Tuesday, Oct 7, 2008 - original posting
I've taken to falling asleep at inoppurtune times for a short periods.
I always dream, whenever I close my eyes, and usually I have alot of control over it. Saddest dream I've had in a long time, one of those ultimatum dreams...always a terrible outcome.
........
Duckie was in London for a premiere, one of the great James McAvoy's new movies, some Christmassy romance theme...Dinner for Two. Such a dreamboat is that scotsman, oh, and Ladies, he can't physically wear a kilt...he'd drop out the bottom!
Now, our little irish-accented aussie-kins was all dressed to the nines and openly carrying a mini crossbow. Nobody was doing anything about it, so its safe to assume he was Security or a bodyguard or something. Standing next to the red carpet, watching all the celebrities waltz along in their sparkly fashionista attire, many times being accosted by random fans and occasionally an annoying prick with issues.
"Take them down quietly...or make sure they don't get back up." That was the order for the night, it was a pretty big thing, expecting Security to take a life. Oh well, hopefully it won't come up. Duckie vowed silently to cross that bridge when he came to it, and continued to survey the scene.
He was aware that a group was forming near the entrance due to the expected arrival of one Mr.McAvoyscottishvacuumofcharmsexypants ...er...Mr McAvoy's limo. Ducks made his way down the side of the carpet, keeping an eye on the growing crowd, he wasn't surprised to recognise several people pushing their way to the front. He thought he could just see Amanda near the middle of the melee. Poor girl, no wait, use that elbow right...there we go.
Duckie stood near the door, out of the way of the cameras and flashes of various coloured lingerie. As soon as the Scottish Vacuum of Charm had left the limo, our protagonist fell into step behind him, humming gently to himself as he watched the crowds for troublemakers.
After a while... what with the stopping and starting every time a fan managed to clutch a handful of dreamboat there, or beg an autograph or photo... they reached the "ten meters from the arriving limo's? Good job!" mark. Shaking his head, Ducks fell into step next to the celebrity with his lean rippling muscles and gorgeous heart-fluttering smile, hell, the shirt he was wearing didn't leave much to the imagination, but was exceptionally drool-worthy.
Mr McAvoy turned to Ducks and seemed to be waiting for something.
"Erm...Hello?" he muttered, eyes shifting from side to side as he watched the crowd. Ducks, that is...
"Hello. I've seen you here before, haven't I?" he asked, his voice carressed the minds of every female withing fifty meters...and a few guys too, Ducks included.
"Perhaps, sir, its my job after all. Shall we continue?" Ducks was thankful his voice didn't waver although his heart was racing a mile a minute, and started to walk again, checking the crowds around him.
"Sir? No. Call me James, please." Duckie stumbled, hearing that, but recovered quickly. "You don't sound like you're from around here...Mr..?"
"No...er...James, Australia, actually." Duckie saw a commotion happening up ahead, and loosened the bolts attached to his belt.
"Oh, and you can call me Duckie." he muttered, as he loaded his weapon.
"Duckie? Cool name. Whats going on up there?" asked the delectably delicious James as he took several steps forwards, peering at the hubbub ahead.
Ducks attempted to look past the man standing in front of him, and froze for the briefest of seconds to lick his lips..."Nice ass..." he whispered unnoticed, thank merlin, before his eyes flickered to the figure pushing they're way out of the crowd. The form jumped the barrier, and pulled an object from the back of his waistband, swinging his hand around to the front swiftly.
"Shit." Ducks' training took over.
..................
Intense pain coursed through Ducks body as he opened his eyes, blearily looking around. A sheet covered body lay a few feet away, a pool of scarlet liquid was soaking into the material. Ducks groaned, and his head hit the cement.
"Fuck.""It's okay, you did what you had to do. Paramedics are heading this way now." a familiar scottish accent washed over Duckie, his eyes snapping open. A slightly bruised, but otherwise gorgeous man was staring down at him."...ennh..." Ducks groaned, images rushing past his mind's eye as he remembered pushing McAvoy out of the way of the gunman, and returning fire.
It ended as abruptly as it started.
Ducks' eyes trailed off the mans face and over to the crowd milling in the background, snapping pictures and being a general nuisance, then back to his own chest...odd...hadn't he dressed in a white shirt? This one was maroon...oh. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small slip of paper, that he handed to the silently watching yet concerned celebrity.
"What is this?" he asked curiously.
"Contact...details..." muttered the broken Duckie.
"Next of kin?" asked a paramedic, who had miraculously appeared way too late, applying gauze and such to Duck's ruined chest.
"No," Ducks coud feel his body protesting..."Vent details...ask for Amanda." He chuckled before it sunk into a coughing spiel.
"If you had died," he pointed at James, "mass hysteria...""Me? I'm unknown...obscure...better me than you..."
And Duckie's world turned black.
...........
Yay! Cliff-hanger! :P
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