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Inculding:
Vegeta (DBZ) and Babylon 5, for ilyena_sylph
Alfred (DC) and Harry Dresden (DF) for voland444
J'onn (DC) and Hades (Disney) for arch_schatten
J'onn (DC) and Hades (myth) for arch_schattem
Vegeta & Babylon 5, for ilyena-slyph:
Arms crossed as he surveyed the Zokalo, Vegeta was not impressed. What was this place, the last refuge of the powerless and the pontificating? The 'last, best hope for peace'? This lot? Hah! If it weren't so tragic he'd be tempted to laugh. Peace was won by greater strength and tactical genius, as any student of Saiyan history would know. Not the interminable babbling these idiots called 'diplomacy'.
It wouldn't be so bad if they didn't all seem to believe that pile of crap. Take these bonehead Minbari. Yes, dividing your people into warriors and priests is a good idea, but then what you do is you kill the priests. Or at the very least isolate them on their own little planet to debate theology until their bony little heads explode. You'd eliminate half your problems, right there. And this Narn leader. A warrior-priest. Anyone see the problem there? And from what he'd heard, the man had been a true warrior once, even if he had very little power. What a waste! Though the Namek seemed to like him. Ah, the joys of being mottled green. And don't get him *started* on the pontificating wannabe-god in the tin-can suit. If it weren't for the power he sensed beneath that armour ...
Although ... his eyes slid sideways and his brows drew down as he caught another glimpse of the debate raging off to one side, and he had to concede that maybe, just maybe, there might be something on this rust-bucket worth coming to see. Still no power to speak of, but ... He smirked a little, and wandered over for a closer look, imperiously elbowing anyone in front of him out of the way.
The woman was in the last stages of exasperation. Looking at the pair of mewling little worms pestering her, Vegeta could hardly blame her. He was sure a lizard's voice wasn't meant to be that high-pitched and girlish, although Zarbon did spring irresistably to mind ... There. She snapped.
"Listen, I don't know who you are, I don't care who your ambassador is personal friends with, he is not my friend," she growled, low and with an air of deadly reasonability that he had to admire. "And if you don't get out of my way right now, he is not going to be anyone's friend, as I am personally going to throw him and every member of his species out an airlock! I am the Commander of this station, not the Captain's personal attendant, and I don't care what your customs for personal sharing are! Am. I. Clear." It wasn't even a question, and they positively cringed before her.
Vegeta's smirk grew wider, and she saw it. Turning to face him fully, she strode over, tossed her head back and glared at him, temper still storming in her eyes. Vegeta only came up to her chest, and ordinarily that might have annoyed him a little in a confrontation, but it was such a nice chest ...
"Something funny?" she asked, and there was a hint of breathlessness in it, where she was recovering after her little rant. He liked that. A surprising amount, actually.
"Just admiring a job well done," he answered, defiantly not dropping his smirk, arms crossed as he glared admiringly up at her.
"Well, go admire someone else, shorty," she snapped, obviously out of sorts. Vegeta sneered.
"If there were anyone one else here worth admiring, I might consider it."
She glared at him. "Listen," she said, sweetly. "If you think flattery is going to get you anywhere further than they got, then you're missing a few essential ingredients from beneath all that hair." And that said, she turned to walk away.
Vegeta shrugged. Words weren't his forte anyway, and it wasn't like he had anything better to do. Powering up just a little, he darted after her just above crowd level. He was looking forward to seeing if she was as good with her body as she was with her mouth. Whatever way you wanted to interpret it.
Alfred & Harry Dresden, for voland444:
Alfred frowned just a little as he looked at the long, lanky body folded precariously onto one of his kitchen chairs. No weight. No spare ounch at all. The boy obviously didn't look after himself. And that hand ... He needed looking after, this one. It wasn't Alfred's place, of course, but that didn't mean he didn't want to.
He pulled the kettle off the gas. The young man had taken one look at the electric one, and it had died a sparky death. Harry had hunched his shoulders in embarrassment, and tried to look like he wasn't over six feet tall. Alfred had had to hide a smile at that, it reminded him so strongly of Master Dick's teenage years. Although he conceded that there was a slight difference between knocking over highly-placed vases, and shorting out electrical appliances due to a 'high magical field'. But the sheepish embarrassment ... that never changed.
"So," he smiled, putting a hefty mug of tea down by his guest's elbow, and a suspiciously wide selection of biscuits beside it. "Allow me to understand this properly. You are here to investigate the presence of a demon in the basement of Wayne Manor?" The young man nodded with the kind of smile that said he didn't expect to be believed, and Alfred had to resist an urge to pat his hand. The things you learned to believe in this house ... "Might I ask who told you about this?"
Harry smiled uneasily. "Well, uh, I'm kind of in charge of the area, you see. Magically speaking. And there have been all these reports about a bat-demon, and my bosses have been breathing down my neck a bit, and I tracked the ... the aura here, and ..." He shrugged helplessly, and Alfred suppressed another smile. Master Bruce, you're fame is rather spreading, I see.
"A magical aura?" he asked, and smiled to show it wasn't in scepticism. At least, not about the existance of magic. But to his knowledge, Master Bruce was not a magical being, and a magical aura in the Batcave might indeed be a problem.
"Um, no." He raised a polite eyebrow, and Harry flinched a little. "It's, uh, an emotional one. From a spot the Batman was sighted. It's more like ..."
"Yes?"
Harry tucked his head into his shoulders. "Well, it's feels more like ... stubbornness, really. Determination, some anger, but, uh ... mostly stubbornness." And Alfred couldn't help his laughter. The boy looked on in utter bemusement as he chuckled softly into his tea, but Alfred didn't care. This was simply priceless.
When he'd subsided a little, he nodded gently to his confused guest. "Oh, I must agree. You're quite right there, Mr Dresden. Quite right." He suppressed another chuckle. "I do know what you mean, now, and I assure you that it is no demon, nor any kind of magical phenomenon. It is merely ... someone very, very stubborn. Not your problem at all. Though mine ..." He shook his head wryly, and Harry tried a tentative smile.
"Yeah, I figured," he answered. "I just thought somebody ought to tell you. In case, you know, you'd missed the Batman living in your basement."
Alfred allowed his face to grow stern. "I trust, of course, that your discretion may be counted on in this matter?"
Harry nodded rapidly. "None of my business. And I've got a secret or twelve of my own. Yours is safe with me!"
Alfred looked at him for a moment, measuring the suddenly grave and firm countenance, and smiled. "Yes. I do believe it is, Mr Dresden. I do believe it is." He stood, and Harry watched him a little warily. "So, now that we've gotten that out of the way ... Can I interest you in a homemade sandwich?"
The sudden flare of surprised hope was answer enough. Oh, yes indeed. This boy needed feeding. And Alfred knew just the thing ...
J'onn & Hades - Disney, for arch-schatten:
"You know, you really should learn to lighten up," the god grinned nastily, flicking an imaginary piece of dust off the Martian's shoulders. He pinched the malleable green cheeks, trying to force a facsimile of a smile. J'onn resolutely did not move his features, and the god let go with a hard frown of disappointment. "All you hero types are the same. No fun at all."
J'onn turned an impassive stare on the grey figure. "Your kingdom is hardly a place of laughter and joy."
Hades waved a hand in agreement. "True," he acknowledged. "But you should see it Saturday nights! People are practically dying to get in! You get it?" He appeared behind J'onn in a rush a flame that had the Martian stiffening, and nudged a sharp elbow into his ribs.
"Very ... Very droll," J'onn managed, and Hades tugged him around with a glare.
"You trying to be funny?" he snarled, and J'onn smiled his own little hard smile.
"Well, you did tell me to lighten up, didn't you?" he asked, softly, and the glow in his red eyes wasn't telepathy. The god's lips peeled back from his teeth as he leaned right in to the Martian's face, pushing the blue flame of his hair far too close for comfort, but J'onn kept his smile even as sweat dripped down his forehead and the tiniest of trembles appeared in his hands. Hades snarled silently at him, then suddenly smiled, and pushed him away.
"My apologies, my good Martian," he sneered, and raised one hand to let a little curl of blue flame play over his fingers. "I did not realise my, aha, hair-style offended you so." And the look he sent J'onn was cruel and gloatingly triumphant.
The Martian raised his head calmly, and set his features into a pitying look. "No, my lord Hades. It is your smell which, unfortunately, offends."
And he phased rapidly through the floor before anything more could be said.
J'onn & Hades (or Pluto, whichever takes your fancy) - Myth, for arch-schatten:
J'onn stared up, in some awe, at the throne of the Grey King. Hades stared back, his eyes deep and surprisingly lively in his wan, hollowed face. For the first time, J'onn sensed another mind in this place of the dead, fierce and cold and alive, and burning with lonely intelligence. The god watched him silently, one hand resting lightly on the empty throne beside him.
"You have made your way past my guardians," the grey king noted, almost absently. J'onn only nodded. A three-headed dog doesn't pose too much trouble, not when you're intangible. As far as Cerberus was concerned, J'onn was right where he belonged. It had only been the river of souls which had ... hurt, really. "Why, mortal?"
J'onn frowned a little, then allowed himself the touch of humour. "The same reason as most, I imagine. I do apologise for the cliche, your majesty." To his surprise, Hades smiled a little, at that.
"You get used to it," he intoned, and there was a weight of dry, hollow years behind the words. "At least it proves a distraction, at times. There is ... so little, here." J'onn nodded, the red weight of a dead planet in his mind, and offered a quiet, wry smile in sudden sympathy. The god tilted his head to one side, studying him.
"It is a difficult thing, to be alone," J'onn explained softly, and the Grey King nodded silently.
"It is indeed," he answered. "Very well, mortal. Name your companion, and I shall name my price."
"Bruce," J'onn whispered, voice cracking a little, and for a second he thought he saw empathy in the god's burning eyes. "I would have my mate returned, your majesty. Even for a little while. It was ... not his time."
"The time is not for mortals to decided," Hades answered, not unkindly. "But ... for a price ..."
J'onn nodded, his agreement unconditional. No price of his was too high. "Anything I may give you," he pledged, firmly. The god smiled sadly, and stood, coming down the steps beneath his throne to stand before his supplicant. And there, for a moment, he hesitated.
"It is ... some time before my wife ... my Persephone ... returns," he began, something that might almost have been embarrassment in his dark eyes. "I am ... lonely, mortal."
J'onn looked at him then, looked directly into the burning eyes of the god of death, and saw something there that was terribly familiar to him. Something small, and alone, and in need of some fragment of warmth, no matter how tiny. Something fearful, even as it yearned.
He nodded. "How long until your queen returns?" he asked, and the sudden, surprised glow in the hollowed features was nearly reward in and of itself.
"Not more than two months. Sixty days." The pale eagerness of the immortal voice was wounding in its sincerity. J'onn nodded, and laid a gentle hand of the grey arm.
"Then shall we wait for our mates together, your majesty?" he asked softly, and the hesitant smile he recieved was more beauty than had ever graced the lonely halls in the long months of summer, when the queen of the dead was gone from her husband's side.
