From: "Drake Ekard" Date: Fri, 03 Oct 2003 10:54:39 +1000 Subject: What's all this about chicken? by D.E Source: direct What's all this about chicken? by D.E drake_ekard@hotmail.com Disclaimer: I do not own anyone except myself but to tell you the truth, myself doesn't actually make an appearance in this story. Mulder, Scully are owned by Christopher Carter, Fox (Who is owned by my pal, Rupert) ... etc. Spoilers: None ... Rating: Swearing = One word. So I rate this PG. Humor. Synopsis: There's a chicken, there's 2200 hours and there's Scully. Drunk Scully. Note: This is a stupid fic. Just my humour coming into play. I find inspiration from Monty Python and Red Dwarf but not to say that this is even worthy of them. So, if it makes no sense and doesn't seem to be going anywhere, then my "NOTE" to you is accurate! Enjoy. * * * * * * * * * * * * * Holding the groceries in one hand, I slammed the door to my apartment shut with my foot. I made my way to the kitchen and began to unload everything and put it into their respective areas. After that I cooked myself some dinner and made my way to the lounge where I promptly sat down and switched on the TV. News. Click. Chick flick. Click. Documentary on how snails mate. Click. Click. Click. Nothing was on. Why is it when you have a night off, you've got food in front of you, your partner is off visiting his mother, there is nothing on the TV. I sighed wearily and sunk deeply into the cushioning of my lounge. Finishing the last bit of my rice, vegetables and chicken dinner, I went to the kitchen and put the plate into the sink. I'll wash it later, I thought, as I got a bottle of red wine out of the wine rack. After searching uselessly for ten minutes, I found the corkscrew down the side of my couch. It was only then, after I had opened the bottle of wine, poured myself a glass, switched on the stereo for some soothing tunes by Kate Bush that I resat myself down on the couch. I glanced at the clock. 21:34. Hmm, I hummed to myself. Twenty-six minutes till party time. I guess it was a blessing that Mulder was away visiting his mother. He would call me at about 21:45 (which is in eleven minutes, I reminded myself) to check up on me, we'll talk for about fifteen minutes and then I'll do what I gotta do at 2200 hours. I watched the clock. I tended to do that when I knew Mulder was going to ring. It was as if my staring at the clock would spark something in his head and then he would call me. 21:44. "One minute to go", I said aloud, as I refilled my glass of wine. Too bad my clock is a digital one otherwise I could have counted down the seconds. And as the clock flashed 21:45 for the first time that day, the shrill of my mobile screeched to my right. I tried to force myself to yawn so Mulder would think I was tired but for some reason it wasn't happening. The phone kept shrilling. As I walked towards it, I did the yawning thing again. Nothing. I was losing my knack. I picked up the phone, closed my eyes and pressed the answer button. "RAWHOOWOWHHHHHHHHHH!" "Gee, Scully. That's a mighty big roar you got going there!" My surprise yawn, which surprised me as well for that matter, made me grin. Yeh heh heeeehhhh, I cheered myself silently. I pressed the phone close to my mouth as I answered. "Zit Muldeh", I mumbled rather incoherently into the phone. I was a master of this. Except for the days when he sounded panicked and frantic, I usually got him off the phone within one minute. That's the average. There have been occasions when the conversation has lasted for about thirty seconds but that was due to me be actually asleep and pressing the hang up button accidentally. Then, about fifteen minutes later, my apartment door was blown of its hinges. Thankfully, that only happened twice. "Awww, Sculls. You sleeping?" He can be dense sometimes. "Zit soun' like, Mulf". I heard him chuckle. I was suppressing my own. "Okay, okay, Sculls. I'll go. Just checking up on ya". "Fanks, 'der. Go now. Scuh go sleepies. Beddies. Bye Byes". And before he could respond, my finger had clicked the hang-up button and I was giving myself high-fives. My eyes immediately traveled to the digital clock. It still said 21:45. Bollocks, I exclaimed in my head. I ran full pelt towards the kitchen where my watch was. I snatched it up and looked at. And in my best callback alarm voice I said: "At the third stroke it will be nine forty-five and twenty one seconds ... BEEP BEEP BEEP!" Grinning cheerfully to myself in the reflection of the microwave, I went to pour another glass of wine. What the hell, the voice cheerfully in my head said, I'll just be a bum and drink from the bottle. Backing the bottle, I swallowed at least two massive gulps before my eyes began to water and the mellow taste of the wine swilled around in my stomach. I made myself shake and watched as the room began to tilt to the left slightly. Then I realised that my head was turned slightly to the left. Figuring that this was a different perspective to seeing things, I left it there and walked with bent neck back to the couch. I glanced at the clock again. 21:49. Eleven minutes. Another gulp. I glanced at the clock again. 21:49. Eleven minutes. Another gulp. I glanced at the clock again. 21:49. Eleven minutes. By then I was getting severely frustrated and tipsy. And this is all in the matter of one minute. Or sixty seconds. Or 6000 milliseconds. I think that's right. I wouldn't know. My brain is fuzzy. I took another gulp. The room was looking oddly blurry. It was if I was submerged in a pool of water and my eyes were open. I waved one of my hands in front of my face. It looked strange and lacking detail. I studied it for a moment. It looked like a piece of uncooked chicken. I waved it again, giggling to myself. "Bwakkkeety BWAKKKKKK!" I screeched aloud. After a moment, I spun around looking for the chicken. I stood up, taking a deep gulp of the wine, and made my way to the kitchen. Now, from where I was standing, on a normal day it was a direct route with no obstacles to the kitchen. It took me approximately three point one five seconds to get there. And that's if I was walking. This time, however, I managed to circumnavigate around the entire room. I walked past the couch. Correction. Stumbled past the couch, walked rather wobbly towards the stereo, took a sudden right which resulted in me smashing my face into the bookshelf with all my books, hung another right and rammed my knees into the side of my lounge, decided that it would be rather interesting to climb over it commando style WHILST holding the bottle of wine (Which I didn't spill once), got to the end of the lounge and took a leap, turned to the left and ran into the dining table and then finally arrived at my destination. The hall cupboard. I stared at it momentarily whilst trying to regain my balance. "Hawoh, cubbie! I ith Scuzza and you is my cubbah!" I stared at the cupboard waiting for a response. It stared back at me blankly. I squinted my eyes at it. It stared back at me blankly. After a few moments, I got bored and raised an eyebrow. It stared back at me blankly. I held my bottle of wine out to it, waiting for it to grab it. It stared back at me blankly. I sighed and turned away. I had walked but a few steps when I spun around. I suppose I was expecting to catch it doing something like pulling its tongue at me or something really immature like that. It stared back at me blankly. Taking a skull of my wine, I zigzagged back to my lounge. I flopped back on it and sank deep into the cushion. At this point I was drunk. Very drunk. The bottle hung loosely from my hand over the side of the lounge. My legs were sprawled in Both direction and my neck was still in its left tilt. On a normal day, there is no way in hell that I would be able to relax. But my inebriation on this night has allowed me. THE CLOCK! The thought sprung into my head like a spring. I was facing the back of the couch so the clock wasn't in my vision. Not to say that my vision was anything of use to me at this point in time. I tried to turn over but my head seemed to be a magnet attached to a piece of metal. I managed to turn my body but my head was still stuck to the couch and facing the back of it. "Fahhhhhhhhh!" My attempt to swear amused me. I broke down into drunken giggles. About thirty seconds later my body began to register a slight pain in my neck. I realised that my neck was still in it's absurd position. Raising two heavy arms, I grasped my head with my hands. Slowly but surely I managed to twist my head so that it was facing the clock. The clock was a funny thing when you're drunk. I could make out the general shape of it against the peach background. The display was another thing. It looked to me like a big red blur. The kind of blur you'd see if you strained your eyes. Or, like I was experiencing, when you are drunk. I must have looked a sight, straining my eyes, leaning forward and that backwards, trying to focus. The blur was still there. I farted. What a relieving thing a fart can be. Whoops! Sorry ... back to the clock. Finally realising that I couldn't see from the distance, I rolled myself off the couch. Straight onto my now empty bottle of wine. There was no pain just a dull throb. That'll probably hurt tomorrow, I thought to myself. No sooner than I had thought that thought, the thought had thought itself away. All of a sudden, I was no longer in my warm, comfortable apartment. I was in the field. I lay sprawled on the floor, my eyes peering drunkenly in front of me. I was in classic hidden ground assault and my mission as I had chosen to accept it was to make my way around the big thing on my left to get to the Holy Chicken. I scanned the terrain in front of me and around me. Directly in front of me were two high heels, positioned in a way that if I were to fall on top of them, I'd stab myself in the heart. On my left was a large object which these people called a coffee table. On my right was, of course, the couch. I began to plan my course of action. "Righ', Commanding Angel Scuh here. Hello hand". I was speaking walkie-talkie style into my hand. My eyes still peered droopily around the room. "I ith gonna move in. Gonna take direct 'pproaching". And then I began my crawl. It was slow and painstaking process towards the Devil's shoes. Once I had reached them, I tried to swat them away. Funnily enough, I kept missing them. "Goh-tah be careful, Commandinginginging. Points ouch!" Finally, after repeated attempts, I whacked the offending Devil's Shoes away. I cheered. Then I was back to my crawl. I grabbed the end of the couch as if I were grabbing onto a ledge. Swinging my right arm downwards, I acted as if suspended from the top of a mountain. I dropped my gaze downwards and stared at the far wall. Seeing the distance, I frantically swung my arm up to reach the couch. I missed the first time but latched onto it the second time. I pulled myself upwards and thankfully over my "mountain" ledge. I sighed with relief. I managed to prop myself up against the side of the couch. My head swayed from side to side. I glanced around me. I was in my apartment. "How did I get here?" I questioned myself aloud. Shrugging, I attempted to stand up. It was impossible considering that my body was a complete dead weight. After a moment, I gave up. I don't know why I gave up but I did. I allowed my body to slide sideways until I thumped heavily onto the ground. The last thing I saw before I fell into a deep slumber was a blurry object. * * * * * * * * * I opened one very slowly and was greeted with a pointed thing. Through one eye, I could somewhat distinguish my heel. What was it doing on my bed, I asked myself as I opened the other eye. There was a distant ringing in the background. Initially I thought it was the phone but then realised that my ears were ringing. I rolled to the left and was greeted by a hard object. My sleepy eyes jerked open suddenly as I began to question what was hard and against my back. My first thought was Mulder. But then I rationilised that Mulder wasn't as hard as the thing behind me. Mulder was more squishy and warm. The thing behind me was rock hard. My filthy mind swept a nasty little thought about what of Mulder's could be rock hard. I shook the thought a way. My eyes began to adjust and I realised suddenly that I was lying at the edge of my couch and on the floor. I ran over every possible answer as to why I was there. Sadly, in my hung over state, I couldn't work it out. RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRINNNNNNNNNNNNG "What the fuck is that?" I said, although it sounded like "Wha fahhh tha?" My mouth felt like it was filled with cotton wool. I struggled into a sitting position and my stomach lurched. I felt the bile rising in my throat and after a moment, I pulled myself off the floor, using the couch as support. RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRINNNNNNNNNNNNG There was that blasted noise again. Seeing something green flash on off to my left, I realised it was my phone. I was still in the middle of a war between my stomach and my throat. I hobbled towards the phone, arms wrapped around my stomach. "Hmph", I grunted into the phone. "Morning Scully! How's things? I didn't wake you did I? Oh, sorry about last night!" I had pulled my phone away from my ear as soon as I heard "Morning ..." His voice was too loud. Even at the distance from the phone and my ear, I could clearly hear him. I was about to answer him when I felt the bile swimming in my mouth. Dropping the phone, I made a bolt to the bathroom. Just before I got there I tripped over something. I fell flat on my face. Fighting the pain that had just formulated around my nose, I pushed myself up and continued running to the bathroom. I threw myself at the toilet and brought up lots of ... "stuff". After a while, the "stuff" stopped coming out of my mouth and gradually my heaves became grunts. I wiped my face off with some toilet paper and reached up and flushed the toilet. I was exhausted. It takes a lot of you when you throw up, especially when you're tiny like me. I rested back against the cold wall of my bathroom and shut my eyes. * * * * * * * * * CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH! My eyes jolted open with a start. I heard my name being called. I worked out it was Mulder soon enough. Not having the energy to call back, I began to pull myself towards the door. I could hear him frantically muttering to himself in the lounge room and make his way to the bedroom. I was crawling commando style across my bathroom floor. I was hit with a sudden wave of deja vu. I finally got to the door and with one big heave, I pulled my head past the doorway and looked out into my lounge room. The first thing I noticed was that I could see into the hallway outside my apartment. The second thing I noticed was the door, which was lying on the floor, hinges swinging. The third thing I noticed was bottle lying on the floor next to the couch. I closed my eyes and a few seconds I re-opened them. The fourth thing I noticed were a pair of black boots directly in my face. I rolled onto my back and looked into the amused eyes of my partner. "Need a hand there, Scully?" I knew I should have yelled at him about the door. I knew I should have yelled at myself for the bottle. I knew I should have gotten to the toilet before I threw up on Mulder's shoes. I heard him gasp as his shiny black boots were suddenly transformed into a work of art. I tried to apologise but Mr. Stomach-doesn't-want-to-settle-down decided to play again. Mulder didn't even move. I think he was a little shocked. Or maybe a lot shocked. His lovely shiny shoes were a lovely pink color with other bits and pieces here and there. Then I saw it. It was sitting there on Mulder's new pink shoes. I stared at intently, to make sure that it really was what it looked like. Then I knew that it was what it was and I let out a yell, which probably frightened Mulder to half to death. "I FOUND YOU CHICKEN!" End NB: I know it was a daft little story but if it made anyone laugh, please tell me! Heh. I like to think that my humour is in actual fact working. drake_ekard@hotmail.com