(no subject)

[in_the_blue]

Keep a poor girl from smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo getting bored?

First eight people who comment with a prompt, I'll write you a ficlet. You know my interests and fandoms, so have at it.

Edited to add: YOU PEOPLE HAVE LOST ON THE BRAIN! Don't let the number of comments fool you. I have room for more.

Comments

Hurley

[in-the-blue.livejournal.com]

It figures that the cab he gets into is already taken, but the guy sitting there doesn't seem to mind. He's just as cool as a cucumber -- that's something his mom used to say, that things were as cool as a cucumber -- and he never really thought about it a whole lot because he wasn't ever that much of a salad kind of guy but this guy looks like he might be, all pin-striped suit and sunglasses and cigarette.

"Dude. There's no smoking in the cab."

Lowering his sunglasses, the dark-haired man with the scraggly beard flashes him a look of pure amusement. "Carry on. The driver won't even notice. I'm only going up the street a little way."

"You are? I mean... doesn't it, like, bother you that a guy walking out of jail gets into your cab with you?"

"Why should it bother me?" As if the cab contains all the room in the universe, the guy unfolds his legs and refolds them. There's a feeling of absolutely infinite space around him. "I wasn't the one in jail. I haven't been in jail for centuries upon centuries, but that isn't something you need to know about, nor would it make the least bit of sense to you if I did tell you about it, never mind that it wasn't precisely me who was in jail in the first place. Details."

"Yeah? Well, I was there 'cause I killed three people. But I didn't really." There's something just plain wrong about this guy, but then again, when you're crazy everything either seems wrong or so wrong it's right and he stopped trying to figure it out after they got back from the island. Nothing's made sense since then, except he has so much money he doesn't know what to do with it any more. Even jail couldn't rip that feeling of wrongness out of him, and he tried. He wanted to get arrested. It was worth losing the Hot Pocket. "But I am crazy. And cursed. I mean, ever since I played Leonard's numbers."

The guy in the suit waves his hand. "They're just numbers. Sequential, yes, and significant perhaps, in ways you can't yet understand. But the bottom line is that all numbers are just numbers, and all curses can be turned round and made into blessings. What if you weren't cursed? What if you were blessed instead?

Okay, he thinks. He's had enough.

"Dude. One crazy person per cab, all right? I think it's like... a cosmic law or something. Driver, over here." When the car stops, he hops out, leans into the driver's window, and gives him a bunch extra. "You know where the Santa Rose Mental Health Institute is?"

The driver nods.

"Take that guy in the back there, tell Dr. Stillman that Hugo sent him. Can you do that for me?"

"Sure, pal." Once again the driver nods and pockets the cash gladly: the back seat is, of course, empty. It's the last time he picks up a fare outside County.

Re: Hurley

[lostinapapercup.livejournal.com]

The thing about Hurley never thinking much about cool as a cucumber because he was never much of a salad guy but Gaius probably being one cracks me up so much.

Hurley's voice is shockingly good, and I don't think I could be any more pleased with the idea of him telling the cab driver to take Gaius to Santa Rosa. The ending's perfect.

This was all beautifully done, ma'am, and I think you should be very proud of it.