The Lancer Fanfiction Archive

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Rosalind

 

 

Drabbles

Summer 2007 Collection

Autumn 2007 Collection

Winter 2007 Collection

2008 Collection

 

 

 

Summer 2007 Collection

May Drabble: The Final Report (a double drabble)

Johnny Lancer finished reading the single sheet of closely typed paper, then, with a little sigh he slipped it back into the envelope from which he had taken it, very carefully,   and replaced the whole thing back on the desk, exactly - he had a very good eye for detail - how he had found it.

He could not help but wonder what his father-- Murdoch Lancer-- might have done if the Pinkerton Agency reports had found his missing son to have turned out to have been nothing more than a dirt-farmer--or a store-keeper.   Would he have sent for him then, to come and help defend his precious ranch from the threat of the land-pirates so recently seen off?  Had he sent for his son, John Lancer--or had he wanted Johnny Madrid, the gunfighter and his undeniable (and useful) skills. 

He tapped the Pinkerton report gently with restless fingers and wondered if he would ever dare ask the question. Not because he was afraid to ask—but because he was, deep down inside, afraid of the answer.

 *****

 

June Drabble:  Who said that? 

And Where Have You Been?

Boots in hand he slipped silently through the side door and padded across the darkened kitchen. With luck he could get to his room undetected. He would never hear the end of it if any of them found out about this moonlight frolic.

On occasion ‘family’ was not always all it was cracked up to be. 

Skilfully he avoided the creaky part of the floor at the foot of the stairs.

Nearly there.

‘Ole Man! I don’t know what to think of you'

Johnny’s stern voice, from the shadows nearly gave him a heart attack.

 

*****

 

July 2007 Drabble:  A very ‘alternative’ drabble: for The High Riders.
Warning: Death of a main character at the very least. Not nice at all.

`Look at your brother!' Murdoch gasped.

 Scott looked. The `boy' was lying on his side, pistol in hand, plainly getting ready to shoot.


 It couldn't be done from the shelter of the adobe wall. There was a  damn tree in the way.

 Scott darted out, swerving and dodging the hail of bullets coming at him from all sides.

 That was more like it. He could do it from here.

 He paused momentarily to ensure a good aim and sent a single bullet through the gunslinger's dark head.

 Goodbye Johnny Madrid.

 

**********************

 

Drabble for Rat Catching Day


Johnny Madrid allowed Johnny Lancer to slide his six-gun into its holster and to the relief of the would-be bank robber, cowering in the darkest corner of the livery barn. The gunfighter (now what the hell was HE doing in Morro Coyo anyway), allowed the scruffy looking, but horribly efficient sheriff to slap on the handcuffs.

`Thanks Johnny.'  The lawman and Madrid seemed to be on extremely good terms.

`More than welcome' Madrid smiled, suddenly quite pleasant looking `just doin' my –um—Civic duty—after all--'. He tipped his hat mockingly `today IS Rat-catching day'

--------------------------------------------------
(And No--I have NO idea why Val is 'ratcatching' in Morro Coyo...)

 

 

Autumn 2007 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'.

 

*****



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'. 

 

*****

 

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.

 

*****

 


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.

 

*****

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.

 

 

Winter 2007 Collection

 

Just One of Those Days

What a day!

A brother!  Of all the things he had expected or hoped to gain from this crazy adventure a brother had never been on the list. 

Neither had a range-war. But was that so much of a problem? Not exactly the Confederate army.  Just a passle of rough-necks with delusions of grandeur. 

And this impressive place, encompassed in that breath-taking view from the top of that ridge.

And then there was his equally impressive father.  The Murdoch Lancer of his childhood hopes and dreams personified.

What on earth was there left, for tomorrow?

 

*****

 

The Red Shirt Theory

When the bullets stopped flying Johnny was still standing but….

'You were hit'!!!   

Scott moved protectively to Johnny’s side and saw that the red shirt had a darker, different, spreading stain just under his armpit.   

Was THIS,   Scott gasped in realisation, the real reason for Johnny’s penchant for the reds and dark pinks of his colourful shirts?

Because they disguised the sight of his own spilled blood? 

Just how often had Johnny taken a bullet in return for his own,  like this and yet walked away,  seemingly invincible………

but actually as vulnerable as any other mortal. 

 

*****

 

Home Comforts
(A drabble for ‘Have a cup of coffee’ day) 

Lifting the ever simmering coffee pot from the stove, he poured himself a cupful.

About to drink, he had a second thought.  Smiling, he took down the jug of cream from the shelf, adding some and also a spoonful of sugar, to the bitter brown fluid.

This was how Scott drank it, when he was at home—and having once tasted it, Johnny thought it was delicious. 

He hadn’t let on however.  In company, he drank it just as it came.

Sugar!  Cream!  For Johnny Madrid? 

No way was he admitting to that.  To anyone.  Not even family.

 

*****

Apparently, a strange light, like a very bright star, was seen in the skies over Arizona, during the Christmas week of 1871.  No-one knows exactly what it was, but I have borrowed it for this Christmas Drabble. 

Star of Wonder

He didn’t really know this country, but he had always been very good at finding his way by the stars. 

But on this cold glittering night, there was more than the North Star to guide him. 

All he needed was the faith in his heart and to keep his eyes on that strange huge star that was striving to outshine every other star in the sky.

He didn’t know if there was any truth to that story in the Bible, but he did know the star up there was leading him. 

Was taking him home—

to Lancer.

 

 

An ‘After Christmas’ Drabble. 

Brawl! 

 ‘It must have been some fight!’

Murdoch scowled alarmingly at his son. 

There was the split lip, the black eye, the bruised cheek, and the cut above his eye that had seeped blood into his hair, from lying down all night on the jailhouse cot.  The knuckles of his right hand bore testimony to some good hard punching.  His shirt was ripped and dusty.

‘Can’t let him out alone can we’.  Johnny said, with a sly glance at his taller companion, who shrugged and shook his head resignedly.

 ‘Pay his fine Scott and let’s get the ole man home.’

 

 

 

2008 Collection

Father’s day.

"Do you think we should?’  Johnny frowned at his brother’s suggestion. ‘We never have, before, have we.’

‘But I’d like to do it—just for once.’  Scott sighed wistfully

‘It might just embarrass him.’  Johnny warned. ‘And he won’t like THAT!’

‘But it IS a special occasion.’

‘And he is, isn’t he.’

‘And I think we ought to acknowledge it.  Ah—I know!’   And with Johnny peering over his shoulder, Scott picked up the pen and wrote on the neatly wrapped gift lying on the table before them.

A Happy Birthday to our father,

From Scott and Johnny.

 

******

 

Father’s day.  Addendum.

He fully appreciated the gift.  It must have taken considerable thought, time and effort, never to mention the cost, to have found just such a copy of a book that he had once mentioned, casually, just in conversation, as one he would like to own.

He would enjoy reading it.

But it was the few words on the plain brown paper wrapper that were taking all his attention, for the moment.

A Happy Birthday to our father. From Scott and Johnny.

Relishing those few telling word he folded the paper and placed it carefully in his billfold.

 

*****

 

Two Good Reasons

‘Your father wants to see you’

That Pinkerton Agent very words, even as he had untied his bound hands. 

Talk about timing—and, well:   Johnny didn’t think he’d ever been so pleased to hear that someone was ‘looking for a man named Madrid’

‘Your father wants to see you’

But why?  

‘He’s willing to give you a thousand dollars for an hour of your time’

As good reason as any other to drop by.

‘Your father wants to see you’

And the man’s intervention, however indirect, HAD just saved his life.

‘Your father wants to see you’

 

*****



(and no—I have no idea what Murdoch thinks Johnny may have done (or not done) this time!)

Straight talkin'


'No Murdoch, Johnny wouldn't do that.' Scott protested vehemently. 'He loves this place, as much as you do'.

'Sometimes he has a damn funny way of showing it.' Murdoch gritted.

Scott sighed. Sometimes he despaired of his father ever understanding his younger son.

'Do YOU love Johnny?' He posed the question without preamble.

Murdoch visibly stiffened.

'What sort of a question is that?'

'One I'd like you to answer.'

'Well—of course I do.' Finally the answer came.

Scott looked him straight in the eye.

'Sometimes.' He said deliberately 'You have a damn funny way of showing it'.