Snippets (Zune Mix)
Title: Snippets (Zune Mix)
Story Continuity: Various
Flavors: Blackberry 8: reasonable doubt, Mango 3: wait for me, Gingerbread 6: glass slipper
Topping/Extra: Cherry (randomized/musical prompts)
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Claudia Jones, Lawrence Stewart (NaNo '10), Cliff Knight, Kristen Morrow, Jaida Lenore Ames (Battle For the Sun), Ian Wallace Stone, Noel Eddings, Marie Spragg (Pandora's Earth), Lizzie Corvo, Helene Mossing, Hedda Grimseth/Mossing, Yuriya Sakuragi (the Lethean Glamour)
Summary: Pocky chain of unrelated and various bits made from lyrics.
He took it all too far, but boy, could he play guitar!
- David Bowie, "Ziggy Stardust"
"That's it," Lawrence scowled. "Tonight's the night. I'm gonna show that asshole how a real man plays guitar."
"A real man? What, you against Hob and his action star abs armed with...what? Your rainbow scarf? Lawrence," Claudia said, all of her laughing without actually laughing, "I love you and everything, but - have you played before? Even once?"
This, in retrospect, was likely a bigger insult than Hob's army of hot bitches.
If there was a greater beatdown in Guitar Hero, nobody remembered it.
Claudia was too busy snickering to say anything afterwards.
"Please don't talk to me," Lawrence muttered anyway.
* * * *
Love, crooked love / drives a stake into the soul / Pain, precious pain / it's caused by that we are the closest to.
- A Covenant of Thorns, "Love Crooked Love"
Cliff stared out his window with crazy eyes and forlorn hair, twitching sporadically.
Cliff didn't get nervous - often. But - he was getting married. As a knight, marriage was forever or nothing.
And Kristen was...
There was a word for it. Had to be. But all Cliff could think was, "fuck, fuck, fuck."
(They were variations: one for "where the fuck is she?" another for "fuck my life," and another still for "oh, fuck," all with a bit of "What if I never see her again?")
He'd tell her. Marriage wasn't vital, really. Just paper, like she said.
Where was she?
* * * *
There's a sun, there's a ground under my feet / there is almost nothing in between.
- VAST, "Thrown Away"
Ian loved acting - who else but an actor won the heart of the (unspeakably hot, vapid) cute shopgirl, became a conflicted terrorist six months later and rehabilitated into a heroic everyman by next Christmas? - but he had certain off days. There were days - weeks, sometimes - when the the desire and love of pretending vanished like the perfect shell to the tide. There were times when he thought the good would never return. The media called him flighty. Ian had moods, his people defended.
Ian himself declined to comment.
It was just all so much simpler when everything was a joke.
* * * *
And if I'm wasting all your time / this time / maybe you never learned to take / And if I'm hanging on to your shade / I guess I'm way beyond the pale.
- Tori Amos, "Doughnut Song"
Kristen knew the minute the reunion began how it would end, but she hadn't the power to stop it exactly how she'd not stopped apologizing. She never wanted Jaida to know - the woman defined the hard bitch - but when Jaida was told, Kristen was there to witness the flicker of disgust slice across her zen. Kris didn't know if it was for her or her parents, but she'd gotten (fallen) this far by not thinking too hard, anyway.
"Seriously, were any of us ever hugged as children?" Jaida snorted. "What the hell."
Quietly, unnoticed by even herself, Kristen still waited.
* * * *
"I have no missionary zeal," I say, "No armies fighting sin." / But I'll keep playing, / I'll keep playing / until I win.
- Sarah Slean, "Playing Cards With Judas"
Lizzie remembered, fondly and vividly, when she was nothing more than an oddball schoolgirl. (Considering that was a week previously and Lizzie's memory was eidetic, this was decidedly unimpressive. Still.)
But there were witchfinders, mystery arsonists, and revolutionaries this week, and Lizzie wondered what twisted world let a girl who still occasionally believed she might someday marry Tolkien be the sanest testifier in a trial determining whether "her people" should be slaughtered as foes of humanity.
"How do we know you speak truth?" Demanded Lester.
"Making me swear on my own holy book might help," Lizzie offered, and unknowingly summoned a terrible beast.
* * * *
Then they'll pile up the bodies, and I'll say: "That'll learn ya!"
- Nina Simone, "Pirate Jenny"
There was nary a soul still bound in flesh that knew the face of the Laughing Ripper. Helene approved; it was rough, thinking over all that screaming. It also let her threaten to her heart's content and still receive the "benefit of doubt." Lovely thing, doubt. Nobody called for her swift evisceration when they just doubted her. They only thought about it.
Funny thing was, Helene thought the same things about them.
"Did I just kill an entire village out loud again?" Helene said. "Boy, is my face red! Oh, false alarm, it's just blood. You'll remember the bacon next time, though?"
* * * *
I can hear the little fishes / under here, whispering your most terrible name.
- Ute Lemper, "Little Water Song"
Yuriya Sakuragi had more names than friends. She'd been Asha Malkin once, after a woman who'd sought revenge for her husband's far less worthy death. After her first king, left rotting in his swamps for the kelpies and kappa he hunted in life, she became Regina Bogg.
Yuriya knows peripherally that the first human she'd cast into death was herself, and in the darkest waters she sometimes sees herself screaming tiny silver bubbles at the tides. She has a name all her own - sometimes she even knows it; but of those who will speak it, there is only the ocean.
* * * *
Do you remember that night / when I had to play your angel / saving your soul? / Even though you were holding on tight / A part of you was taken by the demons below.
- KT Tunstall, "Funnyman"
Hedda grew up with the vaguely girl-shaped tumor crawling fitfully towards her, but that didn't mean she recognized it. Then it raised its head to her, and its moan was a little more human than the rest of it, its face still lovely, but in the way candlelight is lovely, all coiled wrath and soft, deceptive brightness.
"Helene?" Hedda tried to say, but the words were choked by dread. "What - just - what?"
"Hedda," Helene said, and even her voice sounded like it'd lost a fight with a redcap. "I seem to be missing some pieces. Have you seen my soul?"
* * * *
We're catching bullets in our teeth / It's hard to do but they're so sweet / and if they take a couple out / we try to work things out.
- Tunng, "Bullets"
Noel hated funerals like any social gathering. It was all smoke and mirrors for the living, too, and the rest of it that followed was all the unnecessary, played out drama of shrews and vultures locking claws in mortal bitchery over the Will. Like Maria hadn't suffered enough without her shriveled-souled, really-actually-a-floral-print-frock-wearing aunts questioning her husband's worth.
Outside the church, Noel breathed in the smell of thunderstorms and cheap incense, getting the unsettling sense of being breathed in herself. "You best be at actual peace, woman, 'cause this is some fresh hell you're missing."
* * * *
You haven't looked at me that way in years / Your watch has stopped and the pond is clear.
- Tom Waits, "I'm Still Here"
Marie stared at the Corinne who wasn't sadly over her glasses.
"What happened?" Marie said, softly. Corinne - Noel - bared her teeth, grinning a snarl. She spoke, razor voiced, "You happened. Look, your niece is dust and I get that, really, but I don't care how many pretty little glass slippers you throw at me, I ain't her. Any perfect fits are all the fault of the Greek pantheon being omnipotent asstards. I defriended Aphrodite on Twitter, and she won't let it go. Remind you of anyone?" Noel glared at her pointedly.
Marie excused herself and fled, but gave nothing up.
Story Continuity: Various
Flavors: Blackberry 8: reasonable doubt, Mango 3: wait for me, Gingerbread 6: glass slipper
Topping/Extra: Cherry (randomized/musical prompts)
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Claudia Jones, Lawrence Stewart (NaNo '10), Cliff Knight, Kristen Morrow, Jaida Lenore Ames (Battle For the Sun), Ian Wallace Stone, Noel Eddings, Marie Spragg (Pandora's Earth), Lizzie Corvo, Helene Mossing, Hedda Grimseth/Mossing, Yuriya Sakuragi (the Lethean Glamour)
Summary: Pocky chain of unrelated and various bits made from lyrics.
He took it all too far, but boy, could he play guitar!
- David Bowie, "Ziggy Stardust"
"That's it," Lawrence scowled. "Tonight's the night. I'm gonna show that asshole how a real man plays guitar."
"A real man? What, you against Hob and his action star abs armed with...what? Your rainbow scarf? Lawrence," Claudia said, all of her laughing without actually laughing, "I love you and everything, but - have you played before? Even once?"
This, in retrospect, was likely a bigger insult than Hob's army of hot bitches.
If there was a greater beatdown in Guitar Hero, nobody remembered it.
Claudia was too busy snickering to say anything afterwards.
"Please don't talk to me," Lawrence muttered anyway.
* * * *
Love, crooked love / drives a stake into the soul / Pain, precious pain / it's caused by that we are the closest to.
- A Covenant of Thorns, "Love Crooked Love"
Cliff stared out his window with crazy eyes and forlorn hair, twitching sporadically.
Cliff didn't get nervous - often. But - he was getting married. As a knight, marriage was forever or nothing.
And Kristen was...
There was a word for it. Had to be. But all Cliff could think was, "fuck, fuck, fuck."
(They were variations: one for "where the fuck is she?" another for "fuck my life," and another still for "oh, fuck," all with a bit of "What if I never see her again?")
He'd tell her. Marriage wasn't vital, really. Just paper, like she said.
Where was she?
* * * *
There's a sun, there's a ground under my feet / there is almost nothing in between.
- VAST, "Thrown Away"
Ian loved acting - who else but an actor won the heart of the (unspeakably hot, vapid) cute shopgirl, became a conflicted terrorist six months later and rehabilitated into a heroic everyman by next Christmas? - but he had certain off days. There were days - weeks, sometimes - when the the desire and love of pretending vanished like the perfect shell to the tide. There were times when he thought the good would never return. The media called him flighty. Ian had moods, his people defended.
Ian himself declined to comment.
It was just all so much simpler when everything was a joke.
* * * *
And if I'm wasting all your time / this time / maybe you never learned to take / And if I'm hanging on to your shade / I guess I'm way beyond the pale.
- Tori Amos, "Doughnut Song"
Kristen knew the minute the reunion began how it would end, but she hadn't the power to stop it exactly how she'd not stopped apologizing. She never wanted Jaida to know - the woman defined the hard bitch - but when Jaida was told, Kristen was there to witness the flicker of disgust slice across her zen. Kris didn't know if it was for her or her parents, but she'd gotten (fallen) this far by not thinking too hard, anyway.
"Seriously, were any of us ever hugged as children?" Jaida snorted. "What the hell."
Quietly, unnoticed by even herself, Kristen still waited.
* * * *
"I have no missionary zeal," I say, "No armies fighting sin." / But I'll keep playing, / I'll keep playing / until I win.
- Sarah Slean, "Playing Cards With Judas"
Lizzie remembered, fondly and vividly, when she was nothing more than an oddball schoolgirl. (Considering that was a week previously and Lizzie's memory was eidetic, this was decidedly unimpressive. Still.)
But there were witchfinders, mystery arsonists, and revolutionaries this week, and Lizzie wondered what twisted world let a girl who still occasionally believed she might someday marry Tolkien be the sanest testifier in a trial determining whether "her people" should be slaughtered as foes of humanity.
"How do we know you speak truth?" Demanded Lester.
"Making me swear on my own holy book might help," Lizzie offered, and unknowingly summoned a terrible beast.
* * * *
Then they'll pile up the bodies, and I'll say: "That'll learn ya!"
- Nina Simone, "Pirate Jenny"
There was nary a soul still bound in flesh that knew the face of the Laughing Ripper. Helene approved; it was rough, thinking over all that screaming. It also let her threaten to her heart's content and still receive the "benefit of doubt." Lovely thing, doubt. Nobody called for her swift evisceration when they just doubted her. They only thought about it.
Funny thing was, Helene thought the same things about them.
"Did I just kill an entire village out loud again?" Helene said. "Boy, is my face red! Oh, false alarm, it's just blood. You'll remember the bacon next time, though?"
* * * *
I can hear the little fishes / under here, whispering your most terrible name.
- Ute Lemper, "Little Water Song"
Yuriya Sakuragi had more names than friends. She'd been Asha Malkin once, after a woman who'd sought revenge for her husband's far less worthy death. After her first king, left rotting in his swamps for the kelpies and kappa he hunted in life, she became Regina Bogg.
Yuriya knows peripherally that the first human she'd cast into death was herself, and in the darkest waters she sometimes sees herself screaming tiny silver bubbles at the tides. She has a name all her own - sometimes she even knows it; but of those who will speak it, there is only the ocean.
* * * *
Do you remember that night / when I had to play your angel / saving your soul? / Even though you were holding on tight / A part of you was taken by the demons below.
- KT Tunstall, "Funnyman"
Hedda grew up with the vaguely girl-shaped tumor crawling fitfully towards her, but that didn't mean she recognized it. Then it raised its head to her, and its moan was a little more human than the rest of it, its face still lovely, but in the way candlelight is lovely, all coiled wrath and soft, deceptive brightness.
"Helene?" Hedda tried to say, but the words were choked by dread. "What - just - what?"
"Hedda," Helene said, and even her voice sounded like it'd lost a fight with a redcap. "I seem to be missing some pieces. Have you seen my soul?"
* * * *
We're catching bullets in our teeth / It's hard to do but they're so sweet / and if they take a couple out / we try to work things out.
- Tunng, "Bullets"
Noel hated funerals like any social gathering. It was all smoke and mirrors for the living, too, and the rest of it that followed was all the unnecessary, played out drama of shrews and vultures locking claws in mortal bitchery over the Will. Like Maria hadn't suffered enough without her shriveled-souled, really-actually-a-floral-print-frock-wearing aunts questioning her husband's worth.
Outside the church, Noel breathed in the smell of thunderstorms and cheap incense, getting the unsettling sense of being breathed in herself. "You best be at actual peace, woman, 'cause this is some fresh hell you're missing."
* * * *
You haven't looked at me that way in years / Your watch has stopped and the pond is clear.
- Tom Waits, "I'm Still Here"
Marie stared at the Corinne who wasn't sadly over her glasses.
"What happened?" Marie said, softly. Corinne - Noel - bared her teeth, grinning a snarl. She spoke, razor voiced, "You happened. Look, your niece is dust and I get that, really, but I don't care how many pretty little glass slippers you throw at me, I ain't her. Any perfect fits are all the fault of the Greek pantheon being omnipotent asstards. I defriended Aphrodite on Twitter, and she won't let it go. Remind you of anyone?" Noel glared at her pointedly.
Marie excused herself and fled, but gave nothing up.