today is the day you forgive me because i am a special snowflake
Today is my personal WIP dump as I clean out my "fics to write" folder. Some of these have been languishing for a long while, and alas, I cannot finish them. So here we have three fics that I am abandoning but which have either full scenes or large enough sections to make them interesting. Anyway, I never remember when it's WIP amnesty day, plus I don't feel as if I need your forgiveness anyway, not for this.
1. Harry Potter: Les Liaisons dangereuses (started, March 2008)
Last year for the Snarry games I wanted to write Harry Potter a la Les Liaisons dangereuses, with Harry as Valmont and Snape as Volanges, and of course, Draco as the viscious Mertueil. I had cast everyone in my head. Ginny was going to be the innocent Cecile, etc etc etc, but there were some issues, and there was some concern that it wasn't Snarry enough (eyeroll), and I had been looking forward to rewriting Harry's past, being sorted into Slytherin, and his sexy hateful relationship with Draco. Snape wasn't going to be good by any measure, but he was going to be voluntarily celibate and despising of Harry and Draco's hedonism and amorality. What's the word? Hrm. It was going to end like the Pfeiffer/Malkovich/Close film, though-Harry and Snape dead. Draco disgraced. Possibly Ginny pregnant with Harry's child.
Anyway, I started it, and I never finished, because I was so put off by the feedback I received by mah cohorts. I did Grosse Pointe Blank instead, and that was fun. But if today is fic amnesty, I'll show you what I got, because it would have been a great start.
Potter-
You're a git. Stop by when you get a chance, will you? I still have all of your Quidditch gear making an eyesore of my great room. I'd move it but I'm loath to touch it. How many diseases does that stuff carry?
Draco
***
Malfoy--
You're a ponce. I'll pop by around seven.
Harry
P.S. What about all your damn house-elves? Are their fingers painted on?
***
Potter-
I hope I'm interrupting something terribly important, and everyone is glaring at you right now. I hope you're mortally embarrassed. On second thought, I should have charmed this to sing something wretched by Celestina Warbeck.
Seven is no good for me. Nine would be better.
Draco
P.S. Even my house-elves know when something is yours. They wouldn't deign to touch it, lest it melt their fingers and burn irreparable holes into their psyches.
Angelina looked back at him over her shoulder, but Harry barely saw it in the fuzzy focus of his vision as he read Draco's letter. She arched her back and squeezed, and he came back to the matter at hand. Crushing the paper in one hand, he traced his fingers down the line of her back, then grabbed her hips with both hands and quickened his thrusting.
"What...was...that?" Angelina said in between rhythmic movements. Her hair covered her face like a veil. It was just as well. Harry wasn't interested in looking at her face, anyway.
He threw the paper off the bed and turned her head back to face the front with the remaining hand. "Nothing for you."
Angelina sounded about to say something, but her back arched again and he reached around the front of her to toy with her breasts, bringing her upright, her hands scrambling for something to grab before they settled on one of the large posters of the bed. Harry leaned forward and bit into her shoulder when he came, Angelina yowling into the green bed curtains, her breasts clamped in his hands, her stomach bowed out. She flung her hair back into his face, and not for the first time Harry wondered if he should start making her braid it before he fucked her. Hell, then she'd probably lash him about the face with it.
He let her fall backwards onto him before he withdrew, and then they lay side by side on the bed, panting, staring into space. It was times like this in which Harry was at his best; he never thought more sharply than in the first few minutes after he came. And speaking of mental acuity--
"Turn over then," he said to Angelina. She was slick with sweat, and he would have a hard time keeping the paper dry. On second thought, that sounded like a good thing. Angelina rolled over onto her stomach and laid her head on her arms, swinging her feet back and forth lazily in the air. He held them down with one hand. "Stop it."
Angelina smiled and pulled a strand of hair out in front of her and examined it, but didn't say anything. Harry swiped his glasses from the bedside table, Accioed a quill and parchment, and smoothed the paper onto Angelina's damp back, taking care to press it into the delightful crease where her back met her buttocks.
"'Malfoy,'" he read aloud as he wrote. "'Please find enclosed the scent of a woman. I know that it's been a long time since you have had a real one, and your letter reached me at a moment where I thought of you with incredible pity.'" He stabbed the paper with the quill and Angelina jumped.
"Watch it!" she squealed.
Harry slapped one rounded buttock. "Shush. Tables don't talk." Angelina wiggled her hips in response but said nothing further, sighing and laying her head back down. Harry stretched one leg out next to him and flexed his toes as he continued.
"'I have to remind you that you asked to borrow that equipment, and if it smells then you haven't cleaned it properly since you used it. And don't try to bring up the time I borrowed your broom in third-year and it got smashed by the Whomping Willow, because it wouldn't have if your house-elf hadn't cursed a bludger.'"
Angelina snorted. "And then you lost all the bones in your hand."
Harry grinned and renewed the ink on his quill. "'And then I lost all the bones in my hand. So in a round about way, you are always the cause of my misery.'" He almost signed the note when he realized t that he hadn't addressed the question at hand. "'If,'" he flourished with the quill, "'you really can't see me at seven, I suggest you wait until midnight, because I intend to be busy.'"
Angelina let out a soft snore, and he knew that she had dropped off. It was only fair; she'd gotten off of her night shift and come right here, and he certainly hadn't let her sleep. He signed the missive and peeled it from her back, waving it about so that it dried somewhat before Harry rolled up the parchment. He considered tying it with a ribbon before deciding that he was infinitely too lazy at the moment.
Instead, he whistled under his breath and was gratified when Hedwig scooted closer to him on her perch, holding out a leg. She liked making the trip to Malfoy Manor, he suspected because they fed their birds not owl treats, but strips of raw meat. He scratched under her chin, tapping the parchment against his temple for a second before reaching over and tapping Angelina on the shoulder. Her muffled grunts indicated that she was sort of awake, so he tickled her nose with the scroll.
"Hey Angelina, do you know any Celestina Warbeck?"
END
2. Torchwood: Jack and Narnia (started March 2009)
Wait wait wait, come with me here. It's not that he GOES to Narnia. I've already done that. The fact is I love those books like burning, but that's because of things that don't involve you. Methos went to Narnia to be redeemed, and I didn't want to do the same thing. But something about the subtle nature of Aslan being the savior is striking in the way that he is capricious about it, especially with the information that he doesn't give, and that reminds me of the Doctor in some ways. I had written this in four chunks, but it lays the narrative out, and it's more of a small character piece than anything with any real plot. Plus Ianto gets the funny line about the wardrobe.
By the time Jack manages to read the actual series, they are decades old and in paperback. He wouldn't even have read them , he's not a reader, really, but he has the time, and has been trying to fill the days, months and years waiting for the TARDIS by bettering himself.
Well, sometimes he betters himself. Sometimes he likes to kick things in.
He doesn't like them. They're silly, and he can't stop reading them, really, because he wants to see what happens, but really, they have that simple yet quaint language that reminds him of some of the books he left half unread on his bedroom floor on Boeshane, back when he donned a coat much like the one he wears now and went off to war.
So he can't imagine why he would pick one of them up now, when the Hub is quiet and everyone is happy and humming along with their work.
…
Ianto glances at the paperbacks piled on the desk. "Is this about that wardrobe down in the vaults?"
Jack's head shoots up. "What?"
Ianto turns over the bent paperback in his hands. He strokes one finger down the crease. "This is book abuse, sir."
"What wardrobe?"
Ianto smiles. "I was joking. Joshing. What do they call it in America? Psyching you out." He sets the book back down on the edge of the desk and backs up a step. "If only we had a box that would take us to another land. Even for a holiday."
Jack can relate. More than anything, ever. Really.
…
Please, Aslan," said Lucy. "Before we go, will you tell us when we can come back to Narnia again?" Please. And oh, do, do, do make it very soon."
"Dearest," said Aslan very gently, "you and your brother will never come back to Narnia."
"Oh Aslan!" said Edmund and Lucy both together in despairing voices.
"You are too old, children," said Aslan, and you must--
"Jack?" Ianto's head rounds the jamb of the door. "The pizza's here."
Jack slams the book shut and bends the whole of it into a twisted roll. "Yeah, yeah," he mumbles.
…
"You ever have something happen to you that was so amazing that it seems like a dream, unreal?"
Ianto shrugs. "That's a rather tall order around here, don't you think?"
Jack walks past the hand in its case on the table. His fingers brush the glass, and for a second he wonders what he could have possibly done to be cast out.
"Yeah," he says then. "I know."
END
3. Highlander: The Batman (started December 2007)
Duncan MacLeod is Batman. Richie is Robin. Joe is Commissioner Gordon. Amanda is the Catwoman. Michelle Webster is her ward, and Methos is Alfred. It started as a lame ass joke over in the shortcuts comm in 2008, and was egged on by the picture on the left. Oh come on. That is Amanda Montrose (Oh and also sex.). I let it gestate into 3000+ words. It's pretty funny, but it's obvs not done. I keep holding out that I'll finish it, but I never will. Enjoy the crack.
Prologue
THE BAT-CAVE, BELOW MACLEOD MANOR:
Richie picked up the cowl and examined it, running his fingers over the pointed ears. It was matte black, hard, but with softer parts about the face. The ears folded under his fingers, then sprang back into place when he released them.
With a glance at the staircase that led up into the mansion, Richie slipped the cowl over his head. It was too big, and the attached cape, which was really heavy, dragged on the ground. He tried to make it swirl, like he'd seen Duncan do so many times, even in enclosed spaces, but it just kind of flopped about.
"I'm Duncan MacLeod," he said in a low voice. "The frickin' Batman."
"You're going to have to be a great deal taller," Duncan said behind him, and Richie jumped, pulling the cowl off. His hair draped down over his eyes. Maybe he needed a haircut. But the ladies liked the curls.
"Where the heck were you?" he blurted out. "Adam said you were still asleep." He knew as soon as he said it how stupid it was to believe it.
"Adam was ill-informed," Duncan answered. "Or maybe he was having a bit of fun with you. Something about salt in a sugar bowl?"
Richie smiled. "He loves the pranks. You know it."
Duncan's answer was non-committal; even his body was non-committal, as it draped in the doorway, leaning as imposingly as one could lean, all six-foot-four of it. He wiped sweat from his face and black hair with a towel. "I've been climbing the back cave for the past hour." He tossed a harness at Richie, who fumbled with the cowl to catch it. "You need to work on descents."
Richie put the cowl away carefully, reverently even, since Duncan was watching him. "Oh, okay." He slipped on the harness as he made his way out of the wardrobe and past Duncan. "Mac, you know I was just curious."
Duncan turned away. In that split second before he did, the twitch of the corner of his mouth told Richie all he needed to know. "You know what they say about that."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
GOTHAM'S EAST END:
Amanda didn't really need the ears. She had a kevlar reinforced body suit, and it was becoming harder and harder to work without it. She had all the pockets and pouches arranged the way she liked, so much so that on the jobs she went without it, she found herself wasting time and almost getting caught by reaching for things in the wrong places.
But the ears, she decided, when looking at the new skintight hood with the cut out chin, the ears had been for fun. In fact, they were a joke. Monty had asked what she'd wanted and she'd said "Oh, a cat suit that could stop a bullet," and he'd said something like, "A cat suit? With fucking ears?" and she'd been so tickled by his naive literalness that she'd laughed and said, "Yes Monty, with ears."
And because this was Monty, the ears had cost extra. But they were worth it, she decided.
Amanda stood in the mirror and pulled her high-powered fiber-optic, infrared, night vision cost-more-than-your-condo goggles. She stuck one gloved finger up into under the mask and coaxed a few strategic curls onto her forehead before stepping back to examine the whole picture.
"Mrrrrrrrow."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter One: Holy Cats, Batman!
ON TOP OF POLICE HEADQUARTERS:
Richie wasn't getting the hang of the zip lines. No matter how many times we practiced in the caves, the urban environment was different enough that for the first few tries in the night he always gave his descents too much line.
I landed on the roof next to the signal and glanced at Commissioner Dawson. Richie's feet hit it flattop and his knees came with it, and he was forced to roll to cushion the landing. I could see Dawson trying not to laugh when Richie looked up, gave me a sheepish grin and mumbled, "Holy ground, Batman! I have got to get the hang of that!"
We were going to have to have a chat about just what kind of public image struck fear into the hearts of criminals.
For now, it was easy to ignore him and return my full attention to Commissioner Joe Dawson, who was in the middle of lighting a cigar while trying to lean against the ventilation shaft for support. It was no secret that an accident had taken his legs, but Dawson had managed to work his way up in the force, moving from one administrative position until he sat squarely on the top. Despite that he was never in the field anymore, the cops in the city appreciated that he still seemed to understand what it was like to walk a beat. I appreciated that he was friendly enough to pass me information. About a third of the time it was information that I didn't already know.
"You have masked company," Dawson mumbled around his cigar. Richie did a handstand on the edge of the building, and Dawson's eyes kept flicking to him. It was all part of the ruse to keep him off-guard. Besides, zip lines aside, Richie wasn't foolhardy, nor was he unobservant.
"I take it you don't mean Robin," I said casually. I could do casual, about three times a year.
Dawson watched Richie right himself with what looked like a little bit of envy. "A woman, running around dressed like a cat." He passed me an envelope, which I opened and emptied of its photos. She was indeed a cat. A very tall, svelte, blurry cat, with a whip and what looked to be-
"Glasscutters," I said to myself. Richie took the photos when I offered them to him, flipping them quickly like a filmstrip book.
"Glasscutters, acid torch, you name it. State-of-the-art burglary equipment. Given enough time," Dawson turned his head and sighed the smoke out of his mouth, but it wafted over in my face anyway. He didn't look apologetic; in fact, he smiled a bit. "She could empty the museum of everything but the kitchen sink."
I could feel Richie's reply more than hear it sometimes. "There's a kitchen sink in the GMMA? Is it Dada?" Sometimes I wondered about Richie's spotty education, and how some gaps were filled in and others amazingly vacant.
Dawson snorted, clamping his cigar in between his teeth to retrieve the photos from Richie's hand. "She took out three guards over at the S & T three days ago. One of 'em is still in a coma." The photos slipped back into his envelope and then back into his pocket. The wind flipped the open coat back and I caught a glimpse of his issue .38. It was interesting to see that the Commissioner still carried. I wasn't a big fan of guns, didn't believe in them, but I understood the police's reliance on them sometimes. Sometimes in Gotham, it was theonly thing that kept them safe.
[BLAH BLAH]
***
"'Holy ground, Batman'?" I repeated once we were three blocks away. "What was that?"
Richie dug in his belt for a Power Bar. "Well, you told me I wasn't allowed to drop the F-bomb in uniform anymore, so I thought." He shrugged. "You know. Ham." He grinned. "Goes with cheese. Ham it up, right?"
I snorted. "You're still giving yourself too much line."
Richie chewed thoughtfully. "You know, that wasn't a bad pun. I should do more of that. Like they're so bad the bad guys have to stand there for a second to process the crapitude of them."
I grunted. We could change our patrol tonight and hit more low buildings, and Richie could work on his landings. I stared out at the skyline and plotted the course in my head while Richie determined his new tactics, or whatever.
"You know, before I kick them in the balls."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
FIRST GOTHAM SAVINGS AND LOAN:
Amanda thought the best part about this lock was how shiny it was. Really, it was new and polished and obviously meant to symbolize some man's penis, or rather inadequacies, what with the big bold datapads that screamed 'YOU CAN'T COME IN HERE.' It was meant to be intimidating.
Amanda plugged her datapad into the side of it with a jimmy knife, rolling her eyes. "Morons."
The datapad told her that the new coded password was, predictably, the bank manager's daughter's birthday, along with the RBI of Gotham's current baseball star, Carl Robinson, who had just broken some sort of record hitting something, sliding something, whatever. Amanda'd had a microbug in the manager's office for the past three weeks; it was all he talked about, when he wasn't plotting to siphon yet more cash out of the bank' safety deposit boxes.
[BLAH BLAH ROBBERY]
"Hey!" said the guard, three seconds after Amanda was sure he'd open his mouth. It must have been the ears that gave him pause. "What are you doing?"
Why did they ask that? It was fairly obvious what she was doing inside a bank vault in the middle of the night, in a cat suit, with a bag of savings bonds and jewels on her shoulder.
Amanda sighed and depressed the button on a small box at her waist. The gas boxes she'd suction cupped to the walls of the outer chamber released, and she slipped on her gas mask. The guard pulled his walkie-talkie out of his belt and depressed the button, but all he managed to get out was a weak gurgle before he toppled over and the talkie leapt from his hand to skitter across the floor.
Amanda zipped up the bag and tied the second safety harness across her waist so that the bag wouldn't flap about when she made the take off from the roof to the nearby Wayne Clinic rooftop. Once she was over there, she could change into street clothes and be off down the road, safe as houses. Then again, considering that she burgled houses sometimes, not so safe as houses.
"What does that even mean anyway?" she muttered, hearing the snap-click of the plastic clasp pop into place and tugging on the nylon ripstop belt just for good measure.
The walkie-talkie crackled to life. "Earl? What's up down there?"
Amanda cocked her head at Earl's body. "Hmn. Time to go." She reached down and slipped Earl's company-issue taser from his belt. It wasn't like she could have enough of those anyway. There were footsteps in the far corridor, and if she waited any longer, her exit would be cut off. She readied the taser just in case, tugging once more on her bag and checking its zipper lock. "Exit stage left."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter Two: Tastes Kinda Punny
EARTH'S ORBIT, THE WATCHTOWER:
Wonder Woman had always been rather easy around me, just a touch too casual, as if she knew something about me that she wasn't supposed to know. And she smirked.
I liked Ceirdwyn, Celtic warrior bit aside. In fact, she was one of the only reasons I could stand being up here on these weekend meetings with the rest of the JLA in the Watchtower. Between Gina glaring at Robert for his continued insistence that they were reincarnated soul mates, to Cory bouncing off the walls and Darius sitting calmly with his arms crossed over his big blue chest, it was a wonder I didn't go insane regularly. Instead, I usually let Ceirdwyn make faces that I wouldn't acknowledge across the table, while Richie sent me text messages every five minutes.
01.30.07.12:45 Nothing.
01.30.07.12:50 Nothing.
01.30.07.12:55 Nothing.
01.30.07.1:00 Cat in a tree.
I clipped the blackberry on my belt and stood up in the meeting. Darius raised his eyebrows and Ceirdwyn shook her head. I'd worry about her whole 'I have you figured out' vibe later.
"I have to go."
"Do you need help?" Cory said as he drummed on the table in fast forward.
I turned away. "No."
I was almost to the teleporters when she caught up with me, but I covered my surprise by shaking my head. "I said no."
She smiled. "You said no to Cory, and good idea too. I think Ma'hew gave him a Red Bull."
I watched her fingers fall over her equipment, flutteringly, checking, probably, absently, before sliding up the opposite wrists. I had a lot of respect for Ceirdwyn, I just didn't like being the object of her scrutiny.
"Seriously, there wasn't anything, was there?" she asked suddenly. "You can tell me. I won't tell."
I stepped on the transporter pad and smiled. "Cat," I mumbled, maybe smiling a bit, mostly because the look on her face as I faded out was priceless.
Later, that word would mean something completely different.
***
Richie grinned when I entered the cave. "They fell for the cat thing, huh?"
I sighed. He had his feet on the console again. I brushed them off and sat down at the computer, calling up a readout of all the crimes that had occurred in my absence. I wasn't naive enough to think that I could stop all crime, but it was frustrating to see that in my two-hour absence there had been three robberies, a homicide, and four muggings. I could have stopped some of that.
"Not so much fell for, as let me go without asking questions."
Richie sniffed. "Wonder Woman asked you questions." When I glared at him. "I can smell her perfume."
I shrugged. Richie had a good nose; I hadn't even touched Ceirdwyn. "She doesn't like to take no for an answer. And by the way," I added, calling up mug shots of the perps the police had just picked up in an armed robbery. I knew these two: small time crooks with big time dreams. "I don't think 'cat in a tree' does your imagination justice."
Richie didn't seem to be phased. He rolled up his sleeves and did a handstand on the floor. It was a flawless handstand, definitely, and he walked to the exercise mat before deciding to fall flat on his back and lay there, looking up that the ceiling of the cave for a second. "I was trying to amuse you," he said softly.
"Mmn."
"It appeals to your brusque sense of humor."
I didn't bother to turn around and face him. I could see him just fine in the refection of the monitor. "You know the meaning of brusque, and yet still, you can't manage to make it through the Thomas More."
Richie rolled over onto his stomach and looked up. "Utopias are stupid." He began a series of sit ups. "Besides, Darius gave me the Cliff's Notes."
I sighed. "We're going to have to talk to Darius about his unique sense of mercy."
[BLAH BLAH]
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
GOTHAM'S MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY:
"I get it, you know," I said as I dodged a punch and ducked behind a stuffed black bear. "You're dressed like a cat, you got the claws, you use the cat jokes. It's a cat gimmick, right? Do you collect little ceramic figurines or maybe decorative plates?" Maybe Richie was rubbing off on me.
The woman jumped up on a stuffed elephant and crouched down on the head. "Am I getting thematic criticism from someone dressed as a bat? With a 'batmobile' a 'batbike' and a 'batcave'?" She dug about in a pouch at her waist and produced something small, then promptly threw it at the ground. "Because really, glass houses and everything, darling."
I flipped the lenses on and palmed a rebreather just as the pellets she threw hit the floor and exploded into a mist of smoke. "Do I make bat jokes? No. There's a restraint thing. Class." I had to pop the rebreather into my mouth, then. Damn, whatever she was smoking was...well, this kind of line was really Richie's dominion.
She reached out and caught me between my legs, her claws digging into the reinforced kevlar. "Please tell me that you call that the Bat-cup," she purred. And then she turned her hand impossibly, trying to twist it. Too bad for her the cup was mounted into the frame with steel stays. It still wasn't very comfortable; I was also losing my patience.
[BLAH BLAH MISTLETOE IS DEADLY IF YOU EAT IT. BUT A KISS…HOLY FUCK.]
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter Three: People Will Say We're In L***
AMANDA MONTROSE'S CONDO:
"Oh my gawd, Amanda, what happened to you?" Michelle stood up when she came in the window, dumping a whole bag of Cheetos on the floor. Just great. That was a Persian rug decorated with cheese like dust.
Amanda sighed and flopped down on the floor, careful of her bruised knees and aching shoulder. She picked her one glove off with a combination of teeth and claws and started to work on her boots. The heel was tearing on her left boot, and just great, she hadn't gotten the diamonds.
"The Bat, that's who happened to me," she said curtly, throwing a boot at Michelle, who took it into the kitchen with her. Amanda could hear the fridge door open, but she was too busy trying to get her left boot off before the ankle swelled too much and she had to cut it off. She was definitely getting the ankles reinforced. "Intercepted and rebuffed by the big black rat. He stole my glove!" She slammed the flat of her hand on the floor and immediately regretted it.
Michelle's head popped around the corner. "The Batman? Is he as hot as he looks on TV? Was Robin with him? Is he really a redhead? I bet he's hot, too." Amanda frowned when Michelle disappeared again for a few seconds only to reappear in the doorway with a bottle of water and a ziploc bag full of ice, both of which she held out in her hands. "Oh! Did you kiss him?"
Amanda stopped in the middle of opening the bottle. "What?"
Michelle pouted and started to clean the Cheetos from the rug. "You do that. With the kissing." she offered, shrugging. "A lot. I was just wondering."
Amanda swallowed half of the contents of bottle on the first drink and stopped to stare off into space. "Well," she admitted, "it wouldn't have gone any worse if I had -which I didn't." She tilted her head to the side and immediately regretted that as well. Was there nothing on her that didn't hurt? "I suppose I could always try that next time."
Michelle sighed and popped a Cheeto into her mouth. "I bet he's a face grabber."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
MACLEOD MANOR:
"So, she dresses like a cat."
"Yes."
"Is there fur?"
"No."
"Well, then, how catty is that?"
"She was wearing a cat suit."
Richie flipped through the stack of fingerprints he was sorting. I had her glove and was busy lifting prints from the inside of it. They were smudged a bit, but held the imprint.
"Was the suit made of cats?" Richie obviously was bored. He usually did this when he just couldn't be bothered.
"If it had been, don't you think it would have been furry?"
Richie twisted the cap from his bottle of Zesti and smiled. "Oh yeah." He drank for a second and then stopped. "You know I'm not really this dense, right? I'm just yanking your chain."
I didn't say anything. I had managed to pull a print on tape and was busy scanning it into the computer. The digital enhancer would clean it up a little bit and then scan the database. In the meantime, Richie abandoned the print cards and instead clambered up onto the bars above my head, hanging down so that his face was next to mine. He needed a haircut.
"I like to be funny," he said kicking his feet back and forth.
I rolled the chair over to the other end of the lab table. I wanted to analyze the chemicals on the glove. Whatever she'd used for a diversion would be all over this. "I'll let you know when you achieve that goal."
[THE END]
So there they go into my abandoned fics folder. Bye bye! Hand waving.
::sob::
1. Harry Potter: Les Liaisons dangereuses (started, March 2008)
Last year for the Snarry games I wanted to write Harry Potter a la Les Liaisons dangereuses, with Harry as Valmont and Snape as Volanges, and of course, Draco as the viscious Mertueil. I had cast everyone in my head. Ginny was going to be the innocent Cecile, etc etc etc, but there were some issues, and there was some concern that it wasn't Snarry enough (eyeroll), and I had been looking forward to rewriting Harry's past, being sorted into Slytherin, and his sexy hateful relationship with Draco. Snape wasn't going to be good by any measure, but he was going to be voluntarily celibate and despising of Harry and Draco's hedonism and amorality. What's the word? Hrm. It was going to end like the Pfeiffer/Malkovich/Close film, though-Harry and Snape dead. Draco disgraced. Possibly Ginny pregnant with Harry's child.
Anyway, I started it, and I never finished, because I was so put off by the feedback I received by mah cohorts. I did Grosse Pointe Blank instead, and that was fun. But if today is fic amnesty, I'll show you what I got, because it would have been a great start.
Potter-
You're a git. Stop by when you get a chance, will you? I still have all of your Quidditch gear making an eyesore of my great room. I'd move it but I'm loath to touch it. How many diseases does that stuff carry?
Draco
***
Malfoy--
You're a ponce. I'll pop by around seven.
Harry
P.S. What about all your damn house-elves? Are their fingers painted on?
***
Potter-
I hope I'm interrupting something terribly important, and everyone is glaring at you right now. I hope you're mortally embarrassed. On second thought, I should have charmed this to sing something wretched by Celestina Warbeck.
Seven is no good for me. Nine would be better.
Draco
P.S. Even my house-elves know when something is yours. They wouldn't deign to touch it, lest it melt their fingers and burn irreparable holes into their psyches.
Angelina looked back at him over her shoulder, but Harry barely saw it in the fuzzy focus of his vision as he read Draco's letter. She arched her back and squeezed, and he came back to the matter at hand. Crushing the paper in one hand, he traced his fingers down the line of her back, then grabbed her hips with both hands and quickened his thrusting.
"What...was...that?" Angelina said in between rhythmic movements. Her hair covered her face like a veil. It was just as well. Harry wasn't interested in looking at her face, anyway.
He threw the paper off the bed and turned her head back to face the front with the remaining hand. "Nothing for you."
Angelina sounded about to say something, but her back arched again and he reached around the front of her to toy with her breasts, bringing her upright, her hands scrambling for something to grab before they settled on one of the large posters of the bed. Harry leaned forward and bit into her shoulder when he came, Angelina yowling into the green bed curtains, her breasts clamped in his hands, her stomach bowed out. She flung her hair back into his face, and not for the first time Harry wondered if he should start making her braid it before he fucked her. Hell, then she'd probably lash him about the face with it.
He let her fall backwards onto him before he withdrew, and then they lay side by side on the bed, panting, staring into space. It was times like this in which Harry was at his best; he never thought more sharply than in the first few minutes after he came. And speaking of mental acuity--
"Turn over then," he said to Angelina. She was slick with sweat, and he would have a hard time keeping the paper dry. On second thought, that sounded like a good thing. Angelina rolled over onto her stomach and laid her head on her arms, swinging her feet back and forth lazily in the air. He held them down with one hand. "Stop it."
Angelina smiled and pulled a strand of hair out in front of her and examined it, but didn't say anything. Harry swiped his glasses from the bedside table, Accioed a quill and parchment, and smoothed the paper onto Angelina's damp back, taking care to press it into the delightful crease where her back met her buttocks.
"'Malfoy,'" he read aloud as he wrote. "'Please find enclosed the scent of a woman. I know that it's been a long time since you have had a real one, and your letter reached me at a moment where I thought of you with incredible pity.'" He stabbed the paper with the quill and Angelina jumped.
"Watch it!" she squealed.
Harry slapped one rounded buttock. "Shush. Tables don't talk." Angelina wiggled her hips in response but said nothing further, sighing and laying her head back down. Harry stretched one leg out next to him and flexed his toes as he continued.
"'I have to remind you that you asked to borrow that equipment, and if it smells then you haven't cleaned it properly since you used it. And don't try to bring up the time I borrowed your broom in third-year and it got smashed by the Whomping Willow, because it wouldn't have if your house-elf hadn't cursed a bludger.'"
Angelina snorted. "And then you lost all the bones in your hand."
Harry grinned and renewed the ink on his quill. "'And then I lost all the bones in my hand. So in a round about way, you are always the cause of my misery.'" He almost signed the note when he realized t that he hadn't addressed the question at hand. "'If,'" he flourished with the quill, "'you really can't see me at seven, I suggest you wait until midnight, because I intend to be busy.'"
Angelina let out a soft snore, and he knew that she had dropped off. It was only fair; she'd gotten off of her night shift and come right here, and he certainly hadn't let her sleep. He signed the missive and peeled it from her back, waving it about so that it dried somewhat before Harry rolled up the parchment. He considered tying it with a ribbon before deciding that he was infinitely too lazy at the moment.
Instead, he whistled under his breath and was gratified when Hedwig scooted closer to him on her perch, holding out a leg. She liked making the trip to Malfoy Manor, he suspected because they fed their birds not owl treats, but strips of raw meat. He scratched under her chin, tapping the parchment against his temple for a second before reaching over and tapping Angelina on the shoulder. Her muffled grunts indicated that she was sort of awake, so he tickled her nose with the scroll.
"Hey Angelina, do you know any Celestina Warbeck?"
END
2. Torchwood: Jack and Narnia (started March 2009)
Wait wait wait, come with me here. It's not that he GOES to Narnia. I've already done that. The fact is I love those books like burning, but that's because of things that don't involve you. Methos went to Narnia to be redeemed, and I didn't want to do the same thing. But something about the subtle nature of Aslan being the savior is striking in the way that he is capricious about it, especially with the information that he doesn't give, and that reminds me of the Doctor in some ways. I had written this in four chunks, but it lays the narrative out, and it's more of a small character piece than anything with any real plot. Plus Ianto gets the funny line about the wardrobe.
By the time Jack manages to read the actual series, they are decades old and in paperback. He wouldn't even have read them , he's not a reader, really, but he has the time, and has been trying to fill the days, months and years waiting for the TARDIS by bettering himself.
Well, sometimes he betters himself. Sometimes he likes to kick things in.
He doesn't like them. They're silly, and he can't stop reading them, really, because he wants to see what happens, but really, they have that simple yet quaint language that reminds him of some of the books he left half unread on his bedroom floor on Boeshane, back when he donned a coat much like the one he wears now and went off to war.
So he can't imagine why he would pick one of them up now, when the Hub is quiet and everyone is happy and humming along with their work.
…
Ianto glances at the paperbacks piled on the desk. "Is this about that wardrobe down in the vaults?"
Jack's head shoots up. "What?"
Ianto turns over the bent paperback in his hands. He strokes one finger down the crease. "This is book abuse, sir."
"What wardrobe?"
Ianto smiles. "I was joking. Joshing. What do they call it in America? Psyching you out." He sets the book back down on the edge of the desk and backs up a step. "If only we had a box that would take us to another land. Even for a holiday."
Jack can relate. More than anything, ever. Really.
…
Please, Aslan," said Lucy. "Before we go, will you tell us when we can come back to Narnia again?" Please. And oh, do, do, do make it very soon."
"Dearest," said Aslan very gently, "you and your brother will never come back to Narnia."
"Oh Aslan!" said Edmund and Lucy both together in despairing voices.
"You are too old, children," said Aslan, and you must--
"Jack?" Ianto's head rounds the jamb of the door. "The pizza's here."
Jack slams the book shut and bends the whole of it into a twisted roll. "Yeah, yeah," he mumbles.
…
"You ever have something happen to you that was so amazing that it seems like a dream, unreal?"
Ianto shrugs. "That's a rather tall order around here, don't you think?"
Jack walks past the hand in its case on the table. His fingers brush the glass, and for a second he wonders what he could have possibly done to be cast out.
"Yeah," he says then. "I know."
END
3. Highlander: The Batman (started December 2007)
Duncan MacLeod is Batman. Richie is Robin. Joe is Commissioner Gordon. Amanda is the Catwoman. Michelle Webster is her ward, and Methos is Alfred. It started as a lame ass joke over in the shortcuts comm in 2008, and was egged on by the picture on the left. Oh come on. That is Amanda Montrose (Oh and also sex.). I let it gestate into 3000+ words. It's pretty funny, but it's obvs not done. I keep holding out that I'll finish it, but I never will. Enjoy the crack.
Prologue
THE BAT-CAVE, BELOW MACLEOD MANOR:
Richie picked up the cowl and examined it, running his fingers over the pointed ears. It was matte black, hard, but with softer parts about the face. The ears folded under his fingers, then sprang back into place when he released them.
With a glance at the staircase that led up into the mansion, Richie slipped the cowl over his head. It was too big, and the attached cape, which was really heavy, dragged on the ground. He tried to make it swirl, like he'd seen Duncan do so many times, even in enclosed spaces, but it just kind of flopped about.
"I'm Duncan MacLeod," he said in a low voice. "The frickin' Batman."
"You're going to have to be a great deal taller," Duncan said behind him, and Richie jumped, pulling the cowl off. His hair draped down over his eyes. Maybe he needed a haircut. But the ladies liked the curls.
"Where the heck were you?" he blurted out. "Adam said you were still asleep." He knew as soon as he said it how stupid it was to believe it.
"Adam was ill-informed," Duncan answered. "Or maybe he was having a bit of fun with you. Something about salt in a sugar bowl?"
Richie smiled. "He loves the pranks. You know it."
Duncan's answer was non-committal; even his body was non-committal, as it draped in the doorway, leaning as imposingly as one could lean, all six-foot-four of it. He wiped sweat from his face and black hair with a towel. "I've been climbing the back cave for the past hour." He tossed a harness at Richie, who fumbled with the cowl to catch it. "You need to work on descents."
Richie put the cowl away carefully, reverently even, since Duncan was watching him. "Oh, okay." He slipped on the harness as he made his way out of the wardrobe and past Duncan. "Mac, you know I was just curious."
Duncan turned away. In that split second before he did, the twitch of the corner of his mouth told Richie all he needed to know. "You know what they say about that."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
GOTHAM'S EAST END:
Amanda didn't really need the ears. She had a kevlar reinforced body suit, and it was becoming harder and harder to work without it. She had all the pockets and pouches arranged the way she liked, so much so that on the jobs she went without it, she found herself wasting time and almost getting caught by reaching for things in the wrong places.
But the ears, she decided, when looking at the new skintight hood with the cut out chin, the ears had been for fun. In fact, they were a joke. Monty had asked what she'd wanted and she'd said "Oh, a cat suit that could stop a bullet," and he'd said something like, "A cat suit? With fucking ears?" and she'd been so tickled by his naive literalness that she'd laughed and said, "Yes Monty, with ears."
And because this was Monty, the ears had cost extra. But they were worth it, she decided.
Amanda stood in the mirror and pulled her high-powered fiber-optic, infrared, night vision cost-more-than-your-condo goggles. She stuck one gloved finger up into under the mask and coaxed a few strategic curls onto her forehead before stepping back to examine the whole picture.
"Mrrrrrrrow."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter One: Holy Cats, Batman!
ON TOP OF POLICE HEADQUARTERS:
Richie wasn't getting the hang of the zip lines. No matter how many times we practiced in the caves, the urban environment was different enough that for the first few tries in the night he always gave his descents too much line.
I landed on the roof next to the signal and glanced at Commissioner Dawson. Richie's feet hit it flattop and his knees came with it, and he was forced to roll to cushion the landing. I could see Dawson trying not to laugh when Richie looked up, gave me a sheepish grin and mumbled, "Holy ground, Batman! I have got to get the hang of that!"
We were going to have to have a chat about just what kind of public image struck fear into the hearts of criminals.
For now, it was easy to ignore him and return my full attention to Commissioner Joe Dawson, who was in the middle of lighting a cigar while trying to lean against the ventilation shaft for support. It was no secret that an accident had taken his legs, but Dawson had managed to work his way up in the force, moving from one administrative position until he sat squarely on the top. Despite that he was never in the field anymore, the cops in the city appreciated that he still seemed to understand what it was like to walk a beat. I appreciated that he was friendly enough to pass me information. About a third of the time it was information that I didn't already know.
"You have masked company," Dawson mumbled around his cigar. Richie did a handstand on the edge of the building, and Dawson's eyes kept flicking to him. It was all part of the ruse to keep him off-guard. Besides, zip lines aside, Richie wasn't foolhardy, nor was he unobservant.
"I take it you don't mean Robin," I said casually. I could do casual, about three times a year.
Dawson watched Richie right himself with what looked like a little bit of envy. "A woman, running around dressed like a cat." He passed me an envelope, which I opened and emptied of its photos. She was indeed a cat. A very tall, svelte, blurry cat, with a whip and what looked to be-
"Glasscutters," I said to myself. Richie took the photos when I offered them to him, flipping them quickly like a filmstrip book.
"Glasscutters, acid torch, you name it. State-of-the-art burglary equipment. Given enough time," Dawson turned his head and sighed the smoke out of his mouth, but it wafted over in my face anyway. He didn't look apologetic; in fact, he smiled a bit. "She could empty the museum of everything but the kitchen sink."
I could feel Richie's reply more than hear it sometimes. "There's a kitchen sink in the GMMA? Is it Dada?" Sometimes I wondered about Richie's spotty education, and how some gaps were filled in and others amazingly vacant.
Dawson snorted, clamping his cigar in between his teeth to retrieve the photos from Richie's hand. "She took out three guards over at the S & T three days ago. One of 'em is still in a coma." The photos slipped back into his envelope and then back into his pocket. The wind flipped the open coat back and I caught a glimpse of his issue .38. It was interesting to see that the Commissioner still carried. I wasn't a big fan of guns, didn't believe in them, but I understood the police's reliance on them sometimes. Sometimes in Gotham, it was theonly thing that kept them safe.
[BLAH BLAH]
***
"'Holy ground, Batman'?" I repeated once we were three blocks away. "What was that?"
Richie dug in his belt for a Power Bar. "Well, you told me I wasn't allowed to drop the F-bomb in uniform anymore, so I thought." He shrugged. "You know. Ham." He grinned. "Goes with cheese. Ham it up, right?"
I snorted. "You're still giving yourself too much line."
Richie chewed thoughtfully. "You know, that wasn't a bad pun. I should do more of that. Like they're so bad the bad guys have to stand there for a second to process the crapitude of them."
I grunted. We could change our patrol tonight and hit more low buildings, and Richie could work on his landings. I stared out at the skyline and plotted the course in my head while Richie determined his new tactics, or whatever.
"You know, before I kick them in the balls."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
FIRST GOTHAM SAVINGS AND LOAN:
Amanda thought the best part about this lock was how shiny it was. Really, it was new and polished and obviously meant to symbolize some man's penis, or rather inadequacies, what with the big bold datapads that screamed 'YOU CAN'T COME IN HERE.' It was meant to be intimidating.
Amanda plugged her datapad into the side of it with a jimmy knife, rolling her eyes. "Morons."
The datapad told her that the new coded password was, predictably, the bank manager's daughter's birthday, along with the RBI of Gotham's current baseball star, Carl Robinson, who had just broken some sort of record hitting something, sliding something, whatever. Amanda'd had a microbug in the manager's office for the past three weeks; it was all he talked about, when he wasn't plotting to siphon yet more cash out of the bank' safety deposit boxes.
[BLAH BLAH ROBBERY]
"Hey!" said the guard, three seconds after Amanda was sure he'd open his mouth. It must have been the ears that gave him pause. "What are you doing?"
Why did they ask that? It was fairly obvious what she was doing inside a bank vault in the middle of the night, in a cat suit, with a bag of savings bonds and jewels on her shoulder.
Amanda sighed and depressed the button on a small box at her waist. The gas boxes she'd suction cupped to the walls of the outer chamber released, and she slipped on her gas mask. The guard pulled his walkie-talkie out of his belt and depressed the button, but all he managed to get out was a weak gurgle before he toppled over and the talkie leapt from his hand to skitter across the floor.
Amanda zipped up the bag and tied the second safety harness across her waist so that the bag wouldn't flap about when she made the take off from the roof to the nearby Wayne Clinic rooftop. Once she was over there, she could change into street clothes and be off down the road, safe as houses. Then again, considering that she burgled houses sometimes, not so safe as houses.
"What does that even mean anyway?" she muttered, hearing the snap-click of the plastic clasp pop into place and tugging on the nylon ripstop belt just for good measure.
The walkie-talkie crackled to life. "Earl? What's up down there?"
Amanda cocked her head at Earl's body. "Hmn. Time to go." She reached down and slipped Earl's company-issue taser from his belt. It wasn't like she could have enough of those anyway. There were footsteps in the far corridor, and if she waited any longer, her exit would be cut off. She readied the taser just in case, tugging once more on her bag and checking its zipper lock. "Exit stage left."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter Two: Tastes Kinda Punny
EARTH'S ORBIT, THE WATCHTOWER:
Wonder Woman had always been rather easy around me, just a touch too casual, as if she knew something about me that she wasn't supposed to know. And she smirked.
I liked Ceirdwyn, Celtic warrior bit aside. In fact, she was one of the only reasons I could stand being up here on these weekend meetings with the rest of the JLA in the Watchtower. Between Gina glaring at Robert for his continued insistence that they were reincarnated soul mates, to Cory bouncing off the walls and Darius sitting calmly with his arms crossed over his big blue chest, it was a wonder I didn't go insane regularly. Instead, I usually let Ceirdwyn make faces that I wouldn't acknowledge across the table, while Richie sent me text messages every five minutes.
01.30.07.12:45 Nothing.
01.30.07.12:50 Nothing.
01.30.07.12:55 Nothing.
01.30.07.1:00 Cat in a tree.
I clipped the blackberry on my belt and stood up in the meeting. Darius raised his eyebrows and Ceirdwyn shook her head. I'd worry about her whole 'I have you figured out' vibe later.
"I have to go."
"Do you need help?" Cory said as he drummed on the table in fast forward.
I turned away. "No."
I was almost to the teleporters when she caught up with me, but I covered my surprise by shaking my head. "I said no."
She smiled. "You said no to Cory, and good idea too. I think Ma'hew gave him a Red Bull."
I watched her fingers fall over her equipment, flutteringly, checking, probably, absently, before sliding up the opposite wrists. I had a lot of respect for Ceirdwyn, I just didn't like being the object of her scrutiny.
"Seriously, there wasn't anything, was there?" she asked suddenly. "You can tell me. I won't tell."
I stepped on the transporter pad and smiled. "Cat," I mumbled, maybe smiling a bit, mostly because the look on her face as I faded out was priceless.
Later, that word would mean something completely different.
***
Richie grinned when I entered the cave. "They fell for the cat thing, huh?"
I sighed. He had his feet on the console again. I brushed them off and sat down at the computer, calling up a readout of all the crimes that had occurred in my absence. I wasn't naive enough to think that I could stop all crime, but it was frustrating to see that in my two-hour absence there had been three robberies, a homicide, and four muggings. I could have stopped some of that.
"Not so much fell for, as let me go without asking questions."
Richie sniffed. "Wonder Woman asked you questions." When I glared at him. "I can smell her perfume."
I shrugged. Richie had a good nose; I hadn't even touched Ceirdwyn. "She doesn't like to take no for an answer. And by the way," I added, calling up mug shots of the perps the police had just picked up in an armed robbery. I knew these two: small time crooks with big time dreams. "I don't think 'cat in a tree' does your imagination justice."
Richie didn't seem to be phased. He rolled up his sleeves and did a handstand on the floor. It was a flawless handstand, definitely, and he walked to the exercise mat before deciding to fall flat on his back and lay there, looking up that the ceiling of the cave for a second. "I was trying to amuse you," he said softly.
"Mmn."
"It appeals to your brusque sense of humor."
I didn't bother to turn around and face him. I could see him just fine in the refection of the monitor. "You know the meaning of brusque, and yet still, you can't manage to make it through the Thomas More."
Richie rolled over onto his stomach and looked up. "Utopias are stupid." He began a series of sit ups. "Besides, Darius gave me the Cliff's Notes."
I sighed. "We're going to have to talk to Darius about his unique sense of mercy."
[BLAH BLAH]
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
GOTHAM'S MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY:
"I get it, you know," I said as I dodged a punch and ducked behind a stuffed black bear. "You're dressed like a cat, you got the claws, you use the cat jokes. It's a cat gimmick, right? Do you collect little ceramic figurines or maybe decorative plates?" Maybe Richie was rubbing off on me.
The woman jumped up on a stuffed elephant and crouched down on the head. "Am I getting thematic criticism from someone dressed as a bat? With a 'batmobile' a 'batbike' and a 'batcave'?" She dug about in a pouch at her waist and produced something small, then promptly threw it at the ground. "Because really, glass houses and everything, darling."
I flipped the lenses on and palmed a rebreather just as the pellets she threw hit the floor and exploded into a mist of smoke. "Do I make bat jokes? No. There's a restraint thing. Class." I had to pop the rebreather into my mouth, then. Damn, whatever she was smoking was...well, this kind of line was really Richie's dominion.
She reached out and caught me between my legs, her claws digging into the reinforced kevlar. "Please tell me that you call that the Bat-cup," she purred. And then she turned her hand impossibly, trying to twist it. Too bad for her the cup was mounted into the frame with steel stays. It still wasn't very comfortable; I was also losing my patience.
[BLAH BLAH MISTLETOE IS DEADLY IF YOU EAT IT. BUT A KISS…HOLY FUCK.]
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter Three: People Will Say We're In L***
AMANDA MONTROSE'S CONDO:
"Oh my gawd, Amanda, what happened to you?" Michelle stood up when she came in the window, dumping a whole bag of Cheetos on the floor. Just great. That was a Persian rug decorated with cheese like dust.
Amanda sighed and flopped down on the floor, careful of her bruised knees and aching shoulder. She picked her one glove off with a combination of teeth and claws and started to work on her boots. The heel was tearing on her left boot, and just great, she hadn't gotten the diamonds.
"The Bat, that's who happened to me," she said curtly, throwing a boot at Michelle, who took it into the kitchen with her. Amanda could hear the fridge door open, but she was too busy trying to get her left boot off before the ankle swelled too much and she had to cut it off. She was definitely getting the ankles reinforced. "Intercepted and rebuffed by the big black rat. He stole my glove!" She slammed the flat of her hand on the floor and immediately regretted it.
Michelle's head popped around the corner. "The Batman? Is he as hot as he looks on TV? Was Robin with him? Is he really a redhead? I bet he's hot, too." Amanda frowned when Michelle disappeared again for a few seconds only to reappear in the doorway with a bottle of water and a ziploc bag full of ice, both of which she held out in her hands. "Oh! Did you kiss him?"
Amanda stopped in the middle of opening the bottle. "What?"
Michelle pouted and started to clean the Cheetos from the rug. "You do that. With the kissing." she offered, shrugging. "A lot. I was just wondering."
Amanda swallowed half of the contents of bottle on the first drink and stopped to stare off into space. "Well," she admitted, "it wouldn't have gone any worse if I had -which I didn't." She tilted her head to the side and immediately regretted that as well. Was there nothing on her that didn't hurt? "I suppose I could always try that next time."
Michelle sighed and popped a Cheeto into her mouth. "I bet he's a face grabber."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
MACLEOD MANOR:
"So, she dresses like a cat."
"Yes."
"Is there fur?"
"No."
"Well, then, how catty is that?"
"She was wearing a cat suit."
Richie flipped through the stack of fingerprints he was sorting. I had her glove and was busy lifting prints from the inside of it. They were smudged a bit, but held the imprint.
"Was the suit made of cats?" Richie obviously was bored. He usually did this when he just couldn't be bothered.
"If it had been, don't you think it would have been furry?"
Richie twisted the cap from his bottle of Zesti and smiled. "Oh yeah." He drank for a second and then stopped. "You know I'm not really this dense, right? I'm just yanking your chain."
I didn't say anything. I had managed to pull a print on tape and was busy scanning it into the computer. The digital enhancer would clean it up a little bit and then scan the database. In the meantime, Richie abandoned the print cards and instead clambered up onto the bars above my head, hanging down so that his face was next to mine. He needed a haircut.
"I like to be funny," he said kicking his feet back and forth.
I rolled the chair over to the other end of the lab table. I wanted to analyze the chemicals on the glove. Whatever she'd used for a diversion would be all over this. "I'll let you know when you achieve that goal."
[THE END]
So there they go into my abandoned fics folder. Bye bye! Hand waving.
::sob::