Challenge 757 - Deflated
Apr. 23rd, 2023 05:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
m_findlowTitle: Deflated
Character: Rhys, Gwen
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 200 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for Challenge 757 - Limp at ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tw100
tw100Summary: Rhys comes up with a jury-rigged idea to save their bacon. A double drabble.
Rhys jumped down from the truck’s cabin and walked around to the back, undoing the bolts as Gwen caught up with him, waiting for him to unload Torchwood’s latest curiosity into the massive underground warehouse.
As he tugged the metal door he frowned. ‘Er, Gwen, is it meant to do that?’ he asked, studying the creature that had taken up most of the back of the truck once they’d finally wrangled it inside. Now it barely took up any room at all, except for the floor, over which it was spread like a limp, empty balloon.
‘Bollocks,’ Gwen swore. ‘Jack’s going to tear someone’s balls off,’ she said, making it clear to Rhys that this was not part of the plan, and that they had inadvertently killed the thing, even if it still sounded alive, wheezing like his old nan with her emphysema.
‘Just so long as it’s your balls,’ Rhys argued. ‘I’m just the man with the lorry, me,’ he argued, though certain that Jack would be equally unimpressed with both of them. ‘I’ve got that pneumatic air pump in the back,’ he said. ‘You know, for emergencies?’
‘Well, I think this qualifies. Good idea.’
‘I’m full of them.’
Rhys jumped down from the truck’s cabin and walked around to the back, undoing the bolts as Gwen caught up with him, waiting for him to unload Torchwood’s latest curiosity into the massive underground warehouse.
As he tugged the metal door he frowned. ‘Er, Gwen, is it meant to do that?’ he asked, studying the creature that had taken up most of the back of the truck once they’d finally wrangled it inside. Now it barely took up any room at all, except for the floor, over which it was spread like a limp, empty balloon.
‘Bollocks,’ Gwen swore. ‘Jack’s going to tear someone’s balls off,’ she said, making it clear to Rhys that this was not part of the plan, and that they had inadvertently killed the thing, even if it still sounded alive, wheezing like his old nan with her emphysema.
‘Just so long as it’s your balls,’ Rhys argued. ‘I’m just the man with the lorry, me,’ he argued, though certain that Jack would be equally unimpressed with both of them. ‘I’ve got that pneumatic air pump in the back,’ he said. ‘You know, for emergencies?’
‘Well, I think this qualifies. Good idea.’
‘I’m full of them.’
