I have a significant backload of things I should be posting here for archival-completeness purposes.
But I'd rather do a meme.
1. I write down a list of 10 characters.
2. You choose however many of those you like and ask me a question about them. Examples: "What happens when 5 and 9 are forced to take care of a baby?" or "1, 4, and 8 walk into a bar.
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The young woman standing at her bedside was not on the shuttlecraft when they fled the Farragut, she thinks, muzzily. Gaila rather doubts if she was on the Farragut at all. The scythe makes it seem somehow unlikely. Likewise the strange old-looking dress, the rich and noisy black fabric that rasps as it moves: sleeveless, with a belled skirt and, god, ruffles. A dress you could get lost in. Gaila's eyes travel from its elegantly pooled hem up to the lace bunched up over the woman's breasts and if this is delirium she has been missing out ( ... )
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(Am just an excited human, not trying on the Death voice.)
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<333
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HELLO AGAIN, says Death.
She doesn't immediately turn around, because she's busy suffocating her latest assignment. When she is satisfied that he is thoroughly deceased, she clambers off his chest and pushes the pillow off his soft face, which has at this point gone what would be a kind of pleasant sky blue, but for the bruising.
Then she looks. Death smiles at her, which, okay, yeah, but even so ( ... )
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4 and 8 go on a trip together?
9 and 5 are locked in a cell together?
2 becomes 10's boss?
1 and 7 have dinner together?
3 and 6 fall in love?
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Chris, curled around her, nods, his nose tilting back and forth in her hair. "Absolutely. How about next Tuesday?"
"You," she tells him, "are ridiculous."
"Practical," he says. "It's all about reasonable goals. Like, tomorrow, we could try getting off the bed."
"With that aggressive schedule, by Sunday we might go for bipedal ambulation."
"That's the spirit," he says. She kicks him, or at least nudges him with her heel, which is close enough in her studied opinion. In the ensuing half-hearted tussle, the sheets slide off her shoulder, and he snatches the opportunity to kiss suntoasted skin.
"Bureaucrats," she groans. "Cheaters, all of you."
"It's a public service," he replies, pulling her closer, until their skins are sealed surface to surface with sweet sweat.
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If you like, 9 bails out one or both of them.
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