On the seventh day of Christmas
my true love sent to me
seven people watching
[Title] Unguarded
[Fandom] Death Note
[Rating] PG
[Prompt] From lycoris: "Raito/L, a bit lost". Both Raito and L know people are always watching, and neither are quite sure, in this instance, of what they're meant to be doing.
Raito would never admit this even to himself, but in his head there are always people watching: noting down how well he's done, or if there any areas for improvement. Others delude themselves that no one notices their mistakes; he ensures he never makes any.
L maintains a healthy level of paranoia about whether he's being observed, because that's common sense when you are the three greatest detectives in the world. However, he also knows that a lot of the time, distracting watchers with cake, or bare feet, or inappropriate questions, means that no one is watching when you carry out the important tasks.
For both of them, therefore, the sex is a problem. Raito is fully aware that the following are less than desirable behaviours: physical intimacy with another man, physical intimacy with a colleague, physical intimacy with someone so (he suspects deliberately) eccentric, physical intimacy with someone out to get you hanged for murder. He is also fully aware that L is watching him; there's no need to imagine anyone observing him. Lastly, he knows that arousal and abandonment give you away. You're always less careful when it's not your mind that's in control.
L is unsure at this point whether intimacy with Raito counts as a distracting behaviour or whether it actually is the important task. Being unsure is problematic for him, and there's a high probability (no need to calculate it, though, no need to put a number on what he's risking) that it will get him killed. He is inexperienced. He fumbles. All too often, Raito looks at him in bafflement or disgust, and he is well aware that this is moving towards an unacceptable level of risk.
On the other hand...
On the other hand, there are benefits.
Raito has never been this intoxicated by romantic contact before. He did what was expected of him, to an appropriate level, and watched his partners through half-closed eyes. Kissing was often boring, but he usually had some kind of puzzle he could retreat to. This is not boring. This is discovery and competition and - in a way, doesn't it feel like flying to show the watchers how little he cares for their opinion? Doesn't it underline just how powerful Kira really is, that he no longer needs to care for their opinions?
L counts it as a useful learning exercise to become involved with a suspect, as well as to confirm the effects lust and sexual activity have on logic and the mind. If he survives this case, then this data will be valuable for future consideration of suspects. If he doesn't survive, then he's not at all sorry that this incident has occurred. Most of the time he's not lonely. Most of the time he is happy. But a little variety and sheer physical sensation is welcome, and at least he is not bored.
[Title] Networking
[Fandom] Baccano!/The Confessions of Dorian Gray (non-specific spoilers for S1 Episode 4)
[Rating] G
[Notes/Summary] Dorian has come to New York, where he runs into some... old friends. For lycoris, who requested this meeting.
New York, 1987. I had made my way to the city that never sleeps with the intention of surrounding myself with anonymity, and thus connecting with precisely no one. I had lost something precious; I could admit that now, if only to myself. New York City is a good place to lose oneself in return.
I had not, however, counted on Isaac and Miria.
“Dorian!”
Only one woman has a shriek that piercing. Only two people would throw themselves across a packed street, in front of a cavalcade of taxis, utterly unconcerned about the screech of brakes and hailstorm of obscenities from drivers, and leap on me in a hug. In New York City, no less - which sees much, but still stared at the sheer ebullience on display.
Those two people I had last seen in 1935. They now stood in front of me, Miria in a red skirt and jacket with enormous shoulder pads, Isaac in a suit with equally eye-catching red braces. They had not aged a day.
I am accustomed to provoking this bafflement in others, and for once I could sympathise with humanity's confusion. Although I was less surprised than perhaps I would have been had I not met Toby.
I had not been intending to think about Toby.
“Did you come back to see us?” Miria said, clasping her hands and gazing up at me.
“Of course not, Miria! He came back to do business,” Isaac said, flinging an arm round her and pointing dramatically at me. “Look how smart his suit is! That's the suit of a man who knows a good business opportunity when he sees it! You can see your face in his shoes!”
Miria glanced at my feet and squealed, “Awesome!” while Isaac popped open the briefcase he was holding and began scrabbling through papers, finally pulling out a large, glossy brochure with a full-colour photograph of the two of them on the front and a logo: I&M Enterprises. “Observe!” he said, raising it skyward.
“Silly, how can Dorian observe it when it's all the way up there?” Miria said, yanking his arm down.
“Observe,” Isaac said again, even more dramatically. “Observe and be unable to resist this amazing business opportunity, Mr Gray. Invest in I&M Enterprises and I can assure you, you will see a two hundred per cent return on your investment within a year.”
“Business is the future!” Miria cheered.
Isaac paged through the brochure, which seemed to be full of photographs of himself and Miria posing intensely in an office. “You'll see we have all the successful qualities of a thriving modern business, my good man. Photocopiers - Dictaphones -”
“Chairs that swivel all the way round -”
“Potted plants -”
“Business cards! Ooh, Isaac, show him the cards!”
“But what,” I said, before Isaac could carry out another dive into his briefcase, “does your business actually do?”
Isaac and Miria looked at each other blankly and frowned for a second before Isaac said, “Diversification!”
“Yes, diversification!”
“It does everything.”
“Everything!”
I could have pointed out the flaws in - well, I hesitate to call it a business plan - but I was remembering that despite their near-lunatic idiocy (I had met them during what can only be called a caper involving several tons of illicit whisky, two Eskimo costumes, a stuffed seal, a chase along the Hudson river in a barge, and most of the city's Mafiosi) there was something... appealing about them. In a way, they were mirror images of Toby. As with him, clearly, time was not a factor for them. But while he had always had darkness, they were nothing but... well, call it brightness. Like sunlight in shallow water.
“Perhaps we could talk about this over a drink,” I said - and, because I knew they never had any money and had doubtless spent what they didn't have on swivel chairs - “It's on me.”
Miria cheered and tucked her arm into mine; Isaac clapped me on the back; and they began propelling me down the street to the nearest bar. I found myself happy, which surprised me - but then, anonymity isn't all it's cracked up to be. And besides, I suspected there was a tale to be told about how two people constantly on the verge of dying through their own stupidity had become immortal...
[Title] Actions and Words
[Fandom] Sarah Jane Adventures
[Rating] G
[Prompt] From lycoris, "Luke and Clyde talking about feelings."
Clyde was lying on the floor in Luke's room technically doing homework but really drawing a ninja doing kung fu moves down the edge of the page when Luke said, in his usual scientifically-pondering-something-most-people-don't-even-need-to-ask-about tone, “How do you know what it's right to feel?”
Clyde ran the sentence back and forth through his head a few times, then put his pen down and rolled over to look at his weirdo friend. “What?”
“I mean, is it friends?” Luke said, frowning at him over his science textbook. “Or your mum and dad? Or... TV? Or do they tell you at school?”
“Tell you what? What you should be feeling?” This was way too confusing a conversation to be having after a day which had included double maths and chemistry and a surprise test on the Industrial Revolution. “You don't need to be told what to feel, you just feel it.”
Luke looked dubious. Clyde wasn't having that - in their partnership he was the expert in anything involving day-to-day normal human interaction, after all - so he said, “I mean, yeah, your parents and teachers and stuff tell you how to act. Like, if you're really mad you get taught pretty early on not to punch someone in the face. Or not just randomly, anyway. Or not unless you're really mad...” Luke was looking even more baffled, so Clyde quickly said, “But they don't tell you how you should feel to start with. You just know that.”
“Oh.”
“Okay, just so you know, it's really not cool for guys to be talking about feelings, so I'm not actually asking this, but - why? I mean, if you're confused about a feelings thing, you should -” He couldn't believe he was saying this - “probably ask me. Or your mum. Yeah, Sarah Jane's good on the whole feelings thing... I mean, not that you can't ask me if you want, it's not like I don't know...”
Luke grinned. “It's okay, I won't tell anyone you said that.”
“Ha ha.”
“And I'm not confused about a particular thing. I'm just trying to get my head round it.” Weird how when he said stuff like that it still sounded a bit odd. “You know, like if there's something that normal people all know. It's the kind of thing you wouldn't pick up just by watching.”
“No, there isn't.” Clyde rolled back over and started finishing off the ninja. He thought probably if there was something to be picked up by watching, Luke would get it. Luke watched everything and he remembered it all too. Clyde just did stuff. Half the time when he remembered things he didn't really have an idea of how it would've looked to someone else, just how it had felt to him. Which was funny considering how much he liked drawing. But then, that was stuff happening to other people.
“I reckon if you're feeling stuff about stuff that no one else feels,” he carried on, “then you're a nutter, but don't worry, me and Maria'll tell you if we think that's what's up.” The latest ninja was nearly finished. It probably wasn't feeling anything. If you were a ninja, you didn't really have any room for doubt.
“Like,” he carried on, thinking about it, “if you're not terrified when the latest alien menace tries to eat our heads, then you're a little bit weird. You know?”
“Okay,” Luke said, thoughtfully. “But can I be interested, too?”
“In what?”
“The... alien menace.”
Clyde groaned. “I suppose. Only because it's you and you do stuff like that.”
“Got it,” Luke said. “And you'll tell me if I'm feeling anything flat-out wrong?”
Clyde wanted to say Yeah, sure, you know it but it didn't seem right, suddenly. Not least because he wasn't totally sure of his own feelings right now. Sympathy was in there that Luke even had to ask this kind of stuff. And maybe you did watch, when you were really little, and try and work it out, and he just didn't remember.
“I'll tell you if you're acting flat-out wrong,” he said. “For feelings, you're on your own. Like I said - really not cool, yeah?” He looked up, grinned, to show Luke he was sort-of kidding, and his friend smiled back.
[Title] Doubles
[Fandom] Malory Towers
[Rating] PG
[Notes/Summary] Sally doesn't know why she's kissing Felicity, but she isn't planning to stop.
Sally supposes the constant feeling of being watched comes with the territory. After all, one isn't really supposed to be kissing another girl. She should be ashamed enough about just that.
She watches herself. And not because it's another girl - oh, she has known for years how she feels about girls, and boys, and known that she is not right in a fundamental way - but because it is her best friend's little sister, and -
The questions batter her like hailstones. Is she doing this because really she wants to be kissing Darrell? Does she want to kiss Darrell? What does Felicity think? Does she worry that she's just following in her big sister's footsteps, again? Does she even want to be kissing Sally? Is this just the only way she can see to be someone else?
Sally wraps herself around the questions, hiding them in her coat, like wounds in her chest. What's wrong? Nothing. Nothing's wrong. Darrell has noticed her silence, and is hurt by it. Sally doesn't know if she herself is upset by that or not. Perhaps she's glad. Perhaps she wants someone else to hurt. But not Felicity. The worst of this is the thought that she's dragged Felicity into - that she has ruined the other girl, that she is making her sad.
(She looks like Darrell, of course she does, but she's softer, smaller; her hair is longer and fluffy where Darrell's is wiry, her wrists are thinner, she has fewer freckles and in the sun she ends up with red patches on her cheekbones and shoulders.)
Perhaps it's just wanting to protect someone. Darrell won't ever need protecting, not really.
Perhaps it's just liking something too much not to. Like stealing chocolate. Certainly Sally feels greedy and fat and sticky-mouthed. Certainly if she suggests to herself she should stop, white-hot rage flicks out like a whip that how dare someone try and take this away. Darrell watches her. Felicity keeps the secret and only seems thoughtful. Perhaps she doesn't have the same sorts of questions. Perhaps she knows it's pointless chasing the answers.
[Title] Data Protection
[Fandom] Portal
[Rating] G
[Prompt] From mayfic: "GLaDOS keeps records. If you've been anywhere near Aperture Science since she became a supercomputer, she knows who you are and makes note of every detail."
Doug never really noticed the cameras - after all, every company is outfitting their premises with CCTV these days, and they do have a sizeable IT/tech/R&D department. So Big Brother is watching you - or Big Sister, given their OS's voice output - but hey, same old, same old.
But he's a little taken aback by the scope of the watching during his induction to the GlaDOS team's systems.
“Sophisticated facial recognition software,” Henry is saying as they both lean over one of the terminals. “Cross-referenced to our internal records, of course, and then scans external as well - Social Security, driver's ID, passport -” He's like a guy showing off the heated seats and four-wheel drive on a new car. “So, for instance, let's...”
The screen switches to a grainy camera feed; the Enrichment Centre car park. Walking across is the kid who delivers the papers. Late again. Henry taps another button, and a white square flickers briefly around the boy's head. Another tap, a little spinning hourglass, and then:
Information. The guy's name (Jason Gardiner), age (17 years five months), address, date of birth, parents' names. Noted appearances on company premises; list of towns visited in last year; known health conditions. Police record; shoe size; GPA. Siblings; preferred sports teams...
“Favourite foods?” Doug squinted, his eyes already blurring from the walls of text. “You're kidding me.”
“Nope,” Henry said. “It checks credit card statements and the store records. Look - chili potato chips, turkey sandwiches, Reese's Pieces -”
“And cake.”
“That's a glitch. It adds cake to the end of every list, don't know why. But isn't it fantastic?”
Doug knew the correct response was Yeah, it's amazing and he really, really wanted just to marvel at the algorithms and data mining that must've gone into this, but he couldn't help thinking about how, somewhere in Aperture's systems, there was a really easily-accessible note that he'd just filled a prescription for anti-psychotic medication. Of course you couldn't ask so could anyone look up my file? Just like this? That'd be pretty much spelling out I have an embarrassing secret no one must ever know.
“Is it... actually legal?” he asked instead.
Henry flapped a hand somewhere in the direction of one of the cameras. “Yeah, yeah. The higher-ups take care of all that, you know they do.”
Which was code for you probably shouldn't spend any more time pondering that particular issue. Word to the wise.
“Of course the market research teams are going apeshit over it,” Henry said. “Like that's the most important thing. Kind of sweet, they don't get how much this means for those of us who actually programmed the damn thing...”
Doug nodded and listened and smiled and reminded himself that this job paid the rent plus a good amount left and was in a field directly related to what he cared about and was a much-needed boost to his resume. But he couldn't stop noticing the cameras, after that.
[Title] Dust and Ashes
[Fandom] Death Note
[Rating] G
[Prompt] From mayfic: "Mello finds something L wrote a long time ago."
Mello never told anyone about the exercise book. He found it under a loose floorboard in the attic. Well, actually it wasn't a loose floorboard. It had been nailed down just like the others and it was buried beneath old suitcases and broken-down furniture, but he'd been bored and enjoying the (admittedly rather pathetic) thrill of messing up the attic. And noticing the nail was newer than all the others was hardly his fault. It was what he'd been trained to do, right?
(Actually he wondered sometimes if he, or someone, had been meant to find it. Surely L would have destroyed anything he really wanted secret - don't so many criminals get caught out by badly-hidden evidence?)
Written in faded biro on rough lined paper was the handwriting he sometimes saw on letters lying on Roger's desk. For a few moments he thought he was going crazy, seeing L everywhere. But it was no mistake. He'd found the great L's secret diary: dates given around 1995-6, entries in a variety of languages: Monday was Japanese, Tuesday Russian, Wednesday French, Thursday something like Swedish or Norwegian, Friday English but mirror-writing, Saturday Arabic, Sunday Morse Code. So reading it was practically homework.
I am forced to think more closely about my image. A child detective is simply an intelligent child; few people look beyond that. An adult detective can be many different things and I must decide which of the masks to wear. Watari has urged me to consider it, but says I can make the decision myself. He says that after all, I will be the one who has to live with whatever mannerisms/traits/attitudes we decide on.
After the first few pages Mello sort of wanted to devour the whole thing and he sort of wanted to stop reading right away. Because either L had wanted him (or someone) to find this and being the direct focus of L's attention was always scary; or he hadn't wanted it to be found, and Mello didn't want to be getting one over on L. (Except sometimes he sort of did, but actually coming close to it was terrifying. This made no sense, but he couldn't exactly ask someone's advice about it.)
I am losing track now of what is a mannerism and what is something I did before. This is not a problem, but I dislike not knowing things/not remembering them. I would ask Watari, but I remember very well that he told me, when I came here, not to think about my past. (I considered calling it Before but capitalisation gives it too much weight for my taste.) I think we both made an error. I think we lost valuable information. Even if it was only about me, information is always of use, is it not?
But at the same time it was like L - teenage L, L the same age as him almost - was sitting here talking to him. Was worried. Was asking him for advice. He knew this was blatantly not true, but it felt so good he was dizzy to sort of pretend it was. And
Watari asked me today whether I felt any need for some kind of teenage rebellion. I considered manifesting an interest in rock music or body modification, but I think we would both know it was a pretense. In the end I answered that I was happy with my current interest in taxidermy and Watari's relaxed attitude to my social skills and diet. I think that I was telling the truth. Rebellion for rebellion's sake only would be a waste of effort, wouldn't it? I would only be rebelling against who I am. Why would I choose to walk away from being L? And yet sometimes I wonder if I am missing something, if I am being puppeted, if I will look back and wish I had broken free at this time. I am fully aware that this paranoid focus on anarchy is typical for someone of my age.
Later, in Los Angeles, when he was older and smarter and really had no patience for self-indulgent losers keeping diaries, he felt bad for his idol's younger self. In later years L must have been embarrassed that he'd indulged in written soul-searching like a high school girl wondering if the captain of the football team fancied her. (But then why hadn't he burnt the diary? It had to have been a message to someone, but god knew who. Or what he'd been trying to say.)
I should have noted down more of my observations concerning my parents. I have extensive notes on the inhabitants of the House, and even of Watari himself - though I suspect that the majority of those are simply records of what he wishes me to see. The notes on former classmates and neighbours were relatively easy to record, though written from a child's perspective.
It is probably dangerous to record any specifics of my former life.
I choose not to.
Mello took the diary with him when he left, but he burnt it while hitchhiking at the side of a motorway. A lot had already crumbled to ashes by then.
[Title] The Usual Suspects
[Fandom] Merlin/Ashes to Ashes
[Rating] PG
[Prompt] From robert_frogg, who asked for Gene Hunt meeting Arthur and Merlin. Merlin knows nothing about the latest threat to Camelot, but he's not sure the captain of the guards will believe him...
(This is the first time I've ever written Gene. It was kind of tricky >_>)
Merlin has a nasty feeling the captain of the guards is watching him. He's working really hard on looking like dull-witted big-eared servant boy thinking about what his next meal might be, but he's not sure this man's as taken in by it as he'd like.
“So there are no leads on who triggered the curse,” Arthur is saying.
“No, but we're working on digging some up. I've got my men going door-to-door in the lower town. Lots of Helping The Camelot Guards With Their Enquiries.”
Arthur frowns. “Reports indicate that that usually involves punching people in the face until they confess to something.”
The captain clears his throat, stares straight ahead. “Malicious rumours spread by anti-monarch basta - uh - subversive elements still at large in our blessed kingdom, your Majesty.”
Merlin tries to look innocent. Or stupid. Stupid people don't get confessions kicked out of them, because the kickers think it'll take too long to get anything useful. Probably.
“Mm.” Arthur drums his fingers against the table. “The Camelot guards were encouraged to take a more... hands-on approach during my father's reign.”
“All of our searches have been conducted strictly by royal decree,” the captain says. The words come out clipped - making a report, deferring to authority. Merlin's heard him shouting at the guards. At thieves and troublemakers. At everyone, really. He picked up a man trying to sell off stolen horses, headbutted him and threw him into the nearest midden. When the last group of mecenaries tried to invade Camelot, he defended one of the wall gates with a pike for five hours. Now he's trying to be... formal. Polite. Merlin sort of wants to say, it's only Arthur. You can be rude to him. It's probably better to be rude to him, it stops him getting too big-headed. Except that it would sort of ruin the whole not-drawing-attention-to-himself thing.
Arthur raises an eyebrow. “Would I be right in thinking that royal decree in this case is another way of saying sledgehammer?”
“More malicious rumours, my lord.”
Arthur evidently chooses to let that bit go. “Very well. I'm sure you'll continue your investigations with your usual... uh... efficiency. The latest victim is in Gaius's chambers - Merlin can go with you.” At least he doesn't mutter anything like and Merlin, try not to end up in the tavern this time. Although not that this man would mind that - by all accounts he's there himself most nights. Merlin tries to keep this in mind, focus on small things, and hopes that's enough to keep up the innocent demeanour. He scurries along in the captain's wake but as they stride down the corridor he can't resist saying, “So... I guess you're looking for a pretty experienced sorceror, right? Probably someone sneaked in from outside?”
“I'm looking for someone who's having too much fun making fools out of us,” the captain growls. “Someone who thinks they can do what they want because the guards in this town are stupid. Most of them are bloody stupid, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let some lowlife scum get away with using people's intestines as tapestries.”
He stops, suddenly, turns to face Merlin, who almost crashes into him.
“And you should tell Golden Boy I've got my eye on his nearest and dearest as well,” he says. “A lot of nobles think they can piss on everyone's heads and be believed when they call it rain. Anyone in the king's inner circle who shows the slightest tendency towards mumbo-jumbo chanting and making books out of people's skins, I'm coming down on them like a Great Dragon who just saw some filthy and slanderous graffiti about the night-time activities of its mother.” He lowers his head so that he's staring right into Merlin's eyes. “Get it, sonny boy?”
Merlin manages to nod. He hopes he's got his most wide-eyed, gormless expression on. If this man has even the slightest suspicion of the secrets he's keeping, then nothing else is going to save him.
seven people watching
[Title] Unguarded
[Fandom] Death Note
[Rating] PG
[Prompt] From lycoris: "Raito/L, a bit lost". Both Raito and L know people are always watching, and neither are quite sure, in this instance, of what they're meant to be doing.
Raito would never admit this even to himself, but in his head there are always people watching: noting down how well he's done, or if there any areas for improvement. Others delude themselves that no one notices their mistakes; he ensures he never makes any.
L maintains a healthy level of paranoia about whether he's being observed, because that's common sense when you are the three greatest detectives in the world. However, he also knows that a lot of the time, distracting watchers with cake, or bare feet, or inappropriate questions, means that no one is watching when you carry out the important tasks.
For both of them, therefore, the sex is a problem. Raito is fully aware that the following are less than desirable behaviours: physical intimacy with another man, physical intimacy with a colleague, physical intimacy with someone so (he suspects deliberately) eccentric, physical intimacy with someone out to get you hanged for murder. He is also fully aware that L is watching him; there's no need to imagine anyone observing him. Lastly, he knows that arousal and abandonment give you away. You're always less careful when it's not your mind that's in control.
L is unsure at this point whether intimacy with Raito counts as a distracting behaviour or whether it actually is the important task. Being unsure is problematic for him, and there's a high probability (no need to calculate it, though, no need to put a number on what he's risking) that it will get him killed. He is inexperienced. He fumbles. All too often, Raito looks at him in bafflement or disgust, and he is well aware that this is moving towards an unacceptable level of risk.
On the other hand...
On the other hand, there are benefits.
Raito has never been this intoxicated by romantic contact before. He did what was expected of him, to an appropriate level, and watched his partners through half-closed eyes. Kissing was often boring, but he usually had some kind of puzzle he could retreat to. This is not boring. This is discovery and competition and - in a way, doesn't it feel like flying to show the watchers how little he cares for their opinion? Doesn't it underline just how powerful Kira really is, that he no longer needs to care for their opinions?
L counts it as a useful learning exercise to become involved with a suspect, as well as to confirm the effects lust and sexual activity have on logic and the mind. If he survives this case, then this data will be valuable for future consideration of suspects. If he doesn't survive, then he's not at all sorry that this incident has occurred. Most of the time he's not lonely. Most of the time he is happy. But a little variety and sheer physical sensation is welcome, and at least he is not bored.
[Title] Networking
[Fandom] Baccano!/The Confessions of Dorian Gray (non-specific spoilers for S1 Episode 4)
[Rating] G
[Notes/Summary] Dorian has come to New York, where he runs into some... old friends. For lycoris, who requested this meeting.
New York, 1987. I had made my way to the city that never sleeps with the intention of surrounding myself with anonymity, and thus connecting with precisely no one. I had lost something precious; I could admit that now, if only to myself. New York City is a good place to lose oneself in return.
I had not, however, counted on Isaac and Miria.
“Dorian!”
Only one woman has a shriek that piercing. Only two people would throw themselves across a packed street, in front of a cavalcade of taxis, utterly unconcerned about the screech of brakes and hailstorm of obscenities from drivers, and leap on me in a hug. In New York City, no less - which sees much, but still stared at the sheer ebullience on display.
Those two people I had last seen in 1935. They now stood in front of me, Miria in a red skirt and jacket with enormous shoulder pads, Isaac in a suit with equally eye-catching red braces. They had not aged a day.
I am accustomed to provoking this bafflement in others, and for once I could sympathise with humanity's confusion. Although I was less surprised than perhaps I would have been had I not met Toby.
I had not been intending to think about Toby.
“Did you come back to see us?” Miria said, clasping her hands and gazing up at me.
“Of course not, Miria! He came back to do business,” Isaac said, flinging an arm round her and pointing dramatically at me. “Look how smart his suit is! That's the suit of a man who knows a good business opportunity when he sees it! You can see your face in his shoes!”
Miria glanced at my feet and squealed, “Awesome!” while Isaac popped open the briefcase he was holding and began scrabbling through papers, finally pulling out a large, glossy brochure with a full-colour photograph of the two of them on the front and a logo: I&M Enterprises. “Observe!” he said, raising it skyward.
“Silly, how can Dorian observe it when it's all the way up there?” Miria said, yanking his arm down.
“Observe,” Isaac said again, even more dramatically. “Observe and be unable to resist this amazing business opportunity, Mr Gray. Invest in I&M Enterprises and I can assure you, you will see a two hundred per cent return on your investment within a year.”
“Business is the future!” Miria cheered.
Isaac paged through the brochure, which seemed to be full of photographs of himself and Miria posing intensely in an office. “You'll see we have all the successful qualities of a thriving modern business, my good man. Photocopiers - Dictaphones -”
“Chairs that swivel all the way round -”
“Potted plants -”
“Business cards! Ooh, Isaac, show him the cards!”
“But what,” I said, before Isaac could carry out another dive into his briefcase, “does your business actually do?”
Isaac and Miria looked at each other blankly and frowned for a second before Isaac said, “Diversification!”
“Yes, diversification!”
“It does everything.”
“Everything!”
I could have pointed out the flaws in - well, I hesitate to call it a business plan - but I was remembering that despite their near-lunatic idiocy (I had met them during what can only be called a caper involving several tons of illicit whisky, two Eskimo costumes, a stuffed seal, a chase along the Hudson river in a barge, and most of the city's Mafiosi) there was something... appealing about them. In a way, they were mirror images of Toby. As with him, clearly, time was not a factor for them. But while he had always had darkness, they were nothing but... well, call it brightness. Like sunlight in shallow water.
“Perhaps we could talk about this over a drink,” I said - and, because I knew they never had any money and had doubtless spent what they didn't have on swivel chairs - “It's on me.”
Miria cheered and tucked her arm into mine; Isaac clapped me on the back; and they began propelling me down the street to the nearest bar. I found myself happy, which surprised me - but then, anonymity isn't all it's cracked up to be. And besides, I suspected there was a tale to be told about how two people constantly on the verge of dying through their own stupidity had become immortal...
[Title] Actions and Words
[Fandom] Sarah Jane Adventures
[Rating] G
[Prompt] From lycoris, "Luke and Clyde talking about feelings."
Clyde was lying on the floor in Luke's room technically doing homework but really drawing a ninja doing kung fu moves down the edge of the page when Luke said, in his usual scientifically-pondering-something-most-people-don't-even-need-to-ask-about tone, “How do you know what it's right to feel?”
Clyde ran the sentence back and forth through his head a few times, then put his pen down and rolled over to look at his weirdo friend. “What?”
“I mean, is it friends?” Luke said, frowning at him over his science textbook. “Or your mum and dad? Or... TV? Or do they tell you at school?”
“Tell you what? What you should be feeling?” This was way too confusing a conversation to be having after a day which had included double maths and chemistry and a surprise test on the Industrial Revolution. “You don't need to be told what to feel, you just feel it.”
Luke looked dubious. Clyde wasn't having that - in their partnership he was the expert in anything involving day-to-day normal human interaction, after all - so he said, “I mean, yeah, your parents and teachers and stuff tell you how to act. Like, if you're really mad you get taught pretty early on not to punch someone in the face. Or not just randomly, anyway. Or not unless you're really mad...” Luke was looking even more baffled, so Clyde quickly said, “But they don't tell you how you should feel to start with. You just know that.”
“Oh.”
“Okay, just so you know, it's really not cool for guys to be talking about feelings, so I'm not actually asking this, but - why? I mean, if you're confused about a feelings thing, you should -” He couldn't believe he was saying this - “probably ask me. Or your mum. Yeah, Sarah Jane's good on the whole feelings thing... I mean, not that you can't ask me if you want, it's not like I don't know...”
Luke grinned. “It's okay, I won't tell anyone you said that.”
“Ha ha.”
“And I'm not confused about a particular thing. I'm just trying to get my head round it.” Weird how when he said stuff like that it still sounded a bit odd. “You know, like if there's something that normal people all know. It's the kind of thing you wouldn't pick up just by watching.”
“No, there isn't.” Clyde rolled back over and started finishing off the ninja. He thought probably if there was something to be picked up by watching, Luke would get it. Luke watched everything and he remembered it all too. Clyde just did stuff. Half the time when he remembered things he didn't really have an idea of how it would've looked to someone else, just how it had felt to him. Which was funny considering how much he liked drawing. But then, that was stuff happening to other people.
“I reckon if you're feeling stuff about stuff that no one else feels,” he carried on, “then you're a nutter, but don't worry, me and Maria'll tell you if we think that's what's up.” The latest ninja was nearly finished. It probably wasn't feeling anything. If you were a ninja, you didn't really have any room for doubt.
“Like,” he carried on, thinking about it, “if you're not terrified when the latest alien menace tries to eat our heads, then you're a little bit weird. You know?”
“Okay,” Luke said, thoughtfully. “But can I be interested, too?”
“In what?”
“The... alien menace.”
Clyde groaned. “I suppose. Only because it's you and you do stuff like that.”
“Got it,” Luke said. “And you'll tell me if I'm feeling anything flat-out wrong?”
Clyde wanted to say Yeah, sure, you know it but it didn't seem right, suddenly. Not least because he wasn't totally sure of his own feelings right now. Sympathy was in there that Luke even had to ask this kind of stuff. And maybe you did watch, when you were really little, and try and work it out, and he just didn't remember.
“I'll tell you if you're acting flat-out wrong,” he said. “For feelings, you're on your own. Like I said - really not cool, yeah?” He looked up, grinned, to show Luke he was sort-of kidding, and his friend smiled back.
[Title] Doubles
[Fandom] Malory Towers
[Rating] PG
[Notes/Summary] Sally doesn't know why she's kissing Felicity, but she isn't planning to stop.
Sally supposes the constant feeling of being watched comes with the territory. After all, one isn't really supposed to be kissing another girl. She should be ashamed enough about just that.
She watches herself. And not because it's another girl - oh, she has known for years how she feels about girls, and boys, and known that she is not right in a fundamental way - but because it is her best friend's little sister, and -
The questions batter her like hailstones. Is she doing this because really she wants to be kissing Darrell? Does she want to kiss Darrell? What does Felicity think? Does she worry that she's just following in her big sister's footsteps, again? Does she even want to be kissing Sally? Is this just the only way she can see to be someone else?
Sally wraps herself around the questions, hiding them in her coat, like wounds in her chest. What's wrong? Nothing. Nothing's wrong. Darrell has noticed her silence, and is hurt by it. Sally doesn't know if she herself is upset by that or not. Perhaps she's glad. Perhaps she wants someone else to hurt. But not Felicity. The worst of this is the thought that she's dragged Felicity into - that she has ruined the other girl, that she is making her sad.
(She looks like Darrell, of course she does, but she's softer, smaller; her hair is longer and fluffy where Darrell's is wiry, her wrists are thinner, she has fewer freckles and in the sun she ends up with red patches on her cheekbones and shoulders.)
Perhaps it's just wanting to protect someone. Darrell won't ever need protecting, not really.
Perhaps it's just liking something too much not to. Like stealing chocolate. Certainly Sally feels greedy and fat and sticky-mouthed. Certainly if she suggests to herself she should stop, white-hot rage flicks out like a whip that how dare someone try and take this away. Darrell watches her. Felicity keeps the secret and only seems thoughtful. Perhaps she doesn't have the same sorts of questions. Perhaps she knows it's pointless chasing the answers.
[Title] Data Protection
[Fandom] Portal
[Rating] G
[Prompt] From mayfic: "GLaDOS keeps records. If you've been anywhere near Aperture Science since she became a supercomputer, she knows who you are and makes note of every detail."
Doug never really noticed the cameras - after all, every company is outfitting their premises with CCTV these days, and they do have a sizeable IT/tech/R&D department. So Big Brother is watching you - or Big Sister, given their OS's voice output - but hey, same old, same old.
But he's a little taken aback by the scope of the watching during his induction to the GlaDOS team's systems.
“Sophisticated facial recognition software,” Henry is saying as they both lean over one of the terminals. “Cross-referenced to our internal records, of course, and then scans external as well - Social Security, driver's ID, passport -” He's like a guy showing off the heated seats and four-wheel drive on a new car. “So, for instance, let's...”
The screen switches to a grainy camera feed; the Enrichment Centre car park. Walking across is the kid who delivers the papers. Late again. Henry taps another button, and a white square flickers briefly around the boy's head. Another tap, a little spinning hourglass, and then:
Information. The guy's name (Jason Gardiner), age (17 years five months), address, date of birth, parents' names. Noted appearances on company premises; list of towns visited in last year; known health conditions. Police record; shoe size; GPA. Siblings; preferred sports teams...
“Favourite foods?” Doug squinted, his eyes already blurring from the walls of text. “You're kidding me.”
“Nope,” Henry said. “It checks credit card statements and the store records. Look - chili potato chips, turkey sandwiches, Reese's Pieces -”
“And cake.”
“That's a glitch. It adds cake to the end of every list, don't know why. But isn't it fantastic?”
Doug knew the correct response was Yeah, it's amazing and he really, really wanted just to marvel at the algorithms and data mining that must've gone into this, but he couldn't help thinking about how, somewhere in Aperture's systems, there was a really easily-accessible note that he'd just filled a prescription for anti-psychotic medication. Of course you couldn't ask so could anyone look up my file? Just like this? That'd be pretty much spelling out I have an embarrassing secret no one must ever know.
“Is it... actually legal?” he asked instead.
Henry flapped a hand somewhere in the direction of one of the cameras. “Yeah, yeah. The higher-ups take care of all that, you know they do.”
Which was code for you probably shouldn't spend any more time pondering that particular issue. Word to the wise.
“Of course the market research teams are going apeshit over it,” Henry said. “Like that's the most important thing. Kind of sweet, they don't get how much this means for those of us who actually programmed the damn thing...”
Doug nodded and listened and smiled and reminded himself that this job paid the rent plus a good amount left and was in a field directly related to what he cared about and was a much-needed boost to his resume. But he couldn't stop noticing the cameras, after that.
[Title] Dust and Ashes
[Fandom] Death Note
[Rating] G
[Prompt] From mayfic: "Mello finds something L wrote a long time ago."
Mello never told anyone about the exercise book. He found it under a loose floorboard in the attic. Well, actually it wasn't a loose floorboard. It had been nailed down just like the others and it was buried beneath old suitcases and broken-down furniture, but he'd been bored and enjoying the (admittedly rather pathetic) thrill of messing up the attic. And noticing the nail was newer than all the others was hardly his fault. It was what he'd been trained to do, right?
(Actually he wondered sometimes if he, or someone, had been meant to find it. Surely L would have destroyed anything he really wanted secret - don't so many criminals get caught out by badly-hidden evidence?)
Written in faded biro on rough lined paper was the handwriting he sometimes saw on letters lying on Roger's desk. For a few moments he thought he was going crazy, seeing L everywhere. But it was no mistake. He'd found the great L's secret diary: dates given around 1995-6, entries in a variety of languages: Monday was Japanese, Tuesday Russian, Wednesday French, Thursday something like Swedish or Norwegian, Friday English but mirror-writing, Saturday Arabic, Sunday Morse Code. So reading it was practically homework.
I am forced to think more closely about my image. A child detective is simply an intelligent child; few people look beyond that. An adult detective can be many different things and I must decide which of the masks to wear. Watari has urged me to consider it, but says I can make the decision myself. He says that after all, I will be the one who has to live with whatever mannerisms/traits/attitudes we decide on.
After the first few pages Mello sort of wanted to devour the whole thing and he sort of wanted to stop reading right away. Because either L had wanted him (or someone) to find this and being the direct focus of L's attention was always scary; or he hadn't wanted it to be found, and Mello didn't want to be getting one over on L. (Except sometimes he sort of did, but actually coming close to it was terrifying. This made no sense, but he couldn't exactly ask someone's advice about it.)
I am losing track now of what is a mannerism and what is something I did before. This is not a problem, but I dislike not knowing things/not remembering them. I would ask Watari, but I remember very well that he told me, when I came here, not to think about my past. (I considered calling it Before but capitalisation gives it too much weight for my taste.) I think we both made an error. I think we lost valuable information. Even if it was only about me, information is always of use, is it not?
But at the same time it was like L - teenage L, L the same age as him almost - was sitting here talking to him. Was worried. Was asking him for advice. He knew this was blatantly not true, but it felt so good he was dizzy to sort of pretend it was. And
Watari asked me today whether I felt any need for some kind of teenage rebellion. I considered manifesting an interest in rock music or body modification, but I think we would both know it was a pretense. In the end I answered that I was happy with my current interest in taxidermy and Watari's relaxed attitude to my social skills and diet. I think that I was telling the truth. Rebellion for rebellion's sake only would be a waste of effort, wouldn't it? I would only be rebelling against who I am. Why would I choose to walk away from being L? And yet sometimes I wonder if I am missing something, if I am being puppeted, if I will look back and wish I had broken free at this time. I am fully aware that this paranoid focus on anarchy is typical for someone of my age.
Later, in Los Angeles, when he was older and smarter and really had no patience for self-indulgent losers keeping diaries, he felt bad for his idol's younger self. In later years L must have been embarrassed that he'd indulged in written soul-searching like a high school girl wondering if the captain of the football team fancied her. (But then why hadn't he burnt the diary? It had to have been a message to someone, but god knew who. Or what he'd been trying to say.)
I should have noted down more of my observations concerning my parents. I have extensive notes on the inhabitants of the House, and even of Watari himself - though I suspect that the majority of those are simply records of what he wishes me to see. The notes on former classmates and neighbours were relatively easy to record, though written from a child's perspective.
It is probably dangerous to record any specifics of my former life.
I choose not to.
Mello took the diary with him when he left, but he burnt it while hitchhiking at the side of a motorway. A lot had already crumbled to ashes by then.
[Title] The Usual Suspects
[Fandom] Merlin/Ashes to Ashes
[Rating] PG
[Prompt] From robert_frogg, who asked for Gene Hunt meeting Arthur and Merlin. Merlin knows nothing about the latest threat to Camelot, but he's not sure the captain of the guards will believe him...
(This is the first time I've ever written Gene. It was kind of tricky >_>)
Merlin has a nasty feeling the captain of the guards is watching him. He's working really hard on looking like dull-witted big-eared servant boy thinking about what his next meal might be, but he's not sure this man's as taken in by it as he'd like.
“So there are no leads on who triggered the curse,” Arthur is saying.
“No, but we're working on digging some up. I've got my men going door-to-door in the lower town. Lots of Helping The Camelot Guards With Their Enquiries.”
Arthur frowns. “Reports indicate that that usually involves punching people in the face until they confess to something.”
The captain clears his throat, stares straight ahead. “Malicious rumours spread by anti-monarch basta - uh - subversive elements still at large in our blessed kingdom, your Majesty.”
Merlin tries to look innocent. Or stupid. Stupid people don't get confessions kicked out of them, because the kickers think it'll take too long to get anything useful. Probably.
“Mm.” Arthur drums his fingers against the table. “The Camelot guards were encouraged to take a more... hands-on approach during my father's reign.”
“All of our searches have been conducted strictly by royal decree,” the captain says. The words come out clipped - making a report, deferring to authority. Merlin's heard him shouting at the guards. At thieves and troublemakers. At everyone, really. He picked up a man trying to sell off stolen horses, headbutted him and threw him into the nearest midden. When the last group of mecenaries tried to invade Camelot, he defended one of the wall gates with a pike for five hours. Now he's trying to be... formal. Polite. Merlin sort of wants to say, it's only Arthur. You can be rude to him. It's probably better to be rude to him, it stops him getting too big-headed. Except that it would sort of ruin the whole not-drawing-attention-to-himself thing.
Arthur raises an eyebrow. “Would I be right in thinking that royal decree in this case is another way of saying sledgehammer?”
“More malicious rumours, my lord.”
Arthur evidently chooses to let that bit go. “Very well. I'm sure you'll continue your investigations with your usual... uh... efficiency. The latest victim is in Gaius's chambers - Merlin can go with you.” At least he doesn't mutter anything like and Merlin, try not to end up in the tavern this time. Although not that this man would mind that - by all accounts he's there himself most nights. Merlin tries to keep this in mind, focus on small things, and hopes that's enough to keep up the innocent demeanour. He scurries along in the captain's wake but as they stride down the corridor he can't resist saying, “So... I guess you're looking for a pretty experienced sorceror, right? Probably someone sneaked in from outside?”
“I'm looking for someone who's having too much fun making fools out of us,” the captain growls. “Someone who thinks they can do what they want because the guards in this town are stupid. Most of them are bloody stupid, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let some lowlife scum get away with using people's intestines as tapestries.”
He stops, suddenly, turns to face Merlin, who almost crashes into him.
“And you should tell Golden Boy I've got my eye on his nearest and dearest as well,” he says. “A lot of nobles think they can piss on everyone's heads and be believed when they call it rain. Anyone in the king's inner circle who shows the slightest tendency towards mumbo-jumbo chanting and making books out of people's skins, I'm coming down on them like a Great Dragon who just saw some filthy and slanderous graffiti about the night-time activities of its mother.” He lowers his head so that he's staring right into Merlin's eyes. “Get it, sonny boy?”
Merlin manages to nod. He hopes he's got his most wide-eyed, gormless expression on. If this man has even the slightest suspicion of the secrets he's keeping, then nothing else is going to save him.