[identity profile] elucreh.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] lu_fics
There are days Zack wouldn't trade his job for anything.

He holds a finger to his lips, and Spencer nods solemnly and signals back with the special gesture Brendon came up with that means something about death to money, where money=Cash, of course.

Zack raises his eyebrows, and Spencer turns his focus to the van doors, nods decisively once. Twice. On three, they turn the handles of the van's back door and pull it open. Cash falls half out of the van onto his face and scrambles upright, swearing, just as Ryan and Jon get the SillyString going.

"Fuckers!" Cash shouts, and dives for Jon's knees; Zack catches him by the back of his t-shirt. The shout has woken the other guys in the van, and they sit up, blinking and scowling.

"What the fuck, man?" Marshall demands, and shrieks like a girl when Ryan gets his hair with pink SillyString.

"Oh, it is on, bitches," Ian announces, and Zack lets go of Cash in his haste to turn around, because Ian is a scary motherfucker when he wants to be. Cash dives for Jon again and probably gets him, this time, but Zack is too busy watching Ian warily to be sure.

Ian brings out a water pistol from beneath his pillow and Zack relaxes, because that isn't too bad, not too bad at all, except for the part where Ian fires and it's sticky and it smells like cough syrup and oh, god—"GRAPE SODA?" Zack bellows, enjoying himself hugely, and takes off running after Ian.

Spencer trips Ian, because he's a good friend like that.

They made Brendon hold the camera; he missed all the fun. He blackmails The Cab for half their Twinkie stash when he runs out, though, so everybody wins.

Except The Cab, which is only right and proper.
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Fanfiction by Elucreh

April 2017

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