Fic, Schrödinger’s Raccoon, Sanctuary, 15
Oct. 30th, 2016 10:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredbassettTitle : Schrödinger’s Raccoon
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Becker, Stephen/Ryan, Claudia, Felix, Torrence
Disclaimer : Not mine (Felix is the brainchild of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lsellersfic and Torrence belongs solely to himself), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : This video tells you all you need to know.
A/N : 1) The wonderful world of Sanctuary was created bymysteriousaliwz 2) No raccoons were harmed in the making of this fic. 3) The same probably can’t be said of certain SAS captains. 4) I expect Torrence and Greebo would have a lot in common.
“He doesn’t look very pleased to see us,” Stephen commented.
“You wouldn’t look very pleased if you’d just died on your sodding birthday, Hart,” Becker snapped. In the pause that followed, the young captain had the grace to look apologetic. “Sorry, that was tactless.”
“And inaccurate,” Claudia said, staring meaningfully at the Visitor’s Pass clipped to the front of Becker’s tac vest.
He looked down. “Oh. OK, thanks.”
“Brew or a beer?” Ryan asked. Tact was never Becker’s strong suit, but in the circumstances, that was hardly surprising. Ryan looked up. “How long’s he staying, Management?”
“Long enough for him to play with his present,” a female voice said from the general vicinity of the ceiling. “Don’t say we never give you anything, Captain.”
“You mean apart from concussion?” Becker muttered.
“Better than herpes.” Stephen glanced in the direction of the kitchen and called, “Felix, whip up a birthday cake, mate, we got visitors!”
Ryan heard the oven door being opened, and two long tentacles snaked out into the hallway. One held a warm chocolate muffin, and the other had a can of cold beer. Becker looked like he was starting to feel marginally less annoyed. More tentacles followed, some with beer, some with mugs of tea and several with muffins.
“Your present’s out in the garden. Sorry it’s not wrapped.”
With a beer in one hand and a muffin in the other, Becker followed the others into the large communal living area and looked out of the floor to ceiling patio doors that led to a large and slightly scruffy garden that was currently playing host to a full-sized tank.
“That’ll play havoc with Norman’s lawn.” Stephen said. “Can we all have a go in it?”
Becker shot him a look that wouldn’t have been out of place on the face of a possessive four-year-old.
“I’ll take that as a no, shall I?”
“There might be… complications,” Ryan said, settling down on the sofa that overlooked the garden with his beer in hand.
“Compli… oh dear, that wasn’t quite what we had in mind,” the duty manager said, clearly doing her best to sound sincere rather than amused.
Becker shot a suspicious glance at the ceiling then stared out of the window. For a moment, he just looked puzzled then, in a wary voice, he asked, “Why are there a pair of furry legs sticking up from the front of my tank?”
“Because it looks like Torrence found your present before you did,” Stephen said helpfully.
“Torrence?”
“The arsey raccoon,” Ryan supplied.
“The arsey raccoon that’s capable of kicking your butt in a fight?”
“Yep, that arsey raccoon.”
Becker looked up again. “Ladies, I don’t suppose you’d mind…?”
The ensuing silence told the permanent residents all they needed to know, but as Becker continued to look hopeful, Ryan said, “You’re on your own, mate.”
Looking thoughtful, Becker finished his muffin, washed it down with the rest of the can of beer and then walked over to the tank. Even from where he was standing, Ryan could tell that the owner of the back paws was very, very annoyed. They were rhythmically kicking up and down in a way that would rip holes in anyone who got too close without appropriate protective clothing. But Becker hadn’t got into Her Majesty’s Special Forces without having a stubborn streak a mile wide…
He climbed up on the side of the tank and made a swift grab for both hind paws.
“Now he’s done that, what’s he going to do?” Stephen asked, leaning against the wall next to Ryan’s sofa and swiping a pull of his beer.
Becker tugged experimentally on the paws.
Ryan winced.
A banshee wail of pure rage ricocheted around the inside of the tank like a high velocity round.
“Schrödinger’s raccoon…” Stephen said. “If you open the lid, is it alive or is it dead?”
“My money’s on fucking furious…”
“He has eaten rather a lot of Felix’s cakes recently,” Claudia said, a sympathetic look on her face. “Isn’t one of you going to help him?”
“Marriage made in heaven, if you ask me…”
Claudia shot him a look. “Ryan, play nicely!”
He threw her a lazy salute. “Yes, ma’am, but if it ends in tears, I’m blaming you.”
“Don’t hurt him!” Claudia had a remarkably soft spot for the arsey raccoon. Probably because the little sod knew which side his bread was buttered on.
“I meant me,” Ryan commented as he sauntered over to the tank, where Becker was trying – without success – to rotate the current occupant of his birthday present by twisting his legs around. Judging by the sounds echoing around the inside, that wasn’t meeting with Torrence’s approval. “Having trouble, soldier boy?”
Becker glared at him. “Don’t call me soldier boy.”
Ryan cupped a hand around one ear. “Sorry, didn’t catch that over all the racket. You won’t get him out that way.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“You could try pulling from the inside…”
“Do I look like a complete fucking moron?” Becker stepped back and waved a hand at the wildly thrashing paws. “Be my guest.”
Ryan stepped up and caught both legs deftly in one hand. He’d had more practice at raccoon-wrangling than Becker. “Stephen, do me a favour, get me a bottle of olive oil from the kitchen!”
Torrence jerked his hind paws out of Ryan’s restraining hand and gave a kick that could have disembowelled anyone daft enough to have stood too close.
“Feisty little fucker, isn’t he?” Becker said with grudging respect.
“He put the f into both feisty and fucker,” Ryan agreed, making another grab for the paws. “Breathe out!” he ordered.
Becker obliged.
“Nice to know I’ve not lost my touch.” Ryan grinned. “But I meant him, not you. Torrence! Breathe out, then I’m going to pull!” He gave an experimental tug. The little sod really was thoroughly stuck. “Again!” This time, he thought he felt some movement as well as the violent kick he’d been on the receiving end of during a couple of their fights.
“He moved!”
“I know he did. Nearly took my fucking eye out. OK, one more go, then I’m fetching the olive oil….”
He pulled and this time Torrence started to move backwards like a very reluctant cork out of a bottle.
Becker clambered up onto the turret of the tank and opened the hatch, getting ready to claim his prize.
Ryan carried on pulling until Torrence had been completely extruded from the hole them, with a practised movement, he swung the raccoon around and flung him as far as he could into the bushes.
“Bit harsh,” Becker commented as he swung his legs into the hatch.
“You don’t know him as well as I do,” Ryan said, jumping down onto the grass.
A moment later, a black and white furry cannonball came flying out of the bushes and bowled him over. Ryan felt sharp claws tear his teeshirt as Torrence used him as a springboard. Ryan rolled over, spitting out grass, just in time to see a bushy tail disappear after Becker.
“Coming, ready or not!” Stephen called, earning himself a thump from Claudia.
“I’ve done my bit. You’re on your own now, soldier boy!” Ryan declared. “I’m sure one itty bitty lil’ole raccoon won’t be a problem for the Regiment’s finest…”
“There’s something we forgot,” the duty manager said sheepishly, as Ryan accepted another beer from Stephen and leaned back against the wall listening to the cacophony coming out of the tank.
“Sounds ominous, management…”
“It’s Torrence’s birthday today, as well. We’ve got a horrible feeling he thinks the tank is for him and you know he doesn’t like sharing his toys…”
“Tenner on the raccoon to win,” Ryan said brightly as Becker’s visitor’s pass came flying out of the turret of the tank. “Any takers?”
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Becker, Stephen/Ryan, Claudia, Felix, Torrence
Disclaimer : Not mine (Felix is the brainchild of
lsellersfic and Torrence belongs solely to himself), no money made, don’t sue.Spoilers : None
Summary : This video tells you all you need to know.
A/N : 1) The wonderful world of Sanctuary was created by
mysteriousaliwz 2) No raccoons were harmed in the making of this fic. 3) The same probably can’t be said of certain SAS captains. 4) I expect Torrence and Greebo would have a lot in common.“He doesn’t look very pleased to see us,” Stephen commented.
“You wouldn’t look very pleased if you’d just died on your sodding birthday, Hart,” Becker snapped. In the pause that followed, the young captain had the grace to look apologetic. “Sorry, that was tactless.”
“And inaccurate,” Claudia said, staring meaningfully at the Visitor’s Pass clipped to the front of Becker’s tac vest.
He looked down. “Oh. OK, thanks.”
“Brew or a beer?” Ryan asked. Tact was never Becker’s strong suit, but in the circumstances, that was hardly surprising. Ryan looked up. “How long’s he staying, Management?”
“Long enough for him to play with his present,” a female voice said from the general vicinity of the ceiling. “Don’t say we never give you anything, Captain.”
“You mean apart from concussion?” Becker muttered.
“Better than herpes.” Stephen glanced in the direction of the kitchen and called, “Felix, whip up a birthday cake, mate, we got visitors!”
Ryan heard the oven door being opened, and two long tentacles snaked out into the hallway. One held a warm chocolate muffin, and the other had a can of cold beer. Becker looked like he was starting to feel marginally less annoyed. More tentacles followed, some with beer, some with mugs of tea and several with muffins.
“Your present’s out in the garden. Sorry it’s not wrapped.”
With a beer in one hand and a muffin in the other, Becker followed the others into the large communal living area and looked out of the floor to ceiling patio doors that led to a large and slightly scruffy garden that was currently playing host to a full-sized tank.
“That’ll play havoc with Norman’s lawn.” Stephen said. “Can we all have a go in it?”
Becker shot him a look that wouldn’t have been out of place on the face of a possessive four-year-old.
“I’ll take that as a no, shall I?”
“There might be… complications,” Ryan said, settling down on the sofa that overlooked the garden with his beer in hand.
“Compli… oh dear, that wasn’t quite what we had in mind,” the duty manager said, clearly doing her best to sound sincere rather than amused.
Becker shot a suspicious glance at the ceiling then stared out of the window. For a moment, he just looked puzzled then, in a wary voice, he asked, “Why are there a pair of furry legs sticking up from the front of my tank?”
“Because it looks like Torrence found your present before you did,” Stephen said helpfully.
“Torrence?”
“The arsey raccoon,” Ryan supplied.
“The arsey raccoon that’s capable of kicking your butt in a fight?”
“Yep, that arsey raccoon.”
Becker looked up again. “Ladies, I don’t suppose you’d mind…?”
The ensuing silence told the permanent residents all they needed to know, but as Becker continued to look hopeful, Ryan said, “You’re on your own, mate.”
Looking thoughtful, Becker finished his muffin, washed it down with the rest of the can of beer and then walked over to the tank. Even from where he was standing, Ryan could tell that the owner of the back paws was very, very annoyed. They were rhythmically kicking up and down in a way that would rip holes in anyone who got too close without appropriate protective clothing. But Becker hadn’t got into Her Majesty’s Special Forces without having a stubborn streak a mile wide…
He climbed up on the side of the tank and made a swift grab for both hind paws.
“Now he’s done that, what’s he going to do?” Stephen asked, leaning against the wall next to Ryan’s sofa and swiping a pull of his beer.
Becker tugged experimentally on the paws.
Ryan winced.
A banshee wail of pure rage ricocheted around the inside of the tank like a high velocity round.
“Schrödinger’s raccoon…” Stephen said. “If you open the lid, is it alive or is it dead?”
“My money’s on fucking furious…”
“He has eaten rather a lot of Felix’s cakes recently,” Claudia said, a sympathetic look on her face. “Isn’t one of you going to help him?”
“Marriage made in heaven, if you ask me…”
Claudia shot him a look. “Ryan, play nicely!”
He threw her a lazy salute. “Yes, ma’am, but if it ends in tears, I’m blaming you.”
“Don’t hurt him!” Claudia had a remarkably soft spot for the arsey raccoon. Probably because the little sod knew which side his bread was buttered on.
“I meant me,” Ryan commented as he sauntered over to the tank, where Becker was trying – without success – to rotate the current occupant of his birthday present by twisting his legs around. Judging by the sounds echoing around the inside, that wasn’t meeting with Torrence’s approval. “Having trouble, soldier boy?”
Becker glared at him. “Don’t call me soldier boy.”
Ryan cupped a hand around one ear. “Sorry, didn’t catch that over all the racket. You won’t get him out that way.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“You could try pulling from the inside…”
“Do I look like a complete fucking moron?” Becker stepped back and waved a hand at the wildly thrashing paws. “Be my guest.”
Ryan stepped up and caught both legs deftly in one hand. He’d had more practice at raccoon-wrangling than Becker. “Stephen, do me a favour, get me a bottle of olive oil from the kitchen!”
Torrence jerked his hind paws out of Ryan’s restraining hand and gave a kick that could have disembowelled anyone daft enough to have stood too close.
“Feisty little fucker, isn’t he?” Becker said with grudging respect.
“He put the f into both feisty and fucker,” Ryan agreed, making another grab for the paws. “Breathe out!” he ordered.
Becker obliged.
“Nice to know I’ve not lost my touch.” Ryan grinned. “But I meant him, not you. Torrence! Breathe out, then I’m going to pull!” He gave an experimental tug. The little sod really was thoroughly stuck. “Again!” This time, he thought he felt some movement as well as the violent kick he’d been on the receiving end of during a couple of their fights.
“He moved!”
“I know he did. Nearly took my fucking eye out. OK, one more go, then I’m fetching the olive oil….”
He pulled and this time Torrence started to move backwards like a very reluctant cork out of a bottle.
Becker clambered up onto the turret of the tank and opened the hatch, getting ready to claim his prize.
Ryan carried on pulling until Torrence had been completely extruded from the hole them, with a practised movement, he swung the raccoon around and flung him as far as he could into the bushes.
“Bit harsh,” Becker commented as he swung his legs into the hatch.
“You don’t know him as well as I do,” Ryan said, jumping down onto the grass.
A moment later, a black and white furry cannonball came flying out of the bushes and bowled him over. Ryan felt sharp claws tear his teeshirt as Torrence used him as a springboard. Ryan rolled over, spitting out grass, just in time to see a bushy tail disappear after Becker.
“Coming, ready or not!” Stephen called, earning himself a thump from Claudia.
“I’ve done my bit. You’re on your own now, soldier boy!” Ryan declared. “I’m sure one itty bitty lil’ole raccoon won’t be a problem for the Regiment’s finest…”
“There’s something we forgot,” the duty manager said sheepishly, as Ryan accepted another beer from Stephen and leaned back against the wall listening to the cacophony coming out of the tank.
“Sounds ominous, management…”
“It’s Torrence’s birthday today, as well. We’ve got a horrible feeling he thinks the tank is for him and you know he doesn’t like sharing his toys…”
“Tenner on the raccoon to win,” Ryan said brightly as Becker’s visitor’s pass came flying out of the turret of the tank. “Any takers?”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2016-10-30 10:42 am (UTC)Bloody brilliant! So many good lines but I think my favourite is probably:
"Schrödinger’s raccoon…” Stephen said. “If you open the lid, is it alive or is it dead?”
“My money’s on fucking furious…”
And my money's on Torrence getting the tank!
no subject
Date: 2016-10-30 11:54 am (UTC)This was an utter joy to write.
no subject
Date: 2016-10-30 10:47 am (UTC)I do hope Becker gets to enjoy his tank and some other R&R later!
And speaking of Schrodinger - https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/51/ec/cf/51eccf4a6cb036a0dd592db32ec94845.jpg
no subject
Date: 2016-10-30 11:55 am (UTC)Incidentally to this, I've now just brought the Sanctuary masterlist up to date. It was lacking about 19 stories!
no subject
Date: 2016-10-30 11:19 am (UTC)I was howling like a banshee through the entire thing!
Poor Becker, poor Torrence (yes, I'm sorry for Torrence, too), poor tank!
“Schrödinger’s raccoon…” Stephen said. “If you open the lid, is it alive or is it dead?”
“My money’s on fucking furious…”
Exceptionally loud howl number one.
“Feisty little fucker, isn’t he?” Becker said with grudging respect.
“He put the f into both feisty and fucker,” Ryan agreed, making another grab for the paws. “Breathe out!” he ordered.
Becker obliged.
“Nice to know I’ve not lost my touch.” Ryan grinned. “But I meant him, not you..."
Exceptionally loud howl number two.
That was perfect, and could only have worked in Sanctuary! Brilliant. Just brilliant.
no subject
Date: 2016-10-30 11:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-10-30 11:27 am (UTC)After that video, this was just begging to be written!
Brilliant, m'dear. I have to say. My money's on Torrance as well.
no subject
Date: 2016-10-30 11:57 am (UTC)The masterlist is up to date now, as well. I;d let it get a bit behind, but that's now been rectified.
no subject
Date: 2016-10-30 06:04 pm (UTC)Jolly good re the master list :)
no subject
Date: 2016-10-30 05:56 pm (UTC)This is priceless!
no subject
Date: 2016-10-31 12:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-10-30 07:41 pm (UTC)My money would be on the raccoon too. Poor Becker ;)
no subject
Date: 2016-10-31 12:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-10-31 11:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-10-31 12:40 pm (UTC)I always find channelling Torrence easy. *g*
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Date: 2016-11-01 08:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-11-01 08:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-11-04 10:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-11-06 06:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-11-18 04:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-11-18 04:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-11-18 04:57 pm (UTC)*though now I need a Becker/Tank icon*
no subject
Date: 2016-11-20 08:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-11-20 01:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-10-29 08:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-10-29 09:51 am (UTC)