(no subject)
May. 15th, 2012 01:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gala_applesTitle: Six Scenes of Questionable Sanity
Fandoms: Bandom/Fringe
Characters: Walter, Gabe
Rating: G
Wordcount: 1808
Warnings: pot use.
Summary: Peter's moral of the story is always stock Walter's snacks.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission
'Verse Notes: Walter is a delightfully crazy man, (partially due to cutting out portions of his own brain). Completely brilliant, but also crazy. This leads to some intense quirks.
Someone is dead. That is not really a surprise. Ever since he joined the Fringe Division -the most optimistic term for being released out of an asylum due to blackmail- Walter has dealt with dead body after dead body. It’s routine, at the end of the day, even while each case is incredibly different and always intriguing. Walter has no qualms cutting into the corpse, methodically slicing her apart to check her organs, bones, and other tissue. He doesn’t expect to find anything. All signs point to this individual being entirely human. Still, it’s his duty to play coroner as she won’t be having an autopsy for a multiplicity of reasons.
By the time he’s done everyone has gone home. Even Astrid has left. Peter is asleep when he lets himself in their home, so Walter doesn’t turn on the radio perched on the window ledge. Instead he moves swiftly to the kitchen cabinet to retrieve his licorice.
There is no licorice.
Walter distinctly remembers requesting Red Vines. Even so, he’d accept Twizzlers, or Nibs. There is an obvious lack of anything of the sort, even when he checks places that aren’t the customary snack cabinet. The only option left to him is procuring some himself.
*
Walter is sitting with an exceedingly tall man on a bench outside the grocery store. The package of Red Vines is on Gabe’s thigh. They did a poor job opening it, and each time one of them plunges a hand in the opening the seam splits a little more. Despite this, Walter is happy to have contrived this solution. The person he was months ago would have gone mad at seeing another person reaching for the last package. He merely suggested they share.
Too soon they’re both chewing through their last pieces. Walter would suggest they buy another package and continue talking, but of course there is no second bag. If there were, this meeting wouldn’t have happened. Serendipity.
Gabe seems to share the thought. “You are an entirely awesome old man and I would love to talk more, but Ryland will be pissed if I bring you back to the hotel. It’s bad enough when I show up and the girl suddenly wants a threesome. You would just be a straight up cock-block.”
Walter understands. Unfortunately his home is similarly unavailable. Peter will wake up and be displeased. Walter is almost certain he will yell like he did the one time Walter brought home a fine lady. He's not stupid, he knew she was a street walker. But she made a quip he found interesting as he walked past her, not at all profane. He wanted to discuss things with her, to which she said talking took time and time was money. The position was understandable, no one wishes to work without compensation. So he paid for her time, a position which Peter ended up strongly opposing.
Then the answer to this dilemma hits him. “We could go to my lab?”
“You have a lab?”
“Two, I suppose. The company I own, and the one at Harvard.”
“Two labs. Damn. My friend Pete’s doing this mad laboratory thing with his band. You have any cool freaky shit you can lend them?”
Walter thinks of his beloved equipment at Harvard, as well as the less personally meaningful but still important equipment at Massive Dynamic. “I suppose it would be depend on your definition of cool and freaky.”
Gabe shrugs. “I’ll just take pictures of everything and tweet them to him.”
*
“You have a cow. In your university basement lab.”
“Her name is Gene,” Walter explains happily. Gabe doesn’t seem nearly as happy.
“I like you, and I always want to avoid Pete bitching at me for getting arrested for stuff like public urination and sexual harassment and assault. But I’m just saying, if you do experiments on it i’m going to have to knock you the fuck out.”
“I would not hurt Gene. She’s second to only a handful of humans, and humans don’t produce milk, so sometimes she’s even better than humans.”
“Huh.” Gabe looks at him, seemingly searching his face for a lie. He’s not nearly as probing as Olivia tends to be, but he seems to find what he’s looking for. “Well, I guess that’s cool.”
Walter passes him to begin brushing her. Normally he would do it in the morning once he arrived at the lab, but now is as good a time as any.
“How long have you had it? Her. Gene. The cow.”
“Peter, my son-”
“That’s the Peter that’s also an agent?”
“The very same. He bought her when I first began working here, saying some claptrap about testing on her being more ethical than testing on humans. Hardly. It was her birthday last month. Her hat did not stay on very neatly, I hesitate to say she would have rather had a special coat made. I’ll have Astrid arrange for it next year.”
Gabe scowled at Peter’s notion. Walter knew there was a reason to like him. He in fact likes him enough to offer him a rare treat. “Would you like the ice cream she made? It’s the basic kicked can of salt formula.”
“I don’t eat animal products. It’s cruel.”
“Surely you know not milking her would be crueler. Her teats would leak under the pressure.”
“I’m still gonna pass, thanks.”
Walter shrugs. Gabe’s refusal only means he doesn’t need to share, which means more for him. He can’t complain about having more sweets to eat.
*
Walter wakes up with a start. It’s easily the morning, though he doesn’t have a watch on hand. The musician from last night is sleeping sitting up. Walter leans over and shakes him. “Do you need to go now?”
Gabe pushes a hand into the pocket of his tight jeans, and pulls out his cell phone. He checks the display then shakes his head. “No, man, bus call isn’t until late. Like ten am, I think. Don’t really feel like going back to sleep though. I’m just gonna find a vending machine. This is a college, there should be some somewhere. I’m starting to get hungry. Licorice only lasts so long, you know?”
Walter smiles. “I dare say any snack food would taste better to the tune of THC.”
“Seriously? I’m about to smoke up with a guy that has travelled to other worlds in a laboratory. With a cow watching.” When Walter doesn’t disabuse him of the notion, he grins. “Nate is going to be jealous as shit.”
*
All at once, Astrid, Peter, and Olivia are coming in the lab in a stream. One might think that would mean they spent the night together, but anyone guessing that would be proven wrong. Which is a shame, truly. The levels of stress his colleagues face could be tempered quite nicely with the release of post orgasm neurohormones.
“Good morning,” Walter says. His throat is parched. He and Gabe haven’t made their trip to the vending machines yet. Perhaps he’ll ask Astrid to get him some Pepsi.
“Hey guys,” Gabe says as he gives a little wave. He sounds no different for all the inhalations.
As always, Astrid is the most compassionate of the bunch. “Walter, have you been here all night?”
And as always, Olivia is directly to the point. “Who’s that?”
“He’s Gabe Saporta.”
“Call me Gabanti.”
“He and I were just hypothesising that the prophetic cobra he saw while under the influence of peyote might very well be a messenger.”
“Prophetic cobra? Walter, who is this man?”
Gabe rolls his eyes, obviously unimpressed with Peter’s listening abilities. “He just told you I’m Gabe. Are you one of his flunkies?”
Petee seems offended by the idea so Walter changes the conversation. “Astrid, I need you to procure me music.”
“Yes, Walter?”
“Gabe was typing a message on his phone-”
“I was tweeting-”
“To a young man named Jefferee Star. His appearance is quite unusual, but Gabe insisted I listen to his music before I pass judgement.”
“Turns out Walter likes techno. You should find him more, broaden his horizons.”
Peter snorts. “Walter’s horizons are pretty broad already, thank you.”
“Oh man though. I thought I had an experience when the Cobra told me it would soon be the end of the world. But shit, alternate universes and doppelgangers and people frozen in amber... Goddamn, I'm gonna have the best fourth cd ever. Take that, Killjoys!”
“Walter, you told him confidential cases?”
Olivia is appalled at what seems only like common sense to Walter. “We were talking for five hours. Surely you don’t expect us to have discussed the weather the whole time.”
Gabe shrugs. “If it makes you feel better I told him about that one time Pete convinced me to wear a furry suit and that shit was supposed to be private too.”
“It was rather illuminating.” Walter has never been one to judge people’s predilections. It’s an attitude he isn’t planning to change now, but he hadn’t known about people being attracted to mascot costumes.
“So you should start carving that amber, and I should get back to my bus. Nice to meet you all. Walter don’t forget to set up a Twitter so we can talk.”
“Broyles is going to kill me,” Olivia groans in the wake of Gabe’s enthusiastic departure. Walter would offer kind words, except he believes Olivia may be right. Broyles is a very inflexible man.
*
Walter picks his way through the people on the floor of the stadium. All are decades younger than he is, younger even than his colleagues behind him. He doesn’t look that out of place though. Astrid helped him get a t-shirt. The sentiment makes him laugh, and better than that, it works as a memory cue for some of Gabe’s earlier songs. His memory isn’t what it used to be.
“Nice merch, old man.” The compliment comes from a teenage male with large fluorescent sunglasses.
“He means your t-shirt, Walter.”
“Yes, yes, I know. I like your merch too.”
“I got them at the booth, old man.”
Walter turns to look at Astrid. “I would like-”
“We’ll get a pair later, between the opener and Cobra.”
Her tone is placating, which doesn’t make sense. He’s in no way making a scene to be talked down from. Walter’s merely using the tickets Gabe mailed him. There’s truly no reason that Olivia and Peter have to be here, watching as though someone is about to assassinate him. Walter might even say they shouldn’t be here. Peter doesn’t like Cobra’s discography, and a great concert experience shouldn’t be dragged down by buzzkills. Unfortunately that was the deal that was struck. Better to bring Peter, Olivia, and Astrid and hope to convert them than miss the concert entirely.
Fandoms: Bandom/Fringe
Characters: Walter, Gabe
Rating: G
Wordcount: 1808
Warnings: pot use.
Summary: Peter's moral of the story is always stock Walter's snacks.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission
'Verse Notes: Walter is a delightfully crazy man, (partially due to cutting out portions of his own brain). Completely brilliant, but also crazy. This leads to some intense quirks.
Someone is dead. That is not really a surprise. Ever since he joined the Fringe Division -the most optimistic term for being released out of an asylum due to blackmail- Walter has dealt with dead body after dead body. It’s routine, at the end of the day, even while each case is incredibly different and always intriguing. Walter has no qualms cutting into the corpse, methodically slicing her apart to check her organs, bones, and other tissue. He doesn’t expect to find anything. All signs point to this individual being entirely human. Still, it’s his duty to play coroner as she won’t be having an autopsy for a multiplicity of reasons.
By the time he’s done everyone has gone home. Even Astrid has left. Peter is asleep when he lets himself in their home, so Walter doesn’t turn on the radio perched on the window ledge. Instead he moves swiftly to the kitchen cabinet to retrieve his licorice.
There is no licorice.
Walter distinctly remembers requesting Red Vines. Even so, he’d accept Twizzlers, or Nibs. There is an obvious lack of anything of the sort, even when he checks places that aren’t the customary snack cabinet. The only option left to him is procuring some himself.
*
Walter is sitting with an exceedingly tall man on a bench outside the grocery store. The package of Red Vines is on Gabe’s thigh. They did a poor job opening it, and each time one of them plunges a hand in the opening the seam splits a little more. Despite this, Walter is happy to have contrived this solution. The person he was months ago would have gone mad at seeing another person reaching for the last package. He merely suggested they share.
Too soon they’re both chewing through their last pieces. Walter would suggest they buy another package and continue talking, but of course there is no second bag. If there were, this meeting wouldn’t have happened. Serendipity.
Gabe seems to share the thought. “You are an entirely awesome old man and I would love to talk more, but Ryland will be pissed if I bring you back to the hotel. It’s bad enough when I show up and the girl suddenly wants a threesome. You would just be a straight up cock-block.”
Walter understands. Unfortunately his home is similarly unavailable. Peter will wake up and be displeased. Walter is almost certain he will yell like he did the one time Walter brought home a fine lady. He's not stupid, he knew she was a street walker. But she made a quip he found interesting as he walked past her, not at all profane. He wanted to discuss things with her, to which she said talking took time and time was money. The position was understandable, no one wishes to work without compensation. So he paid for her time, a position which Peter ended up strongly opposing.
Then the answer to this dilemma hits him. “We could go to my lab?”
“You have a lab?”
“Two, I suppose. The company I own, and the one at Harvard.”
“Two labs. Damn. My friend Pete’s doing this mad laboratory thing with his band. You have any cool freaky shit you can lend them?”
Walter thinks of his beloved equipment at Harvard, as well as the less personally meaningful but still important equipment at Massive Dynamic. “I suppose it would be depend on your definition of cool and freaky.”
Gabe shrugs. “I’ll just take pictures of everything and tweet them to him.”
*
“You have a cow. In your university basement lab.”
“Her name is Gene,” Walter explains happily. Gabe doesn’t seem nearly as happy.
“I like you, and I always want to avoid Pete bitching at me for getting arrested for stuff like public urination and sexual harassment and assault. But I’m just saying, if you do experiments on it i’m going to have to knock you the fuck out.”
“I would not hurt Gene. She’s second to only a handful of humans, and humans don’t produce milk, so sometimes she’s even better than humans.”
“Huh.” Gabe looks at him, seemingly searching his face for a lie. He’s not nearly as probing as Olivia tends to be, but he seems to find what he’s looking for. “Well, I guess that’s cool.”
Walter passes him to begin brushing her. Normally he would do it in the morning once he arrived at the lab, but now is as good a time as any.
“How long have you had it? Her. Gene. The cow.”
“Peter, my son-”
“That’s the Peter that’s also an agent?”
“The very same. He bought her when I first began working here, saying some claptrap about testing on her being more ethical than testing on humans. Hardly. It was her birthday last month. Her hat did not stay on very neatly, I hesitate to say she would have rather had a special coat made. I’ll have Astrid arrange for it next year.”
Gabe scowled at Peter’s notion. Walter knew there was a reason to like him. He in fact likes him enough to offer him a rare treat. “Would you like the ice cream she made? It’s the basic kicked can of salt formula.”
“I don’t eat animal products. It’s cruel.”
“Surely you know not milking her would be crueler. Her teats would leak under the pressure.”
“I’m still gonna pass, thanks.”
Walter shrugs. Gabe’s refusal only means he doesn’t need to share, which means more for him. He can’t complain about having more sweets to eat.
*
Walter wakes up with a start. It’s easily the morning, though he doesn’t have a watch on hand. The musician from last night is sleeping sitting up. Walter leans over and shakes him. “Do you need to go now?”
Gabe pushes a hand into the pocket of his tight jeans, and pulls out his cell phone. He checks the display then shakes his head. “No, man, bus call isn’t until late. Like ten am, I think. Don’t really feel like going back to sleep though. I’m just gonna find a vending machine. This is a college, there should be some somewhere. I’m starting to get hungry. Licorice only lasts so long, you know?”
Walter smiles. “I dare say any snack food would taste better to the tune of THC.”
“Seriously? I’m about to smoke up with a guy that has travelled to other worlds in a laboratory. With a cow watching.” When Walter doesn’t disabuse him of the notion, he grins. “Nate is going to be jealous as shit.”
*
All at once, Astrid, Peter, and Olivia are coming in the lab in a stream. One might think that would mean they spent the night together, but anyone guessing that would be proven wrong. Which is a shame, truly. The levels of stress his colleagues face could be tempered quite nicely with the release of post orgasm neurohormones.
“Good morning,” Walter says. His throat is parched. He and Gabe haven’t made their trip to the vending machines yet. Perhaps he’ll ask Astrid to get him some Pepsi.
“Hey guys,” Gabe says as he gives a little wave. He sounds no different for all the inhalations.
As always, Astrid is the most compassionate of the bunch. “Walter, have you been here all night?”
And as always, Olivia is directly to the point. “Who’s that?”
“He’s Gabe Saporta.”
“Call me Gabanti.”
“He and I were just hypothesising that the prophetic cobra he saw while under the influence of peyote might very well be a messenger.”
“Prophetic cobra? Walter, who is this man?”
Gabe rolls his eyes, obviously unimpressed with Peter’s listening abilities. “He just told you I’m Gabe. Are you one of his flunkies?”
Petee seems offended by the idea so Walter changes the conversation. “Astrid, I need you to procure me music.”
“Yes, Walter?”
“Gabe was typing a message on his phone-”
“I was tweeting-”
“To a young man named Jefferee Star. His appearance is quite unusual, but Gabe insisted I listen to his music before I pass judgement.”
“Turns out Walter likes techno. You should find him more, broaden his horizons.”
Peter snorts. “Walter’s horizons are pretty broad already, thank you.”
“Oh man though. I thought I had an experience when the Cobra told me it would soon be the end of the world. But shit, alternate universes and doppelgangers and people frozen in amber... Goddamn, I'm gonna have the best fourth cd ever. Take that, Killjoys!”
“Walter, you told him confidential cases?”
Olivia is appalled at what seems only like common sense to Walter. “We were talking for five hours. Surely you don’t expect us to have discussed the weather the whole time.”
Gabe shrugs. “If it makes you feel better I told him about that one time Pete convinced me to wear a furry suit and that shit was supposed to be private too.”
“It was rather illuminating.” Walter has never been one to judge people’s predilections. It’s an attitude he isn’t planning to change now, but he hadn’t known about people being attracted to mascot costumes.
“So you should start carving that amber, and I should get back to my bus. Nice to meet you all. Walter don’t forget to set up a Twitter so we can talk.”
“Broyles is going to kill me,” Olivia groans in the wake of Gabe’s enthusiastic departure. Walter would offer kind words, except he believes Olivia may be right. Broyles is a very inflexible man.
*
Walter picks his way through the people on the floor of the stadium. All are decades younger than he is, younger even than his colleagues behind him. He doesn’t look that out of place though. Astrid helped him get a t-shirt. The sentiment makes him laugh, and better than that, it works as a memory cue for some of Gabe’s earlier songs. His memory isn’t what it used to be.
“Nice merch, old man.” The compliment comes from a teenage male with large fluorescent sunglasses.
“He means your t-shirt, Walter.”
“Yes, yes, I know. I like your merch too.”
“I got them at the booth, old man.”
Walter turns to look at Astrid. “I would like-”
“We’ll get a pair later, between the opener and Cobra.”
Her tone is placating, which doesn’t make sense. He’s in no way making a scene to be talked down from. Walter’s merely using the tickets Gabe mailed him. There’s truly no reason that Olivia and Peter have to be here, watching as though someone is about to assassinate him. Walter might even say they shouldn’t be here. Peter doesn’t like Cobra’s discography, and a great concert experience shouldn’t be dragged down by buzzkills. Unfortunately that was the deal that was struck. Better to bring Peter, Olivia, and Astrid and hope to convert them than miss the concert entirely.