Marcus Hamilton fic for [livejournal.com profile] guinny_hamilton's birthday

Oct. 24th, 2007 03:14 pm
toxic_corn: Summer Glau is pretty. (hamilton rocks armani)
[personal profile] toxic_corn
Title: How the Mighty Have Fallen
Author: toxic_corn
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Joss is Boss, I own nothing.
Notes: Guinny wanted cracky Marcus Hamilton fic for her birthday. I'm not sure how cracky this is but it was the first thing that came to mind so I went with it. This partly stemmed from a conversation with [livejournal.com profile] nutmeg610 on how Marcus Hamilton could come back in the Angel Season Six comics. Takes place in my Marcus Hamilton crack-verse.


"I wanted a rainbow pop, mister!"


Marcus scowled down at the whiny kid in front of him, hating the snot-faced puke. "And you got one."


"Nuh uh!" The kid pointed indignantly at the photo on Marcus' truck. "That one's like, ten times bigger! And there's seven colors in a rainbow, not five."


Gritting his teeth, Marcus counted to ten. Since Angel had "killed" him - the Wolfram and Hart part of him - he'd lost his super-human strength, but if he wanted to knock this mouthy eleven year-old into next week, he could. Even before accepting the power of the Wolf, Ram, and Hart he'd been a strong guy.


"Haven't you ever heard the saying 'There's no proof in advertising?" he finally said.


"No." The kid glared at him belligerently.


Marcus sighed. "If I give you another one free of charge, will you go away?"


The kid nodded eagerly, reaching out for the popsicle Marcus offered him. When he'd come close enough, Marcus grabbed the kid by the front of his shirt and said in a silky, dangerous tone, "If you tell all your little friends you got a freebie off of me, I'll go to your house late at night- Oh yeah, I know where you live Ryan - I'll go to your house late at night, sneak into your room, and have my dog eat you alive from the bottom up so you can watch your body get chewed up into Alpo."


Right on cue, Isaiah popped up in the window, no longer a little puppy but a large, full-grown dog, all fang. At that moment, Isaiah bared those fangs and growled low in his throat, a warning.


A wet spot spread across the front of the kid's pants. Satisfied, Marcus released him. "Now go on. Get out of here."


The kid stumbled back, clutching his two popsicles. For a second, he seemed to not know how to respond. Then his face screwed up and he ran away in tears.


Marcus chuckled a bit then patted Isaiah on the head. "Okay, good job. Down, boy."


Isaiah settled on the floor in the cramped ice-cream truck, resting his massive head on his paws as he looked balefully up at his master.


"I know." Marcus sighed again. "That's the third kid this week; we'd better move onto the next town." He put the truck into drive and switched off the automatic music; one thousand times hearing "Pop Goes the Weasel" was more than enough.


"I'm starting to think the customer service industry isn't for me," he mused as he turned out of the neighborhood.


THE END

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