Rate 'PG-13' for adult situations. I don't own Moonlight or make any profits. (It's not liked they'd pay me anyways!)
Okay, so this is going to need some explanation…
First I need to assure you that there was no alcohol or illicit drugs of any kind involved in this. (although there was quite a bit of sugar!)
I came up with this idea (like most of my one-shots) when talking with silvanelf. We were playing a game of cards (I whooped her butt!) and we were talking about Moonlight (of course). We were speaking about Josef (no duh!) and her fic I, Josef, Immortal (if you haven't started it, go read!!). We were trying to come up with a way to describe Josef. Josef is….Josef is like…
"JOSEF'S LIKE A BURNT MARSHMALLOW!" I don't know where it came from. I just said it. Of course silvanelf gave me a scathing look and burst out laughing. I was hurt so I started to defend my claim and that is what you are about to read.
(silvanelf here, just wanted to say that this is a true story. She just shouted it, like she was so pleased with herself for coming up with a brilliant metaphor for Josef…lol. We have waaaaaaay to much sugar lying around our apartment. Oh yeah, and I usually kick NeteleJala's butt at cards.)
NeteleJala back, You do not kick my butt!! We are evenly matched! (And by the way I won by at least 50 points for each of the three games we played that day!)
(silvanelf again, after wrestling NeteleJala's computer away from her. Um….okay NeteleJala, if it makes you feel better, we are "evenly" matched. cough, yeah, if "evenly" means that I kick your butt at cards most of the time, cough, cough. seriously, I was just off my game that day or something…maybe it was all the sugar consumption…)
NeteleJala again, Okay, so this is what happens when you give us sugar, but for the sake of the readers we will carry on this 'discussion' outside of my post! Enjoy the story people, sorry you had to go through all this!
AUTHOR NOTE: It is highly recommended that you read this with SUGAR!! (silvanelf: or marshmallows….mwahahaha!)
Josef the Burnt Marshmallow
"You know what, buddy? I think I'm a little drunk," Josef said to Mick as he tried to reach for his glass. It wasn't surprising, being that they had already gone through three bottles of scotch.
Vampires have high alcohol tolerance, but when a third of your blood is pure alcohol, you tend to get drunk.
Josef could feel his liver protesting and he could no longer see straight. This is never a good sign…Why is it always Mick who brings out this side of me? Before Josef had met Mick he had only ever been drunk a dozen times and ten of those were in his brief human years. Other than that, once when his mentor died and another binge after he lost Sarah. But with Mick…well, with Mick he'd drunken a lot.
Why does he drive me to drink? Josef observed Mick. If Josef was tipsy, Mick was drunk. He was swaying so badly he couldn't even reach the table, much less the glass Josef had poured for him. Mick slipped off the couch and landed in a pile on the floor where he started laughing uncontrollably.
"Alright, that's it, buddy. I'm cutting you off and getting you some blood. Your liver is gonna hate you in the evening."
"No," Mick protested as he tried to grab the glass, but Josef was quicker. Not that it mattered—Mick would have missed it by eight inches.
Mick looked at Josef, angrily. "You know what you are? You're a…You're a…"
"I'm a what, Mick?"
"S'don't interrupt me. You're a burnt marshmallooo," Mick said, very pleased with himself.
"I'm a what?" Josef wasn't sure if it was the alcohol in him or Mick, but he couldn't have heard what he thought he did.
"You're a burnt mashmaaallow," Mick said again, slurring 'Marshmallow' horribly.
Josef laughed. "Whatever you say, buddy. I have to admit I've never been called that one before and I've been called a lot of names…"
"I'm sherious, Jossssef. You're a burnt mursh…mairsh…marshmalloo."
Josef continued to laugh at Mick's pronunciation. "How so?"
"S'obvious. You have thish hard outer crusht, but…but you're really a nice guy."
"Hey there! Don't ruin my reputation," Josef said in mock sincerity as he continued to chuckle at the hopelessly inebriated Mick.
"You look tough…you talk tough…but inshide you're a murshmellow. Soft and shquishy and venera…vuenerable. You yell, but you cry at Sarah's bedside."
Josef stopped laughing. "She's the love of my life, Mick—all four hundred years. It's a given that I get a little choked up where she's concerned."
Mick stared at Josef. Apparently Josef's non-humorous response had sobered Mick. Mick continued to gaze ahead, blankly, then he slid sideways. Or maybe not…
"Mick?!" Josef jumped up to catch Mick before he hit the ground.
"You cried during Titanic. You cry every time you watch that movie," Mick said, completely unaware that he had nearly passed out.
Josef sat back on the couch, shaking his head. "I do not-"
"You soooo do! You're a maershmalloo."
"I was a passenger on the Titanic, Mick! The movie brings back bad memories, okay?!"
"You're a 'mello."
Josef huffed indignantly. "That still doesn't explain your burnt marshmallow theory."
"Okay, now we're further off track. And after four hundred years, I deserve to be a little cynical."
"No, no, no. You're cynical. That'sh why you're hard, or burnt," Mick hiccupped, "on the outshide, to hide your soft…your shoft center."
Josef shifted uneasily. Mick was starting to make a point, no matter how drunk he was. "Okay, but why a burnt marshmallow? Why not a Ho-Ho or something?"
"S'cause thoshe all are sweet on the outshide. You're not sugar coated…And if you're squeezed your burnt outer sh-shell crumblesh and your gussshy underside s-shows."
"I'm not a burnt marshmallow," Josef pouted.
Mick chuckled. "Yes you are…and you're afraid of fire." Mick pointed his finger dramatically at Josef. "Just like a burnt murshmalleow."
And with that, Mick slid sideways and passed out.