Work Text:
How Remote Is The Remote?
by Pirate Turner
The short blonde man entered the room to a scene of chaos. Pillows had been unceremoniously dumped onto the floor and were scattered amongst bits of paper, books, and newspapers. The doors to the game cabinet stood open, one swinging ominously back and forth on a loose hinge. Games were falling out of it in a river of multi-colored plastic. He jumped when the couch was suddenly pushed on end and cocked his head to one side as he listened to the sounds of frantic rummaging.
At last, a huffing Autolycus stood up. He dropped the couch back to its normal position and leaned, gasping for air, against it. "Where is it?!" he demanded, his eyes wide. "I'm going to miss it!"
"What?" Iolaus asked, taking a cautious step inside the living room.
"The remote!" came the frantic reply. "Supernatural is about to be on any minute -- "
"Supernatural?" the blonde repeated, his eyebrows arching in surprise. "Haven't you had enough of crazy monsters trying to kill us off?"
"I don't watch it for the monsters," Autolycus shot back, his mustache twitching. "I watch it for the eye candy."
"Oh." Iolaus blinked in surprise, then shrugged and began to continue on his way to the kitchen. "Well, it won't do you any good any way."
"Why not?! Where are the remotes?!"
Iolaus sighed, turned back around, and looked forlornly at Autolycus. "Hercules got mad the last time they canceled his favorite show."
"So . . . ?" It took a moment for the information to really sink in to Autolycus. When it did, his eyes nearly popped out of his face. "He didn't!"
Iolaus nodded glumly. "He sent it to the moon."
The End