elrhiarhodan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
elrhiarhodan) wrote2014-10-26 02:14 pm
elrhiarhodan) wrote2014-10-26 02:14 pm
Entry tags:
Meme: Trick or Treat Drabble Meme
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sinfulslasher and like her, it’s awesome…
The first five ghouls who come trick-or-treating at my door will get at least a three-sentence drabble written.
Just comment with "trick or treat!" and leave me a prompt or just a preferred pairing or ‘verse if you want to be surprised. Then go ahead and post this in your own journal so I can come trick-or-treating at your place!
To facilitate your participation, the code for you to paste into your own entry…
sinfulslasher and like her, it’s awesome…The first five ghouls who come trick-or-treating at my door will get at least a three-sentence drabble written.
Just comment with "trick or treat!" and leave me a prompt or just a preferred pairing or ‘verse if you want to be surprised. Then go ahead and post this in your own journal so I can come trick-or-treating at your place!
To facilitate your participation, the code for you to paste into your own entry…
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The customs officer stared at him like he was dirt. But at least he was wearing glasses and Neal was able to read what was on the computer monitor in their reflection. It seemed that “Neal Caffrey” was still listed as a wanted criminal with an Interpol Red Notice issued back to 2004.
The officer picked up the red telephone and asked for backup.
Neal sighed and counted the seconds until a half-dozen armed police burst into the little room. He raised his hands and gave them his best and most charming smile. “I have to ask – why all the fuss? And since when do the British police carry guns?”
Of course no one answered,or maybe their violence was answer enough. He was yanked out of the highly uncomfortable plastic chair, slammed face-down on the table and cuffed.
“Neal Caffrey, you’re under arrest.”
Neal sighed again. There was a reason why he hated bureaucracy, despite his legitimate employment with an agency that had “Bureau” as its middle name. They push-pulled him out of the room and frog-marched him down a brightly light private corridor. "Guys – no need for this, I’m not struggling, see?"
They ignored him – or rather, they shoved him against the wall hard enough to make his ears ring.
The corridor was endless and Neal started to worry. He knew all about travelers getting caught up in legal limbo, detained in airports without access to anyone or anything for months.
They finally reached the end of the corridor and he was again slammed against a wall while they waited for a door to open. It wasn’t a cell, but what looked like an interrogation room. The chair and table were sturdy – they had to be because they had built-in shackles. Neal barely managed to keep quiet when they did the whole guns-pointed thing again, exchanging the handcuffs for the ones attached to the table, then adding ones around his ankles.
He held his breath as someone slammed a telephone down on the table. “Just so you can’t say we’re violating your civil rights, Mr. Caffrey, you can make one phone call.”
Neal knew he probably should just make the call, but he couldn’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth. “You’ve make a big mistake.”
The woman stared at him. “Oh? You’re not Neal Caffrey, wanted for art theft, forgery, counterfeiting, racketeering, fraud.” She dropped a file on the table, next to the phone – and there he was in all his pre-prison glory. Neal carefully flipped through the pages and was relieved at the contents. It was all old news.
“That Red Notice should have been pulled ten years ago. I was tried and cleared on almost all of these charges.”
“Really?” The woman’s skepticism was almost a tangible thing.
“Really. In fact, there’s a Certificate of Good Conduct in my wallet, signed by the Director of the FBI.” And Neal knew just how this chilly official was going to respond.
“You seriously expect us to believe that? According to the Red Notice, you’re wanted for several very spectacular forgeries. I doubt that your so-called Certificate of Good Standing is real.” She sniffed. “Make your phone call, but don’t expect to be going anywhere anytime soon.”
The door slammed shut and the lock clicked with a foreboding thud. Neal contemplated his options.
He could call Peter, who’d sort everything out and take a few heads in the process. However, it was nine AM here in London, which meant it was four in the morning in New York. Four in the morning on a Saturday. Not that Peter wouldn’t rush to the office and coordinate his release, except that Neal felt like a teenager who got picked up for speeding and needed to call his dad to fix the problem.
This wasn’t to say that he didn’t have someone who could help him out of this jam. Someone who was probably pacing the Arrivals lounge in ever increasing impatience. He made the call and prayed for a good connection.
“Sara?”
“Neal – where the hell are you.”
“How would you feel about breaking me out of jail, Repo?”
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I need the part 2 to this and I need it now!
And, you know, I never did get in on this, so maybe this could be my prompt!?!?!
*Bats bear eyelashes at Elr*
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