CHALLENGE: LACROIX'S SHINY PRETTY GARBAGE
by Libby Smith Singleton

DISCLAIMER: These are not my characters. Permission to archive at
fkfanfic.com as well as the corresponding 'fkfanfic' sites and Screed's/Greg
Kramer's
semiofficial websites. All others please ask first. No, this was not beta
read. Yes, you can send comments directly to me at _Libratsie@..._
(mailto:Libratsie@...)

CHALLENGE: In celebration of Greg Kramer's March birthday. The challenge is
to write a story, song/filk or poem about Screed and his birthday suit. Any
definition of birthday suit is allowed as long as it follows FKFIC-L's list
rules.

****

"I do not want this carouche rummaging through my garbage," LaCroix said
through clinched teeth.

"It's just garbage, LaCroix," Nick said.

Urs stepped slightly forward, shifting slightly from foot to foot
nervously. "If... if it's the mess, I'll clean it up."

"That is not the point although I do not appreciate empty cans and
bottles littering my alley. It attracts vermin."

Screed stuck his head out from beneath a table. "And fattens the
squealers up right nicely, too. Gives them a taste h'as sweet h'as wine from
the
vino. Ya kin't blame a droog fer..."

"Shut up, Screed!" Nick, Urs, and Vachon said simultaneously. LaCroix
was much too old and powerful to say "shut up," so he demanded, "Silence!"

Vachon scratched his head. His head as in Vachon's head, not LaCroix's.
Vachon was a slacker, not stupid. "What if I have a talk with Screed?" he
asked. "Screed's stubborn, but maybe if you let him live this time..."

"And let ol' Screed keep 'iz prezzie," Screed interrupted.

Vachon shrugged, "And let him keep it this once. I'll convince him to
keep his dumpster diving away from The Raven."

"Besides, LaCroix, you threw it out because it was worn out," Nick said.
"One man's trash is another man's treasure."

"That," LaCroix pointed at Screed's hiding place, "is not a man. It is
not even a proper vampire. It is a carouche! It drinks animal blood,
Nicholas, much like you."

Urs and Vachon looked everywhere except at Nick. Screed, however, looked
directly at him, grinning. "'Ey, defect-a-tive Knight-night, makes us
practically brudders, eh?"

What resembled a growl escaped from LaCroix's mouth. "No, it does NOT!"
A threatening glare in Screed's direction caused the carouche to retreat as
far back under the table as he could manage.

Urs moved silkily to LaCroix's side, running a hand up his chest while
gazing up into his eyes. "Please?"

LaCroix sighed. "Okay, he can keep it if you insist. This one time."
He took Urs' arm and led her towards his living quarters. Right before
reaching the door, he looked over his shoulder. "That... thing is not to wear
the
suit here. In fact, he is not to wear it within two kilometers of The Raven.
Is that understood?"

"We'll make sure he does," Nick agreed. "Thank you."

Without acknowledgment, LaCroix opened the door for Urs, then slammed it
behind them.

Screed scurried out from beneath the table, nearly crawling out of his
pants in the process. He stood, grinning and holding up the suit trousers
with one hand while brushing the stained jacket's lapel with the other. The
Armani suit was very baggy. "A bit o' wear an' tear an wine ta be sure,"
Screed
admitted. "But never did a droog 'ave a better birfday suit, eh?!"

"Happy birthday, Screed," Nick said.

"Tha' ol' Screed will do, you kin put a fiver h'on it ta win, place an'
show." The carouche left the Raven, holding up the pants with both hands in
order to walk.

"Thanks, Nick," Vachon said. "You've made his day."

"Not a problem," Nick assured him.

"Anything to get under LaCroix's skin, huh?"

Nick smiled slightly. "No comment."

-end-









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