fa la la la la, la la la la
So our Christmas tree is finally up, lit and decorated, and I wish I could just harness the scent of it forever and ever and make it so that's the only thing I smell ever. Nothing's ever quite the same.
In other news, Christine Chapel has taken a fierce and violent hold on my muse and refuses to let go. Below is the beginnings of a Chapel-centered story... it's been done before, but she's got my muse hostage with a hypospray. Nothing to be done about it.
Little teensy bit o'backstory to begin with-- in my reboot!headcanon, Christine's father/brother/someone died whilst in space as a result of Nero effing up the timeline.
Title: The End of Roger Korby, or How Christine Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Space
Rating: R, for language
Universe: Reboot
Pairing: Gen, for now
Summary: Christine Chapel wasn't stupid.
She was a dissertation away from a PhD in biochemistry, had two masters degrees in nursing and biochemistry, and had been working with Roger for two years on his study of xenogeography. She'd survived working two jobs to pay for grad school, had one of the largest collections of antique graphic novels planetside, and could kick your sorry ass in Scrabble from here to Delta Omnicron.
Suffice to say, Christine Chapel wasn't stupid.
Which is why when Roger Korby informed her that he was going into space on a scientific expedition to a planet that hadn't triggered life-sensor readings in over three hundred years, and if she would just wait out his mission here on Earth -- never mind the fact that she had the exact qualifications he was looking for in an assistant-- before they got married when he returned, and he'd be mighty obliged, she'd gladly told him no thank you.
Or, Fuck you, Roger Korby, because science was your first love and I could never compete with that.The sentiments were the same.
He knew, she had told him, about five minutes after they'd met that she'd "rather spend the rest of her natural born life nursing crotch fungus than be married to a man in space," because she would not go willingly into her mother's own personal hell of waiting, wanting men long-dead to rise improbably from the totality of space. In time, she came to realize that what had transpired between them was less about space and science and more about Roger taking more than he was willing to give; if it hadn't been the mission, it would have been something else.
And Roger didn't cry or send her flowers or do anything anything that the millions of other beaus she'd had would have done, but he did spend countless hours in the lab, doing work that she knew he'd been putting off because of the time-consuming nature of the research.
And like everything else Roger did that was so different, it broke Christine's heart just a little bit more than it should have.
BUT WAIT WHY DID SHE GO INTO SPACE you say? More later on that, still working out the kinks...
In other news, Christine Chapel has taken a fierce and violent hold on my muse and refuses to let go. Below is the beginnings of a Chapel-centered story... it's been done before, but she's got my muse hostage with a hypospray. Nothing to be done about it.
Little teensy bit o'backstory to begin with-- in my reboot!headcanon, Christine's father/brother/someone died whilst in space as a result of Nero effing up the timeline.
Title: The End of Roger Korby, or How Christine Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Space
Rating: R, for language
Universe: Reboot
Pairing: Gen, for now
Summary: Christine Chapel wasn't stupid.
She was a dissertation away from a PhD in biochemistry, had two masters degrees in nursing and biochemistry, and had been working with Roger for two years on his study of xenogeography. She'd survived working two jobs to pay for grad school, had one of the largest collections of antique graphic novels planetside, and could kick your sorry ass in Scrabble from here to Delta Omnicron.
Suffice to say, Christine Chapel wasn't stupid.
Which is why when Roger Korby informed her that he was going into space on a scientific expedition to a planet that hadn't triggered life-sensor readings in over three hundred years, and if she would just wait out his mission here on Earth -- never mind the fact that she had the exact qualifications he was looking for in an assistant-- before they got married when he returned, and he'd be mighty obliged, she'd gladly told him no thank you.
Or, Fuck you, Roger Korby, because science was your first love and I could never compete with that.The sentiments were the same.
He knew, she had told him, about five minutes after they'd met that she'd "rather spend the rest of her natural born life nursing crotch fungus than be married to a man in space," because she would not go willingly into her mother's own personal hell of waiting, wanting men long-dead to rise improbably from the totality of space. In time, she came to realize that what had transpired between them was less about space and science and more about Roger taking more than he was willing to give; if it hadn't been the mission, it would have been something else.
And Roger didn't cry or send her flowers or do anything anything that the millions of other beaus she'd had would have done, but he did spend countless hours in the lab, doing work that she knew he'd been putting off because of the time-consuming nature of the research.
And like everything else Roger did that was so different, it broke Christine's heart just a little bit more than it should have.
BUT WAIT WHY DID SHE GO INTO SPACE you say? More later on that, still working out the kinks...