[personal profile] eighth_horizon
Movie verse, from another prompt on the [livejournal.com profile] a_team_kink meme. Before Murdock starts burning things on the grill like they were damned, he decides to do a Fresh Prince of Bel-Air sendup on Face, and for unknown reasons he throws some ICP in there as well. PG-13, language, stupidity, 600 words.



When the strumming started to his right, Face didn’t bother to take his tanning shades off. Murdock had been on and off the guitar all day, flitting from one hyper task to the next. Face knew it was his way of dealing with the downtime, and specifically with one of the team being injured. He was waiting for the grill to reach a certain nuclear temp in the background, and was keeping his hands busy yet again.

There was singing this time, though. Murdock’s quirky, Texas-flavored baritone pushed the bustling sounds of the camp back a few steps for a moment.

“Now this is the story all about how
Facey’s life got flipped, turned upside down
And I'd like to take a minute just sit right there
I'll tell you how he became the prince of pretty much everywhere.”

“Aw, shit,” BA mumbled from behind the bike he was working on. “Here we go.”

Face was grinning, head tilting back to get more sun.

“In sunny California born and raised
On this sandy playground he now he spends most of his days
Chilling out, maxing, shootin’ at some fools
Ever since he aced out of Ranger school
When Black Forest said 'we're up to no good'
Started making trouble in the neighborhood
He got in one little firefight and Hannibal got scared
And said 'you're joining my A-Team now get over here and sit down and shut the fuck up.'”

“Murdock,” Face said, “That’s not how it happened. That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Shhh, shh,” Murdock admonished, strumming along. “Here comes the chorus.”
He raised his voice to a screech.

“Water, fire, air and dirt
Fucking magnets, how do they work?
And I don't wanna talk to a scientist
Y'all motherfuckers lying, and getting me pissed.”


Face threw his hands up, palms outward in a last ditch attempt to say he had no idea what the hell was going on and wasn’t responsible for it, either. BA was shaking his head.

“This what you get for bein’ shot up, fool,” he said to Face. “Now we got to listen to this all day.”

The ‘chorus’ drew the attention of a few passersby who were well acquainted with the level of entertainment that Smith’s unit was capable of providing, and they began to gather.

Murdock went on singing, oblivious, eyes closed as if he was deep in the moment.

“He whistled for a chopper and when it came near
The license plate said 'Fresh' and had dice in the mirror
If anything he could say the pilot was awesome
But he thought now I get it, this is where I belong

He landed in the LZ about seven or eight
And yelled to the pilot 'Yo, homes you’re totally my best friend and I love you'
Looked at his kingdom he was finally there
And even Bosco agreed he had great hair.”

Snorts of laughter and groans of mock pain followed the last verse, then graduated to outright laughter at the next chorus.

“But Pike is an asshole,
Pike is an asshole,
Pike is an asshole,
Pike is an asshole.”

Even BA laughed, finally. But he hid it behind the bike. Wouldn’t do to encourage the crazyman.

Murdock ended his serenade with a rapid flourish of chords, then stood and bowed to mixed applause.

“Thank you, thank you, I’m here every week, with shows on Monday and Wednesday and twice on Sunday. Now if y’all’ll excuse me, I have gastronomical duties to attend to.”

He whistled his way over to the grill.

Face sighed and cracked open another beer, but he was still smiling. “Thanks, buddy.”

“Anytime, Faceman.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” BA grumbled.

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