The Lancer Fanfiction Archive

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Rosalind

 

 

2007 Autumn Drabble Collection

A drabble just for the sake of it.

 The Gunfighters secret weapon.

So-what makes a good gunman so fast?' Scott asked the question rather hurriedly.
One could never tell, with Johnny, what questions about himself, might amuse, annoy, or even hurt him. He held his breath, waiting for the result of his query.
There was a long quiet and Scott thought that Johnny was not going to answer his question, but there was a strange, set look on the handsome young face. Johnny was in fact, thinking it over carefully.
Scott knew the value of silence and was content to wait.
Then came the totally unexpected answer.

`Fear'.

 

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A drabble that just ‘happened.’ 

 A spot of bother.  

'Is something bothering you?'' Scott asked, rather irritably.

Damn!  Sometimes Johnny forgot just how closely this 'brother' of his could observe him.

He had allowed him to get through the outer barriers and now the man was assaulting the inner ones as well. 

He needed to drive him off--force him away.

He let the anger through: released the coiled rattlesnake of temper that always lay within him, ready to warn or strike.

'Yeah!' he said coldly.  'Somethin' IS botherin' me.  Havin' some clever-dick greenhorn hoverin' around, askin' me what’s botherin' me. 

That’s what’s botherin' me'. 

 

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A drabble for the Lancer by Moonlight challenge

 An Old Friend.

I know that moon—and she knows me. We've shared a lotta secrets.
If my family want to know about me—they should ask her. She knows more about me than I do. She's watched over me when I've been hurt and when I've been scared and when I've been so lonely that I thought I'd rather be dead.

You can't always trust people. But she has never let me down.

Even on that terrible last night in Mexico, she was there for me.

And here she is, still looking out for me.

At Lancer.             

 At home.

 

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A plaintive drabble
 

Huh! 

Why can’t you just do as you are told?’

There! He’s said it again—and I just don’t get it.

I dig his post holes, string his wire, chase his cows, fetch his supplies, and collect his mail— hell, I even done business deals for him.  I eat—sleep even, when he says so an’ I don’t even wear my gun in the house no more.

Dammit—I even changed my name for him.

I changed my LIFE because he said so.

So what else is it that he is telling me to do? 

Can anyone tell me?  Please.

 

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Just a drabble that wanted out.

 Rumour has it---

Scott sat quietly by, in the shadows of the sheltering rock, where he and his brother had built their little camp for the night, and listened to Johnny and an old friend of his that they had picked up with, talking together. 

‘Rumour is, down on the border, that Johnny Madrid was rescued from that firing squad by a angel—a pink angel.’

Scott laughed inwardly.   So—a legend is born thus.   

A pink angel:  an easy enough and probably wilful misinterpretation of the truth.

That Johnny’s extremely timely rescuer had been, in fact, a Pinkerton Agent.