?

Log in

No account? Create an account
 
 
22 August 2007 @ 03:22 am
Tim Fics  
This is a series of fics based on everyone's favorite little reporter, Tim Messenger! Because he's just that under-written...


Title: In The News
Fandom: Hot Fuzz
Character/s: General
Prompt: 12.Beacon
Word Count: 376
Rating: R


Before my editor died tragically and the NWA demanded a name change, the paper was called The Sandford Beacon. I’m not really sure why, seeing as we didn’t have any sort of light tower in the village, but I personally preferred the header to ‘Citizen.’ It just seemed pretentious to me.

Anyway, for the longest time, I was the only one running the local fish wrapper, trying to come up with stories on a moment’s notice, furiously pounding the pavement from morning til nightfall, usually coming up with the same boring shtick, but the people gobbled it down like fine cuisine.

It was really sickening. I went to college for four years and had a two year stint at The Guardian to get dragged back home by my mum and run this failing little sham of a paper.

I admit I stopped trying a few years ago, purposely shoving in errors to test one of my professor’s theories about error acceptance. For most of the people still reading it, I like to fancy I fucked up their lexicons pretty well, which I admit is malicious, but if you’d been me, you’d have seen why.

You’d have seen a lot of shit.

Maybe it was because I’d been on the outside. Maybe it was because it was my job to investigate all the deaths and disappearances. Maybe it was because I’d learned to never go with the crowd. Whatever it was, I knew from early on that something was very wrong in Sandford.

The visiting population was markedly low, and those that arrived seemed to leave in a hurry. A disproportionate amount of people suffered fatal accidents or went missing from their homes in contrast to the actual number of people living in Sandford. The residents seemed to have a huge gap in age, with most people over 50 or under 30, with no account as to the missing middle-age chunk. Most suspicious was the sudden and complete barricade of the old castle, the NWA leading the charge to have it declared an historic sight and fencing it off from the general public.

I went down there one night with a flashlight and a camera. If you’d have been me, you’d have seen a lot of shit.


Title: Joanne
Fandom: Hot Fuzz
Character/s: General
Prompt: 47.Spy
Word Count: 202
Rating: R


Joanne Harper was a spy from Bufford Abby. I knew her from a story I’d written two weeks prior to her visit, about her just being declared the new chief adviser for the Bufford Abby Beautification Project, which was their thinly-veiled strategic task-force in securing that year’s Village of the Year award.

There were no rules in the competition about visiting competitors, but in Sandford, it was as good as a slap in the face.

“Someone really should do something about this,” Joyce Cooper said indignantly and quite loudly in the pub, stopping by for that sole purpose.

“Someone will, don’t worry your head over it, dear,” Mary Porter consoled, offering her a drink, the two women entering into a heated and hushed discussion by the bar.

I remember the looks on people’s faces, either oblivious or evil, the mix startling and marked.

I remember trying to ring Joanne, getting only her answering service as I jogged down back alleys to her rented room near the police station.

I remember coming into her room and finding her hanging from the rafters by her neck.

Andrew Cartwright, then a DC and the only detective in Sandford, declared it a suicide.

I knew better.


Title: In The News
Fandom: Who’s Your Uncle?
Character/s: General
Prompt: 27.Curse
Word Count: 266
Rating: R


The only person in the whole village I could talk to was also the only man who, at the time, had even the slightest degree of power for potentially stopping the train-wreck that was Sandford.

Tony Fisher, then just a newly-appointed Sergeant, and not quite as dulled as he came to be later in his career, was willing to listen to my theories, and even took some of them to heart for a time. He was, after all, my youngest uncle, my mum being his older sister by 10 years. But even family can only go so far.

“I’m starting to think we’re all operating under a curse,” Tony said to me once over a pint at The Crown, sitting as far from the bar as possible, our voices hushed. “The accidents are getting harder to pin down, and nobody’s willing to take them as murders, Tim. It’s looking hopeless, I dare say.”

“There’s nothing can be done but trying,” I replied, exasperated. I was exasperated all the time then. I try not to let it get to me anymore. Being dead helps considerably.

“You can only try for so long,” Tony sighed, sliding his drink along the table. “You try too hard, Tim, and it’ll catch up with you. I don’t want to see you getting mixed up on the wrong end of this. Just be careful, alright?”

Curses touch everyone, no matter who their uncle is, no matter how much good they think they’re doing. Looking back, though, I don’t think I would have changed anything.

No, wait. I would have ignored the candy.<


Title: Midnight Visitor
Fandom: Hot Fuzz
Character/s: General
Prompt: 88.Deep
Word Count: 424
Rating: PG-13


The idea came to me one day that perhaps the best way to understand the NWA was to join them, or to go along with them as far as my morals could stand being trodden upon.

I approached Reverend Shooter with the idea, and at first, he tried to dodge me, saying he’d no clue what I was on about, and that Sandford was a peaceful village.

I told him I knew about the castle. That changed everything.

His manner became withdrawn, and he told me that it would be best for me to keep out of it, that the castle was a protected place and I had no business there. I in turn put up my best theatrics in assuaging his fears, saying I was open to the concept of “greater good” and only wanted to know the ways in which I might assist their efforts.

I was asked to leave.

The following days were the hairiest I’ve ever known. It felt like I was being watched constantly, everywhere I went, and yet the eyes fixed on my back would always flit away as soon as I turned to confront them. I could feel my nerve shaking, and by the third day, I could hardly sleep without waking in a sheen of cold sweat.

I knew someone was in the house.

Getting out of bed, I went downstairs as silently as possible, making my way into the kitchen, where lo and behold, Simon Skinner was seated at my breakfast table, drinking a cup of tea.

“Hello, Tim,” he said blandly, as if nothing were unusual about him being in my kitchen in the middle of the night.

“Hi…hi,” I stammered. It was a colloquialism born in the heat of fear, and I never got rid of it. Even I hated it in the end.

“We hear you’ve been poking about,” Simon replied, finally looking at me. If you’ve never met Simon Skinner, you should know that, even in a half-dark kitchen, his eyes can pierce like fire. “You’re in a bit too deep, actually, and we’d like it if you’d step back. Nothing…too excessive about that, is there?”

“N…no,” I said, trying to make normal sentences. He was getting up, and my house began to feel claustrophobically small and dangerously removed, like a very small mouse trap.

I don’t know what happened next, but when I awoke, I was back in my bed, as if nothing had ever happened. From then on, though, the fear owned me, and I was never the same.
 
 
Current Mood: coldcold
 
 
 
ExasperatedSigh: Hoopexasperatedsigh on August 6th, 2008 02:39 am (UTC)
Nice to see Tim finally getting some love.