Meme!

[jamjar]

Maybe I should have had a New Year's Resolution to post more? Or, you know, at all.

From sister_wolf
Give me two characters from different fandoms you know I'm familiar with, and I'll give you a dialogue happening between the two of them. Without justifying how the crossover would work, how their worlds clashed, or how they could even meet each other. Just a silly crossover conversation with no backstory, for fun.

Comments

[riflethrough.livejournal.com]

William Beckett and Draco Malfoy. :)

[jamjar.livejournal.com]

Bill rested his arm on the bar top, avoiding the spill of beer and turned to the guy on his left. "Look, I know things are different here, you have that English politeness thing, but someone must have said something. Like a friend?"

"I can't believe you're talking to me," the guy said, staring at Bill in disbelief.

"I'm not gonna be all rockstar," Bill said. It was always weird when someone acted surprised that Bill could just socialize. A little odd here especially, because the guy didn't look like someone who'd be at one of their shows, but hey, if he recognized Bill... "Seriously, that much hairgel is nobody's friend." He took another drink from his pint of ale- Bishop's finger! So fucking British!- and looked at the kid again. "Also, have you ever considered dying you hair?" William said. "You're young, you should experiment! and you probably won't even need to pre-bleach, just, you know, wash that--" he gestured at the guy's head. "That stuff off. I wanted to go green when I was younger, but my mom--"

"Like a frog? Because that could be-- Ow, fuck it!" He slapped his hand down on his wrist and Bill looked at it.

"What is that, like a shock collar? Or bracelet, I guess?"

"Something like that," the guy said. "Meant to help me break some old habits that are no-longer deemed socially acceptable." He sounded kind of mocking, but that might just have been the accent. It was sometimes hard to tell.

"Oh, right," Bill said. "Yeah, I heard that they'd changed the law here. You really can't smoke anywhere inside now, right? Same for us, at least in Illinois, but not every--"

"I can't believe they think it'll help if I have to actually talk to people like you," the guy said, interrupting.

Bill tried to make eyecontact with the bartender. "Americans really aren't that much better at talking about our feelings," he said and-- there success! He signalled same again. "It just seems that way because you see us on TV doing it all the time. Really, we're only like that when it's Oprah or something." He looked back at the guy. Poor guy. He looked so miserable, and really, his hair wasn't-- well, Bill had seen worse. Maybe. And he was young, he could learn. "You want anything? My shout," he added. "That's right, right? You say that, 'my shout.'"

The guy looked like he was going to argue, just for a second, then he nodded. "Butterbeer," he said, then reached up to comb his hair back with his fingers. It left firm little grooves in the slickly gelled -or wait, was it just grease? Or massive amounts of pomade?

Maybe Bill could tell him about mousse.

[rue-quercus.livejournal.com]

ahahaha! Oh, Bill, always willing to give his advice on the important matters. That is flat out hilarious.

[jamjar.livejournal.com]

Because you know, relatively speaking, and amongst his peers, he's probably more qualified than most of them to judge hair.

[riflethrough.livejournal.com]

Ahaha, I love Bill's thought processes here. Their interaction is hilarious.

[jamjar.livejournal.com]

It's amazing how much easier it is to do crossovers when they take place in a pub.

[sister-wolf.livejournal.com]

Gabe Saporta and Bart Allen.

[jamjar.livejournal.com]

Hahahahaha, oh, that is brilliant and makes me want it written by someone else. Okay:



It's just a glimpse, just a flash -heh, just a Flash- out the corner of his eye, off-stage and at the back, and he could just be talking to himself when he says, "My stalkers are usually more..." And then he trails off, because actually, from what he can tell the kid is about the right age and brightly coloured, so maybe he does fit.

He waits a second and nothing. Maybe he was imagining it so he was just talking to himself after all. Well, Gabe wouldn't say anything about it if Gabe didn't and-- oh.

"Hey," the kid says. For a second he's blurred at the ages before he snaps into place, slows down enough so he's just fidgeting rather than vibrating.

"Hey," Gabe says. And because it is a concern, he adds, "You're not here because someone's trying to kill me or destroy the world using Victoria's keytar or something right?"

"No! No, no, I'm just, uh, I'm here because I-- we saw you when you were playing at the 'Drome and we-- I mean, I-- you know, I have all your MP3s and I'm getting the CDs when I get my allowance back from paying off--"

"You're a fan?" Gabe says, interrupting. "Huh. Cool." Because it is genuinely cool. You hear rumours, of course -someone saw Wonder Woman at a Vienna Teng show, this roadie swears blind he saw a Green Lantern at the barrier for Less Than Jake, Superman always patrols cities where Metallica are playing- but they're rumours and bullshit, because if the spandex come to their shows, they come plain clothes.

Except in this case. Maybe the guy -Impulse, he's 99% sure it's Impulse or wait, it's Kid Flash now?- thinks he can blend in with their usual crowd.

Hey, maybe he can.

"I'm not like a creepy fan," the kid says. "I know people probably say that to you a lot."

"I think they mostly hope it's implied. But it's always great to meet people who like our music. Gabe Saporta," he says and holds out his hand because his mama raised him right.

"Bart Allen," baby Flash says. Gabe recognises that tone, the "Yeah, I'm saying this, and you -You being parents or teachers or friends- can't tell me not to. Teenage fuck-you, which he approves of in theory.

Maybe he is getting older, though, because he says, "You're not meant to tell people that, right?"

"Yeah, because they're really justified to talk to me about secret identities," Bart says. "Oh, you can make that decision when you're older, Bart, when you're really aware of the consequences of your actions. It's like they think I'm still three!"

Gabe nods and pats the kid on the shoulder. He's not quite as tall as Nate and there's a tiny hum when Gabe touches him, like resting a hand against speakers. "They don't want you making all your mistakes now. Gotta save some for your twenties."

The hum gets a little stronger, then flattens into normal shifting and Bart says, "And I really wanted your autograph for me, like for really me and Kid Flash is a transitional name, you know? It's not who I'm going to be forever so--"

"So do you have anything I can sign?" Gabe says, trying to keep this on track. "You want me to sign your costume or something?" Because that would be cool, his name going on an actual superhero's costume, out to fight villains and evil aliens and shit.

"It'll just wipe off. The costume's kind of treated so--"

"You want a T-shirt?" Gabe offers.

"Oh, cool!" Kid Flash's grin is kind of blinding and Gabe wants to ruffle his hair. He pulls a T-shirt loose from a box, debates how to sign it and settles on "Bart Allen! Flash your fangs! Gabe!" and then it's out of his hands and the kid's wearing it over his costume. "Can I--" Another blip and he's in jeans and the T-shirt and Bart Allen's holding out a camera. It makes Gabe want to take a step back, because the kid is a kid. He looks like one of the kids in the crowd, not one of the babies, but not-

But he's a pro, so he angles the camera in the best my-space pose, bending down so they're both in the frame and takes the shot.

The camera's out of his hands and Bart's looking at the picture. "This rocks! The others are going to be so jealous!"

And then he's gone, before Gabe can ask for a copy for himself.

[sister-wolf.livejournal.com]

This is *fantastic*. Bart being all teenage-rebellious, and Gabe being so utterly *Gabe*.

Also, this throw-away line made me literally laugh out loud:

And because it is a concern, he adds, "You're not here because someone's trying to kill me or destroy the world using Victoria's keytar or something right?"

[odditycollector.livejournal.com]

Vril Dox II and Aziraphale.

[jamjar.livejournal.com]

"For the record," Vril said, "This does not mean I subscribe in anyway to your bizarre and inconsistent superstition-structure. Even for Earth, your origin myth is..." He paused to smile. "Erratic."

"Oh, you humans," Aziraphale said, deliberately ignoring Vril's expression of controlled rage at the insult. "It's almost angelic, the way you think you know everything."

FORGOT SOMEHOW TO ADD

[odditycollector.livejournal.com]

<3

Re: FORGOT SOMEHOW TO ADD

[jamjar.livejournal.com]

<3 for you, too.

[lurkslikefox.livejournal.com]

Macgyver and Batman.

[jamjar.livejournal.com]

Haven't seen Macgyver since I was in primary school, alas.

[lurkslikefox.livejournal.com]

Well, it was worth a try.

*sob*

[jamjar.livejournal.com]

You can try someone else-- my tags are a pretty good indicator of fandoms I know.

[slob-child.livejournal.com]

Fujiwara no Sai and Methos.

[jamjar.livejournal.com]

Note to self: tabbing =/= replying.


"Do you want to play?" Flashed on the screen. Methos flexed his fingers and hit accept, laying down his first piece.

He lost the first game, and the second which was especially annoying since it was so familiar, losing in the same way and not being able to stop it, but the third was-- well, he was still losing

The chat box in the corner started flashing and Methos blinked. Sai, his opponent hadn't sent anything for the first two games, then a line of text came up, Japanese characters that it took a moment for him to translate.

> You have a very old-fashioned style.
> Where did you learn that defense?

Ah. And oh, that could be a leading question, one he really wasn't sure he wanted to deal with. But... The message box flashed impatiently at him while he tried to remember how to type in kanji on this computer.

> I learnt it from an old friend in Joseon.

From Jang, who'd been a lousy drunk, but a great game player, in exchange for teaching him Euchre. Jang, who'd lost his head in a fight sometime in the 1920s, though Watcher records from that time and place were not exact.

He'd liked Jang, enough to still feel that pang of regret at knowing he didn't exist in the world anymore. Not grief, not the way Joe or Duncan thought of it, just a knowledge hat the world was lessened by their absence.

Methos hesitated, then quickly, before he could think better, typed:

> He claimed it came from Honinbo Shusaku, but Jang liked to exaggerate. Did you know him?

Your move! popped up on the screen while he waited for a reply and oh, yeah, he was definitely losing this one, again. He stared at the screen, hoping for inspiration.

The chat box pinged.

> Once, a long time ago. But there are new moves now.

Ah. Yes, that was an answer, or an acknowledgment at least, with a side I know, you know, now let's pretend we don't. He hit reply and typed back

> True. Can't live in the past.

Now, where could he go that wasn't somewhere Jang would've?