geniuswithasmartphone: (Crouching All Three)
At some point on Saturday--Hardison had stopped keeping track of time after his fifth shot of Red Bull and Orange Soda--Eliot and Parker had shown up at the library covered in shark goo and hustled him home, talking about sleep and showers and real food. Probably. By the time they'd shown up, Hardison had been hopped up on so much caffeine he could practically see through time and most of what they'd been saying had sounded like a teacher from the old Peanuts cartoons.

After almost twelve hours of solid sleep, a shower that felt great even though it was cold, and a breakfast that was too good to have come from the camp stove Eliot had cooked it on, Hardison was starting to feel like a person again. He was standing in the living room, staring out the window and sipping his cocoa. "We can fix up the guest room for the girls again," he was saying. "Let 'em stay with us. An' Luke's is busted, but the freezer's still workin' an' folks can get to--oh shit!"

That oh shit? Was for the two--no three--was that four sharks being propelled through the air towards their house. At high speed. "Get down!" he yelled flinging himself behind the couch, just before a total of five sharks slammed through the front walls of the house and causing serious structural damage to most of the downstairs.

He should have stayed in the library.

[For them that are there!]
geniuswithasmartphone: (zzzNoah: Shirtless)
Noah often didn't want to get up in the mornings when that arrogant overseer, Cato, rang the bell calling the field hands to work. Being a blacksmith was easier than picking cotton--no worries about getting whipped if he didn't make weight, for one--but it was still long hours and hard work, making sure that all the horses were shoed and the tools repaired and every bit of metal on the plantation was bright and shining.

Waking up this morning was even harder. His bed felt soft, like a cloud, and his blankets like the gentlest cotton, wouldn't scratch a baby's naked ass. His sheets felt clean and crisp and the soft breathing from behind him--



Noah's eyes snapped open but he made himself lie perfectly still. Sure, last night had been one of Bareback Shaw's parties, but that didn't explain why he was asleep in one of the white folks' rooms! He didn't even wanna guess what kinda punishment that would entail if he was found here. Never mind the one he'd get for not being back in his quarters by sunup.

Another muffled noise behind him. Noah wasn't sure he wanted to look over and see who it was. He was praying that it would be another slave. Getting caught in a white woman's bed would result in something far worse than just more stripes on his back.

Maybe he could just...eeeeease on out of this bed and be out the door and on his way back to Macon before anyone was the wiser.

[For thems that live here! Also TRIGGER WARNING! Hardison is Noah from WGN's Underground and is a slave from 1850's Georgia. That means there will be references to slavery, beatings, lynchings, sexual assault and rape/coercion and pretty much every other horrible topic that comes up in conjunction with treating humans like chattel.]
geniuswithasmartphone: (Hacking: Quarrelsome)
After Hardison got home from the diner, Eliot had summarized the conversation he'd had with Sparkle about his sister, mostly going over the points that were relevant to find her. He hadn't even gotten halfway through the it before Hardison had pulled out his laptop and started the searches, narrowing down options with every detail Eliot provided.

Still, of those details, there weren't many and most were years out of date, which meant the search had taken a long time--by which Hardison meant more than a few hours. But even with the extended timeframe, the end result was the same: he had a hit. (Technically, he had several, but this one wasn't just the most promising, it was straight-up promising.)

"Eliot!" he called. "You wanna grab Sparkle? I'm pretty sure I found his sister."

Family is complicated )

[Preplayed with the wonderful [ profile] vdistinctive, [ profile] whoisalicewhite, and [ profile] myownface. Broadcast fine, NFI, OOC is love]
geniuswithasmartphone: (Hacking: Not Best Pleased)
Hardison wasn't worried.

At least, that's what he was telling himself as he waited hour after hour for any sign of the group he'd sent to Los Angeles. Afternoon turned to night turned to dawn and still there was no sign of them. Hardison didn't sleep. Hardison couldn't sleep. Sleep was a thing that would never happen again until everyone came back, safe and sound.

After this, however, he no longer doubted Nate had been right to tell him he couldn't hack it as a mastermind. Not when he could feel every moment that ticked by as a personal accusation that he'd controlled the portal and that he'd sent them into danger.

The birds were just starting to chirp and the first hints of blue were still staining the sky when he opened the portal for what felt like the hundreth time and saw them all; Parker and Eliot, Raven and Ringo, Anders and Dante, and even Kathy, her face bound by tape and her head lolling at an unnatural angle. "Yo, welcome home" he crowed, exited to see them all hale and hearty, or at the very least, unbitten.

In a few moments, he'd be able to see the physical and emotional toll the world had taken on them. For now, though, there were excited greetings and congratulations, and a huge breakfast order being sent to Luke's for special delivery.

[For them who know who they are. Up early for SP]
geniuswithasmartphone: (Injured)
So this day was all kinds of fired. First, Hardison had met some crazy, murder hobo version of his boyfriend in the park and had gotten to have not-so happy funtimes with the wrong end baseball bat. And then on his way home, he'd kept seeing things out of the corner of his eye, but when he'd turned to see what was out there, there was absolutely nothing.

Was that a sign of a concussion? He was pretty sure that was a sign of a concussion. Or maybe some kind of brain swelling thing. Or was brain swelling what a concussion was? He couldn't remember off the top of his head and that was probably a bad sign, too. And staring at a computer screen would just make his headache worse and he was already squinting out of his left eye, as bruised and blackened as that one was and rather than look up Web MD and discover that he had some form of cancer, he was going to rest right here on Eliot's couch and steal Eliot's last sandwich and use Eliot's good William's Sonoma handtowel to wrap around the ice he was holding against his bruised face.

Hardison...might have been a tad grumpy at Eliot, yes, even though it wasn't, technically speaking, his fault a crazy version of him had kicked Hardison's ass earlier. Not that being grumpy kept Hardison out of Eliot's house and waiting for either of his partners to come home so he could demand cuddles and sympathy.

Man, he wished he had some kind of neat superpower so he could see when the island was going to go crazy and ruin his whole goddamn day.

[For the crew, please!]
geniuswithasmartphone: (Teddy Bear)
For the past eleven days (but who was counting?) Hardison had...not been himself. Instead, he'd been a teddy bear, lugged around in Eliot's messenger bag or cuddled--yes! cuddled!--by Eliot whenever he was at home. In point of fact, Hardison was still a teddy bear and Eliot had dragged him around outside today, into the preserve, surrounded by bugs and pollen and all sorts of nonsense. Hardison!bear hadn't had to deal with it, exactly, being a stuffed bear and all and yet--

Well, Hardison-bear was feeling quite discontented. Inasmuch as a teddy bear could be disgruntled about anything. His Wuv you's were getting snippy and his Beary muches were downright snarky. Funny, for how much Hardison was a living Care Bear when he was himself, he was certainly aggravated by being relegated to such now.

[For the crew, please!]
geniuswithasmartphone: (Chatting on Couch (All 3))
Hardison was grinning as he lugged the second screen into Eliot's living room. "Eliot! Yo, Eliot, where you at? Guess what!" Dropping his voice, he added to Parker, who was carrying her own load of chips and foam fingers, "He ain't never gonna guess."

Probably because most people wouldn't assume that their partners would just decide to throw a Superbowl party at their house without prior agreement. But Hardison wasn't going to let something like that stop him. If he hadn't been stymied by Eliot's lack of TVs, he wasn't going to be bothered by something like this, either.

Eliot leaned against the door jam and stared at the televisions coming in through the door. "For the last time, Hardison, I ain't lettin' you set up your six screen office thing in here."

Parker waved a foam finger at him. It was bright blue and orange and bigger than she was. “We’re here for the party! I brought the snacks. So you can just relax and not have to worry about being the host.”

Eliot opened his mouth, pointed at the foam finger, then let his head drop into his hands. "Of course you are."

"C'mon, mama, we talked about this," Hardison reminded. "We ask first. Yo, Eliot, you mind if we borrow your house for a Superbowl party? Our place is too small to fit a lot of people." Look, Eliot! He wasn't even putting up the screens while he was asking! Sure, he was subtly running a stud-finder over the walls to make sure they could be hung properly, but that was all!

"It's also traditional not to just show up with the supplies like you know I'm already gonna say yes." Don't be dumb, Eliot. They completely already knew you were going to say yes.

“There’s going to be puppies.” Parker had gotten some very unclear ideas about how the Super Bowl worked. “And maybe kittens. Val will like that!” Look, she even used your preferred name for your dog!

Of course they did. But they still asked. Even if the discussion before they left the house had ended with a 'Let's go steal a living room.' That was just tradition at work, okay? "So, I figure we'll have the big, big screen with the game on it, an' then the other slightly-smaller big screen have the Puppybowl. Then everybody's happy an' got somethin' to watch. Also, for refreshments, look what I found!"

Beaming, Hardison pulled out a six pack of Thief Juice. "We can introduce the island to it!"

Poor Eliot. He was doomed. Had been for years. "I am not hosting," he said. "I am not cleaning. I am not responsible for any part of this, and if anything breaks, I'm holdin' you two personally responsible."

Parker bopped him on the head with the foam finger, grinning. “Super Bowl!”

[Open to the all the townies of the island. Invites send out handwavily over email. Co-written with the wonderful [ profile] vdistinctive and [ profile] whoisalicewhite! OCD up, come one come all!]


geniuswithasmartphone: (Default)

August 2017



RSS Atom

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 20th, 2017 11:44 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios