question + snippets
I have an urgent question for any past/present baristas out there (or even anyone who just spends a lot of time in coffee shops). What kind of drink takes the longest to make? I don't drink a lot of coffee (or any) so I normally get tea which is, you know... stupidly easy and quick to make. But what takes the absolute longest to put together?
Um, I think anyone familiar with this universe understand why that is an important fact to know XD
Anyway, for your troubles, f-list, and so this isn't just spam, here are snippets of the three stories I've been working on today. Two original and my anotheratlantis fic.
***
as neuroses go, list-making is pretty mundane (aka: this is apparently mirek's main hobby, aside from fucking gideon)
***
He feels almost shy; there's no one else in the room, no one to watch this odd ritual, but his cheeks are flushed and he looks around absently anyway. The room is still empty and, for some reason, he still can't look himself in the eye. He finally manages it, staring at himself, pinning himself down as he catalog his own features: bright eyes, shaggy hair, cleft in his chin. He has laugh lines and deep grooves that extend to his nose when he smiles.
He writes it all down.
He does it in English, which is a surprise, but his handwriting isn't sharp and precise the way it with his memories. This is the quick hand that he uses to make notes for Gideon on the mornings that he wakes with the sun. The letters blur together, and he absently thinks to himself, Mrs. Mayer would hate to see this.
He freezes, pen hovering above the page, but the thought has already vanished. He can't recall the name, the situation, or what triggered it. Frustrating, yes, but not important. Not at the moment. The past will come in time. For now, he needs to focus on the present.
***
school is starting in vermont too, guys (aka: another swing and a miss for tristan and the coffee lady)
***
"I'll give you theirs while you're waiting," Deirdre says. She says it with the same barely contained irritated amusement that she says everything with, at least, everything she says to him. She's been using that tone of voice for almost ten months now, and he thinks it's a huge improvement over the way she used to glare at him like he was a container of spoiled milk.
She hands him a cardboard travel box. Three of the compartments are filled with fullsize cups and one of them is filled with...
"Is that a plastic container of milk?" Tristan asks, poking at it.
"Has Danny Stevens ever stuck you as slightly obsessive compulsive?" she asks in reply. Tristan starts to respond, but then stops to think.
"Now that you mention it..."
"That's not the worst," she says, turning away from the counter to start with his drink. "One of the first times he came in here, he came in with Alan and ordered a Chai latte with soy milk. Alan announced to the entire store that it was the gayest thing he'd ever heard and he refused to be seen with him."
"Does it ever scare you that these are our married friends?" Tristan asks. It's a little risky--normally trading stories about the other teachers is his safeground with Deirdre, but the word "marriage" is there, and it maybe adds an unintentional subtext to everything. Maybe not. How the hell should he know? He was a math major. "I mean, these are the people--this is the relationship that we're supposed to look to as the ideal."
"I'm terrified for the future of the human race," Deirdre admits.
***
seb described the typical psm as an uptight, arrogant homosexual and i nearly laughed myself silly (aka: anotheratlantis: the one where they're all stage crew)
***
"Your time sheets are incomplete again," Rodney snarled, stabbing his laptop keyboard a little more viciously than the infarction really warranted. He glared at Zelenka over the screen, but either Zelenka had become immune to his scathing looks or he was too tired to even glare properly. Goddammit. If it was the latter, he hated John Sheppard more than he could possibly express. If it was the former... well, he still hated John Sheppard, but he probably hated Zelenka more.
"Elizabeth needs to get back to me about the benefit last week," Zelenka said, finally looking up from the script he was highlighting. He pinned Rodney with a scrutinizing look that slowly blossomed into one of the most evil smiles he'd ever seen. "You were out with Sheppard last night, yes?"
"That has nothing to do with this," Rodney sputtered, knocking over a cup of coffee, a stack of time sheets, and the over-flowing complaints box.
"Yes, nothing at all," Zelenka muttered, going back to what he was doing. "That is why you destroy the office. Makes perfect sense."
"Oh, shut up," Rodney said. "Like your stupid unrequited love for Elizabeth isn't the most annoying thing to happen, oh, I don't know, ever." He sneered at Zelenka, at least, as best he could with cold coffee slowly seeping into his pants.
Um, I think anyone familiar with this universe understand why that is an important fact to know XD
Anyway, for your troubles, f-list, and so this isn't just spam, here are snippets of the three stories I've been working on today. Two original and my anotheratlantis fic.
***
as neuroses go, list-making is pretty mundane (aka: this is apparently mirek's main hobby, aside from fucking gideon)
***
He feels almost shy; there's no one else in the room, no one to watch this odd ritual, but his cheeks are flushed and he looks around absently anyway. The room is still empty and, for some reason, he still can't look himself in the eye. He finally manages it, staring at himself, pinning himself down as he catalog his own features: bright eyes, shaggy hair, cleft in his chin. He has laugh lines and deep grooves that extend to his nose when he smiles.
He writes it all down.
He does it in English, which is a surprise, but his handwriting isn't sharp and precise the way it with his memories. This is the quick hand that he uses to make notes for Gideon on the mornings that he wakes with the sun. The letters blur together, and he absently thinks to himself, Mrs. Mayer would hate to see this.
He freezes, pen hovering above the page, but the thought has already vanished. He can't recall the name, the situation, or what triggered it. Frustrating, yes, but not important. Not at the moment. The past will come in time. For now, he needs to focus on the present.
***
school is starting in vermont too, guys (aka: another swing and a miss for tristan and the coffee lady)
***
"I'll give you theirs while you're waiting," Deirdre says. She says it with the same barely contained irritated amusement that she says everything with, at least, everything she says to him. She's been using that tone of voice for almost ten months now, and he thinks it's a huge improvement over the way she used to glare at him like he was a container of spoiled milk.
She hands him a cardboard travel box. Three of the compartments are filled with fullsize cups and one of them is filled with...
"Is that a plastic container of milk?" Tristan asks, poking at it.
"Has Danny Stevens ever stuck you as slightly obsessive compulsive?" she asks in reply. Tristan starts to respond, but then stops to think.
"Now that you mention it..."
"That's not the worst," she says, turning away from the counter to start with his drink. "One of the first times he came in here, he came in with Alan and ordered a Chai latte with soy milk. Alan announced to the entire store that it was the gayest thing he'd ever heard and he refused to be seen with him."
"Does it ever scare you that these are our married friends?" Tristan asks. It's a little risky--normally trading stories about the other teachers is his safeground with Deirdre, but the word "marriage" is there, and it maybe adds an unintentional subtext to everything. Maybe not. How the hell should he know? He was a math major. "I mean, these are the people--this is the relationship that we're supposed to look to as the ideal."
"I'm terrified for the future of the human race," Deirdre admits.
***
seb described the typical psm as an uptight, arrogant homosexual and i nearly laughed myself silly (aka: anotheratlantis: the one where they're all stage crew)
***
"Your time sheets are incomplete again," Rodney snarled, stabbing his laptop keyboard a little more viciously than the infarction really warranted. He glared at Zelenka over the screen, but either Zelenka had become immune to his scathing looks or he was too tired to even glare properly. Goddammit. If it was the latter, he hated John Sheppard more than he could possibly express. If it was the former... well, he still hated John Sheppard, but he probably hated Zelenka more.
"Elizabeth needs to get back to me about the benefit last week," Zelenka said, finally looking up from the script he was highlighting. He pinned Rodney with a scrutinizing look that slowly blossomed into one of the most evil smiles he'd ever seen. "You were out with Sheppard last night, yes?"
"That has nothing to do with this," Rodney sputtered, knocking over a cup of coffee, a stack of time sheets, and the over-flowing complaints box.
"Yes, nothing at all," Zelenka muttered, going back to what he was doing. "That is why you destroy the office. Makes perfect sense."
"Oh, shut up," Rodney said. "Like your stupid unrequited love for Elizabeth isn't the most annoying thing to happen, oh, I don't know, ever." He sneered at Zelenka, at least, as best he could with cold coffee slowly seeping into his pants.