shocfix (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} shocfix) wrote,@ 2005-04-23 01:00:00 |
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Lady and the Tramp, Anglia/Motorbike, PG-13
Anglia/Motorbike, Lady and the Tramp, PG-13, 688 words, for maple_mahogany
From :mrsquizzical
For :maple_mahogany
Pairing : anglia/motorbike + George/Lee
Prompt : lubricant
Darling maple, I hesitate to write in both ships that you are Queen of, but needs must when the Australians ask you to…. Also, don’t forget I cannot drive and know nothing about cars.
Anglia thought of herself as almost an elderly vehicle and her formerly monthly clouds of darkened exhaust fumes visited her less and less often. She certainly didn’t miss the gurgle and slither of oily clots sliding out of her pipe, and she welcomed the opportunity to park with Motorbike without worrying about her cycle.
It wasn’t until she’d been fume free for three or four months that she noticed anything strange. An unexplained tenderness in her hubcaps, a feeling of nausea when she smelt petrol.
Her windscreen wipers flicked nervously as she approached Motorbike, suddenly and irrationally sure that her rear bumper had doubled in size and was dragging on the ground.
Something has happened. Her coolant throbbed nervously in her tubes. I think we can expect the squeak of tiny wheels.
She needn’t have worried, Motorbike’s saddle swelled with pride and he tenderly stroked her with his handlebars.
I will take care of you, but not out here, in the wilderness. We must find somewhere safe.
She felt a strange, garaging instinct, and knew she had to return home; they travelled in easy stages, in the cool of the evening, avoiding the mornings, when she felt sick, and the traffic was heaviest.
They came to the Burrow on a cool Spring day, just as the sun was setting; Anglia was nervous and uncertain of their welcome and she switched on her invisibility booster and melted into the shadows.
There will be a place for us. Motorbike revved encouragingly. Even if the young are born in a stable.
Anglia didn’t reply, so Motorbike approached the house alone.
He squeezed his throttle noisily and the back door of the Burrow opened.
One by one the humans filed out, and Motorbike fell back a length, his wheels leaving tracks in the soft and damp earth.
Most of the humans were ginger-haired, and the two he trusted most, who had fixed his Anglia, approached him carefully.
“He’s alone,” the dark haired wizard said.
“What happened to the car?” the ginger haired wizard asked.
“No, look, there are more tyre tracks behind him,” another wizard spoke, one with skin as dark as Motorbike’s saddle and hair like suspension springs. “Look, George, car tracks.”
Motorbike throttled nervously and turned himself across their path.
“It’s OK,” said the black wizard. “Let us see her.”
Motorbike turned to Anglia and revved and she tentatively turned off her invisibility booster.
Several wizards gasped.
“She looks like she’s gonna burst,” the dark haired wizard said. “What’s wrong with her?”
A witch with a cloud of hair and a huge belly approached Anglia carefully and laid a hand on her aching boot.
“Harry,” she breathed. “I think she’s… pregnant.”
Several of the ginger haired wizards opened up an outside dwelling and lit a stove and prepared the room for Anglia’s confinement and she rolled slowly between them, squeezing her rear bumper through the doorway and trundling into the far corner of the room, her wing mirrors drooping with fatigue.
Motorbike followed and hovered beside her, thrumming nervously.
“Everyone out,” the dark haired wizard said, placing an oil can on the floor between them. “Give them some privacy.”
The doors closed and the room fell into darkness, lit only by the comforting warmth of the stove, and Motorbike nudged Anglia gently and tipped the oil can towards her boot.
The following morning, the door opened quietly and witches and wizards filed back in.
Three tiny Fords and two miniature motorbikes were half-buried under their mother’s body, only their rear wheels showing as she dripped oil onto them.
“Wow,” the dark haired wizard said, taking the hand of his ginger haired mate.
“Fantastic,” the black skinned wizard said, leaning his hip into his equally ginger partner.
“Three girls and two boys,” the heavily pregnant witch said, rubbing her belly and smiling at her dragon tattooed spouse.
“How can you tell?” he asked.
“It’s like Lady and the Tramp,” she answered. “The girls look just like their mum, and the boys just like their dad.”
Anglia revved gently and settled protectively over her family and Motorbike’s chrome gleamed proudly at them.
Anglia/Motorbike, Lady and the Tramp, PG-13, 688 words, for maple_mahogany
From :
mrsquizzicalFor :
maple_mahoganyPairing : anglia/motorbike + George/Lee
Prompt : lubricant
Darling maple, I hesitate to write in both ships that you are Queen of, but needs must when the Australians ask you to…. Also, don’t forget I cannot drive and know nothing about cars.
Anglia thought of herself as almost an elderly vehicle and her formerly monthly clouds of darkened exhaust fumes visited her less and less often. She certainly didn’t miss the gurgle and slither of oily clots sliding out of her pipe, and she welcomed the opportunity to park with Motorbike without worrying about her cycle.
It wasn’t until she’d been fume free for three or four months that she noticed anything strange. An unexplained tenderness in her hubcaps, a feeling of nausea when she smelt petrol.
Her windscreen wipers flicked nervously as she approached Motorbike, suddenly and irrationally sure that her rear bumper had doubled in size and was dragging on the ground.
Something has happened. Her coolant throbbed nervously in her tubes. I think we can expect the squeak of tiny wheels.
She needn’t have worried, Motorbike’s saddle swelled with pride and he tenderly stroked her with his handlebars.
I will take care of you, but not out here, in the wilderness. We must find somewhere safe.
She felt a strange, garaging instinct, and knew she had to return home; they travelled in easy stages, in the cool of the evening, avoiding the mornings, when she felt sick, and the traffic was heaviest.
They came to the Burrow on a cool Spring day, just as the sun was setting; Anglia was nervous and uncertain of their welcome and she switched on her invisibility booster and melted into the shadows.
There will be a place for us. Motorbike revved encouragingly. Even if the young are born in a stable.
Anglia didn’t reply, so Motorbike approached the house alone.
He squeezed his throttle noisily and the back door of the Burrow opened.
One by one the humans filed out, and Motorbike fell back a length, his wheels leaving tracks in the soft and damp earth.
Most of the humans were ginger-haired, and the two he trusted most, who had fixed his Anglia, approached him carefully.
“He’s alone,” the dark haired wizard said.
“What happened to the car?” the ginger haired wizard asked.
“No, look, there are more tyre tracks behind him,” another wizard spoke, one with skin as dark as Motorbike’s saddle and hair like suspension springs. “Look, George, car tracks.”
Motorbike throttled nervously and turned himself across their path.
“It’s OK,” said the black wizard. “Let us see her.”
Motorbike turned to Anglia and revved and she tentatively turned off her invisibility booster.
Several wizards gasped.
“She looks like she’s gonna burst,” the dark haired wizard said. “What’s wrong with her?”
A witch with a cloud of hair and a huge belly approached Anglia carefully and laid a hand on her aching boot.
“Harry,” she breathed. “I think she’s… pregnant.”
Several of the ginger haired wizards opened up an outside dwelling and lit a stove and prepared the room for Anglia’s confinement and she rolled slowly between them, squeezing her rear bumper through the doorway and trundling into the far corner of the room, her wing mirrors drooping with fatigue.
Motorbike followed and hovered beside her, thrumming nervously.
“Everyone out,” the dark haired wizard said, placing an oil can on the floor between them. “Give them some privacy.”
The doors closed and the room fell into darkness, lit only by the comforting warmth of the stove, and Motorbike nudged Anglia gently and tipped the oil can towards her boot.
The following morning, the door opened quietly and witches and wizards filed back in.
Three tiny Fords and two miniature motorbikes were half-buried under their mother’s body, only their rear wheels showing as she dripped oil onto them.
“Wow,” the dark haired wizard said, taking the hand of his ginger haired mate.
“Fantastic,” the black skinned wizard said, leaning his hip into his equally ginger partner.
“Three girls and two boys,” the heavily pregnant witch said, rubbing her belly and smiling at her dragon tattooed spouse.
“How can you tell?” he asked.
“It’s like Lady and the Tramp,” she answered. “The girls look just like their mum, and the boys just like their dad.”
Anglia revved gently and settled protectively over her family and Motorbike’s chrome gleamed proudly at them.