(no subject)
Hello to wcspegasus and aleph_0, Britpicker extraordinaire!
Ah, existential fanfiction! Found my abandoned No Exit cross-over from December or January on a disk. I think bbathory might recall the thread I had about it over in the Plot Bunnies forum at the time.
The summary I had written for it amuses me: "There's no sleeping. No blinking. No breathing. No Exit. Sirius, Severus, Narcissa: welcome to hell." Sartre is positively spinning in his grave, I'm sure. Am posting what I have so far behind the lj-cut, because I feel like it, and because it may be a long time before it sees the light of day again. It needs revising and for all I know, it may be wildly OOC, but *shrugs* that's why it's here and not on Fiction Alley.
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Sirius Black stood alone in the middle of a large room, staring wide-eyed at its bizarre décor. Sweeping his eyes across the floor, he took in the expanse of black and white checkered linoleum and then looked up to behold the massive work of art that hung on the wall before him. Black, white, and grey paint had been splattered at random across the canvas. He supposed this must have been art by someone’s definition, though it was in his rather inexpert opinion only a monochromatic disaster. Moving slowly along the perimeter of the room, Sirius trailed his hand along its perfectly smooth, bright white walls. He had once been accustomed to life in an enclosed space, but this was nothing like that.
Suddenly, the doorknob rattled, and Sirius, feeling a bit edgy in this new environment, jumped as the valet appeared in the now open doorway. He was a young man, perhaps only a little older than Sirius’s godson, with a spotty face and protruding ears.
"Here is your room," the youth announced in a cracking voice that seemed to have never dropped completely into a lower register. He stepped fully into the room, and the tall, black-robed man to whom he spoke came into view.
"Snape!" Sirius growled.
As their eyes met, both men instinctively reached for their wands, but their fingers only met with handfuls of robes. Severus Snape froze and, still clutching at his garment, turned to the scrawny valet.
"My wand," he hissed from between clenched teeth. It was not a request, but a demand.
Somehow impervious to the wizard's maleficent glare, the valet drew himself up to his full height, adopting a smug expression. "You will find your wand will no longer be of use to you, Mr. Snape. Do you have any other questions?"
Severus swung his gaze back to the other man in the room. "Yes. What on earth is Black doing here?" he asked, spitting the name as if it had put a foul taste in his mouth.
"On earth, you say?" the valet mumbled amusedly. Then, more loudly, he explained, "I'm afraid I'm not responsible for those arrangements. That would be Ernie's job upstairs. Anything else?"
The room was utterly silent, devoid even of the sound of breathing.
"I'll take that as a 'no.' I'm certain Mr. Black will be of some assistance, if you should think of anything else." Someone--the boy couldn't tell who--cracked his knuckles in reply. "Well, yes, I really must be off. We've been quite busy lately." And with that, he left quickly, pulling the door shut behind him.
Severus’s face twisted into a sneer of utmost disgust as the two men stared each other down, and Sirius realized the man’s eyes were not closing at all, not even momentarily. Blink, blink, blink, he commanded silently. Finally losing his temper, he began to move toward Severus, shouting, "Fucking blink already!"
At the same moment, though, Severus spoke, too. "Would you cease goggling at me like some ridiculous fish?" Severus’s face had reddened, but his knuckles stood out pure white against the folds of dark fabric he still held in his fist. Of course, Sirius would be the first to lose his cool, and with that thought his anger flared again. If there was anyone with a shorter temper than Snape, it was just his luck that he would be that person.
Sirius stopped suddenly, though, as his brain registered Severus’s words. The latter man watched with veiled curiosity as Sirius’s hands flew up toward his own face, his fingers reaching for his eyelids, trying in vain to lower them manually.
Now distracted from his own anger, Severus noticed for the first time just how bright the room was. As he looked up to the high ceiling, he found he could squint just slightly by sort of scrunching up his cheeks, but this did little to ease his discomfort. The ceiling, he saw, was covered with strange fixtures that bathed the room in stark, fluorescent light. So this is that Muggle thing, he thought. Eckel--No, what was it? Electricity. Yes. Horrid invention.
Somewhat surprised he was not developing a headache, Severus turned his attention back to his old enemy, who was slightly obscured by dizzying black spots in his field of vision. Sirius had collapsed onto a plain, barely-upholstered white sofa, and he let out a cry of frustration as he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Severus began working out an insult to fling Sirius’s way, but his train of thought was interrupted as the door opened abruptly again. The valet nearly plowed straight into Severus, who had not taken a single step in the several minutes since he’d arrived.
"Here we are, madam," the young man said politely, ushering in the slim, blonde Narcissa Malfoy. Severus recognized her at once, of course, and Sirius, who stood up quickly as the door opened, was able to identify the women although he had never met her before. He could recall Harry’s friend, Ron, once mentioning something rather unflattering about her appearance. It was the way she held her mouth and the shape of her nose; as the only thing that marred her beauty, it was unmistakable.
Both men and the valet watched Narcissa silently as her gaze fluttered quickly about the room, finally resting on her new companions.
"Severus Snape," she said in a clipped tone, raising her eyebrows just slightly. Turning next to Sirius, Narcissa looked at him as though she were puzzled and trying to hide it. She pressed her lips into a thin, hard line, not wanting to ask his name, forcing him to speak first. The valet had been entirely ignored, and he hovered unnoticed beside Narcissa’s elbow.
"Narcissa Malfoy," Sirius muttered, and he thought he could detect her expression shift momentarily into one of surprise. "My name is Sirius Black."
Ah, existential fanfiction! Found my abandoned No Exit cross-over from December or January on a disk. I think bbathory might recall the thread I had about it over in the Plot Bunnies forum at the time.
The summary I had written for it amuses me: "There's no sleeping. No blinking. No breathing. No Exit. Sirius, Severus, Narcissa: welcome to hell." Sartre is positively spinning in his grave, I'm sure. Am posting what I have so far behind the lj-cut, because I feel like it, and because it may be a long time before it sees the light of day again. It needs revising and for all I know, it may be wildly OOC, but *shrugs* that's why it's here and not on Fiction Alley.
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Sirius Black stood alone in the middle of a large room, staring wide-eyed at its bizarre décor. Sweeping his eyes across the floor, he took in the expanse of black and white checkered linoleum and then looked up to behold the massive work of art that hung on the wall before him. Black, white, and grey paint had been splattered at random across the canvas. He supposed this must have been art by someone’s definition, though it was in his rather inexpert opinion only a monochromatic disaster. Moving slowly along the perimeter of the room, Sirius trailed his hand along its perfectly smooth, bright white walls. He had once been accustomed to life in an enclosed space, but this was nothing like that.
Suddenly, the doorknob rattled, and Sirius, feeling a bit edgy in this new environment, jumped as the valet appeared in the now open doorway. He was a young man, perhaps only a little older than Sirius’s godson, with a spotty face and protruding ears.
"Here is your room," the youth announced in a cracking voice that seemed to have never dropped completely into a lower register. He stepped fully into the room, and the tall, black-robed man to whom he spoke came into view.
"Snape!" Sirius growled.
As their eyes met, both men instinctively reached for their wands, but their fingers only met with handfuls of robes. Severus Snape froze and, still clutching at his garment, turned to the scrawny valet.
"My wand," he hissed from between clenched teeth. It was not a request, but a demand.
Somehow impervious to the wizard's maleficent glare, the valet drew himself up to his full height, adopting a smug expression. "You will find your wand will no longer be of use to you, Mr. Snape. Do you have any other questions?"
Severus swung his gaze back to the other man in the room. "Yes. What on earth is Black doing here?" he asked, spitting the name as if it had put a foul taste in his mouth.
"On earth, you say?" the valet mumbled amusedly. Then, more loudly, he explained, "I'm afraid I'm not responsible for those arrangements. That would be Ernie's job upstairs. Anything else?"
The room was utterly silent, devoid even of the sound of breathing.
"I'll take that as a 'no.' I'm certain Mr. Black will be of some assistance, if you should think of anything else." Someone--the boy couldn't tell who--cracked his knuckles in reply. "Well, yes, I really must be off. We've been quite busy lately." And with that, he left quickly, pulling the door shut behind him.
Severus’s face twisted into a sneer of utmost disgust as the two men stared each other down, and Sirius realized the man’s eyes were not closing at all, not even momentarily. Blink, blink, blink, he commanded silently. Finally losing his temper, he began to move toward Severus, shouting, "Fucking blink already!"
At the same moment, though, Severus spoke, too. "Would you cease goggling at me like some ridiculous fish?" Severus’s face had reddened, but his knuckles stood out pure white against the folds of dark fabric he still held in his fist. Of course, Sirius would be the first to lose his cool, and with that thought his anger flared again. If there was anyone with a shorter temper than Snape, it was just his luck that he would be that person.
Sirius stopped suddenly, though, as his brain registered Severus’s words. The latter man watched with veiled curiosity as Sirius’s hands flew up toward his own face, his fingers reaching for his eyelids, trying in vain to lower them manually.
Now distracted from his own anger, Severus noticed for the first time just how bright the room was. As he looked up to the high ceiling, he found he could squint just slightly by sort of scrunching up his cheeks, but this did little to ease his discomfort. The ceiling, he saw, was covered with strange fixtures that bathed the room in stark, fluorescent light. So this is that Muggle thing, he thought. Eckel--No, what was it? Electricity. Yes. Horrid invention.
Somewhat surprised he was not developing a headache, Severus turned his attention back to his old enemy, who was slightly obscured by dizzying black spots in his field of vision. Sirius had collapsed onto a plain, barely-upholstered white sofa, and he let out a cry of frustration as he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Severus began working out an insult to fling Sirius’s way, but his train of thought was interrupted as the door opened abruptly again. The valet nearly plowed straight into Severus, who had not taken a single step in the several minutes since he’d arrived.
"Here we are, madam," the young man said politely, ushering in the slim, blonde Narcissa Malfoy. Severus recognized her at once, of course, and Sirius, who stood up quickly as the door opened, was able to identify the women although he had never met her before. He could recall Harry’s friend, Ron, once mentioning something rather unflattering about her appearance. It was the way she held her mouth and the shape of her nose; as the only thing that marred her beauty, it was unmistakable.
Both men and the valet watched Narcissa silently as her gaze fluttered quickly about the room, finally resting on her new companions.
"Severus Snape," she said in a clipped tone, raising her eyebrows just slightly. Turning next to Sirius, Narcissa looked at him as though she were puzzled and trying to hide it. She pressed her lips into a thin, hard line, not wanting to ask his name, forcing him to speak first. The valet had been entirely ignored, and he hovered unnoticed beside Narcissa’s elbow.
"Narcissa Malfoy," Sirius muttered, and he thought he could detect her expression shift momentarily into one of surprise. "My name is Sirius Black."