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anythingdrabbleTitle: 'Clown Prince'
Fandom: Original Fiction
Characters: Original
Word Count: 300
Rating: G
Notes: Crossposted toficlet_zone
Summary: There's a trick to it all, of course.
He prides himself on being the lifeline of the team. Their clown prince, as it were. With a bulletproof spirit, he cracks a joke, and flings blarney, better than the best of them.
In his day, he's been known to intimidate their enemies, of whom there are a good number, just by flashing a cocky smile. Lit a cigar with casual aplomb in the midst of chaos, only to light a fuse with its burning tip. And then laughed as the plans he'd helped to thwart were reduced to so much smoking rubble.
There's a trick to it all, of course. There'd have to be a trick to it. Stay steady on your feet, when things get their shakiest. Always keep them guessing, whether they're friend or foe.
But sometimes the punchlines fall flat, no matter how well they're crafted. A clever witticism, timed slightly off, is met with a stony silence. The delivery, no matter how well he means it, doesn't always quite play. Then the charade is in danger of falling apart, splintering into fragments.
He recoils from the notion of letting that happen before witnesses. Better to hide that away beneath the surface, in the dark, where the others he cares for can't find it.
They need their clown prince too much. Need him to grin defiance at their enemies, and get into those enemies' heads with one mind game after another.
That's the curse of being on, to use a show business term, so often. It's expected to be his default setting. For the crew that he's a part of, there's no such thing as after hours, of taking time off.
There's nothing to do but keep going. Keep the smile plastered on, and the jokes fast and plentiful.
It's part morale, and part distraction.
Fandom: Original Fiction
Characters: Original
Word Count: 300
Rating: G
Notes: Crossposted to
ficlet_zoneSummary: There's a trick to it all, of course.
He prides himself on being the lifeline of the team. Their clown prince, as it were. With a bulletproof spirit, he cracks a joke, and flings blarney, better than the best of them.
In his day, he's been known to intimidate their enemies, of whom there are a good number, just by flashing a cocky smile. Lit a cigar with casual aplomb in the midst of chaos, only to light a fuse with its burning tip. And then laughed as the plans he'd helped to thwart were reduced to so much smoking rubble.
There's a trick to it all, of course. There'd have to be a trick to it. Stay steady on your feet, when things get their shakiest. Always keep them guessing, whether they're friend or foe.
But sometimes the punchlines fall flat, no matter how well they're crafted. A clever witticism, timed slightly off, is met with a stony silence. The delivery, no matter how well he means it, doesn't always quite play. Then the charade is in danger of falling apart, splintering into fragments.
He recoils from the notion of letting that happen before witnesses. Better to hide that away beneath the surface, in the dark, where the others he cares for can't find it.
They need their clown prince too much. Need him to grin defiance at their enemies, and get into those enemies' heads with one mind game after another.
That's the curse of being on, to use a show business term, so often. It's expected to be his default setting. For the crew that he's a part of, there's no such thing as after hours, of taking time off.
There's nothing to do but keep going. Keep the smile plastered on, and the jokes fast and plentiful.
It's part morale, and part distraction.
