Log in

No account? Create an account

The Social Network: the kink meme!

It's Complicated: But sexy!

Mark Zuckerberg
The Sarcastic Kitty oresteia wrote in tsn_kinkmeme
Previous Entry Share Next Entry
[PART NINE] & Some News
Okay, I'm a little new at this so sorry if I mess this up first go. Because it's been 5 months since the last round even though we haven't been busy. I figured I might as well earn my keep and try to get this place alive again...




IMPORTANT: please DO NOT post prompts about any non-public people as part of a prompt. for example: randi zuckerberg is fine as she is a public figure both on the internet and on facebook itself. priscilla chan is NOT as she is not a public figure.

if you're in doubt, please message the mod or leave a comment in the discussion post.

♥ post requests and responses in the comments to this post.
♥ be respectful.
♥ both a pairing/character AND a prompt/kink must be posted.
♥ one pairing/prompt per comment please.
♥ you are encouraged to try and write a prompt for every request you make.
♥ we are slash, femslash, het, three-and-moresomes etc. friendly. (we are even incest friendly what with some of our characters being twins and all...)
♥ no pairing bashing, OK? no need to wank over ships.
♥ long and short fics welcome. multiple responses encouraged!
♥ please try to refrain from saying 'seconded!' as much as possible.
♥ on RPF: Please disclaim that it is RPF, a work of fiction and in no way related to the actual actors/persons/etc. (i wouldn't even try and discourage RPF from this meme ;))


♥ alphabetize pairings/threesomes/moresomes. (e.g. Eduardo/Mark/Sean etc.)
♥ put [RPF] before RPF prompts. (e.g. [RPF] Andrew/Jesse)
♥ for crossover prompts: "[Crossover], The Social Network Character(s)/Other Character(s), [Fandom]" (e.g. [Crossover], Eduardo/Columbus, [Zombieland])
♥ no "!" in pairings, only in descriptions. (e.g. Eduardo/Mark, FacebookCreator!Eduardo, CFO!Mark)
♥ anyone, everyone, no one? Use "Other." (e.g. Sean/Other)
♥ Please do not repost prompts from earlier rounds
♥ put [GEN] before GEN prompts.


♥ please don't embed. link to images/videos.
♥ no locked material. this includes communities, even if membership is open.
♥ fills can be posted anonymously or not.
♥ fills can be anything: fic, art, vid, fanmix, podfic, etc.
♥ all prompts are open to fills at all times, even if they have been filled in the past or are being currently filled by someone else. multiple fills are positively encouraged; if something appeals to you then do not be put off creating a new fill by the existence of a prior one.
NEW: ♥ PLEASE comment with the first of your fill to the PROMPT and then all future updates as a comment to the FIRST PART of the fill. this makes it easier for both the WIP spreadhseet and for archiving stuff on delicious. it also helps people who are trying to catch up on updates and don't have to look through every fill on the prompt (should it have more than one). thank you.

Hi, right now everyone is working on some changes so hold on new things are coming. In an effort to kick this place back into action, we're doing round 9. In a few days, we'll be setting up a fills post that hopefully will work directly for archiving and an overflow post. Also we'll be doing a friending meme at tsn_km_gather so be looking out for that. I know some of the other mods have plans of their own which will be coming soon.

If you have any questions or ideas that I can help you with, feel free to PM me. I'll be around.



have fun!

THERE WILL BE UNMARKED SPOILERS. enter at your own risk! :D


i know you guys are enjoying this meme and i appreciate that but please can you put the SUBJECT HEADER on your prompt. you would REALLY be helping me out if you could do that. it just saves time for me when i'm trying to tag everything in delicious.



AND PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE DO NOT repost prompts from parts three, four, five, six, seven, or eight. the delicious is around for people to find prompts they may not have already seen. We know there's been some issues but we're working on it with pinboard. No duplicates from this round either. THANK YOU.

Eduardo/Mark, BAMF!Eduardo

There's some kind of emergency situation at the Palo Alto house or Facebook. Eduardo ends up saving the day as a super badass.

I have just really been wanting to read some competent!Wardo, BAMF!Wardo fic recently. I'll probably do something for this myself, but I would really LOVE if anyone else is willing to do a fill.

fill: untitled (1/?) Eduardo/Mark, BAMF!Eduardo

[note: this is me, so though it the romantic pairing for this fic is M/E there will be a Sean & Eduardo bromance element]


So the night's going pretty well, with the tying of certain loose ends, member count rising as scheduled, and a party waiting for him only 5 miles away -- except for the part where Sean's suddenly about to get clocked, when he'd expected Saverin to just cry about it or stumble on out of there all tail between his legs.

And then there's all the shouting and the masked dudes with guns, making like they're storm troopers and like they're completely unaware it's not a fucking bank.

And then he makes a smart-assed remark, because this is what he does.

And one of those dicks, who'd clearly never heard of proportional response, jerks his gun over and fires with obvious intentions of shooting Sean in the stomach.

Except for the part where little Eduardo Saverin shoves both of his hands into Sean's chest and takes it in the fucking arm instead, and doesn't halt, doesn't pause, just lets out this sharp hiss between his teeth and hauls Sean into the hallway as everyone's screaming and multiple people are apparently still very determined to get a bullet or nine in him.

"There were three of them, right?" Sean hears as they huddle against the floor and the wall in front of him seems to move forward and back, wobbly. "So they can't afford to send anyone after us."

"That's--comforting. I guess," Sean wheezes, because the natural response to this series of events is hyperventilating like a motherfucker.

Not snaking toner boxes with your feet to stack on either side of them to block them from casual sight. Or gritting your teeth as you peel your jacket off and ignoring the blooming red spreading over the side of your left arm to dig in your fucking pocket for one of those pretentious, overpriced mini-swiss army knife sets. Probably real gold inlay. Jesus.

The guy's looking kind of pale, with a sheen of sweat over his upper lip that he wipes away the back of his hand, but still offensively alert. "They've got to have the wrong building."

"You think?" Sean shrieks and Eduardo slaps a damp palm over his mouth.

It tastes like blood.

I am going to swoon, he realizes in horror.

He's about to fucking swoon, in relative public, like it's Masterpiece Theatre up in this bitch, while college boy makes like some unholy cross between MacGyver, Rambo, and a fifth grader wearing daddy's suit to school for show and tell.

"I'm gonna," he begins to inform Eduardo, and then there's like white noise or something, his vision just snaps out, and he's waking up with his head in Eduardo's goddamn lap as the kid cuts a large swatch off his shirt and says, tightly, "You need to wake up and tie this. I can't make the knot."

So Sean sucks in some extra air, raises his head, and gets on that like the team player that he is.

His hands are only shaking a little as he takes in the ripped flesh and covers it quickly, flexing his arms with the next pass when he gets a grunt of, "tighter."

This is--really not how it was supposed to go.

A whole lot of strategic decisions had been predicated on Eduardo here being a whiny pushover.

It's not that Sean minds being an unmitigated asshole. He just fucking resents being a stupid one.

no, nope, he thinks as Eduardo lays a hand on the back of his neck and says in this gentle ass voice, that it was only a graze, really. this is not okay at all.

Re: fill: untitled (1/?) Eduardo/Mark, BAMF!Eduardo

this, is full of awesome. *swoons*

Re: fill: untitled (1/?) Eduardo/Mark, BAMF!Eduardo

OMFG, THIS! Jesus, I didn't know I needed this in my life until I read it. Now, I think I've seen the light. Oh, god! I can't wait to see Mark react to this whole situation. Also, BAMF!Eduardo is the hottest thing EVER.

And I really, really like your take on Sean! God, this is so amazing, seriously.

Edited at 2012-02-25 03:58 am (UTC)

Re: fill: untitled (1/?) Eduardo/Mark, BAMF!Eduardo

I really do <3 you so much.

Re: fill: untitled (1/?) Eduardo/Mark, BAMF!Eduardo


Re: fill: untitled (1/?) Eduardo/Mark, BAMF!Eduardo

I am going to swoon, he realizes in horror.


Re: fill: untitled (1/?) Eduardo/Mark, BAMF!Eduardo

I think this may need two versions...one Eduardo/Mark, the other Eduardo/Sean :). ...how can you always get me loving Sean?!

fill: untitled (2a/?) Eduardo/Mark, BAMF!Eduardo


Things are much more settled once everyone is all patched up and breathing properly.

They check the server room and it's locked, of course. Sean has a key, but it's with his keychain and resting on top of Simon's computer tower. Which is probably all splattered with coffee now, come to think of it.

Eduardo is sizing up their available resources and space constraints, Sean supplying a quick rundown of the general building layout, including all accessible rooms, entry and exit points, and a list of every object he can think of that's not nailed down.

It's not an exercise that fills him with overwhelming confidence. "Obviously, mistaken identity or whatever. So maybe we can just…"

Eduardo huffs in that bitchy little way of his. If it's a little reassuring to see that a spilled half pint or so isn't enough to bleed that out of him, that's between Sean and his god. "Oh, and who in there's going to reason with them? Mark's an even bigger asshole than you are."

Yep, still a charmer.

Once, back in his hometown, Sean had started fucking around with this pickup trunk in the top level of the Stanton Heights Mall parking lot. No good reason for it, but he and a couple of his boys had been doing lines and were feeling bored, and it was there—unlocked. They stole a couple CDs and took a twenty from the glove compartment, no big deal. But then a cop was doing the rounds and he caught them with the door wide open, poking around, and they had to split real quick.

Sean and Matty slid down under a concrete slab and onto the next level, feet scrambling and hearts pumping like gangbusters, and then ran like the devil himself was after them. They dodged past cars and ducked under railings, and they didn't stop running until they reached a Burger King parking lot 8 blocks away, where Matty used the payphone to collect call his mom--who thwapped them both over the head while hustling them into her station wagon and screaming in Spanish.

This is nothing like that.

For one thing, he's depressingly sober.

For another, the guy beside him has at minimum three solid and imminently practical reasons to want to see him permanently incapacitated or, at the very least, maimed. (Though, to be honest, this is balanced by the fact that if someone had been about to put Sean six feet under, Matty would have jumped the other fucking way.)

But mostly it's the pace: slow and methodical. They walk carefully and speak sparingly, in low voices. Eduardo halts at every corner and doorway like he thinks he's on a fucking SWAT team, motioning Sean back against the wall like that's gonna do any good, and peaking around before they continue forward.

"Where can I find a knife?" Eduardo asks after they've scouted the conference room, men and woman's bathrooms, janitor's closet, and Mark's office (which he never uses) and confirmed that the phone lines are down.

"um, in the breakroom. Second drawer under the coffee machine."

There's a flicker down his face when Sean hands it over, like he's weighing it in his mind as well as his hand, and checking with himself how far he's willing to go with it--marching through moral turnstiles. Click click click.

For that split second, in that lighting, he looks like a very dangerous man.

"Holy shit," Sean says, mind blown. He will never mock the corner-scoping again. "You're Batman. Christian Bale Batman."

Eduardo blinks and then shakes his head. He starts sifting through every bottle and container under the sink, muttering about jackasses who should have been left there to die, but he clearly doesn't mean it, so Sean ignores him to paw through the rest of the drawers and imagine what a Saverin-style bat cave would look like. He wonders if that makes Chris Alfred.

fill: untitled (2b/?) Eduardo/Mark, BAMF!Eduardo


"I'm a man of many talents," Sean broaches, finally, as he retrieves a couple water bottles from the fridge. "But siege planning, or defense, or whatever we've got going on here, is so outside my Venn Diagram of expertise that it's not even funny. So I hope you've been forming an actual plan to save your damsel in distress, and not just taking in the scenery."

"He's not my--"

At the twitch of Eduardo's eye, Sean shrieks gleefully, "Oh my god, you're in love with him!", though he obediently drops to a whisper as Eduardo makes desperate shushing movements. "And he's like your Selina Kyle. Oh, this is tragic. Or your Post-Joker Harvey Dent. Yeah, I like that. Let's keep it in the Nolan reboot family." At Eduardo's icy glare, he tones down the enthusiasm as well, adding only, "Ok, let's just stop him from being your Rachel Dawes."

"I actually followed all of that," Eduardo says and sighs, and Sean is just about to advise him to give up and embrace the geek (geek chic is cool now, ask Esquire), when they hear footsteps.

And all of Sean's life-long battle with insidious, persistent paranoia pays off in the most gratifying way, as his immediate, instinctive response is to pick up a chair and hurtle it towards the doorway.

It catches one of the masked guys in the chest just as he steps into view, knocking his body back to the floor and the gun out of his hand.


[damn you character limits!]

Re: fill: untitled (2b/?) Eduardo/Mark, BAMF!Eduardo - (Anonymous), 2012-02-25 06:29 am (UTC)(Expand)

fill: untitled (3/?) Eduardo/Mark, BAMF!Eduardo


The guy's name is James and he's having an only slightly better time than they are, apparently. When they haul him onto the chair and strip off his mask, his eyes are almost rolling like one of those startled horses. There's a steady stream of incoherent threats and even more incoherent excuses.

"You need to shut the fuck up," Eduardo says.

It'll probably make an even more awesome story, later, if he lies and claims that Eduardo follows that up by coolly reaching over to break a finger, mild and expressionless.

In truth, Eduardo totally does snap the dude's finger –- and dude does not look happy about that shit at all -- but his neck is deep red, threaded with veins, and he's almost shaking with rage.

"What you need to understand about me," Eduardo spits fiercely into the dude's face, left hand clamped over his mouth to muffle the shrill, panicked mewls as the right wiggles that broken digit, "is that I get emotional. That's what my father calls it, he's always—" Eduardo's chest hitches with a choked breath and he stretches the finger back far enough to make Sean a little nauseous. "And he's right, which you need to worry about. Because right now, with my friends in there with your fucking guns, when we haven't done anything to you people—I'm having a lot of emotions that you don't want me to use you to deal with."

"Yeah, he was having a seriously fucked up night before you even rolled in here," Sean adds helpfully. "And there's all this repressed homo-psycho-sexual drama with—"

Eduardo breaks another finger.

"So it's not that repressed."

Then the guy just starts blubbering, collapsing against Eduardo's chest and whining about some vault and bought off security guard, and how he'd just known this was the wrong Emerson, and he's seen every season of Oz, so he knows about all the gang rape and heroine addition and vicious stabbings and the drag queen makeovers and forced book eating.

The actual, pertinent facts they get out him are:
(a) his two buddies aren't the type to target practice and can't aim for shit and
(b) they are absolutely the type to show the cops they mean business by icing a hostage or two

(They are also informed that he loves his mom and Jesus, but that's not really a factor either way in their mutual agreement to tie his hands and feet with the 6 thin plastic ropes that were hugging the printer paper boxes, before stuffing him in the janitor closet.)

Eduardo's throat is smooth again, looking long and tan and fucking deceptively delicate.

"It really is a shame about the shirt," Sean says, stepping back a moment to take in the popped buttons, the wet rings under his arms, the increasingly red-black tinge of their make-shift bandage, the roughly scissored left side (a jagged pattern that probably matches the chunk missing from his own). "That was a nice shirt."

And they both start laughing, hushed and more than a little hysterical.


fill: untitled (4/?) Eduardo/Mark, BAMF!Eduardo


Eduardo picks up the 9mm that had skidded a few steps down the hallway. The safety’s still on and there are two rounds left. It’s both bad news and a good sign that James wasn’t lying to them—if he really just bummed it off a friend and didn’t bother to buy additional amo, then they must have actually expected a cakewalk (untrained, unconsidered, and not expecting to use them).

He watches Eduardo check the safety again and stick the gun in the back of his pants, motioning to the left with his good arm. Sean might have argued chair-throwers keepers, but he knows he’d spend the rest of the night worried about blowing his ass off. (See: chronic paranoia issues) (He could never sleep with the covers over his head either, as a kid. It just seemed like a better idea to fight the potential monsters off then die in his sleep of suffocation.)

They’re searching for a fire extinguisher, wrench, screwdriver, duct tape, PVC or metal piping, batteries, at least 2 desktop computers, and all the ethernet cords they can carry. Sean has decided that ignorance does sound, for the moment, like something that might be beneficial to his relative sanity.

“You know, Mark kissed me once when he was wasted as hell,” Sean starts as they’re tossing Mark’s office drawers for the batteries, with aims to break a little tension. Lighten the mood. Now that he thinks about it, Sean bets no one has tried to manage Eduardo’s mood, instead of demanding it, in his entire goddamn life. “And then he called me Wardo.”


At the disconcertingly familiar neck-reddening and narrowing of his eyes, Sean quickly clarifies, “I did not have sexual relations with that man.”

“Did you want to have sex with him?”

“That is not the point,” Sean says, “The point is—“ At Eduardo’s raised eyebrows he stalls, but then luckily finds a veritable treasure trove of yellow and black ethernet cords mixed in with a motherfucking screwdriver in a cardboard box underneath the desk . The crass exclusion of duct tape is a cutting (but acceptable under the circumstances that no one anticipated fighting off an armed assault, or inexplicably needing duct tape to do it) betrayal.

When he jostles the box cheerfully, Eduardo’s expression slides from dubious impatience to pleased, so it seems safe to disclose, “Ok, so I don’t remember that particular reasoning. But it’s been a very trying evening. I was almost shot.”

“I can’t imagine,” Eduardo says, mouth rueful.

Because there is absolutely no foreseeable future where that won’t be hung over Sean’s head at every opportunity.

He considers – if only for a momentary, split-second glitch in his extensive self-preservation programming – just giving himself up and ending it all now.

“The point might have been,” Sean says, refocusing on the present and tasting the words questioningly, “if you get Mark stinking drunk again, I bet he’ll make out with you.”

“You think I should drug my best friend in order to take advantage of him.”

“It didn’t so much sound like that in my head,” Sean admits, “Probably scratch that. My point was definitely less rapey.”

But after Eduardo snags Mark’s spare desktop, when they’re heading back to the break room to drop off their sweatily-gotten gains, he feels bound to clarify, “I don’t think he’s your best friend anymore. What with the lying to you for months, and plotting against you, and letting me talk all kinds of shit about you, and then that thing where--” At Eduardo’s expression, Sean determines that this point has been fully made. “Anyway! Now I’m thinking: cross off the alcoholic beverages, storming the room with 9mm touting bad guys should be aphrodisiac enough.”

“I’m not going to storm the room.” Eduardo appears to be horrified at the thought, which leaves Sean more than a little disillusioned.

Batman would storm the room.”

“Batman,” Eduardo corrects, eyes getting a faraway cast as he places the grey computer tower on the closest table and turns in a slow, panning circle--as in taking in the building’s infrastructure for the first time, “would come in from the ceiling.”


Edited at 2012-02-26 10:04 am (UTC)

Re: fill: untitled (4/?) Eduardo/Mark, BAMF!Eduardo - (Anonymous), 2012-02-27 02:20 pm (UTC)(Expand)

fill: untitled (5/?) Eduardo/Mark, BAMF!Eduardo

[in which our bromance continues, Sean is weird under pressure, and Eduardo continues to have Mark issues--the usual]


Eduardo’s moving quicker now, like everything has come together in his head, snapping his fingers and spitting out terse commands. As he pulls the fire extinguisher down from the wall--bandage now visibly tacky and wet, he sends Sean down the hallway for that old Dell Dustin hooked up with a projector in the conference room.

They make the trip to the janitor’s closet together (where Sean gets to chirp, “hi Jason!” and deliver a spunky hair tousle), Eduardo snagging a wrench and leaving him with orders to uncover the duct tape and tons of AA batteries. And replace the frayed ties at their captive’s wrists with strips of his sweatshirt.

Just as he’s going to bitch about using his teeth, Eduardo tosses the mini-swiss army knife over his shoulder. It smacks into Sean’s collarbone and bounces off, so he ends up doing this kind of dorky juggling dance to get ahold of it, but he understands about how some things work way cooler on television.

About 7 minutes later he finds his fearless leader on his knees with his head and shoulders stuck under the sink and employing some very inventive and creatively expressed curses. That answers where the pipe is coming from. He kind of has a nice ass. Objectively speaking.

If the objective person is super gay. God, Sean wants to wash out his brain now.

“This hostage crisis is bullshit and it’s making me gay,” Sean complains loudly.

Eduardo’s sigh is muffled but audible. “You’re just bored. I’m almost done.”

Sean takes his unspoken advice and begins to unwind and untangle the contents of his cardboard box, tossing out a phone cord and draping all the others over his arm or in neat, straight lines across the floor.

“oh,” Eduardo wiggles out suddenly to say, “can you get me a couple phone books?”


“Phonebooks can stop 9mm, .357 magnum, and .45 caliber rounds,” Eduardo relates, conversationally, as he puts the wrench to the fire extinguisher—duct tape, pipe, and other assorted metal clutter strewn out beside it on the table. They’d emptied it into the bathrooms, switching back and forth between the men and women’s and coughing, hacking, and ducking back outside for breath.

Sean watches curiously, head cocked. “So what’s the—“

“I’ve been thinking, slap on a metal sheet underneath and fasten them around our chests with the cords.” Eduardo pauses to swipe the back of his hand over his forehead and kicks over the screwdriver pointedly. “I’m going to need you to get the sides off those towers while I attach the barrel.”

“You’ve designed us bullet proof vests,” Sean states as he seats himself down on the floor, just to get it out there—for the record. He’s feeling pretty okay about just sitting there and gawking for a moment, dumbfounded, before tugging one of the computers towards him.

“Yeah, well, while you’ve been co-opting my meetings, kissing Mark’s ass, and snorting coke off sorority girls’ tits, I was sitting back on the East Coast in my dorm room.”

Sean grins to himself as he pops out a screw, tossing it towards the sink (he shoots, he scores!). “Been watching a lot of Mythbusters?”

“And several years of Shark Week,” Eduardo readily confesses, unscrewing the nozzle. “Though that’s less applicable.”

Once he’s pried off both side-panels, Sean hops back up to peer over Eduardo’s shoulder and see what the satisfied hum was all about. The pipe is wedged tightly into place, and he holds the tape roll steady as Eduardo tears off shiny, black strips.

At the sight of a fully constructed air cannon being pressurized, Sean now gets where the batteries come in. “Jesus fucking christ.”

Eduardo shrugs. “I have cousins.”

“Are they are on terrorist watch lists?”

fill: untitled (6/?) Eduardo/Mark, BAMF!Eduardo


They splash their faces with water and slick their hair back, crack their necks. Sean’s suited up first and it’s a heavier weight than expected, the harness cutting into the meat of his shoulder, but manageable.

There’s the faint sound of an angry shout turned cut-off scream as Sean is fastening their poor-man’s Kevlar to Eduardo’s chest, and for a second he honestly does not know what freaks him out worse -- the possible significance of that noise or the way Eduardo’s aura of calm decisiveness just flat-lines into crippling terror -- and Sean slaps his face in knee-jerk panic as it drains of color.

It’s a good hard one that definitely worked, because Eduardo’s hand snaps out to slap him right back, which Sean takes like a man.

Well, a man who does not actually engage in much physical violence.

In other words, there’s a little cringing and jaw stretching as he cautiously edges back over to lay a hand on Eduardo’s shoulder and say, as gentle as you might talk to cornered wild animal (or a desperate man with a barely concealed weapon), “Hey, it doesn’t even sound like him,” squeezing lightly and probably not lying. “Dustin’s way too much of a pussy to start shit and Mark will bide his time because he knows we’re out here and you wouldn’t let him down.”

“You sure about that,” Eduardo grits out with this bitter twist to his mouth. And since everybody is making expressions again, Sean allows himself to groan.

“I think this is a little different than the very foolhardy and short-sighted decision not to share a house with yours truly.”

He shakes it off as Sean watches, color and focus flooding back in. “As last words go, I’d prefer something not involving sandals and sworn vengeance.” Eduardo sighs, but it’s just that now-familiar gallows humor one. “I’m funny like that.”

“And it didn’t sound anything like him. Now let’s get you some fucking Gatorade.” He’s not liking the pain lines at Eduardo’s eyes and exhaustion haunting the edges of his frame, pushed back only by extreme stubbornness and probably an insatiable desire to prove Sean wrong in every humanly (and inhumanely) way possible.

“Thanks,” Eduardo says a few minutes later as he’s flinch-sipping that god awful lemon one (since Eric always cleans out the raspberry first and Dustin loves anything orange). The word comes out awkward and mumbled, and Sean valiantly pretends to not hear it--like how they’re back to pretending that there’s not much riding on what they’re preparing to do.

He pauses, then offers, "You know, we've been home-brewing. It was that black jug in the corner. Andrew got this mail-order kit."

"We are not pre-gaming our rescue operation,” Eduardo says decisively, all hesitation fled.

"Not even just to take the edge off of mortal peril?"


"At least he was right that you’re no fun,” Sean remarks, and Eduardo appears torn between ignoring him like a disobedient child and pistol whipping him.

He finally settles on, "Mark doesn't always know as much as he thinks he does.”

"Clearly," Sean says, rolling his eyes. "Man, at this point I would fully believe that you can reassemble an AK-47 with your eyes closed."

"Not without some very detailed diagrams," Eduardo deadpans.

"Hey now, none of that! I am far too young and impressionable to have my blossoming hero worship sullied in this fashion."

It’s after Eduardo says, “shit, oh, we need a ladder,” and they march back to grab it and wave at their delightfully traumatized captive, that Sean notices Eduardo eying him a bit, a little questioningly, and then he mentions, off-hand, "I'm starting to think more than half the reason you’re always stirring it up is that you can't take awkward silences."

"Also, you tend to be a dick to me,” Sean says, hitching the ladder up higher on his shoulder, and a reluctant chuckle escapes from Eduardo’s throat.

The only downside is now he has that whole that ‘got your number’ face on, which would normally force Sean to immediately act out in wanton and destructive ways, except he’s not a fucking moron—he just acts it sometimes for shits and giggles.


Edited at 2012-02-28 06:55 am (UTC)

Re: fill: untitled (6/?) Eduardo/Mark, BAMF!Eduardo - (Anonymous), 2012-02-28 07:28 am (UTC)(Expand)

fill: untitled (7a/?) Eduardo/Mark, BAMF!Eduardo


The game plan is predictably basic, since they don’t have much to work with and (despite some appearances to the contrary) if either of them were black ops professionals or KGB agents in another life, they don’t remember shit. Eduardo lays it out on the conference room white board in quick, broad strokes.

There’s a thick metal beam stretching across the ceiling, overlooking the main floor. It has several supports and should be sturdy enough, just wide enough, for their purposes. There’s a point where the hallway curves around towards reception, before it dead ends in the back door to the presentation room where they’d been housing their hopefully still breathing legal team. (Everyone hates lawyers, probably lost and deranged gunmen especially, so Sean’s not placing any bets, you know, but fingers crossed.) (If Eduardo’s fingers are slightly little less crossed than his—understandable). If they hear anything, it’ll be in their best interest to keep quiet about it.

Right before the door there’s a sizable crawl space that leads into the catwalk in question, where building maintenance can boost themselves up for electrical repairs.

“That’ll be a tight fit with the extra padding,” Eduardo says idly, sketching the cubical layout, “but you’re in good shape and it’s just a couple feet, so suck it in.”

The idea is that even these brain trusts aren’t going to fire up at a steel surface, in case the bullets bounce off into their faces, so it should be relatively safe (emphasis on relative) to stuff some AAs into the air cannon and cause some real inconvenience and pain. And then they’ve filled a carton with staplers, computer speakers, and two letter openers for additional sallies, if necessary. The total fucking chaos that ensues should allow Eduardo to expose himself enough to use their two only bullets with maximum effect while keeping an eye on the hostages.

Edited at 2012-02-29 07:53 am (UTC)

Re: fill: untitled (7b/?) Eduardo/Mark, BAMF!Eduardo - (Anonymous), 2012-02-29 07:14 am (UTC)(Expand)
Re: fill: untitled (7b/?) Eduardo/Mark, BAMF!Eduardo - (Anonymous), 2012-02-29 01:37 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: fill: untitled (7b/?) Eduardo/Mark, BAMF!Eduardo - (Anonymous), 2012-02-29 02:45 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: fill: untitled (8b/?) Eduardo/Mark, BAMF!Eduardo - (Anonymous), 2012-03-01 11:31 am (UTC)(Expand)
(Deleted comment)
mod - thisissirius, 2012-03-08 06:37 pm (UTC)(Expand)
(Deleted comment)
Re: MOD - poose78, 2012-03-08 07:09 pm (UTC)(Expand)