*knock knock knock*
*Blows dust off of LJ*
Umm, wow. Hi again. I got a little distracted there with the end of graduate school and all that -- but I'm free! And graduated! And several tens of thousands of dollars in debt! But but but: I have time to write again. And sleep, but I've always considered that to be somewhat superfluous.
When I wasn't cramming for finals or adjusting the margins of my thesis, I got hooked on a new fandom: due South. I am kicking myself for not watching this show when it was actually on, and kicking Netflix for not having any of the episodes available for rent. I think I've read most of the classics of the genre by now, but my question for all twelve of you is this: where's the animal transformation fic? I mean, SGA is swimming in stories where McKay and Sheppard get turned into dolphins or penguins or cats or mice or puppies, and due South appears to be at least as weird, what with all the gender-switchery and cross-dressing Chicago cops and amnesia. Animal transformations really don't seem out of the question. And thus inspired, I wrote a bit of crack.
***
Ray most certainly did not want to go into Fraser's pocket. He hissed and spit and swatted at Fraser's hand with his tiny paws -- "Really, Ray," Fraser said in exasperation, "How else am I going to carry you?" -- and only quieted when Fraser fed him a bit of minced-up sausage from the Consulate kitchen. He didn't think it was good for kittens, but the only alternative was some appallingly stinky cheese that had been in the refrigerator for weeks, and that Turnbull insisted wasn't quite ripe yet. Fraser attacked the sausage with his usual gusto; when he finished licking the plate clean, he had bits of meat clinging to his whiskers. He sat back on his haunches and gave a little mew of satisfaction.
"Oh, for goodness' sake," Fraser said severely, and went to find a dishcloth.
Food had an enormously calming effect on Ray's disposition -- which wasn't terribly different, Fraser reflected, from how he behaved as a human. Ray blinked up at him, sleepy and apparently docile, and Fraser firmly squashed the urge to stroke a finger between the too-big ears, down the delicate curve of his spine. Ray appeared to be having some trouble with his sudden transformation. To pet him like a mere animal seemed, at the very least, presumptuous. Ray's marmalade-colored fur stuck up wildly down his back, extending into a tiny bottle-brush of a tail. Fraser wondered idly if it was a reflection of Ray's experimental hair, or if he simply hadn't thought to try grooming yet.
"Are you ready to behave?" Fraser asked, laying one hand flat on the table and gesturing to his tunic pocket with the other.
Ray cocked his head to one side. "Mew," he said after a moment, and stepped carefully onto Fraser's palm.
***
Fraser peeked into his pocket once or twice on his walk to the 2-7; Ray had curled up into a tight ball and appeared to be asleep, his pink nose tucked under his paws. He was so tiny, so incredibly vulnerable in this form, and Fraser cupped a protective hand over the bulge in his pocket as he headed up the stairs to the bullpen.
Inside was there was the usual chaos. He stepped to the side as Huey and Dewey herded a rodeo clown into Interrogation One, then flattened himself against the wall as a veritable herd of clowns clattered after, their belled spurs jingling angrily against the linoleum. Lieutenant Walsh's office door was closed, a tacit sign that he had retreated into the comforting arms of some very strong coffee; Francesca had what appeared to be a bird of paradise nesting between her breasts, which were squashed into alarming display by the corseted lacing of her top.
He tried to use his rusty tracking skills to sneak quietly to Walsh's door, but Francesca had instincts to rival the williest Inuit trackers. "Hey Fraser, wanna buy a pencil?" She plucked a feather from her top, dyed a purple that had never originated in nature, and with a short purple pencil cemented to the end. "They're to benefit the Policemen's Union," she purred, trailing the feather down the front of his uniform in what was apparently meant to be a seductive manner. "So it's for a good cause, and you'd be amazed what you can do with a -- hey!"
Startled, Fraser looked down. Sometime during the commotion Ray had woken up, and the feather had been too much to resist.
"Oooooh, how precious!" Francesca waggled the feather in Ray's face. He batted at it again, blue eyes intent, and she squealed happily. "Look at the little hunter! Where'd you get him, Fraser?"
"In -- in the alley," Fraser stammered. Francesca stooped, endangering her aviary of pencils, and rubbed a manicured finger briskly between Ray's ears. Fraser could feel the happy rumble of Ray's purr through his uniform trousers, and felt obscurely jealous. With effort, he wrenched his mind back to the task at hand. "I was looking for your brother, actually -- do you know where he was supposed to be today?"
"Oh, yeah," Francesca said, distracted, and scratched gently under Ray's jaw. Ray purred harder, wriggling happily in Fraser's pocket. "Ray said he was going down to the docks to check out something fishy there -- I bet you'd like some fish, wouldn't you, sweetheart? Tasty wasty fish."
Fraser gritted his teeth. He knew it was bad for his molars, but in situations like this -- Francesca at her most obtuse and unhelpful, his partner transformed into a juvenile cat -- that drove him to it. Better that than drink, he supposed.
And thus endeth the crack. For now. And speaking of crack, I've got to dig up the SGA vampire story sequel....
Umm, wow. Hi again. I got a little distracted there with the end of graduate school and all that -- but I'm free! And graduated! And several tens of thousands of dollars in debt! But but but: I have time to write again. And sleep, but I've always considered that to be somewhat superfluous.
When I wasn't cramming for finals or adjusting the margins of my thesis, I got hooked on a new fandom: due South. I am kicking myself for not watching this show when it was actually on, and kicking Netflix for not having any of the episodes available for rent. I think I've read most of the classics of the genre by now, but my question for all twelve of you is this: where's the animal transformation fic? I mean, SGA is swimming in stories where McKay and Sheppard get turned into dolphins or penguins or cats or mice or puppies, and due South appears to be at least as weird, what with all the gender-switchery and cross-dressing Chicago cops and amnesia. Animal transformations really don't seem out of the question. And thus inspired, I wrote a bit of crack.
***
Ray most certainly did not want to go into Fraser's pocket. He hissed and spit and swatted at Fraser's hand with his tiny paws -- "Really, Ray," Fraser said in exasperation, "How else am I going to carry you?" -- and only quieted when Fraser fed him a bit of minced-up sausage from the Consulate kitchen. He didn't think it was good for kittens, but the only alternative was some appallingly stinky cheese that had been in the refrigerator for weeks, and that Turnbull insisted wasn't quite ripe yet. Fraser attacked the sausage with his usual gusto; when he finished licking the plate clean, he had bits of meat clinging to his whiskers. He sat back on his haunches and gave a little mew of satisfaction.
"Oh, for goodness' sake," Fraser said severely, and went to find a dishcloth.
Food had an enormously calming effect on Ray's disposition -- which wasn't terribly different, Fraser reflected, from how he behaved as a human. Ray blinked up at him, sleepy and apparently docile, and Fraser firmly squashed the urge to stroke a finger between the too-big ears, down the delicate curve of his spine. Ray appeared to be having some trouble with his sudden transformation. To pet him like a mere animal seemed, at the very least, presumptuous. Ray's marmalade-colored fur stuck up wildly down his back, extending into a tiny bottle-brush of a tail. Fraser wondered idly if it was a reflection of Ray's experimental hair, or if he simply hadn't thought to try grooming yet.
"Are you ready to behave?" Fraser asked, laying one hand flat on the table and gesturing to his tunic pocket with the other.
Ray cocked his head to one side. "Mew," he said after a moment, and stepped carefully onto Fraser's palm.
***
Fraser peeked into his pocket once or twice on his walk to the 2-7; Ray had curled up into a tight ball and appeared to be asleep, his pink nose tucked under his paws. He was so tiny, so incredibly vulnerable in this form, and Fraser cupped a protective hand over the bulge in his pocket as he headed up the stairs to the bullpen.
Inside was there was the usual chaos. He stepped to the side as Huey and Dewey herded a rodeo clown into Interrogation One, then flattened himself against the wall as a veritable herd of clowns clattered after, their belled spurs jingling angrily against the linoleum. Lieutenant Walsh's office door was closed, a tacit sign that he had retreated into the comforting arms of some very strong coffee; Francesca had what appeared to be a bird of paradise nesting between her breasts, which were squashed into alarming display by the corseted lacing of her top.
He tried to use his rusty tracking skills to sneak quietly to Walsh's door, but Francesca had instincts to rival the williest Inuit trackers. "Hey Fraser, wanna buy a pencil?" She plucked a feather from her top, dyed a purple that had never originated in nature, and with a short purple pencil cemented to the end. "They're to benefit the Policemen's Union," she purred, trailing the feather down the front of his uniform in what was apparently meant to be a seductive manner. "So it's for a good cause, and you'd be amazed what you can do with a -- hey!"
Startled, Fraser looked down. Sometime during the commotion Ray had woken up, and the feather had been too much to resist.
"Oooooh, how precious!" Francesca waggled the feather in Ray's face. He batted at it again, blue eyes intent, and she squealed happily. "Look at the little hunter! Where'd you get him, Fraser?"
"In -- in the alley," Fraser stammered. Francesca stooped, endangering her aviary of pencils, and rubbed a manicured finger briskly between Ray's ears. Fraser could feel the happy rumble of Ray's purr through his uniform trousers, and felt obscurely jealous. With effort, he wrenched his mind back to the task at hand. "I was looking for your brother, actually -- do you know where he was supposed to be today?"
"Oh, yeah," Francesca said, distracted, and scratched gently under Ray's jaw. Ray purred harder, wriggling happily in Fraser's pocket. "Ray said he was going down to the docks to check out something fishy there -- I bet you'd like some fish, wouldn't you, sweetheart? Tasty wasty fish."
Fraser gritted his teeth. He knew it was bad for his molars, but in situations like this -- Francesca at her most obtuse and unhelpful, his partner transformed into a juvenile cat -- that drove him to it. Better that than drink, he supposed.
And thus endeth the crack. For now. And speaking of crack, I've got to dig up the SGA vampire story sequel....