I O U
A very happy birthday to ginbitch! And also, of course, to Peter Tatchell.
In an ideal world I would have a birthday story ready for you; I've been turning one over in my mind for the last few weeks. But as I live in an imperfect world where my work drives me insane for the first two months of the year, I won't be able to do it until March. I've just jotted down the opening lines, as a token of my intent to write it eventually. So it's behind the cut, along with birthday greetings from all of us here!
Rosie observes the new-look bedroom while enjoying the sun.
Tabitha investigates the new wardrobes. She can't actually jump that high, I lifted her up because I knew she'd want to look round.
And a fragment of a fic:
The first time it happened, they were having dinner.
Mrs Trainor, the housekeeper, seemed only too happy to lay on old-fashioned three-course meals for seven; Charles said she had been terribly bored all the years he and Raven had been away, leaving her with only a couple of gardeners to feed. Now he was home, with a party of friends, and she was determined to provide a proper spread.
They were just finishing the tapioca pudding when Erik noticed something wrong, something about the feel of the silver-plated spoon in his hand. It wasn't dead, exactly, but it certainly wasn't alive in the way it should have been. The silver felt cold under his fingers. He tried to focus on it, to control it; after a few seconds, the stem drooped a little, and then, to his horror, refused to straighten again.
He heard Sean laugh, and... "Are you all right?" asked MacTaggert. Erik turned towards her and, just in time, realised the question wasn't addressed to him. Moira and the boys were staring at Raven, who had reverted to her natural blue form. Erik prickled with irritation. There was nothing wrong with Raven's appearance, no need for the others to look so uncomfortable when she slipped into it. No surprise that the CIA woman reacted like that, he supposed, but fellow-mutants ought to accept it, not make Raven even more self-conscious. But it wasn't just that, he began to realise. She was trying to restore her human disguise; her skin was rippling between blue and the light tan she usually favoured, and her golden eyes were filling with alarm. He registered the sympathetic mortification on Hank's face, but Erik was already turning to look at Charles. And that was the most disturbing thing of all. Charles's usual air of maddening self-assurance had disappeared and, as he glanced wildly round the table, as if trying and failing to find something, his expression was one of blind panic.
Also posted on Dreamwidth, with
comments.
In an ideal world I would have a birthday story ready for you; I've been turning one over in my mind for the last few weeks. But as I live in an imperfect world where my work drives me insane for the first two months of the year, I won't be able to do it until March. I've just jotted down the opening lines, as a token of my intent to write it eventually. So it's behind the cut, along with birthday greetings from all of us here!
Rosie observes the new-look bedroom while enjoying the sun.
Tabitha investigates the new wardrobes. She can't actually jump that high, I lifted her up because I knew she'd want to look round.
And a fragment of a fic:
The first time it happened, they were having dinner.
Mrs Trainor, the housekeeper, seemed only too happy to lay on old-fashioned three-course meals for seven; Charles said she had been terribly bored all the years he and Raven had been away, leaving her with only a couple of gardeners to feed. Now he was home, with a party of friends, and she was determined to provide a proper spread.
They were just finishing the tapioca pudding when Erik noticed something wrong, something about the feel of the silver-plated spoon in his hand. It wasn't dead, exactly, but it certainly wasn't alive in the way it should have been. The silver felt cold under his fingers. He tried to focus on it, to control it; after a few seconds, the stem drooped a little, and then, to his horror, refused to straighten again.
He heard Sean laugh, and... "Are you all right?" asked MacTaggert. Erik turned towards her and, just in time, realised the question wasn't addressed to him. Moira and the boys were staring at Raven, who had reverted to her natural blue form. Erik prickled with irritation. There was nothing wrong with Raven's appearance, no need for the others to look so uncomfortable when she slipped into it. No surprise that the CIA woman reacted like that, he supposed, but fellow-mutants ought to accept it, not make Raven even more self-conscious. But it wasn't just that, he began to realise. She was trying to restore her human disguise; her skin was rippling between blue and the light tan she usually favoured, and her golden eyes were filling with alarm. He registered the sympathetic mortification on Hank's face, but Erik was already turning to look at Charles. And that was the most disturbing thing of all. Charles's usual air of maddening self-assurance had disappeared and, as he glanced wildly round the table, as if trying and failing to find something, his expression was one of blind panic.
Also posted on Dreamwidth, with
comments.