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FIC: Used Bike for Sale [Gundam Wing, Hilde]
Title: Used Bike for Sale
Author: Omnicat v''v
Rating: K
Genre: General, Humor
Spoilers & Desirable Foreknowledge: None, really.
Warnings: None.
Pairings: Hilde x Duo
Disclaimer: *needs to find a well-phrased yet witty standard answer for this*
Summary: Hilde was trying to sell an old bike. Emphasis on the past tense.
Author’s Note: Random snippet. I’m re-reading Harry Potter and actually just want to indulge in lengthy descriptions of enchanted snowball fights, but... well, I’m reading, I don’t feel like taking that much time off.
Used Bike for Sale
Ring ring riiiiiiiiing. Ring ring riiiiiiiiing.
Cursing lightly under her breath, Hilde hopped over to the living room, nail kit and dripping washcloth in hand and leaving soapy footprints on the linoleum floor.
Ring ring riiiiiiiiing.
“Oh, shut up,” she groused, plonked down on the couch, planted her feet on the table, and reached for the ‘sound’ button on the vidphone. “Hilde Schbeiker, how may I help you?”
“Schbeiker? Yes, hello, this is Arthur Richter. I’m calling about your ad for the bike.”
Hilde’s head snapped to the vidphone. Shit. In all the commotion, she had totally forgotten about that. The urge toward slow, bloody murder, preceded by a period of extended torture and possibly a nice long mortal-fear filled chase, which had only just begun to dissipate, returned at full force. Slapping the cloth back around her neglected toes, she forced her voice to sound normal.
“Oh, right. Sorry I can’t come on the screen, you caught me at a busy time.” she said, hoping he’d mistake the blaring of the stereo for industrial noise. Shouldn’t be too hard with the current album. “But please, don’t feel rushed.” she added, feeling sadistic.
“Ah. Alright. So, I take it the bike is still available?”
“Certainly. And I may assume you’re not just calling out of idle interest?”
“Of course. It’s a beautiful machine, I’d feel lucky to own a bike like that.”
A rapid succession of pride, grief and annoyance twisted Hilde’s face as she started scrubbing at her toes again. “Thank you. We put a lot of work into it back in the day.”
“I just have a couple of questions I’d like to ask first.”
“Of course. Fire away.”
“I’ll get this out of the way first - is the price negotiable?”
Hilde suppressed a growl and squeezed suds and water all over her leg and coffee table. “Yes. Yes - we actually just decided to make the price negotiable.”
“Oh, okay. Second... the condition of the bike says ‘used’, but doesn’t give any details. So I was wondering how to interpret ‘used’.”
“Well - you know... Used. Seen a lot of use. Well-used.” she choked out. A sudden rush of memories and emotion made her fear her voice might crack. “We always used to take such good care of it.”
She wished she had something to hit other things with.
“So, used, but in good condition? You’re Miss Hilde Schbeiker of Schbeiker Salvaging, right? That would be your expert opinion?”
Sheer rage made her want to say yes. Yes, it is. As you can see from the pictures, it’s a highly customized motorbike, one of a kind. All modifications were done by hand, with painstaking attention to detail, because between the two of us we’ve got perfectionism down to a T. We’re parting with it now, but we used and cherished it for years. Just weeded out the latest bug, too. My expert opinion, unaffected by conflict of interest, would be that it’s currently in excellent condition.
Currently.
That’s what she would have said two days ago. Before...
The music stopped. One particular muffled thump-thump-thump rhythm refused to die away with it. Hilde threw down her cloth and pressed the palm of her hand into the bridge of her nose.
“No, Mr Richter. My expert opinion would be that it’s a pile of scrap metal with no use to anyone but the deranged lovechild of a do-it-yourself bike builder and a neurotic puzzle freak. My expert opinion would be that my boyfriend deserves his two broken legs for totalling a priceless work of engineering art in a fit of sentimental idiocy, and in no way deserves my loving care. Excuse me, Mr Richter, but I need to go wipe his ass and then kick it. I suggest you go looking for a different bike. Goodbye, Mr Richter.”
Click.
PSAN: *loves not having to come up with titles :D *
Author: Omnicat v''v
Rating: K
Genre: General, Humor
Spoilers & Desirable Foreknowledge: None, really.
Warnings: None.
Pairings: Hilde x Duo
Disclaimer: *needs to find a well-phrased yet witty standard answer for this*
Summary: Hilde was trying to sell an old bike. Emphasis on the past tense.
Author’s Note: Random snippet. I’m re-reading Harry Potter and actually just want to indulge in lengthy descriptions of enchanted snowball fights, but... well, I’m reading, I don’t feel like taking that much time off.
Used Bike for Sale
Ring ring riiiiiiiiing. Ring ring riiiiiiiiing.
Cursing lightly under her breath, Hilde hopped over to the living room, nail kit and dripping washcloth in hand and leaving soapy footprints on the linoleum floor.
Ring ring riiiiiiiiing.
“Oh, shut up,” she groused, plonked down on the couch, planted her feet on the table, and reached for the ‘sound’ button on the vidphone. “Hilde Schbeiker, how may I help you?”
“Schbeiker? Yes, hello, this is Arthur Richter. I’m calling about your ad for the bike.”
Hilde’s head snapped to the vidphone. Shit. In all the commotion, she had totally forgotten about that. The urge toward slow, bloody murder, preceded by a period of extended torture and possibly a nice long mortal-fear filled chase, which had only just begun to dissipate, returned at full force. Slapping the cloth back around her neglected toes, she forced her voice to sound normal.
“Oh, right. Sorry I can’t come on the screen, you caught me at a busy time.” she said, hoping he’d mistake the blaring of the stereo for industrial noise. Shouldn’t be too hard with the current album. “But please, don’t feel rushed.” she added, feeling sadistic.
“Ah. Alright. So, I take it the bike is still available?”
“Certainly. And I may assume you’re not just calling out of idle interest?”
“Of course. It’s a beautiful machine, I’d feel lucky to own a bike like that.”
A rapid succession of pride, grief and annoyance twisted Hilde’s face as she started scrubbing at her toes again. “Thank you. We put a lot of work into it back in the day.”
“I just have a couple of questions I’d like to ask first.”
“Of course. Fire away.”
“I’ll get this out of the way first - is the price negotiable?”
Hilde suppressed a growl and squeezed suds and water all over her leg and coffee table. “Yes. Yes - we actually just decided to make the price negotiable.”
“Oh, okay. Second... the condition of the bike says ‘used’, but doesn’t give any details. So I was wondering how to interpret ‘used’.”
“Well - you know... Used. Seen a lot of use. Well-used.” she choked out. A sudden rush of memories and emotion made her fear her voice might crack. “We always used to take such good care of it.”
She wished she had something to hit other things with.
“So, used, but in good condition? You’re Miss Hilde Schbeiker of Schbeiker Salvaging, right? That would be your expert opinion?”
Sheer rage made her want to say yes. Yes, it is. As you can see from the pictures, it’s a highly customized motorbike, one of a kind. All modifications were done by hand, with painstaking attention to detail, because between the two of us we’ve got perfectionism down to a T. We’re parting with it now, but we used and cherished it for years. Just weeded out the latest bug, too. My expert opinion, unaffected by conflict of interest, would be that it’s currently in excellent condition.
Currently.
That’s what she would have said two days ago. Before...
The music stopped. One particular muffled thump-thump-thump rhythm refused to die away with it. Hilde threw down her cloth and pressed the palm of her hand into the bridge of her nose.
“No, Mr Richter. My expert opinion would be that it’s a pile of scrap metal with no use to anyone but the deranged lovechild of a do-it-yourself bike builder and a neurotic puzzle freak. My expert opinion would be that my boyfriend deserves his two broken legs for totalling a priceless work of engineering art in a fit of sentimental idiocy, and in no way deserves my loving care. Excuse me, Mr Richter, but I need to go wipe his ass and then kick it. I suggest you go looking for a different bike. Goodbye, Mr Richter.”
Click.
PSAN: *loves not having to come up with titles :D *