fic: mdtas, future!au;
Because this has been on the back-burner for months and I've been telling myself that I really, really want to write for MDTAS again. It sucks, but hey, I'm more than just a little rusty.
Untitled. (Mighty Ducks: The Animated Series)
Characters: Nosedive, Mook, mentions of Thrash, and other ducks.
Notes: Post-post-post series. Assumes that the ducks never left Earth. Explores two underloved characters and takes liberties with what Disney does not give love to. Feedback is love, kindness appreciated.
"So you're really going."
She looks up and smiles at his reflected form in the mirror before spinning on her heel to walk over. Her room isn't that big -- well, smaller than how it usually looks considering how much junk is lying around; open suitcases, clothes stacked on her bed, shoes peeking out from under the entertainment center or the computer table or the bed. He sits very still as she folds her long legs underneath her as she plops down to his right, and when she reaches out to place her palm over the feathery back of his hand, his expression falters a bit, making him think of the static they get on Drake One whenever random California storms kick in.
"This is big, Dive-meister." She gives his hand a squeeze, the old nickname sliding easily off her tongue. She hasn't used that name in ages. Not since they officially passed through high school senior age and warily dipped their feet to test the waters of 'adulthood'.
"Thought you'd be over the moon for me. I mean," She leans in, her eyes just so bright with the excitement that's obviously bubbling from within. "This is HUGE, Divey. Who'd've thought that I'd be flying to London to DJ professionally for several months. Sponsored and all." She laughs, but that smile, if it had hands, doesn't reach enough to brush fingertips on the edges of her eyes.
He's being a jerk. But hey, he can't fake happy and she's always preferred either brutal honesty or evasive action. He opts for the latter.
He feels first and then sees her hand pull away. She sets it idly on her lap, all blinged and ringed. "I'll be back," she murmurs, the words soft and whispered. "It's not like I'm moving to Mars, y'know. It's just Europe and the bigwigs have me on a mobile phone plan with an agreement that I don't have to pay for anything for the first three months as long as I deliver. So I'll like, call you everyday." Her smile quivers, but it stays well enough, "Both o' you guys. It'll be like I never even left."
"Awesome." He replies, the cheer not coming as easily, but good enough. He's trying, and he knows that she knows that. "How about writing? You gonna write? I mean I know you think email's a dud an' all--"
She hugs him then, the way friends hug friends. Iloveyouman and all that, making things better even if just a little. "Dude," she pulls back and taps his beak lightly with a hand. "You'll be too busy with the season coming in anyway. Or is your brother still not letting you on the ice?"
He rolls his eyes and shrugs. "You know Wing. Scared him enough to molt when I broke my collarbone in that thing in Seattle. The doc says s'cool now though, since I took a break an' all that. So yeah, I can play, but big bro's got final word on whether I'm benched or not."
The pause slides in naturally, and the silence that follows and yawns isn't as awkward. It's Mookie who breaks it breaks it by saying: "Don't get in trouble, aight?" Reaching over again to ruffle his blond hair. "Look out for Thrash and make sure he doesn't do anything we wouldn't do." She rises, fingers hooking on the belt loops of her low-slung jeans to pull, pull, pull just to make sure her ass is covered up.
When he snorts, there's humor in the sound. "Like what? Propose to Cindy?" And she looks back over her shoulder, and they trade smiles and snickers like kids sharing a secret. The twist in his gut twist is still there inside, but it's not as bad as this morning.
He's gonna miss her bad. Who else, after all, could he call at three in the morning, piss-faced drunk after a round of cards with Duke, Grin and Mallory, without being worried that he was disrupting much-needed sleep. Who else would withold the 'gross' when he sprinkled pineapple bits on salmon-flavored ice cream; and who else, in all of Anaheim (in all of Earth, really) would discard everything else that he was -- hockey star, alien duck, feathered delinquent -- and treat him like he was her best friend and that was enough.
"You think he's gonna?"
"I so know it, Mookie." He lifts an invisible bow, aiming an invisible arrow which he lets fly before winking. "I've never seen him so whipped over a girl, y'know. Should've seen him when I picked them up at the airport. I swear, if I didn't know better, I'd say he'd just gotten his entire Dreadstar collection signed."
"Did her parents like him?" She sits back down and leans back against the side of her bed, drawing her knees up to her chest. "I mean, her dad is a military guy and all. And let's face it, Thrash, lovable a guy as he is, isn't exactly y'know..."
And Dive understands. Because Thrash was and still is their long-haired Buddha, unabashedly geeky in that way that 'too cool people' wrinkle their noses. He's the guy who can name obscure comicbook characters and make them sound as if they should be immortalized, who loves B-movies just because they're fun to watch.
Sure, the way Mallory put it, Thrash did clean up some when he picked up higher education part-time in the local community college, sporting a few new shirts and pants other than what had been his 'uniform': washed-too-many-times shirts and the rotating pairs of jeans (he had four all in all because you didn't need any more than that if you did your laundry right). But really, nothing incredibly drastic had changed. And then there was Cindy, who was poles away from all that made Thrash, Thrash, with her toothpaste commercial smile, Pilates-toned body and all-American family.
"Family loves 'im." He says simply, recalling the way Thrash went on and on and on about how he was just blown away by how his girlfriend's family and he got along.
You gotta believe me Dive. He'd said over a Big Mac and a sundae. I know I was totally blown away when Cinds asked me out and then when she told me it took her a week to work up the courage to do so. But man, I was shiverin' in my sneaks and her 'rents wonderin' if I just slid into the freakin' Twilight Zone when they welcomed me like I was already part of the family, thanking me all the while for bein' such a good influence on their little angel.
Twilight Zone, Dive had quirked a feathery brow. Thought you said you loved the way they accepted you.
I did. It'd be freaky awesome if I fell into the Twilight Zone. But Dive, my man. This was far better.
He looks up to Mook now and tilts his head. "You want him to marry her? I mean, she's really nice an' all. Comes to the games and doesn't get all star-struck and the like. Did you know she regrets not shifting to Computer Programming? She totally flipped when we showed her Drake One. Thrash complained she wouldn't shut up about Tanya and her smarts."
"Dude," Mook falls back against the mishmash of psychedelic pillows and Gloomy Bears that rest against her cracked headboard. "She called me on his birthday asking if he'd prefer a set of the old Ghostbusters cartoon or a signed copy of Astroboy, and then flaked and decided she was crazy for even thinking of choosing."
They take a moment and smile to themselves, and Dive lets out a sigh.
"Don't go there." She murmurs, her toes pressing against his shoulder. "Don't go all mopey on me."
And he manages a smile when he looks over. "I miss it. That's all." He says simply. "I mean, I wouldn't trade the last couple of years for anything 'cause you guys are the most radical friends a duck can ever have."
"But?" It stings to hear it. And he knows she's glad Thrash is too busy with the event at Captain Comics to hear all this.
He makes a face and shakes his head. "Guess I just didn't want things to change. Or at least, if they did, then that I'd have something too." He doesn't say anything more than that, and she doesn't need him to, because she sort of gets where he's likely coming from, just your average everyday Puckworlder stuck stranded and growing up on an alien planet that he wants to call his own.
"C'mon," Mook's hand is firm in his, five fingers contrasting to four. "Let's go see what the Thrash-master's up to at the shop." Right here, buddy, her eyes tell him. Not gone yet, so let's make the most of it. And he smiles, standing now several inches taller than when they first met. "Let's."
Untitled. (Mighty Ducks: The Animated Series)
Characters: Nosedive, Mook, mentions of Thrash, and other ducks.
Notes: Post-post-post series. Assumes that the ducks never left Earth. Explores two underloved characters and takes liberties with what Disney does not give love to. Feedback is love, kindness appreciated.
"So you're really going."
She looks up and smiles at his reflected form in the mirror before spinning on her heel to walk over. Her room isn't that big -- well, smaller than how it usually looks considering how much junk is lying around; open suitcases, clothes stacked on her bed, shoes peeking out from under the entertainment center or the computer table or the bed. He sits very still as she folds her long legs underneath her as she plops down to his right, and when she reaches out to place her palm over the feathery back of his hand, his expression falters a bit, making him think of the static they get on Drake One whenever random California storms kick in.
"This is big, Dive-meister." She gives his hand a squeeze, the old nickname sliding easily off her tongue. She hasn't used that name in ages. Not since they officially passed through high school senior age and warily dipped their feet to test the waters of 'adulthood'.
"Thought you'd be over the moon for me. I mean," She leans in, her eyes just so bright with the excitement that's obviously bubbling from within. "This is HUGE, Divey. Who'd've thought that I'd be flying to London to DJ professionally for several months. Sponsored and all." She laughs, but that smile, if it had hands, doesn't reach enough to brush fingertips on the edges of her eyes.
He's being a jerk. But hey, he can't fake happy and she's always preferred either brutal honesty or evasive action. He opts for the latter.
He feels first and then sees her hand pull away. She sets it idly on her lap, all blinged and ringed. "I'll be back," she murmurs, the words soft and whispered. "It's not like I'm moving to Mars, y'know. It's just Europe and the bigwigs have me on a mobile phone plan with an agreement that I don't have to pay for anything for the first three months as long as I deliver. So I'll like, call you everyday." Her smile quivers, but it stays well enough, "Both o' you guys. It'll be like I never even left."
"Awesome." He replies, the cheer not coming as easily, but good enough. He's trying, and he knows that she knows that. "How about writing? You gonna write? I mean I know you think email's a dud an' all--"
She hugs him then, the way friends hug friends. Iloveyouman and all that, making things better even if just a little. "Dude," she pulls back and taps his beak lightly with a hand. "You'll be too busy with the season coming in anyway. Or is your brother still not letting you on the ice?"
He rolls his eyes and shrugs. "You know Wing. Scared him enough to molt when I broke my collarbone in that thing in Seattle. The doc says s'cool now though, since I took a break an' all that. So yeah, I can play, but big bro's got final word on whether I'm benched or not."
The pause slides in naturally, and the silence that follows and yawns isn't as awkward. It's Mookie who breaks it breaks it by saying: "Don't get in trouble, aight?" Reaching over again to ruffle his blond hair. "Look out for Thrash and make sure he doesn't do anything we wouldn't do." She rises, fingers hooking on the belt loops of her low-slung jeans to pull, pull, pull just to make sure her ass is covered up.
When he snorts, there's humor in the sound. "Like what? Propose to Cindy?" And she looks back over her shoulder, and they trade smiles and snickers like kids sharing a secret. The twist in his gut twist is still there inside, but it's not as bad as this morning.
He's gonna miss her bad. Who else, after all, could he call at three in the morning, piss-faced drunk after a round of cards with Duke, Grin and Mallory, without being worried that he was disrupting much-needed sleep. Who else would withold the 'gross' when he sprinkled pineapple bits on salmon-flavored ice cream; and who else, in all of Anaheim (in all of Earth, really) would discard everything else that he was -- hockey star, alien duck, feathered delinquent -- and treat him like he was her best friend and that was enough.
"You think he's gonna?"
"I so know it, Mookie." He lifts an invisible bow, aiming an invisible arrow which he lets fly before winking. "I've never seen him so whipped over a girl, y'know. Should've seen him when I picked them up at the airport. I swear, if I didn't know better, I'd say he'd just gotten his entire Dreadstar collection signed."
"Did her parents like him?" She sits back down and leans back against the side of her bed, drawing her knees up to her chest. "I mean, her dad is a military guy and all. And let's face it, Thrash, lovable a guy as he is, isn't exactly y'know..."
And Dive understands. Because Thrash was and still is their long-haired Buddha, unabashedly geeky in that way that 'too cool people' wrinkle their noses. He's the guy who can name obscure comicbook characters and make them sound as if they should be immortalized, who loves B-movies just because they're fun to watch.
Sure, the way Mallory put it, Thrash did clean up some when he picked up higher education part-time in the local community college, sporting a few new shirts and pants other than what had been his 'uniform': washed-too-many-times shirts and the rotating pairs of jeans (he had four all in all because you didn't need any more than that if you did your laundry right). But really, nothing incredibly drastic had changed. And then there was Cindy, who was poles away from all that made Thrash, Thrash, with her toothpaste commercial smile, Pilates-toned body and all-American family.
"Family loves 'im." He says simply, recalling the way Thrash went on and on and on about how he was just blown away by how his girlfriend's family and he got along.
You gotta believe me Dive. He'd said over a Big Mac and a sundae. I know I was totally blown away when Cinds asked me out and then when she told me it took her a week to work up the courage to do so. But man, I was shiverin' in my sneaks and her 'rents wonderin' if I just slid into the freakin' Twilight Zone when they welcomed me like I was already part of the family, thanking me all the while for bein' such a good influence on their little angel.
Twilight Zone, Dive had quirked a feathery brow. Thought you said you loved the way they accepted you.
I did. It'd be freaky awesome if I fell into the Twilight Zone. But Dive, my man. This was far better.
He looks up to Mook now and tilts his head. "You want him to marry her? I mean, she's really nice an' all. Comes to the games and doesn't get all star-struck and the like. Did you know she regrets not shifting to Computer Programming? She totally flipped when we showed her Drake One. Thrash complained she wouldn't shut up about Tanya and her smarts."
"Dude," Mook falls back against the mishmash of psychedelic pillows and Gloomy Bears that rest against her cracked headboard. "She called me on his birthday asking if he'd prefer a set of the old Ghostbusters cartoon or a signed copy of Astroboy, and then flaked and decided she was crazy for even thinking of choosing."
They take a moment and smile to themselves, and Dive lets out a sigh.
"Don't go there." She murmurs, her toes pressing against his shoulder. "Don't go all mopey on me."
And he manages a smile when he looks over. "I miss it. That's all." He says simply. "I mean, I wouldn't trade the last couple of years for anything 'cause you guys are the most radical friends a duck can ever have."
"But?" It stings to hear it. And he knows she's glad Thrash is too busy with the event at Captain Comics to hear all this.
He makes a face and shakes his head. "Guess I just didn't want things to change. Or at least, if they did, then that I'd have something too." He doesn't say anything more than that, and she doesn't need him to, because she sort of gets where he's likely coming from, just your average everyday Puckworlder stuck stranded and growing up on an alien planet that he wants to call his own.
"C'mon," Mook's hand is firm in his, five fingers contrasting to four. "Let's go see what the Thrash-master's up to at the shop." Right here, buddy, her eyes tell him. Not gone yet, so let's make the most of it. And he smiles, standing now several inches taller than when they first met. "Let's."