ptahrrific: Jon and Stephen, "Believe in the me who believes in you" (fake news)
Erin Ptah ([personal profile] ptahrrific) wrote2010-01-18 02:04 pm

Fake News: Out Of The Bag

Title: Out Of The Bag
Rating: PG
Characters/pairings: "Stephen", Jon, and Brian, with a side of Meg, Bobby, and Tad
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

For [personal profile] sarcasticsra, whose incredibly transparent [livejournal.com profile] fakenews_fanfic Secret Santa wish asked for a lighthearted mystery/comedy involving Brian, Jon, and "Stephen"...here is my equally obvious response. Featuring Stephen in CAPSLOCK, Jon in strange costumes, a mysterious meat thief, and a surprise pairing.

Special thanks to my mother, for inadvertently breaking my writer's block.






From: <balls.r.us@hotmail.com>
To: <chewyjewy@gmail.com>
Subject: WRT YOUR UNCONSHUNABLE THEFT

STEWART,

KNOW WHAT YOU ARE UP TO STOP THOUGHT YOU COULD HIDE IT FROM ME STOP WILL BE OVER LATER TO DISCUSS STOP DO NOT HIDE I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE STOP

SIR DR. STEPHEN T COLBERT DFA

PS BE SURE TO HAVE A MAGNIFYING GLASS




From: <chewyjewy@gmail.com>
To: <balls.r.us@hotmail.com>
Subject: Re: WRT YOUR UNCONSHUNABLE THEFT

Stephen,

You know you don't have to type "stop" after every sentence, right? That went out with the steam engine.

I'm sure we have a couple of magnifying glasses down in props. Working ones, now, that's another story. What do you need these for?

Also, it's "unconscionable."

Best,
Jon




From: <balls.r.us@hotmail.com>
To: <chewyjewy@gmail.com>
Subject: RE: Re: WRT YOUR UNCON-S-H-U-N-ABLE THEFT

UNDERSTAND THAT PERFECTLY WELL STOP THINK IT CRYING SHAME STOP ANY FORM OF COMMUNICATION THAT REQUIRES SHOUTING "STOP" EVERY TEN WORDS SHOULD NEVER DIE STOP

WORKING MAGNIFYING GLASS OF COURSE STOP WHAT KIND OF LOUSY OPERATION DO YOU THINK WE RUN HERE STOP

NO LONGER TRUST SPELLCHECK STOP ANY PROGRAM THAT DOES NOT UNDERSTAND "FUNDIT" NOT WELCOME IN THIS BUILDING STOP

SIR DR. STEPHEN T COLBERT DFA

PS WHY ARE YOU NOT APOLOGIZING




From: <chewyjewy@gmail.com>
To: <balls.r.us@hotmail.com>
Subject: Re: RE: Re: WRT YOUR UNCONSHUNABLE THEFT

Stephen,

Asked around, and it sounds like we don't have anything that will actually magnify. If you need one by this evening, you could always try hitting up Conan.

...okay, I give up. What am I supposed to be apologizing for this time?

Best,
Jon




From: <balls.r.us@hotmail.com>
To: <chewyjewy@gmail.com>
Subject: DON'T GIVE ME ANY OF YOUR NONSENSE TODAY STEWART

WHY DON'T YOU HAVE A MAGNIFYING GLASS STOP

ALSO I THINK WE BOTH KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT STOP

DOES THE PHRASE "HOT JUICY SAUSAGE" JOG YOUR MEMORY

SIR DR. STEPHEN T COLBERT DFA

PS
STOP




From: <chewyjewy@gmail.com>
To: <balls.r.us@hotmail.com>
Subject: Re: DON'T GIVE ME ANY OF YOUR NONSENSE TODAY STEWART

Stephen,

Uh, because we're a comedy show, not a detective agency?

Please tell me you're trying to imply that somebody stole your lunch.

Best,
Jon

P.S. Brian just called. Have you been harassing NBC again?




From: <balls.r.us@hotmail.com>
To: <chewyjewy@gmail.com>
Subject: RE: Re: DON'T GIVE ME ANY OF YOUR NONSENSE TODAY STEWART

EXCUSES EXCUSES STOP

(I MEANT STOP AS IN THE END OF A PHRASE NOT STOP AS IN STOP MAKING EXCUSES STOP ALTHOUGH COME TO THINK OF IT THAT MAKES EVEN BETTER SENSE STOP)

OF COURSE I MEANT LUNCH WHY ELSE WOULD I BE TALKING ABOUT THICK DELICIOUS MEAT PRODUCTS

SIR DR. STEPHEN T COLBERT DFA

PS MEREDITH VIERA STARTED IT





"This is probably going to sound stupid," confessed Jon, "but do you know if Meredith Viera has done anything lately that might have gotten on Stephen's bad side?"

"Can't say I do," replied Brian over the phone. "Certainly nothing that was her fault, at least."

"Oh, well, that's all right then." Jon sat back with a sigh of relief. "Stephen would never hold a grudge against a person for something that...wasn't...their...oh, god, what did she do?"

"She inadvertently walked into my office while I was in the middle of removing his pants," said Brian calmly.

Jon snorted. "Good one, Brian. But seriously, now. I need to figure out how to do damage control."

He could practically feel the other man's level gaze fixed on him through the static. "Jon, no matter how much time for shenanigans you have down there on basic cable, I'm afraid some of us are busy with - how shall I say this? - the news."

"Fine," sulked Jon. "Be like that. See if I get you anything for Hanukkah."





From: <balls.r.us@hotmail.com>
To: <chewyjewy@gmail.com>
Subject: A RARE CORRECTION

IT SEEMS YOU COULD NOT HAVE BEEN THE ONE TO HIDE MY SAUSAGE, AS BRIAN SAYS YOU WERE ON THE PHONE WITH HIM WHEN THE B WENT MISSING FROM MY BLT

WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH AN LT I ASK YOU

IT LOOKS LIKE SOME UNSHAVEN TREE-HUGGING VEGAN PLANTED A GARDEN IN MY LUNCH

IF YOU LOVE AMERICA AT ALL YOU WILL COME OVER HERE AND HELP ME TRACK DOWN THE THIEF BEFORE HE STRIKES AGAIN

SIR DR. STEPHEN T COLBERT DFA




"Nice hat," said Jon, trying not to smirk.

The humor faded when Stephen whipped out a second deerstalker and tried to jam it over his head.

"And you'll need this, too," he added, thrusting a magnifying glass with a blue plastic frame into Jon's hand. "Brian brought them over."

"Spending an awful lot of time with Brian these days, aren't you?" remarked Jon, as he twisted the hat to get the ear flaps out of his face.

"He's the guest tonight, Jon!" yelped Stephen. "Maybe you don't believe in being considerate to your guests, but I was raised properly! Now, enough chit-chat, let's split up and start detecting. I'll take the first floor, you take the second." Turning on his heel, he strode off towards the set.

"Wait!" called Jon frantically after him. "What am I supposed to be looking for?"

"Clues!" yelled Stephen unhelpfully over his shoulder.




"You look like a Stepford husband."

Brian, on the green room couch with a newspaper unfolded primly in his hands, looked up over the rims of his narrow glasses. "Should I say what you look like, Jon, or would you rather spare yourself the embarassment and give up now?"

Blushing furiously, Jon snatched the deerstalker from his head. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Say, you haven't seen any, uh, clues around here, have you? We're trying to track down a..." He cleared his throat and finished under his breath. "...meat thief."

"I'll do you one better," said Brian placidly. "I know who the thief is. Or should I say, who they are."

"Really? Great! I'll go find Stephen, he'll want—"

"Hold your horses, Basic Cable. Let him make his own way up here. It'll keep him out of trouble for a while, and you can spend the time relaxing." Brian nodded to the paper. "I've got a crossword."

"You really are good at managing him," observed Jon, with no small amount of admiration, as he settled onto the couch.

Brian shrugged with one shoulder. "It comes in handy."




Stephen stared through the protective lens of his magnifying glass.

The culprit stared back.

Stephen glowered.

The culprit sniffed the plastic frame, then yawned.

Stephen jumped back like a shot, scrambling for cover. "Did you see that?" he demanded, pointing with a shaking finger from behind Brian's shoulder. "That was a threat!"

"Don't be silly," chided Jon, scratching under the cat's chin. "It's just tired. Isn't 'oo, kitty? 'Oozaprettykitty? You are!"

The cat — a kitten, really, only as long as Jon's forearm — tilted back its head to give him a better angle, then flopped over like a sack of rice and sprawled across the tile. Her fur was dark brown, with white paws and a patch of white spreading across the right half of her face.

"It had teeth," protested Stephen, glaring defiantly at Meg, Bobby, and Tad, as if daring them to question his bravery in the face of things that were not so unreasonably sharp.

"'Oozatoothykitty?" amended Jon, voice about two octaves higher than usual. "Yes! Yes!"

"Well, she is a carnivore," pointed out Bobby. "Their jaws are designed — by millions of years of evolution, I mean, though I'm not discounting the possible hand of an omnipotent creator in setting that proccess in motion — to rip the throats out of small helpless animals."

"Like rats," added Tad. "Which we don't have!" he continued hastily, when he saw the look on Stephen's face. "Because we have the cat. You see?"

"We call her the Phantom of the Colpera," put in Meg.

"Because of the mask!" gushed Jon, skritching the bridge of the Phantom of the Colpera's nose. She flattened back her ears, flicked her whiskers a couple of times, then rolled over; Jon shifted into stroking her back.

"I just want to put on the record," added Bobby, "that I voted for 'Socks'."

"You named her after me?" asked Stephen, somewhat pacified. "Well...I suppose if she's useful...we can't just throw someone with my name out on the street. Okay, she can stay. But only if you keep her away from my sausage!"




"You think he suspected?"

"What, about us? Not a thing," replied Brian as he strolled out of the shower, toweling off his hair. "He's kind of oblivious to things like that. Sweet man, but oblivious."

A snort. "Don't have to tell me that."

"You think we should invite him to join us some time?"

"Wh-what? Where did that come from?"

"Well, why not? I've seen the way you look at him. Besides, it would solve the awareness problem."

"Brian. He's my boss."

Brian stopped in his tracks. "Oh. How did I forget that?"

"Because I seem so confident and self-sufficient that it's hard to imagine me working for anyone?" suggested Tad hopefully.

His face breaking into a rare broad smile, Brian slid under the covers and wrapped an arm around his boyfriend. "Something like that."

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