On the sixth day ...
Title: Visible
Fandom: The Confessions of Dorian Gray/His Dark Materials
Rating: G
Word Count: 338
Summary: Dorian has troubles, going through life with no visible daemon.
It’s difficult, going through life without a visible daemon. Oh, you get used to it personally, of course and I don’t miss her or anything like that but people do expect to catch a glimpse once in a while and of course, they can’t. I’m good at faking it though. I tell everyone that she’s an insect and I that I keep her safe in a matchbox. I keep the matchbox with me, let people see me playing with it and they tend to let it go. Even during sex, very few people seem to care. I often tell them she’s a wasp and nobody really wants their daemons to interact with a wasp.
Sometimes, I don’t tell them what she is. I let them try to guess and just laugh at all the answers and refuse to let them know if they are right or wrong. I like it like that. It amuses me, the guesses and the ideas and what people use to explain their ideas. You get an interesting little character study of yourself provided for free, usually completely wrong of course, but still, interesting all the same.
I can’t remember what she actually was any more.
Mark teased me about it all the time, thought it was oh-so funny that I wouldn’t “show her off.” Well, he would think that with his fussy, preening bird always on his shoulder, always flipping her tail and raising her crest to make people look. A few times, he actually grabbed for the matchbox and tried to get it open which was deeply irritating and not playing the game, as far as I was concerned. He was quick too, almost got it a few times. I had to offer up a few very short, sharp suggestions of what I would do to him to make him stop that little game. Which worked and he just went back to teasing.
“What’s wrong with her? Is she really ugly, is that it?”
“Oh,” I told him, looking at my portrait hanging to quietly on the wall. “You have no idea.”
Title: Lost
Fandom: Confessions of Dorian Gray/Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 864
Summary: Dorian Gray doesn't often feel the pangs of a conscience.
It was 1961. Not the most interesting of eras - not then. It got better, a lot better, for some people anyway. Certainly for me. But 1961 had it’s pleasures, like any other year.
Certainly for me.
But still, 1961. There’s a certain entertainment to be found in having to be careful. Not that I have problems, I’ve never met anyone I couldn’t talk around, given time. Although sometimes, even I didn’t have enough time. So, on the whole, it was better to be circumspect. To watch and wait a little. I can be patient, when I want to be. You need to know the right places and I always know the right places.
But sometimes, you just have to take a chance. You just look and you think yes. That one.
He was like that. There was a look to him, something sweet and appealing, especially to someone like me. He tried to conceal himself and I’m used to seeing that in people, watching them try to lock away what’s hidden inside. I watched him with his friends and he was good at it, I could give him that. Most people wouldn’t even suspect. But I knew. Oh yes, I knew.
I slid up to him, all smiles and interest. He liked it, of course. His name was Oliver Harper and he was lovely. Not pretty, not at all but there was a certain … look to him, something that appealed to me. And, naturally, he felt the same about me. So really, there was no reason that it shouldn’t be a deeply enjoyable mutual encounter
He came willingly when I invited him. I wonder if he spun himself a pretty lie? People do, even when they know why they come with me. People do love to lie to themselves.
Oliver Harper admired my home, accepted my offer of another drink. He was easier now we were alone, easier in himself. A removal of a mask that he no longer had to wear, not around me.
He was nice. I could tell that about him. He was one of those unusual people who is just genuinely nice and kind and probably generous with it. I’ve always liked people like that. It makes things easy. I would enjoy playing with him.
So. I took him to bed and he was wonderful, just experienced enough so that he didn’t do anything ridiculous but new and mostly untouched and wanting in that slightly wild way you get with people who aren’t used to the pleasures of sex. Oh, it was a good experience.
I woke in the morning and thought that he had gone at first. People do, sometimes - often. Doesn’t matter. If I want them again, I find them. But Oliver hadn’t gone. He had made me breakfast of all things and was staring at my portrait.
“Do you like it?”
“No, it’s absolutely horrid,” he said with rather charming frankness. “How can you stand it watching you?”
“Oh, it has a certain charm to it.”
“I think it’s sad.”
“What is?”
“The painting. Don’t you think it’s sad? It has sad eyes.”
I stared at him. I’ve heard people say many things about my portrait over the years, many things indeed but never …
“S-sad eyes?”
He nodded.
“It looks lonely,” he tried to explain. “All unhappy and bitter and .... oh, I don’t know. But it just looks so lost.”
“Yes.”
I changed the subject and he went along with it willingly, probably thinking that the conversation hadn’t mattered, just something to say about an odd piece of art that his new friend had on his wall.
He wanted to see me again. Of course he did. And I … I didn’t exactly refuse. Not exactly. But I was cooler with him than I might have been, perhaps.
Would it surprise you to hear that I have a conscience? Oh yes, it’s there, sometimes. And usually I ignore it, because, well, that’s who I am. But Oliver …
The next time I saw him, I introduced him to Georgy. A compromise of sorts, I suppose, between conscience and nature. Georgy was beautiful - oh, not like me but beautiful all the same. He also wasn’t that bright, an unfortunate combination. Oliver was quickly besotted with him, that was obvious. I left them to it.
I didn’t see Oliver again. I heard about him a little through the grapevine. He and Georgy actually made it work for a while, which surprised me rather. But then in 1966, Georgy was arrested, They went for Oliver too - Georgy would never have been able to conceal anything - but something happened. They say there was some sort of gas leak in the stock exchange, killing a lot of the men. Oliver Harper was supposedly one of them.
I don’t think I believe it. It was one of those government stories that doesn’t ring true if you know slightly more about the world. Something supernatural perhaps, or even extra-terrestrial. I watched for a while, kept an ear out for anyone that could have been him - just out of interest - but nothing ever came up.
Somehow, I hope he was all right.
Title: Happy Mood
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: G
Word Count: 200
Summary: Everyone in the TARDIS is completely happy except Rory.
Everything was ridiculously noisy in the TARDIS, much to Rory’s frustration.
“Did you see the way I punched him?” Amy was saying, her voice gleeful. “Did you see what I did? And then you plugged that light thing in and everything went woosh and it was just amazing!”
The Doctor was bouncing up and down too, skipping around the console. Rory ground his teeth and continued to carefully bind Amy’s wound, wishing they’d let him concentrate a bit better. He was sure that he’d done everything right but a moment to think would have been nice.
Ought he tell them how close it had been? That if it had been another inch, Amy would have bled to death before they could have got her back to the TARDIS and all of its creams and potions and amazing technology. That she could have died and they would have been powerless to save her.
“All done?” Amy asked, her voice cheerful. She leaned out and ruffled his hair affectionately, smiling her happy smile at him. “My brilliant Rory.”
“Hurrah for Rory!” the Doctor sang out and Rory found himself receiving a surprisingly strong, very happy hug.
No. Why bring them both down?
Title: Hazard of the Job
Fandom: Thunderbirds
Rating: PG
Word Count: 205
Summary: Set during Terror in New York City, getting Virigl out of Thunderbird 2.
There’s blood all over Virgil’s face by the time they get him out of Thunderbird 2. They’re all used to blood, of course, but it’s different when it’s one of them. His eyes are closed, his breathing far too shallow for anybody’s liking. And they can’t call a doctor, not immediately, because they have to make sure that Thunderbird 2 is hidden, that all traces of who they are have been completely concealed before they can bring anybody to help. They only have their own skills to help when it’s things like that.
When Scott finally gets in from Thunderbird 1’s hanger, he’s white and shaking. Alan makes him sit down and gives him coffee, glad it wasn’t him who had to watch Virgil struggle to fly Thunderbird 2 all the way back. Scott wants to help with the work but they ban him, knowing he needs to calm down or he’ll make mistakes.
Thunderbird 2 is hidden carefully away long before a doctor arrives. Jeff has a story all prepared, an accident to explain Virgil’s injuries. The doctor praises their skills, says that Virgil will be fine but nobody quite believes him. Not until Virgil wakes up and begins the slow journey to recovery.
Title: Close Calls
Fandom: Sarah Jane Adventures
Rating: G
Word Count: 100
Summary: They all think about the close calls.
Sometimes, they think about the close calls.
They all have their own way of dealing with it. Clyde makes jokes. Rani retreads what happened, going over every point in her mind, plotting and pointing. Luke prefers to focus on something else, making tea for everybody and letting himself relax so the thoughts aren’t so frightening.
Sarah Jane can’t always stop herself from dwelling on it. This is her choice, she brings the children into this. If the near misses become what they so easily could …
But they’ve all chosen their paths and she knows she wouldn’t change a thing.
Title: Friendly Fire
Fandom: Black Books/Doctor Faustus
Rating: G
Word Count: 293
Summary: Fran arrives at the shop and find that Bernard and Manny have done something stupid again.
When Fran came into the shop and saw the man standing there, she immediately knew Bernard and Manny had done something again. For a start, he was attractive which meant that had to be something wrong with him if he was just standing the shop like that. Then there was the fact that he was just standing there and didn’t seem to be worried by the fact that Manny was trying to set him on fire.
“Manny, what are you doing?”
Manny jumped and gave her the wild-eyed stare that he so often did when being caught doing something that he considered totally reasonable.
“Fran! Fran, this is Mephistoples! He came out of a book and Bernard hid and says he doesn’t want to talk about it and he says he won’t go back to hell so I thought I’d make him feel more at home.”
Fran paused, trying to rephrase Manny’s garbled sentence to make it mean something. The man blinked at her quite calmly and shrugged.
“He came out of a book?” she asked eventually.
“Yes! We found this devil summoning book and we thought that it wasn’t going to work but it did and Bernard’s a bit worried that he might be a debt collector … ”
“From hell?” Fran said.
“Yes,” Manny said. “Something a about a bottle of Borollo … ”
Fran decided not to ask. She also decided that it was time she left and did something with other people, people who weren’t setting fire to their own bookshops to make accidentally summoned demons feel at home or people who had possibly sold their soul for overpriced wine at some point during their lives.
The man smiled at her in a very friendly way as she left.
Fandom: The Confessions of Dorian Gray/His Dark Materials
Rating: G
Word Count: 338
Summary: Dorian has troubles, going through life with no visible daemon.
It’s difficult, going through life without a visible daemon. Oh, you get used to it personally, of course and I don’t miss her or anything like that but people do expect to catch a glimpse once in a while and of course, they can’t. I’m good at faking it though. I tell everyone that she’s an insect and I that I keep her safe in a matchbox. I keep the matchbox with me, let people see me playing with it and they tend to let it go. Even during sex, very few people seem to care. I often tell them she’s a wasp and nobody really wants their daemons to interact with a wasp.
Sometimes, I don’t tell them what she is. I let them try to guess and just laugh at all the answers and refuse to let them know if they are right or wrong. I like it like that. It amuses me, the guesses and the ideas and what people use to explain their ideas. You get an interesting little character study of yourself provided for free, usually completely wrong of course, but still, interesting all the same.
I can’t remember what she actually was any more.
Mark teased me about it all the time, thought it was oh-so funny that I wouldn’t “show her off.” Well, he would think that with his fussy, preening bird always on his shoulder, always flipping her tail and raising her crest to make people look. A few times, he actually grabbed for the matchbox and tried to get it open which was deeply irritating and not playing the game, as far as I was concerned. He was quick too, almost got it a few times. I had to offer up a few very short, sharp suggestions of what I would do to him to make him stop that little game. Which worked and he just went back to teasing.
“What’s wrong with her? Is she really ugly, is that it?”
“Oh,” I told him, looking at my portrait hanging to quietly on the wall. “You have no idea.”
Title: Lost
Fandom: Confessions of Dorian Gray/Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 864
Summary: Dorian Gray doesn't often feel the pangs of a conscience.
It was 1961. Not the most interesting of eras - not then. It got better, a lot better, for some people anyway. Certainly for me. But 1961 had it’s pleasures, like any other year.
Certainly for me.
But still, 1961. There’s a certain entertainment to be found in having to be careful. Not that I have problems, I’ve never met anyone I couldn’t talk around, given time. Although sometimes, even I didn’t have enough time. So, on the whole, it was better to be circumspect. To watch and wait a little. I can be patient, when I want to be. You need to know the right places and I always know the right places.
But sometimes, you just have to take a chance. You just look and you think yes. That one.
He was like that. There was a look to him, something sweet and appealing, especially to someone like me. He tried to conceal himself and I’m used to seeing that in people, watching them try to lock away what’s hidden inside. I watched him with his friends and he was good at it, I could give him that. Most people wouldn’t even suspect. But I knew. Oh yes, I knew.
I slid up to him, all smiles and interest. He liked it, of course. His name was Oliver Harper and he was lovely. Not pretty, not at all but there was a certain … look to him, something that appealed to me. And, naturally, he felt the same about me. So really, there was no reason that it shouldn’t be a deeply enjoyable mutual encounter
He came willingly when I invited him. I wonder if he spun himself a pretty lie? People do, even when they know why they come with me. People do love to lie to themselves.
Oliver Harper admired my home, accepted my offer of another drink. He was easier now we were alone, easier in himself. A removal of a mask that he no longer had to wear, not around me.
He was nice. I could tell that about him. He was one of those unusual people who is just genuinely nice and kind and probably generous with it. I’ve always liked people like that. It makes things easy. I would enjoy playing with him.
So. I took him to bed and he was wonderful, just experienced enough so that he didn’t do anything ridiculous but new and mostly untouched and wanting in that slightly wild way you get with people who aren’t used to the pleasures of sex. Oh, it was a good experience.
I woke in the morning and thought that he had gone at first. People do, sometimes - often. Doesn’t matter. If I want them again, I find them. But Oliver hadn’t gone. He had made me breakfast of all things and was staring at my portrait.
“Do you like it?”
“No, it’s absolutely horrid,” he said with rather charming frankness. “How can you stand it watching you?”
“Oh, it has a certain charm to it.”
“I think it’s sad.”
“What is?”
“The painting. Don’t you think it’s sad? It has sad eyes.”
I stared at him. I’ve heard people say many things about my portrait over the years, many things indeed but never …
“S-sad eyes?”
He nodded.
“It looks lonely,” he tried to explain. “All unhappy and bitter and .... oh, I don’t know. But it just looks so lost.”
“Yes.”
I changed the subject and he went along with it willingly, probably thinking that the conversation hadn’t mattered, just something to say about an odd piece of art that his new friend had on his wall.
He wanted to see me again. Of course he did. And I … I didn’t exactly refuse. Not exactly. But I was cooler with him than I might have been, perhaps.
Would it surprise you to hear that I have a conscience? Oh yes, it’s there, sometimes. And usually I ignore it, because, well, that’s who I am. But Oliver …
The next time I saw him, I introduced him to Georgy. A compromise of sorts, I suppose, between conscience and nature. Georgy was beautiful - oh, not like me but beautiful all the same. He also wasn’t that bright, an unfortunate combination. Oliver was quickly besotted with him, that was obvious. I left them to it.
I didn’t see Oliver again. I heard about him a little through the grapevine. He and Georgy actually made it work for a while, which surprised me rather. But then in 1966, Georgy was arrested, They went for Oliver too - Georgy would never have been able to conceal anything - but something happened. They say there was some sort of gas leak in the stock exchange, killing a lot of the men. Oliver Harper was supposedly one of them.
I don’t think I believe it. It was one of those government stories that doesn’t ring true if you know slightly more about the world. Something supernatural perhaps, or even extra-terrestrial. I watched for a while, kept an ear out for anyone that could have been him - just out of interest - but nothing ever came up.
Somehow, I hope he was all right.
Title: Happy Mood
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: G
Word Count: 200
Summary: Everyone in the TARDIS is completely happy except Rory.
Everything was ridiculously noisy in the TARDIS, much to Rory’s frustration.
“Did you see the way I punched him?” Amy was saying, her voice gleeful. “Did you see what I did? And then you plugged that light thing in and everything went woosh and it was just amazing!”
The Doctor was bouncing up and down too, skipping around the console. Rory ground his teeth and continued to carefully bind Amy’s wound, wishing they’d let him concentrate a bit better. He was sure that he’d done everything right but a moment to think would have been nice.
Ought he tell them how close it had been? That if it had been another inch, Amy would have bled to death before they could have got her back to the TARDIS and all of its creams and potions and amazing technology. That she could have died and they would have been powerless to save her.
“All done?” Amy asked, her voice cheerful. She leaned out and ruffled his hair affectionately, smiling her happy smile at him. “My brilliant Rory.”
“Hurrah for Rory!” the Doctor sang out and Rory found himself receiving a surprisingly strong, very happy hug.
No. Why bring them both down?
Title: Hazard of the Job
Fandom: Thunderbirds
Rating: PG
Word Count: 205
Summary: Set during Terror in New York City, getting Virigl out of Thunderbird 2.
There’s blood all over Virgil’s face by the time they get him out of Thunderbird 2. They’re all used to blood, of course, but it’s different when it’s one of them. His eyes are closed, his breathing far too shallow for anybody’s liking. And they can’t call a doctor, not immediately, because they have to make sure that Thunderbird 2 is hidden, that all traces of who they are have been completely concealed before they can bring anybody to help. They only have their own skills to help when it’s things like that.
When Scott finally gets in from Thunderbird 1’s hanger, he’s white and shaking. Alan makes him sit down and gives him coffee, glad it wasn’t him who had to watch Virgil struggle to fly Thunderbird 2 all the way back. Scott wants to help with the work but they ban him, knowing he needs to calm down or he’ll make mistakes.
Thunderbird 2 is hidden carefully away long before a doctor arrives. Jeff has a story all prepared, an accident to explain Virgil’s injuries. The doctor praises their skills, says that Virgil will be fine but nobody quite believes him. Not until Virgil wakes up and begins the slow journey to recovery.
Title: Close Calls
Fandom: Sarah Jane Adventures
Rating: G
Word Count: 100
Summary: They all think about the close calls.
Sometimes, they think about the close calls.
They all have their own way of dealing with it. Clyde makes jokes. Rani retreads what happened, going over every point in her mind, plotting and pointing. Luke prefers to focus on something else, making tea for everybody and letting himself relax so the thoughts aren’t so frightening.
Sarah Jane can’t always stop herself from dwelling on it. This is her choice, she brings the children into this. If the near misses become what they so easily could …
But they’ve all chosen their paths and she knows she wouldn’t change a thing.
Title: Friendly Fire
Fandom: Black Books/Doctor Faustus
Rating: G
Word Count: 293
Summary: Fran arrives at the shop and find that Bernard and Manny have done something stupid again.
When Fran came into the shop and saw the man standing there, she immediately knew Bernard and Manny had done something again. For a start, he was attractive which meant that had to be something wrong with him if he was just standing the shop like that. Then there was the fact that he was just standing there and didn’t seem to be worried by the fact that Manny was trying to set him on fire.
“Manny, what are you doing?”
Manny jumped and gave her the wild-eyed stare that he so often did when being caught doing something that he considered totally reasonable.
“Fran! Fran, this is Mephistoples! He came out of a book and Bernard hid and says he doesn’t want to talk about it and he says he won’t go back to hell so I thought I’d make him feel more at home.”
Fran paused, trying to rephrase Manny’s garbled sentence to make it mean something. The man blinked at her quite calmly and shrugged.
“He came out of a book?” she asked eventually.
“Yes! We found this devil summoning book and we thought that it wasn’t going to work but it did and Bernard’s a bit worried that he might be a debt collector … ”
“From hell?” Fran said.
“Yes,” Manny said. “Something a about a bottle of Borollo … ”
Fran decided not to ask. She also decided that it was time she left and did something with other people, people who weren’t setting fire to their own bookshops to make accidentally summoned demons feel at home or people who had possibly sold their soul for overpriced wine at some point during their lives.
The man smiled at her in a very friendly way as she left.