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Wow!

I can't believe it! I actually wrote fan fiction! And it's good! And contains absolutely NO sex! :-D

"Irony"
Flash fan-fiction by Tristan A. Arts

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Warehouse 13 stuff. Gods only know what I'd do with it if I did.

      All was quiet in the hot, dusty air, as though the world knew what was going on and was anticipating it. A stocky man with a beard and glasses watched what was going on inside the walls of the prison through a pair of binoculars. Finally, after hours of waiting, the soldiers filed out, rifles on their shoulders, and got in a line, all facing a post. He watched as two more soldiers escorted a young red-haired woman, blindfolded, and tied her arms to the post behind her.
      "Okay, Pete," the stocky man said quietly to no-one, "don't fail me now. God, I hope this thing works like it's supposed to."
      One of the soldiers marched up to the scared young woman and said, "Do you have any last words?"
      The young woman shook her hair back nervously. "Well, um... just that, well, this is totally unfair. I'm not a spy for the US government or anyone else. I was only hacking into your computers to help my friends lock away this very dangerous artifact, which you'd know if you'd been listening to me before, and... I'm totally wasting my last words, aren't I? Damn. Well... um... I have nothing to declare but my brilliance! Which... would be really ironic, seeing as you're about to kill me and all. But I guess--"
      "Enough talking, Ms. Donovan. We kill you now. But... you do get a last cigarette if you want."
      "Oh, geez, really sorry, but I don't sm-"
      "I *really* suggest you have a last cigarette," he said, whispering "Claudia."
      "No really, smoking kills, so I'll decline."
      "I insist."
      "I don't think the lady wants a cigarette."
      "Nonsense, she's just being an... Artie pants."
      "What? OH! Oh. Yeah, okay, light me up then, man! I'm dying for a smoke."
      The soldier put a cigarette holder and cigarette in her mouth and lit the end. "Make sure to take a deep breath, and think about somewhere you'd rather be," he said quietly. Then, to the other soldiers, "Get ready!" and marched back into the compound. Claudia inhaled deeply, coughing slightly, and tried again.
      "AIM!" said one of the soldiers. Claudia inhaled deeply. Then, remembering the rest of his instructions, thought of the trees she'd seen from her cell window earlier. Suddenly, she felt... weird. Everything got fuzzy, her head got light, and she became sick to her stomach. She was also very disoriented, but she focused on those trees.
      "FIRE!" Claudia heard gunshots, and started to scream, but fell backwards against something hard. It felt like the post she'd been tied to, but bumpier. And the ground felt a little different, too.
      "What? I'm not dead? Or am I? What's going on? Someone wanna clue me in here?" There was shouting and confusion, but it was a long way off. The cigarette holder fell out of her mouth.
      Suddenly, someone snatched her blindfold off, startling her. "Woah, woah. Claudia, it's me."
      "Oh my God, Pete! Where'd you come from? What's going on?"
      "No time for that now, we gotta get you out of here. I'll explain later. Right now we gotta get you to the car." He untied her hastily, and grabbed her arm and pulled her along across the sparsely wooded scrublands.
      "Wait, wait. Stop," Pete said, and hastily went back to snatch up the cigarette holder before they continued running for a tall tree in the distance. "Artie would kill me if we lost Houdini's cigarette holder!"
      As they approached the tree, the soldiers started shooting at them. "Guess they finally figured out where we are, huh, Pete?"
      "Looks like it. Weave, Claudia! It's harder to shoot a moving target."
      "Oooh, oooh! I see Artie! And Myka!"
      Pete and Claudia practically jumped into the open doors as Artie and Myka shouted in unison to hurry up, the doors closed almost before they were in all the way, the tires already screeching as Artie floored it. Before long, they were out of sight of the prison but still going as fast as the car could manage.
      Claudia sighed, and grinned with relief. "Boy, talk about a close call. I don't know how you managed that, but I'm grateful, guys."
      "Well," said Artie, "Pete used Harriet Tubman's thimble to pretend to be one of the guards, and gave you Harry Houdini's cigarette holder to," he made a hand gesture for illustration, "go up in smoke, as it were."
      Claudia put her hands behind her head and laughed. "Wow, that's just rad, Artie. All those years they told us smoking will kill you, and this time it saved my life. Now there's a major dose of irony for ya."
      Artie slid his glasses up his nose with one finger. "Yes, well, special circumstances. I'll refrain from punishing you, young lady, if you promise not to get yourself arrested again, okay?"
      "Yeah," Myka said with a concerned look on her face, "we were really worried."
      "Oh yeah," replied Pete. "Mexican prisons; they're like, number 3 on the list of places you really don't want to be in."
      Claudia nodded. "Yeah, I'll try harder next time."
      In his best Yoda voice, Pete said, " 'There is no try, there is only do.' "
      And, with the sound of their collective laughter filling the car, they rode off into the horizon.
[Fade out.]

(I have no idea if Houdini smoked, or if he used a cigarette holder.)

Crossposted from http://fayanora.dreamwidth.org

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