|Agent Fox Mulder (i_want_2) wrote in heroes_fiction,|
@ 2008-09-19 23:11:00
|Entry tags:||au, crack, gen, rated: teen|
Fic: Summons 1/1
Author: Lopaka Tanu
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.
Characters: Peter, Mohinder
Warnings: Language, Violence.
Summary: Peter tries to conjure up his very own manservant. Things don't go according to plan.
Author's Note: Kids, don't try this crack at home.
Pouring the salt around himself, Peter completed the circle. It was the last portion needed before he start the spell. Once in place, he sat crossed legged in the center of the ring.
From his messenger bag, he pulled out the book. Its ancient leather binding groaned, snapping as he opened it. Focusing his eyes in the dim candle light, he began to study the words.
If he got them mixed up, pronounced wrong, or skipped one, the entire thing would be ruined. Who knew what sorta havoc would be wreaked if he did it wrong?
Finally, deciding he was ready, Peter cleared his throat. "Nom espet tey dum electano!"
A sudden wind picked up, flickering the candles' flames.
"Tu vestum poh cumato!" A chill crept down his spine. According to his research, this was part of the spell. "Yalho esu mot tedum!"
Light flashed over the ancient fire place. The scent of burned incense wafted up from within.
Holding up a single hand, Peter pointed towards the far wall. "Kesum, voh codat quo hysan!" As the final line echoed in the room, the candles went out.
For several seconds, all was silent in the room. Eventually, Peter stood up, wiping the dust from his bottom, he set the book aside. Walking to the closest candle, he pulled the lighter from his pocket and lit it. What he found took his breath away.
Sitting on his floor, back against the far wall, was a very naked Indian man.
Raising his head, Mohinder blinked dark eyes about the room. It took several blinks to realize he was no longer in his lab. Only a half a heart beat after that did he notice his nude state. Squeaking, he covered his genitals. "Where the hell am I?"
"Telite!" Grinning, Peter crossed the salt ring. His green chitin hung loose about his body as he moved.
Facing the voice, Mohinder found a very smug looking young man approaching him. He couldn't help the irrational thought that his pale fool had something to do with why he was there. "Hello."
Stopping a step away, Peter bounced on the balls of his feet. "Greetings, servant."
"Servant?" Raising to his full height, Mohinder glared at the teen. Yes, he realized, this idiot was nothing more than a teen. Judging from the candles, salt, dead chickens, and assorted memorabilia littering the room, this teen was definitely the reason he was here. "What have you done?"
"I brought you here to serve me." The smile started to fall away from Peter's face. He had a bad feeling things hadn't gone as well as he had hoped. "You are to be my obedient..." was all he got out before he hit the ground.
Shaking out his hand, Mohinder stood over the felled teen. "I don't care what you thought. You are going to send me back, right this instant. Is that clear?"
"I can't. Once done, it can't be undone" Cupping his injured cheek, tears came to Peter's eyes. "You're supposed to be my servant! I did the ritual right. Everything was perfect. You are supposed to be mine."
Clenching his fists, Mohinder glared down upon Peter. "Then you, young boy, are going to be very sorry for a very long time."
"I just wanted someone to call my own." Looking away, Peter pushed up his bottom lip.
Seeing the pathetic display, the anger started to drain from Mohinder. It was by no means gone, but he could no longer bring himself to harm the teen. Growling, he stepped back. "Get up. Bring me some clothes." If Peter was so dense, then short sentences were best.
Closing his eyes, Peter curled on his side. Nothing ever worked out right! Why was it, even when he was doing things right, it always failed? How come he always got the metzen tross?
It was worse than Mohinder had thought. The teen was going in to full blown sulk mode. Groaning, he turned away to study his new surroundings. If the fool had brought him here, there had to be a way to get himself back, even if he didn't know it.
Finding nothing but an old bedroom, complete with fire place, creaking bed, and trunk, Mohinder felt his hope of getting back quickly sink. This was going to take a while. Walking to the bed, he sat down upon it. The covers itched his bottom, but warmed against his cheeks.
For the first time, he realized just how cold it was in the old room. Despite the worn rug beneath his feet, a chill went up through them. He glanced to the teen for some help, but found him still curled up. Sighing, he dropped back against the covers.
Why did these things always happen to him?