Title: Raspberries 3: Squealers

Author: Roy's Lady 51

Series: It is NOW....

Rating: G

Pairing J/B

Fandom: The Sentinel

Summary: And give you an edge? I don't think so!

Disclaimer: I ain't made no dough on it, nor any money, either. However, if you think you want to stand up in court, in PUBLIC, and be told THERE that S.S.I., Foodstamps, AND Medicaid are all federal programs of which the benefits are Non-Tr! ansferable, and thereby make a total ass out of not only yourself but your legal department, AND the board of directors....be my guest.

This is something I'd LOVE to watch!

Warning: Squicks present. That's all you get, and that means you take your chances....

Additional Note: Inside this post is a mystically generated cyber-connected saline IV drip that can only connect to Scribe, and cannot be denied. <<BEG>>


Raspberries 3: Squealers

by Roy's LAdy 51


Two weeks after the Ellison Disaster, things were just beginning to get back to normal in the MC bullpen when an errie whistle cut through the air in the vicinity of Blair Sandburg, followed by two more and what could only be discribed as a shrill squeal. Ellison winced at each burst of noise, then he wrinkled up his nose, and stared in open horror at his lifemate. Two seconds later, a noxious smell filled the air. Megan froze in mid-step as she passed Blair. Her head turned slowly, in dread, to look at him pleadingly.

"Sandy? You wouldn't do that to me, would you?"

"Jim sorta started a war here, Megan." He said with a half-shrug. "I'm sorta honor bound to answer it. If he wants to be flatus king, he's gonna have to earn it."

"But what about his..."

"Oh, that. Well, zoning isn't allowed, you know. Neither is dialing down lower than normal." He grinned evilly at the dismay on Jim's face. "So, he's gonna just have to endure like everyone else. And I ate a rather...special...breakfast. Didn't want to be unable to answer that little challenge he issued, man."

He whistled out another one just in time for one of the three EPA reps as Marla Thoumal strutted self-importantly down the hall. Mrs. Thoumal got one sniff of Sandburg's near deadly ass-gas, turned an ugly shade of pus yellow, puked up her lunch, and passed out cold. The thud of her body hitting first his office door, then the floor, hard, brought Simon out of his office and straight into a hazy (and visible) cloud of rectal fumes that sent him to his knees, gasping. Megan screeched and hit the fire alarm, then bolted down the stairs as Marla's two cohorts picked up their superior, and began to issue evacuation orders and tried not to breathe deeply.

As Blair's evil anal ammo cleared the seventh floor, he calmly brought Ellison out of the Scent Zone into which the Sentinel had drifted. He grinned at the dazed cop, and deliberately rationed out a new assault right under Jim's nose. It worked bueatifully, just like smelling salts, and it had the effect of bringing the big man lunging to his feet with a yell of outraged denial.

Outside, fire engines could be heard arriving. Foam was being laid down in the lower floors of the PD, in a vain attempt to counter the toxic effects of the nearly pure methane gas that Blair emmitted. The building smelled like a pig-sty. Literally. Fire fighters were drenching the building in foam and water, inside and out. The rest of the building was emptied in record time, with police personnel evacuating the jail.

The prisoners weren't giving anyone any trouble either. Instead, they were clinging to the cops in tears, begging to be taking to a nice, clean, sweet-smelling cell in the Washington State Prison system. Many demanded to be allowed to sign a trial waiver if it would get them OUT of the Cascade Jail, NOW.

Being outdoors didn't really help much either. Blair's progress could be and wsas easily tracked by every man, woman, cop, perp, vic, lawyer, judge, child, and creature in a five block area, by the crystal clear squeals of tail-gas he let lose with. Bushes, trees, and grass all withered and turned a sick-looking browninsh yellow in his wake, and squirrels fled in a panic as he led Jim into the park. Still grinning, he settled the older man on a bench to let the SWAT team issue him a gas mask. Everyone was either wearing a gas mask, or an oxygen mask. There was really no question of the reigning Fart King, Blair smiled.

Ellison began to lividly and creatively expressing his disgust, cussing harshly and with great verve. His suggestions of things for Sandburg to do to himself were physically impossible, his Guide told him, but certainly sounded like fun. There was a lot of potential for experiments, anyway. The final anal-air attack caused a Hearing Zone but no one noticed, or cared. They were MUCH too damned busy trying to breathe.

Ill-omened waves of greenish-yellow color passed over every face, as Blair bore down on his lower abs, tightening his anus at the same time to produce a long soundless, hiss that not even Ellison could detect. It lasted for nearly ten minutes. It also dropped every leaf from every plant in the city, in mid-July. They all turned black and dissolved to powder in something less than half a minute. The added aroma of several thousand people vomiting at the same time in a very small area was the 'cherry' on the sundae, as the saying goes.

"I GIVE! UNCLE! YOU WIN!" Jim bellowed. "GOOD GOD, SANDBURG!"

Smiling complacently, Blair bowed to his challenger, raised a bottle of Kaopectate to his lips and began to swallow.

END