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Rating:
PG
Disclaimer:
The Magnificent
Seven is owned by Trilogy, Mirish and MGM. No money is being made.
This fanfic is purely for entertainment purposes. I own Post-It
Notes. I invented them. I invented Paper Clips too. Wow. Go, me!
Uh... just joking. Really. I own nothing. Nothing, I say.
Hah...hah... ahem, anyway... on with the... story...
Author's
Notes: I've
been working on this since the last time I ordered office supplies at
work. I sent the story over to Phyllis to get some advice when it
just didn't 'click' and she not only got the humor in the story, but
she added to it! Aren't betas great! :) A huge thanks to Phyllis for
really helping me. I'm sure the story was also inspired by a really,
really funny episode of Brisco County, Jr.
The
story is a parody. It's not supposed to be serious. :)
Feedback
is always greatly appreciated. Please let me know what you think. Ruby :)
JD
stepped out of the boarding house door and walked quickly across the
dusty Four Corner's main street, sidestepping the horse offerings
along the way. He doffed his hat to two pretty ladies as they passed
on the boardwalk. Whistling, he opened the jailhouse door and stepped inside.
After
carefully hanging his hat and coat on the peg behind the door, he
walked over to the far wall.
Another
day, another dollar, he sighed as he pulled his time card out of the
metal rack on the wall.
Click-Ching.
JD
pulled the yellow card out of the time clock. Uh oh. 8:02. He
winced. Chris was going to see that. Oh, well. He replaced his card
in the holder, laughing when he noticed the card right below his.
Wilmington,
Buck.
The
name had been typed meticulously on the card. But someone had
scratched a line through 'Buck' and, in an uneven scrawl, replaced it
with the word 'Stinky'. He chuckled. Had to be Vin.
There
was a neon pink Post-It Note stuck to Ezra's card. Bold,
black-Sharpie words written in Chris' precise hand. 'See Me After Work!'
Larabee
was the only one without a time card. Being the boss and all, he was salary.
JD
checked on the prisoner. The man was sleeping on his side, facing
the wall, his bright orange jumpsuit glowing in the soft lamplight.
Hell,
he was bored already. And if he got caught playing Spider Solitaire
one more time, Chris was going to have his head. He guessed he could
go out and hide behind the Marlboro billboard, pull over speeders,
but his black and white, Paint, needed washing.
He
could update his live-journal. Or, he could just sit back in his
nice desk chair and scroll through the wanted posters on
Pinkerton.net. Or, maybe he could check and see if there was any
trouble brewing for Vin in the form of bounty hunters. Yep, just a
quick click on his Favorites, and he could be surfing
www.bountyhunterslookingforvin.com. But, it just didn't seem worth
the effort, not today.
Can
you have job burnout at nineteen? he wondered. He needed a vacation.
Maybe he'd put in a request for a day off, and his commanding officer
could sign it - as soon as he sobered up from his going-on-three day
drunk. He sighed.
Suddenly,
his shoulder radio squawked, and the sound of the dispatcher's
distorted voice filled the room. **Calling all officers. Saloon
fight. All available officers needed at the saloon-formerly-known-as-the-Standish-Tavern-and-now-currenly-without-name.
Calling all officers.**
Dammit,
JD huffed. Now he'd never get his memoirs written.
****
Two
hours, and one long visit to Nathan Jackson's Clinic/Trauma Center,
later and JD was back in the sheriff's office.
Bored.
Bored. Bored. He didn't even have any new prisoners to lock up. Vin
was deadly with that -thing- of his.
Sigh.
JD
walked aimlessly around the office. Stopping in front of the cork
bulletin board, he laughed at the new bumper sticker that had been
pinned up - a picture of a peacemaker and a sawed off Winchester with
the words 'We Don't Call 911' below it. Next to it, someone had
pinned up Vin's Wanted poster. In pencil, that same someone, who just
happened to be from the South, had sketched a mustache, a goatee, and
Devil's horns on the Texan's likeness. Ezra seemed to be
contemplating suicide more and more these days.
Bored.
Bored. Bored.
Sighing,
JD shook his head.
The
Dime Novels never said there'd be days like this.
Donuts!
That's it! He could run down to Inez's and grab some donuts.
Or...
He
could just put his feet up on his desk, lean back in his chair, and-
But, wait! He didn't get Health Insurance through the job and the
good Lord knew that he would be needing it if he attempted any sort
of daredevil moves in his desk chair... like... ah... leaning back.
Sigh.
Anyway.
Bored.
He really needed to talk to the representative for the Local
Peacekeepers Union 356. He had rights.
He
sighed one more time, a long, drawn out sound that made him sound
like he was three. Pouting, he narrowed his eyes, glaring at the
window. He could hear Buck and Vin out there, talking, carrying on,
having fun. Must be nice, he thought.
But,
noooooo. He had to sit in the jail. Alone. By himself. Sulking.
Er...
Working.
Yeah...
Sigh.
**SQUAWK**
His radio surprised him. **Calling all Officers. Duel. Middle of the
Four Corners Main Street.**
Whoo
hoo! JD ran for the jailhouse door, tossing a glance at the time
clock, noting his shift was almost over. Finally! Some action. And
overtime! Maybe he'd ask Casey out to a flick this weekend.
May
2004
Feedback
is loved. Thanks, Ruby:)
Ruby1481_7@msn.com
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