15 character meme results
The Meme
The List:
1 Rachel (Animorphs)
2 Kaylee Frye (Firefly)
3 Aziraphale (Good Omens)
4 Sam Winchester (Supernatural)
5 Ron Weasley (Harry Potter)
6 Crowley (Good Omens)
7 Willow Rosenberg (BtVS)
8 Hermione Granger (Harry Potter)
9 Castiel (Supernatural)
10 Amy Pond (Doctor Who)
11 River Tam (Firefly)
12 Eugenides (Queen's Thief)
13 Carrot Ironfoundersson (Discworld)
14 Toshiko Sato (Torchwood)
15 John Watson (Sherlock BBC)
The Fills:
River Tam teaches Toshiko Sato something important (Firefly/Torchwood) - natural_blue_26
The girl they found at the site of the last Rift spike is still asleep. She didn't wake up when Jack and Gwen brought her in and she didn't wake up during Owen's preliminary examination. They still aren't sure what time or place she's from.
She's on the sofa now, still dressed in the plain blouse and billowy pink skirt they found her in. Tosh can hear her breathing over the tapping of her fingers on the keyboard.
Owen left hours ago, Gwen has a date with Rhys, and Ianto and Jack wandered off somewhere and are probably busy tearing each other's clothes off and going at it like rabbits. So that leaves Tosh with the girl for the night. At least she doesn't require much attention, and Ianto left a full pot of coffee in the kitchenette.
Tosh pauses, fingers resting lightly on the keys as she rereads her last line of computer code. No, something's off there . . .
"Iterate two," says an unfamiliar voice over her shoulder. Tosh whirls in her chair and comes face-to-face with the unknown girl, now very much awake. Eyes wide and vacant, the girl seems unperturbed by waking up in a secret underground base. Maybe it happens to her often.
The girl laughs suddenly, bright peals of amusement echoing from the high concrete ceiling. "No, this is the first time." She smiles.
Tosh blinks. The girl turns away.
"Your dinosaur is bored," she says airily, nearly skipping out into the main area and looking up at the aerie. "You should let her out more. Even pterosaurs want to fly."
Kaylee Frye and Crowley are trapped in an elevator (Firefly/Good Omens) - natural_blue_26
The tiny iron death trap creaked menacingly as it inched its way down the shaft. To a demon, of course, death traps were not in fact deadly, but Crowley wasn't in the mood to be discorporeated today. He now felt vaguely guilty over all the times he'd deliberately messed with lifts in the past, though it was an excellent method of soul-bruising.
Silently, he cursed the Buddhists for ever coming up with the notion of karma, because there was no other explanation for the fact that as soon as that thought had crossed his mind, the lift ground slowly to a halt between floors.
"Sorry, mister." The young brunette working the mechanisms offered him a disturbingly genuine smile. "I'll get this piece of gosuh working again in a jiff." Without further ado, she tore out the wall panel and plunged her hands fearlessly into the mess of gears and chains that would send any amateur mechanic screaming for the hills.
Crowley had just made the decision to miracle the whole thing working again when the girl stepped back, wiping grease-stained fingers on her jumpsuit. "All fixed," she said cheerily, as the elevator began moving again -- without creaking, no less. "All she needed was a little fine tuning."
Three things John Watson, Rachel, and Aziraphale have in common (Sherlock BBC/Animorphs/Good Omens) - natural_blue_26
1. Badass
2. Possible to definite levels of insanity
3. Blonde
< So, > Rachel says. < Heaven and Hell. What do you think, can we take them? >
Rachel is in full grizzly mode, John has his army pistol cocked and loaded, and Azriaphale is holding something that looks suspiciously like a flaming sword.
John frowns. "I think I may have gone insane."
"I assure you, dear boy, you are no less sane now than you were when we met this morning."
"Well that's comforting." He shakes his head. "Aliens too?" He catches sight of a Hork-Bajir. "Never mind."
< Come on! > Rachel crows in the general direction of the enemy, which is everywhere. < Whenever you're ready! >
From somewhere halfway across the world, Marco has the sudden, inexplicable feeling that now would be a truly bad time to make a dumb blonde joke.
Amy Pond and Castiel go camping (Doctor Who/Supernatural) - with_rainfall
"It's a marshmallow," Amy said, waving the small browned pellet speared on its stick under Castiel's nose. "Try it."
"It has no nutritional value." Castiel's brow furrowed. "Why do you eat it?"
"It's a camping thing. Just eat it."
"'A camping thing'." He airquoted. "Like your insistence that you start the fire by rubbing two sticks together when I could provide a spark in a moment? And your insistence that these marshmallows be cooked on flammable sticks over open flame? And--"
The redhead rolled her eyes. "Yes, moron. Like that." She thrust the marshmallow even closer to his face. "Are you gonna open up or will I have to force you?"
Kaylee Frye and Ron Weasley become best friends (Firefly/Harry Potter) - with_rainfall
"I don't know, sir. They look content enough." Zoe leaned on the rail over the hold.
"He don't sit right with me, that's all." Mal narrowed his eyes at the young man sitting down below. "'Sides, he's keeping her from working the engines."
"Ship's running fine, sir, let Kaylee have her fun. You have somethin' against redheads?"
Mal frowned. "What in the 'verse makes you think that?"
Zoe shrugged. "Just never seen you get on with one, that's all."
"Just wish he'd stop ordering the pieces about." Casting a final glance down at Kaylee and her new friend, he turned towards the bridge. "Giving me the creeps."
"I never even knew Kaylee could play chess," Zoe commented, a few steps behind. "Did you, sir?"
Ron Weasley and Aziraphale eating lunch in a cafe at the end of the world (Harry Potter/Good Omens) - inkvoices
There was a dark storm cloud gathering on the horizon. Not a literal one, though this was London and it would probably rain at least twice before the end of the day. It was, in fact, a metaphorical storm cloud, one that Aziraphale had been noticing for quite some time but had only just now brought himself to become concerned over. The Apocalypse had just been averted, after all; there were bound to be a few wisps of danger on the horizon. But without his notice, those wisps seemed to have become one large, full-fledged problem of their own, and Aziraphale was sipping tea in a cafe.
To be fair, he was sipping tea in a cafe because there isn't a whole lot else to do in cafes, and the sign on the door proclaimed that tables were for customers only. Also, his lunch date was far-more-than-fashionably late.
Crowley was very rarely more-than-fashionably late for lunch with Aziraphale, and never for this particular cafe, which was hailed by all and sundry (though mostly Crowley) to serve the best smoked beef brisket sandwiches had since that poor cow was hit by a meteor in 1536.
This was why the empty chair across the table from Aziraphale had caused the angel to begin feeling concern over the previously-mentioned dark cloud.
Except that the chair was no longer empty, being suddenly and spontaneously occupied by a gangly redhead with a long piece of wood in his hand.
"All right, come out, you little-- What?" Seeming to notice that he was not, in fact, where he wanted to be*, the man hurriedly stuffed his piece of wood inside his jacket.
"Hello, dear," Aziraphale said with a friendly smile. "You wouldn't be here with a message from Crowley by any chance, would you?"
The man blinked. "Er -- no. Sorry."
Aziraphale sighed. "Ah well. Would you like a cup of tea, my boy?"
"No, sorry, I'm just, er, passing through -- I think I got the coordinates wrong. I'm meant to be, ah-- where are we?"
"London, dear boy. Having trouble with your Apparation, I see."
"Only the landings," the man protested.
"Angel," Crowley announced, appearing suddenly and dripping wet with his feet on the teatray, "there's, ah, things happening in Croydon."
Funny, Aziraphale had been sure the storm clouds were coming in from the west. He stood. "It was good to meet you, dear boy. Do work on your aim before you Apparate again." He smiled at the man, and then was gone.
---
*Which was several hundred miles to the north, somewhere in the vicinity of the hideout of a few Death Eaters with remarkable survival instincts. His teammates were, at the moment, wondering how those Death Eaters were able to escape from what was surely a foolproof plan of capture.
Willow Rosenberg dares Hermione Granger to kiss Eugenides (BtVS/Harry Potter/Queen's Thief) - inkvoices
Willow and Hermione have spent the last three days in Eddis's royal library, trying to figure out how they got from California and London, respectively, to a tiny archaic kingdom tucked away in a mountain range that doesn't exist. From what Hermione's read of the neighboring kingdoms, they'd be better off talking to Sounis's magus, but that's several days' journey away and they don't have the time.
It reminds Hermione of the Hogwarts library, all leather-bound books and musty scrolls. Willow seems equally at ease, flipping yellowed pages with lazy waves of her hand. Hermione is intrigued by the use of controlled magic without a wand, but there's time for all that later, when they've figured out how to get home.
This new land has its upsides, though. For one thing, the mythology and culture is enthralling, Greek in style without being literally Greek. For another, a boy called Gen is always coming in and out of the library, sometimes through the main door and sometimes another. (She gathers he sleeps in a side chamber to the library, though she's yet to see him adhere to any sort of regular sleeping pattern.)
She watches him out of the corner of her eye as he passes. He's small and light, looking as though a breeze could blow him away like a feather, and he wears his dark hair in a neat braid down his back. There's a glint of mischief in his eyes that reminds her of the Weasley twins, and he seems to go through books as fast as he can pluck them off the towering shelves.
He once helped Willow find a book that wasn't where she expected it to be, but since then he's hardly spared the pair a second glance, except to wordlessly express mild irritation at the disturbance of his inner sanctum when he thinks they're not looking.
Gen has just whirled in and out of the library like an exceptionally silent hurricane, and Willow pokes Hermione in the ribs. "You like him," she says, sounding almost exactly like a secondary schoolgirl.
"Do not," Hermione mutters, cheeks warming. She feels more or less the same way Willow sounds.
"You do!" Willow exclaims in delight. "Go talk to him. Ask him to find you a book or something."
Hermione opens her mouth to give a reply that she's sure would have been both firm and conversation-ending when Gen storms in again, now with a suspicious bulge in his jacket pocket. Willow flickers her fingers and Hermione's body lurches off its chair of its own accord and stumbles directly into Gen's path.
"Hi, uh, Gen, right?" Hermione says, feeling like the biggest dork since dorks were invented. "I was wondering if you could help me find, uh, this book--" She snatches the list of potential resources from the table and points at a name at random.
He looks at her for a moment, a faint crease appearing between his eyebrows, then looks at the title and nods. "This way." Hermione marvels at how little noise he makes. Her footsteps are muffled by the thick carpet but sound like stomping boots in comparison to his.
"Here," he says, pointing to the top shelf, up near the arched ceiling. Hermione reaches for her wand, but he's halfway up the bookcase before her fingers close around the handle. He's remarkably agile and she wonders, not for the first time, what exactly his role is in the Queen of Eddis's court.
Gen is down again in a flash, thick leather-bound tome tucked under one arm, but he doesn't hand it over. His gaze is fixed on the wand she now realizes she forgot to put away again.
"So, magic," he says casually. The indifferent facade has slipped a little and she can now see the underlying wealth of questions he's been burning to ask since they arrived three days ago.
She grins in what might be relief. "Yeah. Magic." She pauses, hesitant -- years of careful restraint among Muggles nagging at her goody-two-shoes conscience -- but then remembers that she's in an alternate goddamn universe and says, "Want to see?"
"Gods yes."
A handwritten note in Willow's slanted scrawl floats through a gap in the shelves and hovers just over Gen's shoulder. It says, I triple-dog dare you to kiss him.
Castiel babysits River Tam (Supernatural/Firefly) - inkvoices
(( My muse is refusing to allow Firefly-speak right now, so excuse the excessively correct grammar. ))
What possessed him to leave a clueless, powerless angel alone with a probably-insane psychic, Mal has no gorram idea, but he's sure regretting it now. The Mule pulls up at the ship and the hold door creaks open painfully slowly, and Mal is dreading what he'll see. The quivering remains of a traumatized angel on the floor, maybe, or a girl dangling from the ceiling by her ankles after a fit of (likely justified) angelic wrath.
He did not expect this.
"I don't understand," Castiel is saying. "Why hop in order to retrieve the stone? Would walking not be more efficient?"
River smiles and hits him lightly on the shoulder. Actually it looks like quite the blow, but so far only Castiel has been able to match River's full strength. "Balance is important," she says, springing across the chalk line with graceful ease. She chants as she hops, lilting voice echoing off the high ceiling.
The angel from high up above
Fell down to Earth and then to love
A man with soldier's eyes of green
Broken heart, his name was--
River stops, scoops up the stone. "Your turn," she says, and hands it to him.
Mal and the crew tiptoe around. No need to mess with the balance.
Sam Winchester, Ron Weasley, and Crowley go on a mission (Supernatural/Harry Potter/Good Omens) - inkvoices
There is a redheaded British man with a stick jammed up against Sam's throat. Sam is not particularly impressed.
He is vaguely impressed that the man is the same height as him, which is rare, even though he looks more like someone took a bundle of sticks and painted freckles on them and then stuck a red mop on top to finish the job. But he is not even remotely impressed about the stick.
"What the hell, man?" he says finally, because really, what else can he say?
"Not one word," the man says, poking Sam's throat a little harder than is strictly necessary, as if the stick is a highly deadly weapon. Sam fervently hopes this is not the case. "I know who you are. You're Sam Winchester, wanted for mass murder."
Sam rolls his eyes. "Not that crap again. Look, you've got it wrong, I'm just--"
"Shut up," the redhead orders, with the air of someone who does not usually have his orders followed. "I know you're a wizard; there's no other way you could have faked your death with the Muggles so many times. I'm taking you to the International Confederation of Wizards so don't even think about trying to escape." He pauses, clears his throat, and adds a little nervously, "Okay?"
Sam scowls. Either this guy's a total headcase or there's a lot more black magic in the world than he'd thought. Either way, it's probably best not to provoke him. "Yeah, okay."
"Right then." The guy looks a little stunned but nods decisively. "Let's go."
"I wouldn't do that, Weasley," drawls a new voice, British again, but with an odd hiss to it even where there aren't sibilants. "Bringing a Muggle to the ICW? Tsk tsk."
The redhead -- Weasley, Sam presumes -- squints at the newcomer. "I know you from somewhere, don't I? Something about a teatray . . ."
The man turns faintly pink. "Never mind that now." He waves a hand and Weasley's stick clatters to the floor.
Sam frowns. "What are you?"
"That's not important," the man insists. "What is important is that your brother, and your friend, and my, ah --" he coughed "-- colleague, have all probably been abducted by the same being or beings unknown. Are we going to stand here gobbing about it all day or are we going to find them?"
The List:
1 Rachel (Animorphs)
2 Kaylee Frye (Firefly)
3 Aziraphale (Good Omens)
4 Sam Winchester (Supernatural)
5 Ron Weasley (Harry Potter)
6 Crowley (Good Omens)
7 Willow Rosenberg (BtVS)
8 Hermione Granger (Harry Potter)
9 Castiel (Supernatural)
10 Amy Pond (Doctor Who)
11 River Tam (Firefly)
12 Eugenides (Queen's Thief)
13 Carrot Ironfoundersson (Discworld)
14 Toshiko Sato (Torchwood)
15 John Watson (Sherlock BBC)
The Fills:
River Tam teaches Toshiko Sato something important (Firefly/Torchwood) - natural_blue_26
The girl they found at the site of the last Rift spike is still asleep. She didn't wake up when Jack and Gwen brought her in and she didn't wake up during Owen's preliminary examination. They still aren't sure what time or place she's from.
She's on the sofa now, still dressed in the plain blouse and billowy pink skirt they found her in. Tosh can hear her breathing over the tapping of her fingers on the keyboard.
Owen left hours ago, Gwen has a date with Rhys, and Ianto and Jack wandered off somewhere and are probably busy tearing each other's clothes off and going at it like rabbits. So that leaves Tosh with the girl for the night. At least she doesn't require much attention, and Ianto left a full pot of coffee in the kitchenette.
Tosh pauses, fingers resting lightly on the keys as she rereads her last line of computer code. No, something's off there . . .
"Iterate two," says an unfamiliar voice over her shoulder. Tosh whirls in her chair and comes face-to-face with the unknown girl, now very much awake. Eyes wide and vacant, the girl seems unperturbed by waking up in a secret underground base. Maybe it happens to her often.
The girl laughs suddenly, bright peals of amusement echoing from the high concrete ceiling. "No, this is the first time." She smiles.
Tosh blinks. The girl turns away.
"Your dinosaur is bored," she says airily, nearly skipping out into the main area and looking up at the aerie. "You should let her out more. Even pterosaurs want to fly."
Kaylee Frye and Crowley are trapped in an elevator (Firefly/Good Omens) - natural_blue_26
The tiny iron death trap creaked menacingly as it inched its way down the shaft. To a demon, of course, death traps were not in fact deadly, but Crowley wasn't in the mood to be discorporeated today. He now felt vaguely guilty over all the times he'd deliberately messed with lifts in the past, though it was an excellent method of soul-bruising.
Silently, he cursed the Buddhists for ever coming up with the notion of karma, because there was no other explanation for the fact that as soon as that thought had crossed his mind, the lift ground slowly to a halt between floors.
"Sorry, mister." The young brunette working the mechanisms offered him a disturbingly genuine smile. "I'll get this piece of gosuh working again in a jiff." Without further ado, she tore out the wall panel and plunged her hands fearlessly into the mess of gears and chains that would send any amateur mechanic screaming for the hills.
Crowley had just made the decision to miracle the whole thing working again when the girl stepped back, wiping grease-stained fingers on her jumpsuit. "All fixed," she said cheerily, as the elevator began moving again -- without creaking, no less. "All she needed was a little fine tuning."
Three things John Watson, Rachel, and Aziraphale have in common (Sherlock BBC/Animorphs/Good Omens) - natural_blue_26
1. Badass
2. Possible to definite levels of insanity
3. Blonde
< So, > Rachel says. < Heaven and Hell. What do you think, can we take them? >
Rachel is in full grizzly mode, John has his army pistol cocked and loaded, and Azriaphale is holding something that looks suspiciously like a flaming sword.
John frowns. "I think I may have gone insane."
"I assure you, dear boy, you are no less sane now than you were when we met this morning."
"Well that's comforting." He shakes his head. "Aliens too?" He catches sight of a Hork-Bajir. "Never mind."
< Come on! > Rachel crows in the general direction of the enemy, which is everywhere. < Whenever you're ready! >
From somewhere halfway across the world, Marco has the sudden, inexplicable feeling that now would be a truly bad time to make a dumb blonde joke.
Amy Pond and Castiel go camping (Doctor Who/Supernatural) - with_rainfall
"It's a marshmallow," Amy said, waving the small browned pellet speared on its stick under Castiel's nose. "Try it."
"It has no nutritional value." Castiel's brow furrowed. "Why do you eat it?"
"It's a camping thing. Just eat it."
"'A camping thing'." He airquoted. "Like your insistence that you start the fire by rubbing two sticks together when I could provide a spark in a moment? And your insistence that these marshmallows be cooked on flammable sticks over open flame? And--"
The redhead rolled her eyes. "Yes, moron. Like that." She thrust the marshmallow even closer to his face. "Are you gonna open up or will I have to force you?"
Kaylee Frye and Ron Weasley become best friends (Firefly/Harry Potter) - with_rainfall
"I don't know, sir. They look content enough." Zoe leaned on the rail over the hold.
"He don't sit right with me, that's all." Mal narrowed his eyes at the young man sitting down below. "'Sides, he's keeping her from working the engines."
"Ship's running fine, sir, let Kaylee have her fun. You have somethin' against redheads?"
Mal frowned. "What in the 'verse makes you think that?"
Zoe shrugged. "Just never seen you get on with one, that's all."
"Just wish he'd stop ordering the pieces about." Casting a final glance down at Kaylee and her new friend, he turned towards the bridge. "Giving me the creeps."
"I never even knew Kaylee could play chess," Zoe commented, a few steps behind. "Did you, sir?"
Ron Weasley and Aziraphale eating lunch in a cafe at the end of the world (Harry Potter/Good Omens) - inkvoices
There was a dark storm cloud gathering on the horizon. Not a literal one, though this was London and it would probably rain at least twice before the end of the day. It was, in fact, a metaphorical storm cloud, one that Aziraphale had been noticing for quite some time but had only just now brought himself to become concerned over. The Apocalypse had just been averted, after all; there were bound to be a few wisps of danger on the horizon. But without his notice, those wisps seemed to have become one large, full-fledged problem of their own, and Aziraphale was sipping tea in a cafe.
To be fair, he was sipping tea in a cafe because there isn't a whole lot else to do in cafes, and the sign on the door proclaimed that tables were for customers only. Also, his lunch date was far-more-than-fashionably late.
Crowley was very rarely more-than-fashionably late for lunch with Aziraphale, and never for this particular cafe, which was hailed by all and sundry (though mostly Crowley) to serve the best smoked beef brisket sandwiches had since that poor cow was hit by a meteor in 1536.
This was why the empty chair across the table from Aziraphale had caused the angel to begin feeling concern over the previously-mentioned dark cloud.
Except that the chair was no longer empty, being suddenly and spontaneously occupied by a gangly redhead with a long piece of wood in his hand.
"All right, come out, you little-- What?" Seeming to notice that he was not, in fact, where he wanted to be*, the man hurriedly stuffed his piece of wood inside his jacket.
"Hello, dear," Aziraphale said with a friendly smile. "You wouldn't be here with a message from Crowley by any chance, would you?"
The man blinked. "Er -- no. Sorry."
Aziraphale sighed. "Ah well. Would you like a cup of tea, my boy?"
"No, sorry, I'm just, er, passing through -- I think I got the coordinates wrong. I'm meant to be, ah-- where are we?"
"London, dear boy. Having trouble with your Apparation, I see."
"Only the landings," the man protested.
"Angel," Crowley announced, appearing suddenly and dripping wet with his feet on the teatray, "there's, ah, things happening in Croydon."
Funny, Aziraphale had been sure the storm clouds were coming in from the west. He stood. "It was good to meet you, dear boy. Do work on your aim before you Apparate again." He smiled at the man, and then was gone.
---
*Which was several hundred miles to the north, somewhere in the vicinity of the hideout of a few Death Eaters with remarkable survival instincts. His teammates were, at the moment, wondering how those Death Eaters were able to escape from what was surely a foolproof plan of capture.
Willow Rosenberg dares Hermione Granger to kiss Eugenides (BtVS/Harry Potter/Queen's Thief) - inkvoices
Willow and Hermione have spent the last three days in Eddis's royal library, trying to figure out how they got from California and London, respectively, to a tiny archaic kingdom tucked away in a mountain range that doesn't exist. From what Hermione's read of the neighboring kingdoms, they'd be better off talking to Sounis's magus, but that's several days' journey away and they don't have the time.
It reminds Hermione of the Hogwarts library, all leather-bound books and musty scrolls. Willow seems equally at ease, flipping yellowed pages with lazy waves of her hand. Hermione is intrigued by the use of controlled magic without a wand, but there's time for all that later, when they've figured out how to get home.
This new land has its upsides, though. For one thing, the mythology and culture is enthralling, Greek in style without being literally Greek. For another, a boy called Gen is always coming in and out of the library, sometimes through the main door and sometimes another. (She gathers he sleeps in a side chamber to the library, though she's yet to see him adhere to any sort of regular sleeping pattern.)
She watches him out of the corner of her eye as he passes. He's small and light, looking as though a breeze could blow him away like a feather, and he wears his dark hair in a neat braid down his back. There's a glint of mischief in his eyes that reminds her of the Weasley twins, and he seems to go through books as fast as he can pluck them off the towering shelves.
He once helped Willow find a book that wasn't where she expected it to be, but since then he's hardly spared the pair a second glance, except to wordlessly express mild irritation at the disturbance of his inner sanctum when he thinks they're not looking.
Gen has just whirled in and out of the library like an exceptionally silent hurricane, and Willow pokes Hermione in the ribs. "You like him," she says, sounding almost exactly like a secondary schoolgirl.
"Do not," Hermione mutters, cheeks warming. She feels more or less the same way Willow sounds.
"You do!" Willow exclaims in delight. "Go talk to him. Ask him to find you a book or something."
Hermione opens her mouth to give a reply that she's sure would have been both firm and conversation-ending when Gen storms in again, now with a suspicious bulge in his jacket pocket. Willow flickers her fingers and Hermione's body lurches off its chair of its own accord and stumbles directly into Gen's path.
"Hi, uh, Gen, right?" Hermione says, feeling like the biggest dork since dorks were invented. "I was wondering if you could help me find, uh, this book--" She snatches the list of potential resources from the table and points at a name at random.
He looks at her for a moment, a faint crease appearing between his eyebrows, then looks at the title and nods. "This way." Hermione marvels at how little noise he makes. Her footsteps are muffled by the thick carpet but sound like stomping boots in comparison to his.
"Here," he says, pointing to the top shelf, up near the arched ceiling. Hermione reaches for her wand, but he's halfway up the bookcase before her fingers close around the handle. He's remarkably agile and she wonders, not for the first time, what exactly his role is in the Queen of Eddis's court.
Gen is down again in a flash, thick leather-bound tome tucked under one arm, but he doesn't hand it over. His gaze is fixed on the wand she now realizes she forgot to put away again.
"So, magic," he says casually. The indifferent facade has slipped a little and she can now see the underlying wealth of questions he's been burning to ask since they arrived three days ago.
She grins in what might be relief. "Yeah. Magic." She pauses, hesitant -- years of careful restraint among Muggles nagging at her goody-two-shoes conscience -- but then remembers that she's in an alternate goddamn universe and says, "Want to see?"
"Gods yes."
A handwritten note in Willow's slanted scrawl floats through a gap in the shelves and hovers just over Gen's shoulder. It says, I triple-dog dare you to kiss him.
Castiel babysits River Tam (Supernatural/Firefly) - inkvoices
(( My muse is refusing to allow Firefly-speak right now, so excuse the excessively correct grammar. ))
What possessed him to leave a clueless, powerless angel alone with a probably-insane psychic, Mal has no gorram idea, but he's sure regretting it now. The Mule pulls up at the ship and the hold door creaks open painfully slowly, and Mal is dreading what he'll see. The quivering remains of a traumatized angel on the floor, maybe, or a girl dangling from the ceiling by her ankles after a fit of (likely justified) angelic wrath.
He did not expect this.
"I don't understand," Castiel is saying. "Why hop in order to retrieve the stone? Would walking not be more efficient?"
River smiles and hits him lightly on the shoulder. Actually it looks like quite the blow, but so far only Castiel has been able to match River's full strength. "Balance is important," she says, springing across the chalk line with graceful ease. She chants as she hops, lilting voice echoing off the high ceiling.
The angel from high up above
Fell down to Earth and then to love
A man with soldier's eyes of green
Broken heart, his name was--
River stops, scoops up the stone. "Your turn," she says, and hands it to him.
Mal and the crew tiptoe around. No need to mess with the balance.
Sam Winchester, Ron Weasley, and Crowley go on a mission (Supernatural/Harry Potter/Good Omens) - inkvoices
There is a redheaded British man with a stick jammed up against Sam's throat. Sam is not particularly impressed.
He is vaguely impressed that the man is the same height as him, which is rare, even though he looks more like someone took a bundle of sticks and painted freckles on them and then stuck a red mop on top to finish the job. But he is not even remotely impressed about the stick.
"What the hell, man?" he says finally, because really, what else can he say?
"Not one word," the man says, poking Sam's throat a little harder than is strictly necessary, as if the stick is a highly deadly weapon. Sam fervently hopes this is not the case. "I know who you are. You're Sam Winchester, wanted for mass murder."
Sam rolls his eyes. "Not that crap again. Look, you've got it wrong, I'm just--"
"Shut up," the redhead orders, with the air of someone who does not usually have his orders followed. "I know you're a wizard; there's no other way you could have faked your death with the Muggles so many times. I'm taking you to the International Confederation of Wizards so don't even think about trying to escape." He pauses, clears his throat, and adds a little nervously, "Okay?"
Sam scowls. Either this guy's a total headcase or there's a lot more black magic in the world than he'd thought. Either way, it's probably best not to provoke him. "Yeah, okay."
"Right then." The guy looks a little stunned but nods decisively. "Let's go."
"I wouldn't do that, Weasley," drawls a new voice, British again, but with an odd hiss to it even where there aren't sibilants. "Bringing a Muggle to the ICW? Tsk tsk."
The redhead -- Weasley, Sam presumes -- squints at the newcomer. "I know you from somewhere, don't I? Something about a teatray . . ."
The man turns faintly pink. "Never mind that now." He waves a hand and Weasley's stick clatters to the floor.
Sam frowns. "What are you?"
"That's not important," the man insists. "What is important is that your brother, and your friend, and my, ah --" he coughed "-- colleague, have all probably been abducted by the same being or beings unknown. Are we going to stand here gobbing about it all day or are we going to find them?"