Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Date: 1998/08/25 Category: Humor Rating: R for profanity and adult themes Spoilers: None Archive: Nowhere, thank you. Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. CC does. Vacation by *DBKate **DBKate*@yahoo.com ~~~~~~~~~ August 25, 1998 To: ALL WRITERS From: Katrinka - Headmistress of the Gossamer Asylum Slash Wing Re: Character Vacation Good morning! As you all know, in accordance with the "Character/Author Treaty of 1998", all slash characters appearing in more than twenty stories a year are now allowed one week's vacation, starting August 25th of this year. I know many authors will find this difficult, but after the "catnapping" and "jelly donut" incidents of last March, we are striving for peaceful interaction between authors and characters. The best way to achieve this is to follow the ordinances of the treaty. Thank you in advance for your cooperation. ~~~~~~~~~~~ The sun glinted brightly off of the chlorinated pool water. Alex Krycek squinted and adjusted his sunglasses a little higher. Damn Mulder, he thought with a grimace. He just -had- to scribble in "Holiday Inn" when asked where they wanted to spend their vacation. Well, you can't really blame him for being totally out of it. Poor guy's brain dead from exhaustion. Krycek tried to lean back and relax, but was distracted by an argument to his left. "I don't likesh white tequila." "I don't care what you like you little wire-haired wiener. What do you think of that?" "You four-eyed, bald-assh son of a bitch, I'll tell you what I..." "Shut up, already," snarled Krycek at the two men who stood squabbling behind the pool bar. "This is our goddamn vacation and you'd better make use of it." Brian Sean Daniel Jamie Ted Frank Pendrell glared back at him. "Fuck you," he hissed back in a very un-Pendrell-like manner, his choir boy face screwed up into a furious countenance. He looked positively diabolical -- sunburnt, glowering, and very drunk. "No thanks. Been there, done that," sighed Krycek. He gave Pendrell a hooded glance. "And I didn't like it either. What do you think of -that-?" But Pendrell wasn't through. "Besht you ever had you one-armed freakazoid," he slurred, slugging down another huge gulp of straight tequila. A muffled murmur came from the lounge chair next to Krycek's. "Oh, for GOD's SAKE," the voice moaned. "Can't a man get a MINUTE of peace?" Fox Mulder was lying face-down on the chair, looking a bit worse than peaked. Krycek shook his head and patted Mulder on the shoulder sympathetically. "Hang in there, bud. We still have six days left. You should be able to sit upright again in two more." All that was heard in reply was another groan. "This vacashun sucks," grumbled Pendrell, throwing himself on a lounge chair, snatching up the tequila bottle and taking another huge gulp. "Where are the shicks? I was told I could have shicks on my vacation." "Shicks?" asked Walter Skinner, as he planted himself in his own chair. He picked up an issue of Rolling Stone and began to read. "Shicks!" cried Pendrell, his head lolling. "Shicks! Shicks! I wan Shicks!" Skinner shook his head and flipped a page. "I think a village somewhere has been deprived of an idiot." Krycek sniggered. He glanced over at Dana Scully who was gingerly yanking her bathing suit bottom down and away from somewhat -sensitive- areas. He coughed and smiled coyly at her. "I think Pendrell means -chicks-, Scully. I hope you plan on accommodating him." "Fuck you, Krycek," she snarled, wriggling in her chair, trying to find a comfortable position. "My, my. And I thought we came here to get away from fucking," he said loftily. "When I can walk again, you're getting a fist right in the face, you baboon." She wriggled again. "Damn yeast infection," she muttered. All four men grimaced in disgust. "Thanksh for sharen," grumbled Pendrell, the bottle now dangerously close to falling from his hand. "What other infecshuns you got? Not that -I'd- have to worry about any of that." Skinner joined in. "Yes, Scully. I'd be interested to hear about that as well." Scully flushed and sat up primly. "Well, whatever I may have, you can rest assured that all of you have it as well." She glanced at Pendrell, who was veering toward slobbering. "Except for Shane McGowen over there." "Oh, wonderful," groaned Krycek, rolling his eyes. "Did we get a provision for free penicillin shots in that damn treaty?" Mulder groaned in the negative. "Great," sighed Skinner. "Well, I guess tomorrow's agenda is a day trip to Treat and Release. Maybe we can get a group discount." He shook his head. "I hope they don't find any little crawling things anywhere." "Hmmph," mumbled Scully under her breath. "Well, I know about - one- little crawling thing they're gonna find." Four heads snapped in her direction. "What does -that- mean?" asked Krycek suspiciously. "That means, my darling Stooge," she said imperiously, "that the rabbit has -finally- died." Pendrell blinked. Drunkenly. "Well, good," he belched. "Never liked the furry little bastard anyway." Scully rolled her eyes. "Will SOMEONE tell Mr. One Neuron Short of a Synapse to shut the hell up?" Krycek turned positively white. "What the hell are you talking about, Scully?" She took a casual sip of lemonade before responding. "I'm talking about some poor creature getting into the gene pool when the lifeguard wasn't watching." More confused looks. Scully banged down her glass. "I'm talking about being PREGNANT, you morons!" "PREGNANT?!" they screamed in unison. "Well, of course, I am!" Scully cried. "The reproductive system WORKS, you dolts. After years of daily unprotected sex with half a dozen different men, don't you think this would happen EVENTUALLY?" Krycek looked faint. "I think I'm going to be sick." Skinner turned pale. "This is terrible." Pendrell flushed green. "Ish thinksh I'm going to pukesh." Mulder just groaned. But loudly. But Scully continued on, oblivious to the distress of her companions. "And since I haven't a clue who the father is, each one of you is free to assume the worst. And you can all take turns getting me more lemonade." "This is outrageous!" cried Skinner. "VD, pregnancies ... what the hell is going on here?" "I guesh this is a bad time to mention my genital wartsh," slurred Pendrell. "But donn worry. The eruptshuns only happen twicsh a month. And they only itchsh a little." This time there were four moans joining Mulder's. And, for a long while after that, there was silence. Until Krycek slowly rose and turned to his companions. "Look," he sighed. "I don't know about all of you, but this -is- supposed to be a vacation. So, why don't we forget about all of this for now, and try to have a good time." The others looked at him warily. "I thought having a good time is what got us into this mess," muttered Skinner. Krycek shrugged. Lopsidedly. "There are other things to do besides screwing each other like rabid ducks all day." "Like what?" groaned Mulder wearily. Krycek leaned down, and gently helped Mulder sit up. "I have an idea. Come on, everyone in the pool." He reached over and took Pendrell's bottle away. "You too, Dean Martin. Come on, Walt, and yeah, The Human Incubator too. We'll do something we've never done before." "Impossible. I've done it all, pal," sighed Mulder, but Krycek pulled him along after him into the pool. With curious expressions, the rest of them slowly waded in, and less than ten minutes later, a strange series of echoing calls could be heard in the recreational area of the Palapologa Holiday Inn. "Marco!" "POLO!" "Marco!" "POLO!" ~~~~~~~~~~~~ *dbkate*@yahoo.com