WIP Meme (nth edition)
Memed from astrogirl2: Post a line or a snippet from each of your WIPs, and invite people to ask questions about them.
(It's always slightly different, this one, so I may have freely adapated it for my own purposes. A meme, after all, is a living, evolving thing, right? *hides from those meme police once again*)
These are mostly odd things inspired by ancient telly, efforts for
trope_bingo that didn't get done, and the remaining half-done fic for
hc_bingo. None of them are my Yuletide fic, because... I should get on that instead of obsessing about said ancient telly. *sheepish*)
1. So, next I went up to Totter’s Lane. Nothing to see there, which wasn’t surprising. Just the junkyard, which was about as enthralling as most junkyards. Sounded to me, from what the secretary had said, that the police were right about the old boy’s removal of his granddaughter being a red herring. There are plenty of people who’ve got something to hide from. Sounds like he was another.
*
2. “For another thing,” Silver said, as he perched on the bedstead, “this bed isn’t real, and I daresay the room isn’t either. Oh - and I am sorry if I woke you while I was, ah, investigating.”
*
3. And that is true, Richter acknowledges, but he thinks again of men he’s known, men who are generals now in Whitehall, men who are capable of thoughtlessly barking “Let them starve!” just to show the blasted enemy. They already threaten to accuse them of war crimes for not feeding the populace, though it is the British who blockade them. Or maybe it is to show their people, who didn’t put up enough of a fight to please them. A month or so ago, Richter still had hope, but now it evades him; he cannot see why they delay if they mean to send help.
(I should probably bury this somewhere: nobody needs horribly morbid, kind of AU, totally obscure fic from me. At least, not any more of it, anyway. But-but-but- If writing 3/5s of it really killed my brain, I should make that worth the while, shouldn't I? Or possibly delete it so as to avoid the risk of repeating the brain-killing part... *sigh*)
*
4. Vampires could not enter uninvited, of course, but many of them already had been allowed into Sherriff Hutton. She had encountered one unexpectedly only yesterday and had only narrowly managed to destroy him. Happily, she had been able to trick him into following her into the chapel, after which his end was inevitable. She wondered why none of the vampires seemed to have understood that yet, although it was a fortunate circumstance for the rest of them.
(I would love to write this up, but I don't know if I really can. Or should. Or if I'd get eaten alive if I did.)
*
5. The other woman, who’s still standing there, raises her eyebrows and asks, as [redacted], “So how many brothers and sisters do you have?”
“Fourteen,” says Con.
The woman stares. “My dear!”
She sounds as if she thinks it a fate worse than death, which maddens Con, but she’s been brought up to be polite, and only says, feeling suddenly defensive, “Oh, it isn’t as bad as that sounds. You see -”
“Oh, my dear,” says the woman, being infuriatingly pitying, “I should think it must be!”
(This is a thing I tried to do but didn't work out, but I do keep wondering about finishing it sometime. I don't know.)
*
6. “Now that you mention it,” Silver said, with a dismissive gesture. “I was testing the relative ages, the origins of the paper, the ink. The words… well, they seemed to be all in order.”
Lydia bit her lip. “So you weren’t thinking about the story itself, or the narrative tone, the author’s prose style?”
“It isn’t usually relevant,” said Silver.
*
I think I need help. /o\ But you can ask me questions instead, if you feel so kind. :-)
Crossposted from Dreamwidth -- Comments there:
(It's always slightly different, this one, so I may have freely adapated it for my own purposes. A meme, after all, is a living, evolving thing, right? *hides from those meme police once again*)
These are mostly odd things inspired by ancient telly, efforts for
trope_bingo that didn't get done, and the remaining half-done fic for
hc_bingo. None of them are my Yuletide fic, because... I should get on that instead of obsessing about said ancient telly. *sheepish*)
1. So, next I went up to Totter’s Lane. Nothing to see there, which wasn’t surprising. Just the junkyard, which was about as enthralling as most junkyards. Sounded to me, from what the secretary had said, that the police were right about the old boy’s removal of his granddaughter being a red herring. There are plenty of people who’ve got something to hide from. Sounds like he was another.
*
2. “For another thing,” Silver said, as he perched on the bedstead, “this bed isn’t real, and I daresay the room isn’t either. Oh - and I am sorry if I woke you while I was, ah, investigating.”
*
3. And that is true, Richter acknowledges, but he thinks again of men he’s known, men who are generals now in Whitehall, men who are capable of thoughtlessly barking “Let them starve!” just to show the blasted enemy. They already threaten to accuse them of war crimes for not feeding the populace, though it is the British who blockade them. Or maybe it is to show their people, who didn’t put up enough of a fight to please them. A month or so ago, Richter still had hope, but now it evades him; he cannot see why they delay if they mean to send help.
(I should probably bury this somewhere: nobody needs horribly morbid, kind of AU, totally obscure fic from me. At least, not any more of it, anyway. But-but-but- If writing 3/5s of it really killed my brain, I should make that worth the while, shouldn't I? Or possibly delete it so as to avoid the risk of repeating the brain-killing part... *sigh*)
*
4. Vampires could not enter uninvited, of course, but many of them already had been allowed into Sherriff Hutton. She had encountered one unexpectedly only yesterday and had only narrowly managed to destroy him. Happily, she had been able to trick him into following her into the chapel, after which his end was inevitable. She wondered why none of the vampires seemed to have understood that yet, although it was a fortunate circumstance for the rest of them.
(I would love to write this up, but I don't know if I really can. Or should. Or if I'd get eaten alive if I did.)
*
5. The other woman, who’s still standing there, raises her eyebrows and asks, as [redacted], “So how many brothers and sisters do you have?”
“Fourteen,” says Con.
The woman stares. “My dear!”
She sounds as if she thinks it a fate worse than death, which maddens Con, but she’s been brought up to be polite, and only says, feeling suddenly defensive, “Oh, it isn’t as bad as that sounds. You see -”
“Oh, my dear,” says the woman, being infuriatingly pitying, “I should think it must be!”
(This is a thing I tried to do but didn't work out, but I do keep wondering about finishing it sometime. I don't know.)
*
6. “Now that you mention it,” Silver said, with a dismissive gesture. “I was testing the relative ages, the origins of the paper, the ink. The words… well, they seemed to be all in order.”
Lydia bit her lip. “So you weren’t thinking about the story itself, or the narrative tone, the author’s prose style?”
“It isn’t usually relevant,” said Silver.
*
I think I need help. /o\ But you can ask me questions instead, if you feel so kind. :-)
Crossposted from Dreamwidth -- Comments there: