You keep quiet, alright? You never saw us.”
He nods calmly, like this is something with which he must deal on a day-to-day basis. But of course, that would be absurd.
You don’t bother to thank him, and you climb in the car and hotfoot it the hell out of there. It’s a few minutes of catching your breath later that you realise there’s a siren wailing behind you.
For the first time since you met her, she looks scared. Not even last night, when the two of you... well, the less said about the events that led to this, the better. It’s you and her, running from demons of an indescribably horrific nature.
John is safe at home, you remind yourself. You turn to her.
“It’s going to be alright.”
But you don’t believe your own words. Eyes back on the road.
“Don’t you worry, I’ve got your back, Mister Egbert.”
“And I yours, Missus Egbert.”
“Watch yourself!” she says cheerfully, and for a moment you can bring yourself to believe that yes, it will be alright. “That’s Miss Lalonde to you! We’re not married. Yet.”
You grin, despite everything, and stick your right hand out. Her left meets it almost immediately. Nothing more needs to be said.
You press down on the accelerator.
---
(Fun facts, the line about phosphorous in coke is actually something that someone said to a friend of mine when he was in America, word for word.)
Re: FILL: TEAM DAVE<3TEREZI
Re: FILL: TEAM DAVE<3TEREZI
Re: FILL: TEAM DAVE<3TEREZI
Re: FILL: TEAM DAVE<3TEREZI