[Now closed] Grey's Anatomy comment fic-a-thon!
The first ga_fanfic comment fic-a-thon is now closed. Thanks to everyone who participated and helped make this a giant success. We had a really fantastic response to this, and we may hold more in the future (hiatus survival, anyone?).
Recap post and master list of fics can be found here.
If you are in the process of writing something for the ficathon: ( Read more... )
Recap post and master list of fics can be found here.
If you are in the process of writing something for the ficathon: ( Read more... )
“This is in the middle of fucking nowhere,” Alex says, stopping the Wrangler in the middle of the road, clouds of dust billowing up from the wheels. There’s not much cause for worry about blocking traffic; gas is harder to find than working flashlight batteries and all but two cars they’ve passed in the last three days have been abandoned on the side of the road. He squints at the sky through his sunglasses, as if the hand of God is going to come down from the clouds and point in the right direction.
Mark uncrosses his ankles from their spot on the dash and switches so the left leg is on top. His boots are about as dusty as the road. He stares at a map that he’s pretty sure isn’t going to help; it’s a AAA map they found in the glove compartment that doesn’t even mark the road they think they’re currently on. “Whole damn country’s the middle of fucking nowhere, now,” he says. He thinks maybe he and Karev have been traveling together for too long because Karev’s complaints about swallowing dust don’t annoy him as much as they once did.
Two miles later, they pass a sign that used to advertise used car sales but has been since painted over to advertise Bartertown, 3mi ahead. Mark hopes that they aren’t going to run into some sort of crazy Aunty Entity (or, worse, that Addison’s turned into one), but he’s pretty sure he could take anyone in a cage match.
Bartertown looks exactly like it should. Ramshackle buildings with hand painted (and often misspelled) signs, stalls and tents set up in the town’s single main street crowded with people shouting and trading. A board set up in the front of town, messages tacked onto it for passing visitors (cost: one non-perishable food item; honor system). Kids running around, giggling at being away from their parents for a few seconds.
Montgomery’s is easy to find: it’s the one with the fight expanding out of its doors and onto the street.
Alex parks the Wrangler by the other cars next to the Welcome to Bartertown! sign and cracks his back once he hops out. He tosses Mark the keys; he’s tired of driving. They both sling their packs - full of things they are unwilling to allow to be stolen; everything else can stay in the car - over their backs and wade into the crowd toward the red building with Montgomery’s: booze or bullet wounds, we have you covered scrawled on the side.
She looks up as the bell over the door tinkles, alerting her to new patrons, and nearly sloshes the beer over one of her regulars. Muttering an apology, she makes her way back behind the bar. “Can I get you fellas something to drink?”
Hair pulled back into something complicated-looking, knee-high brown lace-up boots, and a dark pink sundress, she almost looks like she belongs in this town, in this era, in this nightmare, as she serves up the local rotgut for customers she knows can’t possibly pay her. She’s even started talking like them; a way to blend in and get them to trust her.
Alex swings himself onto a barstool, dropping his pack onto the floor between him and the bar. Mark does the same and shrugs. “What’s good?”
Addison smiles. “Absolutely nothing.”
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