Ficlet #3 and #4 - ST:DS9 and West Wing
*smacks LiveJournal*
I couldn't convince LJ that it truly did want to let me update my journal last night, so here's two for tonight. I'm officially changing my little project to 24 ficlets instead of 24 drabbles since stopping at 100 words doesn't seem like it's going to happen any time soon.
First, tpeej asked for Deep Space Nine.
"Six days! Six days of work, Julian, gone -- completely gone --
because of a vole. One vole!"
Julian studied his friend critically and came to a decision. "Come
with me."
"What? Julian, I-"
"Come with me," he repeated firmly. "I seem to remember telling you
during your last physical that you needed to reduce the level of
stress in your daily life. We're going to do something about that."
Jadzia hopped down from the exam table she had been sitting on and
curiously followed Julian as he led her through the station and back
to her quarters. He went directly to the replicator, said something
she couldn't quite hear, and came back with a tray with three small
bowls, two mugs, and some bread.
"Sit." Julian sat across from her and pulled the tray towards him. "My
great-grandmother was a great believer in the healing power of food,"
he said as he laid out four slices of white bread in front of himself.
"However, she never liked the idea of replicators. She said that half
the magic comes from the cooking. Therefore, true comfort food needed
to be made by hand."
"You're not cooking."
"Assembled, then. Do you prefer strawberry or grape?"
"What?"
"Grape it is," Bashir said, not bothering to explain. Jadzia watched
as he spread something purple from one of the bowls onto two slices of
bread, then some sort of brown substance from another bowl onto the
other two slices. He efficiently assembled the two sandwiches and cut
them in half, diagonally.
"This," he said as he handed her one of the sandwiches and a mug of
milk, "is, quite possibly, a perfect food. It's filling, it
contains fruit, grain, and protein, and it can be dunked in milk."
Jadzia tentatively dunked the corner of one of the triangular halves
in her milk and tried it. "Wow, that is good," she said. "What's it called?"
"Peanut butter and jelly."
---
This one was inspired by one too many weight loss supplement commercials during Chicago Hope on Discovery Health late at night. (A show whose wardrobe department, by the way, gets major points for putting Mark Harmon in a Gino's East t-shirt last night. That's some of Chicago's best pizza there.)
"I plead the fifth."
"You can't plead the fifth."
"I think I can. The fifth amendment protects against self incrimination, and I can't answer this question correctly."
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"If I told you that you look fine in that dress or any other dress, you wouldn't believe me. You'd think that I'm just saying what you want to hear."
"Would you be?"
"No, but that's not the point. It's what you'd think. I also can't tell you that you do look fat. That would be a lie, and it's clearly the wrong answer either way. So, I think the best option is for me to avoid the issue and tell you honestly that you look beautiful tonight."
"My father gave you a hard time today, didn't he?"
"He did. Never bet against Notre Dame in the West Wing, especially if there's a chance you might win your bet. I know that now."
"In that case, you're forgiven."
"Thank you. You are beautiful tonight, you know."
"You're getting better at this boyfriend thing, too."
"I am? Good."
I couldn't convince LJ that it truly did want to let me update my journal last night, so here's two for tonight. I'm officially changing my little project to 24 ficlets instead of 24 drabbles since stopping at 100 words doesn't seem like it's going to happen any time soon.
First, tpeej asked for Deep Space Nine.
"Six days! Six days of work, Julian, gone -- completely gone --
because of a vole. One vole!"
Julian studied his friend critically and came to a decision. "Come
with me."
"What? Julian, I-"
"Come with me," he repeated firmly. "I seem to remember telling you
during your last physical that you needed to reduce the level of
stress in your daily life. We're going to do something about that."
Jadzia hopped down from the exam table she had been sitting on and
curiously followed Julian as he led her through the station and back
to her quarters. He went directly to the replicator, said something
she couldn't quite hear, and came back with a tray with three small
bowls, two mugs, and some bread.
"Sit." Julian sat across from her and pulled the tray towards him. "My
great-grandmother was a great believer in the healing power of food,"
he said as he laid out four slices of white bread in front of himself.
"However, she never liked the idea of replicators. She said that half
the magic comes from the cooking. Therefore, true comfort food needed
to be made by hand."
"You're not cooking."
"Assembled, then. Do you prefer strawberry or grape?"
"What?"
"Grape it is," Bashir said, not bothering to explain. Jadzia watched
as he spread something purple from one of the bowls onto two slices of
bread, then some sort of brown substance from another bowl onto the
other two slices. He efficiently assembled the two sandwiches and cut
them in half, diagonally.
"This," he said as he handed her one of the sandwiches and a mug of
milk, "is, quite possibly, a perfect food. It's filling, it
contains fruit, grain, and protein, and it can be dunked in milk."
Jadzia tentatively dunked the corner of one of the triangular halves
in her milk and tried it. "Wow, that is good," she said. "What's it called?"
"Peanut butter and jelly."
---
This one was inspired by one too many weight loss supplement commercials during Chicago Hope on Discovery Health late at night. (A show whose wardrobe department, by the way, gets major points for putting Mark Harmon in a Gino's East t-shirt last night. That's some of Chicago's best pizza there.)
"I plead the fifth."
"You can't plead the fifth."
"I think I can. The fifth amendment protects against self incrimination, and I can't answer this question correctly."
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"If I told you that you look fine in that dress or any other dress, you wouldn't believe me. You'd think that I'm just saying what you want to hear."
"Would you be?"
"No, but that's not the point. It's what you'd think. I also can't tell you that you do look fat. That would be a lie, and it's clearly the wrong answer either way. So, I think the best option is for me to avoid the issue and tell you honestly that you look beautiful tonight."
"My father gave you a hard time today, didn't he?"
"He did. Never bet against Notre Dame in the West Wing, especially if there's a chance you might win your bet. I know that now."
"In that case, you're forgiven."
"Thank you. You are beautiful tonight, you know."
"You're getting better at this boyfriend thing, too."
"I am? Good."