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On a roll! Woot!
Commentary #5 for dollsome
Otherwise known as the time Madi went crazy and wrote Sweiss! Dear lord, hide the children!
Bringing this Sweiss fic is brought to you by... tequila over to Syd's is not a good idea. It was actually very fun writing in Weiss's POV. He's a lot like Will, and everyone knows how much I love him.
I know this. I can hear the voice in my head- the one that sounds suspiciously like my mother's- I love making him a semi-Mama's boy. telling me that being the enabler makes me the first target when Jack Bristow finds out that his daughter's newest hobby is drinking with her neighbor. Man, Jack would be major-league pissed. Neighbor being me. The one with the tequila in hand. Oy. Hee! I think I loved him when I wrote this.
Sydney's eyes are bright when she answers the door- though whether it's from the sheer joy of my presence or because she's already been dipping into the wine is anyone's guess. Poor Syd. She's lonely. And drinking. But yay, Weiss! "Eric!" she exclaims, and she gives me a hug, and yep, merlot, but more than that, she smells good- "Chinese. Chinese tonight. You haven't eaten, have you?" I really like the way she spoke there. It seems really real to me.
I never do first person. Cool. I shake my head, instead offering, "I got the tequila." ugh, that should be a comma, duh. superfluously, because Syd's already grabbed the bottle by the neck and is oohing. Can't you picture it? Tipsy Syd. I love it!
"Hey, Syd," I say, and she snaps her head up, ouch! chillax, Syd. and those pupils are dilated but wow is she something, Weiss, why is inebriation attractive? You sick man. "Never mix, never worry." Poor Weiss, falling for his best friend's girl.
"I could drink you under the table, Weiss." Huh. I would like to picture Syd as a lightweight, but I highly doubt she is. I mean, think of her parents. Two class-act drinkers if there ever were ones. She smiles broadly and goes to her kitchen, catching herself before stumbling over a wayward pair of black heels that I avoid, and I hum an affirmative response, because even though she's a few drinks ahead, she could take me down with a few well-timed moves. That she could, Weiss. That she could.
(In more ways that one.) HATE that. So much. I know why I put it, but I wish I hadn't. I hate the parentheses, the idea, I hate it all. Arg.
She's chattering happily about the chinese menu, a movie on TBS, Bet it's Pretty Woman. I just bet. and the quality of the tequila I've brought over, and I am a good friend who listens attentively. That is such an odd way to end that. Syd barely sounds tipsy, but she's more giggly than usual. Oh, Syd. She's so cute.
"So, Syd," I say conversationally, eyeing the bottle of wine on her kitchen counter, "Up for some cards?" He spies an easy target.
"I thought you said you wouldn't play for money with me anymore."
"Go fish?" Nica suggested that one to me.
"How old are you?" Five.
"I don't still get carded, can you say the same?" Low blow!
"That was one time!"
"You're, like, thirty-one." Ouch.
"Thirty, Or so, I think, but who really knows? and do you want to play cards or not?"
"You order, I'll deal."
"It's go fish."
"It's an art. Shut up."
I absolutely LOVE that exchange. It flowed so well, and it seemed so appropriate, and I am so proud of it. :-D
She laughs as she walks to the phone to call, muttering something about 'tempermental artists' as she dials. I deal out cards and wonder how long it'll be before Syd snaps back. Bristows are tough. Snaps back about the whole Vaughn situation. It was a timely concern when I wrote this.
She bounces back over, and we play a crazy game of cards I know exactly where I got that phrase, and it's from the novel "I Know What You Did Last Summer." and I use it whenever possible. between dinner and the movie on TV, and she still manages to beat me. "I let you win!" I call out to save face, but I'm not upset, because we've been doing shots and Syd is all but dancing at her victory, her face flushed with alcohol and the fact that she's glowing over something so trivial is amaz- ing. Amazing. Poor Weiss.
And it's time for me to go home. Abrupt much?
I stand quickly, and Syd stops dancing, her face registering confusion. My, that's clunky. "You're leaving? I'll let you win next time..." Aww, poor Syd.
"Nah, it's late. I have to get home, Syd."
"Oh." And her face drops. She looks feverish now, ill Guess the tequila was the cheap rotgut Mexican kind. Way to go, Weiss.; the kind of face my mother would instruct me to put away to bed with heavy comforters and a bell to ring. Poor wasted Syd! All alone! "I'll see you tomorrow, then."
She walks me to her door, hanging a little back, her eyes wide Why? Why wide?, and her steps seem more unsteady. "Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow. Go to bed, okay, Syd?" He's looking after her! It's so cute!
Nodding carefully, she opens the door for me. "You too, Eric." She smiles as she closes the door behind me, locked in with her thoughts for the night.
Wanting to be there too is not good. Not at ALL. Treasonous, Pearl Harborish thoughts, Eric Weiss! Bad!
Commentary #5 for dollsome
Otherwise known as the time Madi went crazy and wrote Sweiss! Dear lord, hide the children!
Bringing this Sweiss fic is brought to you by... tequila over to Syd's is not a good idea. It was actually very fun writing in Weiss's POV. He's a lot like Will, and everyone knows how much I love him.
I know this. I can hear the voice in my head- the one that sounds suspiciously like my mother's- I love making him a semi-Mama's boy. telling me that being the enabler makes me the first target when Jack Bristow finds out that his daughter's newest hobby is drinking with her neighbor. Man, Jack would be major-league pissed. Neighbor being me. The one with the tequila in hand. Oy. Hee! I think I loved him when I wrote this.
Sydney's eyes are bright when she answers the door- though whether it's from the sheer joy of my presence or because she's already been dipping into the wine is anyone's guess. Poor Syd. She's lonely. And drinking. But yay, Weiss! "Eric!" she exclaims, and she gives me a hug, and yep, merlot, but more than that, she smells good- "Chinese. Chinese tonight. You haven't eaten, have you?" I really like the way she spoke there. It seems really real to me.
I never do first person. Cool. I shake my head, instead offering, "I got the tequila." ugh, that should be a comma, duh. superfluously, because Syd's already grabbed the bottle by the neck and is oohing. Can't you picture it? Tipsy Syd. I love it!
"Hey, Syd," I say, and she snaps her head up, ouch! chillax, Syd. and those pupils are dilated but wow is she something, Weiss, why is inebriation attractive? You sick man. "Never mix, never worry." Poor Weiss, falling for his best friend's girl.
"I could drink you under the table, Weiss." Huh. I would like to picture Syd as a lightweight, but I highly doubt she is. I mean, think of her parents. Two class-act drinkers if there ever were ones. She smiles broadly and goes to her kitchen, catching herself before stumbling over a wayward pair of black heels that I avoid, and I hum an affirmative response, because even though she's a few drinks ahead, she could take me down with a few well-timed moves. That she could, Weiss. That she could.
(In more ways that one.) HATE that. So much. I know why I put it, but I wish I hadn't. I hate the parentheses, the idea, I hate it all. Arg.
She's chattering happily about the chinese menu, a movie on TBS, Bet it's Pretty Woman. I just bet. and the quality of the tequila I've brought over, and I am a good friend who listens attentively. That is such an odd way to end that. Syd barely sounds tipsy, but she's more giggly than usual. Oh, Syd. She's so cute.
"So, Syd," I say conversationally, eyeing the bottle of wine on her kitchen counter, "Up for some cards?" He spies an easy target.
"I thought you said you wouldn't play for money with me anymore."
"Go fish?" Nica suggested that one to me.
"How old are you?" Five.
"I don't still get carded, can you say the same?" Low blow!
"That was one time!"
"You're, like, thirty-one." Ouch.
"Thirty, Or so, I think, but who really knows? and do you want to play cards or not?"
"You order, I'll deal."
"It's go fish."
"It's an art. Shut up."
I absolutely LOVE that exchange. It flowed so well, and it seemed so appropriate, and I am so proud of it. :-D
She laughs as she walks to the phone to call, muttering something about 'tempermental artists' as she dials. I deal out cards and wonder how long it'll be before Syd snaps back. Bristows are tough. Snaps back about the whole Vaughn situation. It was a timely concern when I wrote this.
She bounces back over, and we play a crazy game of cards I know exactly where I got that phrase, and it's from the novel "I Know What You Did Last Summer." and I use it whenever possible. between dinner and the movie on TV, and she still manages to beat me. "I let you win!" I call out to save face, but I'm not upset, because we've been doing shots and Syd is all but dancing at her victory, her face flushed with alcohol and the fact that she's glowing over something so trivial is amaz- ing. Amazing. Poor Weiss.
And it's time for me to go home. Abrupt much?
I stand quickly, and Syd stops dancing, her face registering confusion. My, that's clunky. "You're leaving? I'll let you win next time..." Aww, poor Syd.
"Nah, it's late. I have to get home, Syd."
"Oh." And her face drops. She looks feverish now, ill Guess the tequila was the cheap rotgut Mexican kind. Way to go, Weiss.; the kind of face my mother would instruct me to put away to bed with heavy comforters and a bell to ring. Poor wasted Syd! All alone! "I'll see you tomorrow, then."
She walks me to her door, hanging a little back, her eyes wide Why? Why wide?, and her steps seem more unsteady. "Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow. Go to bed, okay, Syd?" He's looking after her! It's so cute!
Nodding carefully, she opens the door for me. "You too, Eric." She smiles as she closes the door behind me, locked in with her thoughts for the night.
Wanting to be there too is not good. Not at ALL. Treasonous, Pearl Harborish thoughts, Eric Weiss! Bad!