I'm flipping with a coin that's got a tail on either side
I know I just updated 1 day ago, according to the LJ front page, but lily_268 tagged me for a meme and you all know the rules of meme-tagging are to respected, wot. There's a couple of other memes I've been planning to do so I'm lumping them all together.
1. List seven habits/quirks/facts about yourself.
2. Tag seven people to do the same.
3. Do not tag the person who tagged you or say that you tag whoever wants to do it.
- In real life I'm known for my singing. I started singing publicly when I got cast in the school play at 10, went into theatre and started singing at school events at 14. I've done assemblies, parents functions and awards nights, though the biggest thing I've done was probably singing with the school band on the lawn of the Victorian Arts Centre. I get a lot of compliments as well, sometimes from school people I don't even know. That'll probably be how I remember high school; a big blur of music.
- I pick up things to do with computers and technology very quickly. I also tend to facepalm the most when people are clueless towards technology, such as yesterday when my English teacher wondered why a computer wasn't starting up. The answer was that she hadn't turned the screen on.
- I'm way more into clothes and fashion than anyone knows. Not "fashion" as in designers and catwalks though, more like keeping track of trends and seasons. I love about 90% of the clothes Hayden Panetierre wears, so I will be very cheesy and call her my style icon. I also really love wearing heels. I think it's fun.
- I've been in 6 theatre productions, in and out of school. My most memorable role was in the only play my high shcool has done in the last decade, Oscar Wilde's Salome. I played a statue with four other singers, and our job was to arrive an hour before everyone else, covers ourselves in white body paint from head to toe, don a toga and stand perfectly still on stage for the entire 2 hour show (save our two thirty second songs). Basically it was like being cast as a tree.
- I honestly think TV makes my life about 25% more enjoyable. I love having all these shows and characters to love so much.
- I watch Numb3rs (cringe) sometimes because the younger math nerd brother is attractive to me in ways I do not understand.
- Um...I like chicken and avocado together and hate brussel sprouts, brocolli and eggplant?
I tag the randomly chosen wastemytimewifu, thelockerboy, spacedivided, holymackeralcat, beckzzz, fridayschild713 and alongdecemberxo.
Comment on this post. I will choose 6 interests from your profile and you will explain what each of them means (and why you're interested in them). If you comment and don't want to do it, just let me know.
Feel free to quiz me yourselves on any of my interests you don't understand.
ETA:
anything fried and cheesy
There is really nothing deep behind this one besides that fact that I like anything fried and cheesy. I dare you to think these random fried cheese things from google images don't look tasty. One cannot be held responsible for the coolness of this interest though, cause I'm pretty sure I got it from fan_this.
men's perfume
Though I believe the correct term is "fragrances for men by ______". Men's fragrances just smell really really good and stir up a lot of thoughts and imagery (no, not like that) for me. I don't, like, wear it out though. I don't even own any, I just like going aorund department stores and smelling the men's fragrances. Maybe take a sample card. Jon Bon Jovi is doing these gorgeousss ads for RSVP by Kenneth Cole and I totally want to see what that smells like.
what would sheppard do?
Stargate Atlantis reference the first!
This is John Sheppard, one of SG:A's lead characters. Sheppard is quite the speciman of a man with his infamous 'expressive' hair and elf-like ears, and he is the ranking military officer on the Atlantis base, located in another galaxy far away from Earth. (At least, he was ranking in the seasons I've seen. With craaaazy season four on the cards, who the hell knows anymore, LOL). Along with that, he is also their most talented fighter pilot and has a knack for controlling Atlantis's spaceships, called puddlejumpers. As the ranking officer, he is part of the principal team of four that go off on important off-world missions through the Stargate, which is basically SG:A in a nutshell - discovering all the cool stuff in the Pegasus galaxy while living in the lost city of the Ancients, who built the Stargates in the first place, and fighting off evil life sucking aliens called Wraith. Shep also tends not to follow the proper chain of command and does whatever is necessary in the heat of the moment. He's also quite informal and casual.
K, so, as the ranking military guy and most talented pilot, Shep does a lot of huge heroic stuff. He's saved a heap of people's lives and the city itself multiple times, often putting himself in grave danger to do it. He's also involved in most of Atlantis's important decisions and usually makes the right choice even if no one else sees it that way. So if you're in a tight spot, you simply stop and ask yourself: what would sheppard do?!
ronon dex
More Stargate!
This would be Ronon Dex, played by Jason Momoa. Ronon's damn good looking when he smiles, which isn't often because he's been running fron the Wraith for the past seven years. The SG:A team helped save him by removing the device the Wraith were using to track him from his body, and thus he took a place in the principal team after one of the team members went psycho and left. He's gruff, he scowls, he grunts, he wears weird leather thingies and he comes from an entirely different planet, which all adds up to make him pretty damn awesome. Oh, and also there's the chemistry with Teyla, or anyone that moves. His character is just really intriguing and grows slowly, and it's a fascinating thing to watch. I'm really looking forward to seeing where they take him in season 3 (which I haven't seen yet but will soon).
malp on a stick
And another Stargate Atlantis reference!
Basically, in the Stargate universe, there are things called MALPS. These are machines that look kind of like small tanks, and their purpose is to be sent through the stargate to unknown planets and relay back video and information so that the team can see what the planet is like before a persons ets foot on it. However, in episode 2x12, the team were exploring a new planet and found some sort of portal in a stone wall. Shep stepped into it and found that he couldn't get back - he was stuck ont he other side in some sort of cave, with no way of contacting his teammates. So McKay, brilliant scientist who I love, came up with his own version of a MALP to insert into the portal to see where Sheppard has gone - a video camera. Taped to a stick. LOLLL.
K, so, I guess you had to be there? I really need to do a post with reasons to love SGA. This is one:
BOY KISS! That is seriously like the most hilarious moment of the first two seasons put together. THE ENSUING REACTIONS, LMAO.
And finally:
peruvian scotsmen
This is Henry Ian Cusick. LOST viewers will know HIC plays Desmond, but this interest is actually about HIC the altogether awesome actor dude. Henry was born in Peru to a Peruvian mother and a Scottish father, and moved to Scotland when he was 15, where he grabbed that gorgeous accent. Thus making him a peruvian scotsman. THE END!
When you see this, post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
Heat (Heroes, Isaac/Simone)
I started this when i was going through an Isaac phase and was looking for some pre-canon beyond that one graphic novel, so I wrote something that totally screws with his supposed history. It's at 5000w and I'm thinking of making it a three parter of 3000w each part.
Am proud to say this is the only unfinished thing on this computer!
Heat.
The world swirls and twirls and smiles around him, everything in vivid shades of neon Technicolor, not a dark spot in sight. It’s half of usual but twice abnormal, the payoff of resistance and momentary false hope. It’s blinding and bright, and the only sounds are his own voice saying things in a language he doesn’t recognize. Images, words. Before he can recognize, touch, the smooth wood of a brush is in his hand and he is still, focusing, painting and laughing and listening to the drum of his heart. As he goes, there are interruptions now. Tiny flashes on top of his vision, implanted from his memory. Simone, smiling and laughing, her emerald eyes and her coy smile. Far from a nightmare flash, he welcomes her and his guilt, knowing that’s all he’ll have when he awakes.
Heat, color, light, flashes and visions. Everything is a mixture of nothing and the world, until black and white encompasses it all. The upside of half of normal is lucidity, and he sits by the wall of his apartment until his head begins to clear. He shuts his eyes to the fresh painted canvas, and lets thoughts drift like clouds through his head. Half the morning, he was in love with her, in the way only God knew he could be. The other half, he was anticipating her steps out the door, so he could go back, back to this fragment of a life he’d once resigned himself to.
You wanted her to leave for this. Was it worth it?
Fuzzy Boundaries (Heroes, Isaac/Claire)
Cracking open my laptop now. This whole thing was just an experiment where I nicked someone else's story idea and worked with it a bit. I probably won't finish it cause most of what I've got written is really lame.
One morning, he wakes up and paints the future.
It's something he's done regularly for months, and something he's accustomed to. it's been a long time since it unnerved him the way it does now. It makes him tremble, shake and fear, almost like time away from the drugs that got him here in the first place. It's a simple painting and its message is clear.
He is Isaac Mendez, artist and lover, and he is going to die.
His greatest fear, besides the obvious, lies in telling her. She really has no one but him. She can't get hurt, she can't feel pain. She will feel this one.
Different Names In Different Places (Heroes: Peter, Nathan)
Notice the comma. All I have of this is a long conversation between Angela and a teenaged Peter, set pre-series when Nathan was in Bosnia or wherever.
“Heaven knows why he feels the need to write to you”
Peter looked up, somehow surprised, and saw himself reflected in the wall mirror. His hair was in his eyes. He hadn't moved. Awkwardly, he shifted in his spot, and glanced at the letter again. Unfamiliar writing addressed the envelope to him, and it was something that made too much sense to comprehend.
“I thought he was meant to write to all of us,” Peter started dryly, but his mother was still distracted, manicured hands digging for her keys in her purse.
“He has thousands of people to save, and a world to protect. Now is not the time for him to be writing anything but orders. He has responsibilities, Peter. He needs to work on his priorities.”
He sighed. This was how things worked in this house, his mother feeling as though she has everyone pegged at any given time. Knowledge didn't make it any easier to take. He transfixed himself with the letter for a moment more, before he picked up his bag and slung the strap across his shoulder.
“Maybe he misses us, Ma,” he started before his feet could move him out of this room. “Maybe he wanted to write home, like everybody else.” Nathan was thousands of miles away defending his country, and it was Peter's job to defend him. At least until the day he swept in the door again and could do it for himself.
“He didn't write home; he wrote to you, Peter. A schoolboy,” his mother replied, almost vindictive, or harsh. Peter ran his fingers through his hair, feeling it soft under his fingers. These were arguments he was used to by now, pointless ones that walked in circles until all the steam was gone. This one was nearing it's end with that Petrelli tone of finality and a deal done. He knew it wasn't one he would win, but still. He took a breath and tried.
“I'm 16, Ma.”
“If you know what's good for your brother, you won't send him anything in return,” she told him firmly, her shoes making harsh sounds as she stepped towards him. Peter felt himself taking an automatic step back, his hand closing around the strap of his bag, but she still managed to reach out and adjust the collar of his shirt, smiling at him in her unsettling way. “Your brother has much bigger issues to deal with than you.”
Of course. He looked away in exasperation, and when he looked back his mother was halfway through the door with words of heading out. When she gone, Peter realized his hand was by his side, and the letter was clasped within it. He sighed, staring at his name once more, and left it on the hallstand as he walked into the foyer.
At the foot of the stairs, he stopped. Something made him stop. Something made him turn, and before he knew it, he was leaning against the wall of the foyer, staring again at the letter in his hands. His heart clinked with strange expectation as he flipped it over, seeing Nathan's name.
Nathan. Petrelli, United States Air Force. Different names in different places.
His finger left a jagged edge on the envelope as he slipped the letter into his hands.
A Lesson Learned
I started this for a school assignment, but it went through so many changes and got so long that I dtiched it and wrote something on the side for the assignment instead. This is basically a modern day hospital romance written in 19th century Jane Austeny prose. Sort of.
“How are things?” he asks me, and I come back to life and study his actions. He is stirring dry oats into his strawberry yoghurt, just the kind of sensibly adorable thing he would do. Health food lines his plate and I am almost embarrassed by my egg salad sandwich, though it is a stupid thing to be flushed over. I realize he is waiting for my answer and I pause to shrug, staring down at the table and tracing the wooden patterns with my free hand.
“Status quo,” I answer, and he smiles, as though it's news that elates him. There is something deeper he wants, and I can sense it. I wait for it expectantly, and he laughs with something slight and hesitant.
“Alright, I need words,” he smiles. “Are you handling your patient?”
His concern almost shakes my foundations. I know now that we are friends of some sort as he wants to know if death is something I can handle, though I suspect he has similar conversations with so many in my position. He is accustomed to it, and has streamlined death announcements to such an extent that people ask for him by name. It is something that weighs on him heavily but without bother after years of experience. I suppose he wonders if introducing a fate to a patient will ravage me to my core like it once did to his. I enjoy the notion that he wonders.
“My patient is fine and I am fine, and when the time comes I will tell him as he needs to be told,” I answer freely and easily, ignoring the anxiety I am feeling inside. He studies as if he is considering my answer and discerning the extent of truth beneath it. Even though it is beyond the jurisdiction of our ghost of a friendship, I take the spoon I am yet to use for my soup and steal some of his yoghurt. He makes a sound of protest, but I eat my scoop with a newfound smile, and he opens his mouth to talk. Whatever he has thought to say, I will never hear it, because his pager makes a sound at his waist, and he is called away.
Before he leaves, he smiles at me again, and I dare to return it. I am sure he can feel the extent to which I am fascinated by him through the obvious gleam in my eyes.
“It is something good to know, Nora,” he tells me, shoving in his chair with a loud and almost threatening scrape. “But it will never be easy.”
“It seems so for you,” is my quick and rash answer, and immediately I wish to retract it, bury it under the ground to never be resurrected. It has an air of impropriety attached and it's not the thing to say. Still, in his way he considers it, as his pager makes nagging sounds yet again.
“It isn't,” he tells me quickly, walking backwards almost as if his eyes do not want to let me go. I assure myself that I am reading detail into things with none as he turns and leaves but it is still something pleasant to imagine. I begin on my pumpkin soup, focus on all the people with new contentment and just a tiny iota of joy. For a moment, I feel comforted, and very less alone.
I'm also posting some random prompted Heroes drabbles in standardtoaster in a sec.
1. List seven habits/quirks/facts about yourself.
2. Tag seven people to do the same.
3. Do not tag the person who tagged you or say that you tag whoever wants to do it.
- In real life I'm known for my singing. I started singing publicly when I got cast in the school play at 10, went into theatre and started singing at school events at 14. I've done assemblies, parents functions and awards nights, though the biggest thing I've done was probably singing with the school band on the lawn of the Victorian Arts Centre. I get a lot of compliments as well, sometimes from school people I don't even know. That'll probably be how I remember high school; a big blur of music.
- I pick up things to do with computers and technology very quickly. I also tend to facepalm the most when people are clueless towards technology, such as yesterday when my English teacher wondered why a computer wasn't starting up. The answer was that she hadn't turned the screen on.
- I'm way more into clothes and fashion than anyone knows. Not "fashion" as in designers and catwalks though, more like keeping track of trends and seasons. I love about 90% of the clothes Hayden Panetierre wears, so I will be very cheesy and call her my style icon. I also really love wearing heels. I think it's fun.
- I've been in 6 theatre productions, in and out of school. My most memorable role was in the only play my high shcool has done in the last decade, Oscar Wilde's Salome. I played a statue with four other singers, and our job was to arrive an hour before everyone else, covers ourselves in white body paint from head to toe, don a toga and stand perfectly still on stage for the entire 2 hour show (save our two thirty second songs). Basically it was like being cast as a tree.
- I honestly think TV makes my life about 25% more enjoyable. I love having all these shows and characters to love so much.
- I watch Numb3rs (cringe) sometimes because the younger math nerd brother is attractive to me in ways I do not understand.
- Um...I like chicken and avocado together and hate brussel sprouts, brocolli and eggplant?
I tag the randomly chosen wastemytimewifu, thelockerboy, spacedivided, holymackeralcat, beckzzz, fridayschild713 and alongdecemberxo.
Comment on this post. I will choose 6 interests from your profile and you will explain what each of them means (and why you're interested in them). If you comment and don't want to do it, just let me know.
Feel free to quiz me yourselves on any of my interests you don't understand.
ETA:
anything fried and cheesy
There is really nothing deep behind this one besides that fact that I like anything fried and cheesy. I dare you to think these random fried cheese things from google images don't look tasty. One cannot be held responsible for the coolness of this interest though, cause I'm pretty sure I got it from fan_this.
men's perfume
Though I believe the correct term is "fragrances for men by ______". Men's fragrances just smell really really good and stir up a lot of thoughts and imagery (no, not like that) for me. I don't, like, wear it out though. I don't even own any, I just like going aorund department stores and smelling the men's fragrances. Maybe take a sample card. Jon Bon Jovi is doing these gorgeousss ads for RSVP by Kenneth Cole and I totally want to see what that smells like.
what would sheppard do?
Stargate Atlantis reference the first!
This is John Sheppard, one of SG:A's lead characters. Sheppard is quite the speciman of a man with his infamous 'expressive' hair and elf-like ears, and he is the ranking military officer on the Atlantis base, located in another galaxy far away from Earth. (At least, he was ranking in the seasons I've seen. With craaaazy season four on the cards, who the hell knows anymore, LOL). Along with that, he is also their most talented fighter pilot and has a knack for controlling Atlantis's spaceships, called puddlejumpers. As the ranking officer, he is part of the principal team of four that go off on important off-world missions through the Stargate, which is basically SG:A in a nutshell - discovering all the cool stuff in the Pegasus galaxy while living in the lost city of the Ancients, who built the Stargates in the first place, and fighting off evil life sucking aliens called Wraith. Shep also tends not to follow the proper chain of command and does whatever is necessary in the heat of the moment. He's also quite informal and casual.
K, so, as the ranking military guy and most talented pilot, Shep does a lot of huge heroic stuff. He's saved a heap of people's lives and the city itself multiple times, often putting himself in grave danger to do it. He's also involved in most of Atlantis's important decisions and usually makes the right choice even if no one else sees it that way. So if you're in a tight spot, you simply stop and ask yourself: what would sheppard do?!
ronon dex
More Stargate!
This would be Ronon Dex, played by Jason Momoa. Ronon's damn good looking when he smiles, which isn't often because he's been running fron the Wraith for the past seven years. The SG:A team helped save him by removing the device the Wraith were using to track him from his body, and thus he took a place in the principal team after one of the team members went psycho and left. He's gruff, he scowls, he grunts, he wears weird leather thingies and he comes from an entirely different planet, which all adds up to make him pretty damn awesome. Oh, and also there's the chemistry with Teyla, or anyone that moves. His character is just really intriguing and grows slowly, and it's a fascinating thing to watch. I'm really looking forward to seeing where they take him in season 3 (which I haven't seen yet but will soon).
malp on a stick
And another Stargate Atlantis reference!
Basically, in the Stargate universe, there are things called MALPS. These are machines that look kind of like small tanks, and their purpose is to be sent through the stargate to unknown planets and relay back video and information so that the team can see what the planet is like before a persons ets foot on it. However, in episode 2x12, the team were exploring a new planet and found some sort of portal in a stone wall. Shep stepped into it and found that he couldn't get back - he was stuck ont he other side in some sort of cave, with no way of contacting his teammates. So McKay, brilliant scientist who I love, came up with his own version of a MALP to insert into the portal to see where Sheppard has gone - a video camera. Taped to a stick. LOLLL.
K, so, I guess you had to be there? I really need to do a post with reasons to love SGA. This is one:
BOY KISS! That is seriously like the most hilarious moment of the first two seasons put together. THE ENSUING REACTIONS, LMAO.
And finally:
peruvian scotsmen
This is Henry Ian Cusick. LOST viewers will know HIC plays Desmond, but this interest is actually about HIC the altogether awesome actor dude. Henry was born in Peru to a Peruvian mother and a Scottish father, and moved to Scotland when he was 15, where he grabbed that gorgeous accent. Thus making him a peruvian scotsman. THE END!
When you see this, post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
Heat (Heroes, Isaac/Simone)
I started this when i was going through an Isaac phase and was looking for some pre-canon beyond that one graphic novel, so I wrote something that totally screws with his supposed history. It's at 5000w and I'm thinking of making it a three parter of 3000w each part.
Am proud to say this is the only unfinished thing on this computer!
Heat.
The world swirls and twirls and smiles around him, everything in vivid shades of neon Technicolor, not a dark spot in sight. It’s half of usual but twice abnormal, the payoff of resistance and momentary false hope. It’s blinding and bright, and the only sounds are his own voice saying things in a language he doesn’t recognize. Images, words. Before he can recognize, touch, the smooth wood of a brush is in his hand and he is still, focusing, painting and laughing and listening to the drum of his heart. As he goes, there are interruptions now. Tiny flashes on top of his vision, implanted from his memory. Simone, smiling and laughing, her emerald eyes and her coy smile. Far from a nightmare flash, he welcomes her and his guilt, knowing that’s all he’ll have when he awakes.
Heat, color, light, flashes and visions. Everything is a mixture of nothing and the world, until black and white encompasses it all. The upside of half of normal is lucidity, and he sits by the wall of his apartment until his head begins to clear. He shuts his eyes to the fresh painted canvas, and lets thoughts drift like clouds through his head. Half the morning, he was in love with her, in the way only God knew he could be. The other half, he was anticipating her steps out the door, so he could go back, back to this fragment of a life he’d once resigned himself to.
You wanted her to leave for this. Was it worth it?
Fuzzy Boundaries (Heroes, Isaac/Claire)
Cracking open my laptop now. This whole thing was just an experiment where I nicked someone else's story idea and worked with it a bit. I probably won't finish it cause most of what I've got written is really lame.
One morning, he wakes up and paints the future.
It's something he's done regularly for months, and something he's accustomed to. it's been a long time since it unnerved him the way it does now. It makes him tremble, shake and fear, almost like time away from the drugs that got him here in the first place. It's a simple painting and its message is clear.
He is Isaac Mendez, artist and lover, and he is going to die.
His greatest fear, besides the obvious, lies in telling her. She really has no one but him. She can't get hurt, she can't feel pain. She will feel this one.
Different Names In Different Places (Heroes: Peter, Nathan)
Notice the comma. All I have of this is a long conversation between Angela and a teenaged Peter, set pre-series when Nathan was in Bosnia or wherever.
“Heaven knows why he feels the need to write to you”
Peter looked up, somehow surprised, and saw himself reflected in the wall mirror. His hair was in his eyes. He hadn't moved. Awkwardly, he shifted in his spot, and glanced at the letter again. Unfamiliar writing addressed the envelope to him, and it was something that made too much sense to comprehend.
“I thought he was meant to write to all of us,” Peter started dryly, but his mother was still distracted, manicured hands digging for her keys in her purse.
“He has thousands of people to save, and a world to protect. Now is not the time for him to be writing anything but orders. He has responsibilities, Peter. He needs to work on his priorities.”
He sighed. This was how things worked in this house, his mother feeling as though she has everyone pegged at any given time. Knowledge didn't make it any easier to take. He transfixed himself with the letter for a moment more, before he picked up his bag and slung the strap across his shoulder.
“Maybe he misses us, Ma,” he started before his feet could move him out of this room. “Maybe he wanted to write home, like everybody else.” Nathan was thousands of miles away defending his country, and it was Peter's job to defend him. At least until the day he swept in the door again and could do it for himself.
“He didn't write home; he wrote to you, Peter. A schoolboy,” his mother replied, almost vindictive, or harsh. Peter ran his fingers through his hair, feeling it soft under his fingers. These were arguments he was used to by now, pointless ones that walked in circles until all the steam was gone. This one was nearing it's end with that Petrelli tone of finality and a deal done. He knew it wasn't one he would win, but still. He took a breath and tried.
“I'm 16, Ma.”
“If you know what's good for your brother, you won't send him anything in return,” she told him firmly, her shoes making harsh sounds as she stepped towards him. Peter felt himself taking an automatic step back, his hand closing around the strap of his bag, but she still managed to reach out and adjust the collar of his shirt, smiling at him in her unsettling way. “Your brother has much bigger issues to deal with than you.”
Of course. He looked away in exasperation, and when he looked back his mother was halfway through the door with words of heading out. When she gone, Peter realized his hand was by his side, and the letter was clasped within it. He sighed, staring at his name once more, and left it on the hallstand as he walked into the foyer.
At the foot of the stairs, he stopped. Something made him stop. Something made him turn, and before he knew it, he was leaning against the wall of the foyer, staring again at the letter in his hands. His heart clinked with strange expectation as he flipped it over, seeing Nathan's name.
Nathan. Petrelli, United States Air Force. Different names in different places.
His finger left a jagged edge on the envelope as he slipped the letter into his hands.
A Lesson Learned
I started this for a school assignment, but it went through so many changes and got so long that I dtiched it and wrote something on the side for the assignment instead. This is basically a modern day hospital romance written in 19th century Jane Austeny prose. Sort of.
“How are things?” he asks me, and I come back to life and study his actions. He is stirring dry oats into his strawberry yoghurt, just the kind of sensibly adorable thing he would do. Health food lines his plate and I am almost embarrassed by my egg salad sandwich, though it is a stupid thing to be flushed over. I realize he is waiting for my answer and I pause to shrug, staring down at the table and tracing the wooden patterns with my free hand.
“Status quo,” I answer, and he smiles, as though it's news that elates him. There is something deeper he wants, and I can sense it. I wait for it expectantly, and he laughs with something slight and hesitant.
“Alright, I need words,” he smiles. “Are you handling your patient?”
His concern almost shakes my foundations. I know now that we are friends of some sort as he wants to know if death is something I can handle, though I suspect he has similar conversations with so many in my position. He is accustomed to it, and has streamlined death announcements to such an extent that people ask for him by name. It is something that weighs on him heavily but without bother after years of experience. I suppose he wonders if introducing a fate to a patient will ravage me to my core like it once did to his. I enjoy the notion that he wonders.
“My patient is fine and I am fine, and when the time comes I will tell him as he needs to be told,” I answer freely and easily, ignoring the anxiety I am feeling inside. He studies as if he is considering my answer and discerning the extent of truth beneath it. Even though it is beyond the jurisdiction of our ghost of a friendship, I take the spoon I am yet to use for my soup and steal some of his yoghurt. He makes a sound of protest, but I eat my scoop with a newfound smile, and he opens his mouth to talk. Whatever he has thought to say, I will never hear it, because his pager makes a sound at his waist, and he is called away.
Before he leaves, he smiles at me again, and I dare to return it. I am sure he can feel the extent to which I am fascinated by him through the obvious gleam in my eyes.
“It is something good to know, Nora,” he tells me, shoving in his chair with a loud and almost threatening scrape. “But it will never be easy.”
“It seems so for you,” is my quick and rash answer, and immediately I wish to retract it, bury it under the ground to never be resurrected. It has an air of impropriety attached and it's not the thing to say. Still, in his way he considers it, as his pager makes nagging sounds yet again.
“It isn't,” he tells me quickly, walking backwards almost as if his eyes do not want to let me go. I assure myself that I am reading detail into things with none as he turns and leaves but it is still something pleasant to imagine. I begin on my pumpkin soup, focus on all the people with new contentment and just a tiny iota of joy. For a moment, I feel comforted, and very less alone.
I'm also posting some random prompted Heroes drabbles in standardtoaster in a sec.