donutsweeper (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
donutsweeper) wrote2008-03-14 10:16 pm
donutsweeper) wrote2008-03-14 10:16 pm
The Bride Wore Black
Title: The Bride Wore Black
Pairing/Rating/Warning: None, rated G
Word Count: 274
Summary: Jack swore this would be the last time he drank hypervodkas. The very last time. Owen was never going to let him live it down.
Author's Note: Written fromphoenix64 's title prompt for my most recent writing meme. This probably needs a 'no liquids' warning. Un-beta'ed.
As far as diplomatic missions went this one had been a doozy. Banquet after banquet of never ending food. Gorgeous blue skinned women who hung on his every word. And alcohol. Lots of alcohol. Jack had never had a problem imbibing before - in fact he’d once won a drinking game against the Grand High Viser of the Summit Mountain Ultraism Terrorist Society, who went by the unfortunate (yet oddly accurate) acronym SMUTS, resulting in the lowering of their arms, among other things - so when the hypervodka was brought out he thought nothing of partaking in a shot or two. It would have been offensive to their hosts if he didn’t, or that’s what he told himself anyway. And if the negotiations had to wait until after the drinks were finished, then who was he to argue?
Of course, looking back on it now, maybe he hadn’t been at his peak form when it came time to sign on the dotted line. Or, to be completely precise, swap spit in the ceremonial chalice. He’d been confident he knew what they’d agreed upon. Fairly confident. Maybe a little confused by some of the more flowery terms in the paperwork, but he knew the makings of a sound treaty when he set one up. So a few minor details slipped past him. That sort of thing was bound to happen, eventually.
Besides, it could have been worse, he thought as he adjusted the tight ceremonial corset. Owen had been drafted to stand up for him, and pink taffeta did nothing for that man’s eyes. Black, on the other hand, was slimming, and had always been his color.
Pairing/Rating/Warning: None, rated G
Word Count: 274
Summary: Jack swore this would be the last time he drank hypervodkas. The very last time. Owen was never going to let him live it down.
Author's Note: Written from
phoenix64 's title prompt for my most recent writing meme. This probably needs a 'no liquids' warning. Un-beta'ed.As far as diplomatic missions went this one had been a doozy. Banquet after banquet of never ending food. Gorgeous blue skinned women who hung on his every word. And alcohol. Lots of alcohol. Jack had never had a problem imbibing before - in fact he’d once won a drinking game against the Grand High Viser of the Summit Mountain Ultraism Terrorist Society, who went by the unfortunate (yet oddly accurate) acronym SMUTS, resulting in the lowering of their arms, among other things - so when the hypervodka was brought out he thought nothing of partaking in a shot or two. It would have been offensive to their hosts if he didn’t, or that’s what he told himself anyway. And if the negotiations had to wait until after the drinks were finished, then who was he to argue?
Of course, looking back on it now, maybe he hadn’t been at his peak form when it came time to sign on the dotted line. Or, to be completely precise, swap spit in the ceremonial chalice. He’d been confident he knew what they’d agreed upon. Fairly confident. Maybe a little confused by some of the more flowery terms in the paperwork, but he knew the makings of a sound treaty when he set one up. So a few minor details slipped past him. That sort of thing was bound to happen, eventually.
Besides, it could have been worse, he thought as he adjusted the tight ceremonial corset. Owen had been drafted to stand up for him, and pink taffeta did nothing for that man’s eyes. Black, on the other hand, was slimming, and had always been his color.
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