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[drabble][DCU, Rogues, Wally, Holt, PG] Too Darn Hot
Title from the Cole Porter song.
Title: Too Darn Hot
Fandom: DCU
Rating: PG-ish
Word Count: 915
Characters: Rogues, plus Wally and a bit of Michael Holt
Summary: It's miserably hot in the Twin Cities.
It's the middle of summer and it's so hot Len is considering icing himself with his cold gun, if only to stop hearing the jokes about how it's a heatwave, get it, Heatwave?
"We got it, Tricks. Shut up."
"That joke was old when you said it five days ago."
Back when the heatwave was only three days long. Three days after Flash caught them in the middle of a heist and now Mark is damn near tearing his hair out trying to fix his wand. Everyone had gotten desperate enough to accept Piper's help in fixing it. The fact that Piper had volunteered to help is testament to the ridiculousness of the heatwave.
The rest of them, meanwhile, had vied for space in front of the rattling air conditioner.
"I don't know why you're all so irritable. I think this is great." The aforementioned human Heatwave says, gleefully ignoring the glares sent his way. It's hot enough that Mick had actually taken off his suit for once and if Len weren't currently dying he'd find it very distracting. The man's built like a tank under his gear and Len would be more annoyed that Mick kept the suit on so much if it didn't cling so nicely to Mick's hips and thighs.
"You know what's a good idea?" Trickster asks from where he was puddled on the floor.
"If you shut the hell up?" Digger retorts. He'd been on the couch all day. Len's half certain his skin's been fused to the cushions.
"This is a good idea! And actual serious idea!"
"If it's about filling a dumpster with ice," Len say flatly, "and let it melt until it turns into a pool, we tried that eight times already."
"And every time a bunch of bleeding civvies manage to kick us out of our own bloody pool," McCulloch finishes. Len grunts but says nothing. The first attempt at a pool Len had done in secret, waiting for the water to get warm enough to invite Mick in, just the two of them, but the other Rogues had found it first, stripped to their underwear and splashing around before Len could fend them off. What made it all worse, Len thinks, is that they weren't even intending to be cockblocks.
"What about snow cones?" Trickster says. "We could make a killing on shaved ice!"
Digger's eyes go wide. "Oh shit- snow cone cocktails would be bonzer."
"And which one of you would be willing to get the ingredients?" Len asks.
Everyone falls silent. Mick sighs. "I'll get it. Babies."
After he leaves, McCulloch mutters to no one in particular, "Still takes his coffee hot, the barmy eedjit."
The four lapse into a miserable, stinking silence as they wait for Mick's return.
Scarcely a minute later there's a knock on the door. They trade looks. Eventually, because- through an intense conversation of eyebrows -no one is going to get up to answer it, Len calls out, "It's open!"
There, in the doorway, is Flash. The Rogues look at him, momentarily not comprehending the presence of their arch enemy. Trickster rubs his eyes. "Is anyone else hallucinating Flasher? Or am I just lucky?"
Flash snorts. "I'm really here."
"How did you even find us?"
"Ran into Heatwave. He pointed us here."
Len bristles though he isn't sure if it was in defense of Mick because he wouldn't do something that stupid, or in anger because Mick might have done something that stupid. He deflates when he saw who's behind Flash: Mr. Terrific, whose face is beaded with sweat and his trademark jacket in hand. "Did you come to fix the wand?"
"I'll see what I can do." Mr. Terrific tugs at his shirt collar. "I can't believe Heatwave doesn't seem to mind this-"
"Heatwave?" Flash asks with a crooked grin. Trickster flips him a thumbs up.
Mr. Terrific glares. "I can still leave."
"Don't. Please don't. I don't know how anyone hasn't combusted yet. It's March for crying out loud!"
The man shakes his head and walks in. The Rogues all flop a hand out, pointing down the hall to where Mark can be heard cursing faintly. As Mr. Terrific goes to help out, Flash leans against the wall and says, "I'd make a comment about how pathetic you guys are acting but I'm seriously considering redesigning my suit."
"What, like shorts?" McCulloch eyes Flash's legs for a moment. "Won't that chaff?"
"If I was running, maybe. Not really planning on doing that unless I really have to."
"But couldn't you just," Trickster waves his hand in a circle, "make a breeze or something?"
Flash lifts a foot. "You ever see me with black sole boots before?"
"No."
"That's because it's asphalt. The asphalt is melting. Not very conducive to running."
"Oh. Too bad." Trickster sighs and rolls over onto his back. "You could've made the shopping trip quicker than Mick."
Flash narrows his eyes. "What's he getting?"
"Stuff for snow cone cocktails."
"...that's sounds amazing."
"I know, right?" Digger lifts his head up enough to say.
Flash looks back at the door. "Probably won't be much faster, but I think I'll catch up to him anyway. Make sure he actually pays for it."
They wave him off, "Dream on, Flasher." The breeze Flash generates when he leaves doesn't really do more than move hot air around but it's better than nothing. The Rogues lay in their spots and sighed.
Len's head falls back. "This fucking sucks."
Title: Too Darn Hot
Fandom: DCU
Rating: PG-ish
Word Count: 915
Characters: Rogues, plus Wally and a bit of Michael Holt
Summary: It's miserably hot in the Twin Cities.
It's the middle of summer and it's so hot Len is considering icing himself with his cold gun, if only to stop hearing the jokes about how it's a heatwave, get it, Heatwave?
"We got it, Tricks. Shut up."
"That joke was old when you said it five days ago."
Back when the heatwave was only three days long. Three days after Flash caught them in the middle of a heist and now Mark is damn near tearing his hair out trying to fix his wand. Everyone had gotten desperate enough to accept Piper's help in fixing it. The fact that Piper had volunteered to help is testament to the ridiculousness of the heatwave.
The rest of them, meanwhile, had vied for space in front of the rattling air conditioner.
"I don't know why you're all so irritable. I think this is great." The aforementioned human Heatwave says, gleefully ignoring the glares sent his way. It's hot enough that Mick had actually taken off his suit for once and if Len weren't currently dying he'd find it very distracting. The man's built like a tank under his gear and Len would be more annoyed that Mick kept the suit on so much if it didn't cling so nicely to Mick's hips and thighs.
"You know what's a good idea?" Trickster asks from where he was puddled on the floor.
"If you shut the hell up?" Digger retorts. He'd been on the couch all day. Len's half certain his skin's been fused to the cushions.
"This is a good idea! And actual serious idea!"
"If it's about filling a dumpster with ice," Len say flatly, "and let it melt until it turns into a pool, we tried that eight times already."
"And every time a bunch of bleeding civvies manage to kick us out of our own bloody pool," McCulloch finishes. Len grunts but says nothing. The first attempt at a pool Len had done in secret, waiting for the water to get warm enough to invite Mick in, just the two of them, but the other Rogues had found it first, stripped to their underwear and splashing around before Len could fend them off. What made it all worse, Len thinks, is that they weren't even intending to be cockblocks.
"What about snow cones?" Trickster says. "We could make a killing on shaved ice!"
Digger's eyes go wide. "Oh shit- snow cone cocktails would be bonzer."
"And which one of you would be willing to get the ingredients?" Len asks.
Everyone falls silent. Mick sighs. "I'll get it. Babies."
After he leaves, McCulloch mutters to no one in particular, "Still takes his coffee hot, the barmy eedjit."
The four lapse into a miserable, stinking silence as they wait for Mick's return.
Scarcely a minute later there's a knock on the door. They trade looks. Eventually, because- through an intense conversation of eyebrows -no one is going to get up to answer it, Len calls out, "It's open!"
There, in the doorway, is Flash. The Rogues look at him, momentarily not comprehending the presence of their arch enemy. Trickster rubs his eyes. "Is anyone else hallucinating Flasher? Or am I just lucky?"
Flash snorts. "I'm really here."
"How did you even find us?"
"Ran into Heatwave. He pointed us here."
Len bristles though he isn't sure if it was in defense of Mick because he wouldn't do something that stupid, or in anger because Mick might have done something that stupid. He deflates when he saw who's behind Flash: Mr. Terrific, whose face is beaded with sweat and his trademark jacket in hand. "Did you come to fix the wand?"
"I'll see what I can do." Mr. Terrific tugs at his shirt collar. "I can't believe Heatwave doesn't seem to mind this-"
"Heatwave?" Flash asks with a crooked grin. Trickster flips him a thumbs up.
Mr. Terrific glares. "I can still leave."
"Don't. Please don't. I don't know how anyone hasn't combusted yet. It's March for crying out loud!"
The man shakes his head and walks in. The Rogues all flop a hand out, pointing down the hall to where Mark can be heard cursing faintly. As Mr. Terrific goes to help out, Flash leans against the wall and says, "I'd make a comment about how pathetic you guys are acting but I'm seriously considering redesigning my suit."
"What, like shorts?" McCulloch eyes Flash's legs for a moment. "Won't that chaff?"
"If I was running, maybe. Not really planning on doing that unless I really have to."
"But couldn't you just," Trickster waves his hand in a circle, "make a breeze or something?"
Flash lifts a foot. "You ever see me with black sole boots before?"
"No."
"That's because it's asphalt. The asphalt is melting. Not very conducive to running."
"Oh. Too bad." Trickster sighs and rolls over onto his back. "You could've made the shopping trip quicker than Mick."
Flash narrows his eyes. "What's he getting?"
"Stuff for snow cone cocktails."
"...that's sounds amazing."
"I know, right?" Digger lifts his head up enough to say.
Flash looks back at the door. "Probably won't be much faster, but I think I'll catch up to him anyway. Make sure he actually pays for it."
They wave him off, "Dream on, Flasher." The breeze Flash generates when he leaves doesn't really do more than move hot air around but it's better than nothing. The Rogues lay in their spots and sighed.
Len's head falls back. "This fucking sucks."