Warning: Slash-if-you-squint
Pairing/Characters: Rosencrantz, Guildenstern
Word Count: 382
Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Birthday drabble for a friend, a little late and a few hundred words extra. It rambles a bit, which is impressive for a drabble.


Barrels


They're in a nondescript place which, if asked, they wouldn't be able to describe other than the vague impression of the color grey. All they could say for certain is that there are barrels.

"This is interesting," Rosencrantz comments.

"What?" Guildenstern asks flatly. He's been looking off in the opposite direction, both trying to ignore the barrels and Rosencrantz' childlike interest in them. Who hasn't seen barrels before? But he turns his head and sees his companion standing in one.

When Rosencrantz is sure he's being watched, he sinks down into the barrel and disappears. Guildenstern can't even see the top of his head. A second later he straightens, now standing in a different barrel.

Guildenstern's jaw is severely tempted to drop, stopped only by his dignity. "How did you do that?"

"I haven't figure that out yet," is the actually somewhat reasonable reply. There is obviously something strange about the barrels that they have yet to piece together - though given their recent track record, Guildenstern thinks with gloomy resignation, they probably won't be able to do so if someone handed them a map and a large quantity of adhesive.

The thought is suddenly stricken from his mind when Rosencrantz repeats the trick and his worn boots stick up out of the nearest barrel, accompanied by a small noise of alarm. Guildenstern finds himself preoccupied with the task of getting him out of there without getting kicked in the face, or getting kneed in the face, or grabbing anywhere inappropriate, or ending up with his face somewhere uncomfortable for both of them. Manhandling isn't his strong suit, particularly as the shorter of the two, but he manages it.

At least until Rosencrantz is out of it enough to fall, and then they topple over in a very confused tangle in a confusing place under confusing circumstances.

"Well," Rosencrantz says presently. "I like this better than being in a barrel."

"You're sitting on my lungs," Guildenstern points out, sounding a little strained.

Rosencrantz looks appropriately embarrassed. "Sorry." He scoots back until he's sitting on Guildenstern's knees. It's an improvement, at least.

Sighing, Guildenstern sits up. He looks the other man in the eye. "Next time you see something interesting," he says mildly, "don't just jump right into it."

"All right," Rosencrantz mutters sheepishly.