(no subject)
Three Ficlets:
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Only Death hadn't changed. Some things don't.
It was the line summarising the transformation of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse from human-looking to not-quite. Kronos turned over the book.
Good Omens: Have a nice doomsday, it said on the cover. He grinned. It was by far the best book he'd read in a long, long while.
"The antichrist is an adorable eleven-year-old," he said, smiling. "It's always the ones who appear harmless, isn't it."
Methos glared at him. That only made his smile widen. He leaned back and returned to his book, idly wondering if he should buy more Queen tapes for the car.
[end? not sure.]
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[A theatrical_muse thing, also Em's fault.]
I am thankful for running water. For new and improved hair styling techniques. For comfortable shoes.
Not for saddles and stirrups like Ethan mentioned, but for cars and planes and anything that isn't horses. Anything that doesn't have fleas, even.
Not that saddles and stirrups don't have their uses.
Which reminds me. I'm thankful for the new wave of sex toys. Easily cleanable sex toys. Not the old wooden ritualistic ones that splintered.
For having Methos and for being able to have someone other than Methos. For having Ethan. For having them get along. For them keeping each other occupied when I'm busy.
For mass media, that assists in spreading terror faster and more efficiently. For transportation allowing virii to spread faster. For fast things.
For fast food. For better food. For not having to skin and clean your own food.
For explosives and machine guns.
For Revlon colourfast black #1 eyeliner.
[end]
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He never really liked horses as much as most thought. It was just the most efficient thing.
Can't attack a village on camel back. Not as effective.
He used what he could and he was good at it, but he was never emotionally attached to the creatures. He was skilled, he adapted, he was on horseback for the most part of four thousand years, but cars were much better. Tanks were fun. Planes were useful. None of these had fleas. None smelled. None gave you friction burns in unpleasant places - being immortal, those healed fast, but even a few moments of it... every single day...
Thank whoever for cars.
The smell of asphalt and gasoline might not be pine fresh, but it's a thousand times better than horse shit covering your entire property. And the snot on your jacket every time you walk nearby.
He rode in the desert - and this wasn't a one time deal, it happened more times than he cared to admit - and the horse would just keel over and die. Can't they have immortal horses, he'd wonder to himself as he walked across miles and miles of nowhere, often dying himself a few times in the process, until he found another horse. Having to train a new one every decade or so was a headache.
But the Carpool of the Apocalypse just didn't have quite the same ring to it.
[end]
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Only Death hadn't changed. Some things don't.
It was the line summarising the transformation of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse from human-looking to not-quite. Kronos turned over the book.
Good Omens: Have a nice doomsday, it said on the cover. He grinned. It was by far the best book he'd read in a long, long while.
"The antichrist is an adorable eleven-year-old," he said, smiling. "It's always the ones who appear harmless, isn't it."
Methos glared at him. That only made his smile widen. He leaned back and returned to his book, idly wondering if he should buy more Queen tapes for the car.
[end? not sure.]
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[A theatrical_muse thing, also Em's fault.]
I am thankful for running water. For new and improved hair styling techniques. For comfortable shoes.
Not for saddles and stirrups like Ethan mentioned, but for cars and planes and anything that isn't horses. Anything that doesn't have fleas, even.
Not that saddles and stirrups don't have their uses.
Which reminds me. I'm thankful for the new wave of sex toys. Easily cleanable sex toys. Not the old wooden ritualistic ones that splintered.
For having Methos and for being able to have someone other than Methos. For having Ethan. For having them get along. For them keeping each other occupied when I'm busy.
For mass media, that assists in spreading terror faster and more efficiently. For transportation allowing virii to spread faster. For fast things.
For fast food. For better food. For not having to skin and clean your own food.
For explosives and machine guns.
For Revlon colourfast black #1 eyeliner.
[end]
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
He never really liked horses as much as most thought. It was just the most efficient thing.
Can't attack a village on camel back. Not as effective.
He used what he could and he was good at it, but he was never emotionally attached to the creatures. He was skilled, he adapted, he was on horseback for the most part of four thousand years, but cars were much better. Tanks were fun. Planes were useful. None of these had fleas. None smelled. None gave you friction burns in unpleasant places - being immortal, those healed fast, but even a few moments of it... every single day...
Thank whoever for cars.
The smell of asphalt and gasoline might not be pine fresh, but it's a thousand times better than horse shit covering your entire property. And the snot on your jacket every time you walk nearby.
He rode in the desert - and this wasn't a one time deal, it happened more times than he cared to admit - and the horse would just keel over and die. Can't they have immortal horses, he'd wonder to himself as he walked across miles and miles of nowhere, often dying himself a few times in the process, until he found another horse. Having to train a new one every decade or so was a headache.
But the Carpool of the Apocalypse just didn't have quite the same ring to it.
[end]
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