(no subject)
I feel much better today, which rocks, and am actually eating food! Hard food! It's awesome!
Alright, Nica's giving me a hard time about getting this done, even though I did it in order of people requesting it for me- whatever.
Request #6 for agent_nica
Okay, this, according to what I put on ff.n, was the first fic I ever wrote for Alias! I actually have no record of this on my harddrive, which starts my Alias file off with "perdition," so, really, God only knows.
- - -
True, it may seem like a stretch
but it's thoughts like this that catch
my troubled head when you're away
and I am missing you to death
-'Such Great Heights', The Postal Service
Someone once nitpicked about how Margaret Atwood always starts with three little... thingies... like that. They have a name, I know they do, and I like to use at least one. Or, I really use to like to, back when I wrote. The first two songs that really hit Alias for me other than the entire Maroon 5 CD (please, please, I know, don't judge me, okay?) were "Such Great Heights" and "Latter Days," and they both came off Alias wallpapers. Go fig.
- - -
It was not yet morning when he awoke, if waking could be used to describe the action performed. Um. That's... an interesting way to start. He was merely That makes me feel like I was trying to be so high-minded sounding, and arg sliding from one form of consciousness to another, effortlessly, awkwardly. Oh, dichotomous terms. Look at me and m'bad self.
His apartment was bathed baaaathed in a grey is that supposed to be gray? I think in American English it is. But I always use grey 'cause I like it better. Also, what kind of a stupid name is Gray for a girl? Damn writers who put Jen Garner in a movie with that name and then shelf it for a year. a color suitable to his disposition, tossing shadows upon the walls that she'd never seen. And heeeere we go!
Meaningful spaces abound! Whee!
He dreamt in vivid colors See, see! Difference! and delicious warmth, flower prints No idea why. I actually happen to hate flower prints as a general rule. I am very particular about them and sunshine I usually involve sunshine and Sydney. I like to. and grass and picnics. In the dreams there was a house and a garden and a two-car garage they've been movin' on up to a deluxe apartment in the skyyy, and she’d been vacuuming and singing “California Dreamin’” Oh, also, that was an important Sydney song at the time. I really don't know why. Like, I guess I know why, because it's about being lonely and longing, etc etc and so forth, and I really like the idea of Syd singing aloud when she does chores. at the top of her lungs.
The dream faded as he faced reality. Awww. Poor Vaughn.
She sat sullenly Oh, boo. in a corner, in an armchair she’d never touched, her hair disheveled, There are no brushes in the afterlife. watching, always watching. My sister and I have this thing where we constantly quote, for no good reason, this one line from "Monsters, Inc." And that line is "I'm watching you, Wazowski. Always watching." and I was just reminded of that. Which is probably a bad thing. She shivered in the cool light; she was never warm. Seeee? No sunshine! She was deprived, malnourished, withering ew.- she needed sun to grow, and he was overcast. She could not adapt. He could not change. The past two sentences were the little summary thing I used at ff.n. I think it... kind of sums this thing up. Although I hate the fact that I called him "overcast." It's dumb. I was trying for a weather thing. Ugh.
She would not leave. It's because she's a hallucination. She would leave if you wanted her too.
Speaking of hallucinations, (since this is a meaningful pause) when Nadia said "Later" to Sloane in the finale and I was all trimphant, because, HA HA ON YOU, SLOANE, my mom burst my bubble with a "She's a hallucination. If he wants her to come back, guess what? He'll make her come back. Duh."
That made me sad.
He felt a pang of longing for the color and heat of the dreams. There we are His dreams were cruel, lifting him to unattainable highs ugh, so ugly. So amazingly ugly. featuring her, always her, her scent and I know you all know how big I am on scent and her touch and her taste and her sound, I like the senses, y'all. all his senses bombarded by him, HER! I HATE that mistake! ARG! I also kind of hate "bombarded," since it's such a... a war verb. and though he knew he should savor it and tuck the experience away, he found himself too enamored to behave sensibly. I'm doing the thing I always bitch about people for doing- being so impressed with my own wordcraft that I sound ridiculous. Therefore, I arg.
In dreams she would smile and laugh and point and touch, and point and click? lord. she was happy and alive. In dreams she was there. Well, in "reality" she's there too, but she's sulking. Stupid bitch.
He struggled to meet the light, grimacing as a shiver ran through his body. I think my tenses just went to hell, but who knows? She was unhappy and she radiated disapproval. Well, radiating is a warm verb at least. He wished he could shake it off and ignore her silent gasps of horror. Well, if they're silent, what's stopping you? Shut up, Vaughn. He wanted her to crawl into the bed she’d never lain Is that the right one? on; under the sheets she’d never rumpled I love the word rumple. I use it whenever possible. to try to recapture sleep.
They’d captured the castle, once. It was keeping up with the rent that had gotten them in the end. I was not clever enough to come up with it on my own, but I liked it a lot at the time, obviously, but it doesn't fit and is dumb and doesn't belong.
There were oldies Songs? Movies? People? in the dreams, and novels with bright covers and dog-eared pages, calendars with notes in the squares and dishes in the sink. I like that sentence regardless. A front porch with a swing for two. A bay window with a window seat. Holy telegraphic sentences, Batman. Matching china and silverware, tea-cups and saucers and dessert plates. I am VERY big on plates and silverware. No idea why. A coffee machine, cartons of half and half and a jar of sugar with a spoon inside.
Two coffee mugs, matching, wreathing with steam, his black, hers pale. That's another thing I always do- have Vaughn take his coffee black and Syd with so much stuff in it it's more "would you like some coffee with your milk?"
Sometimes she talks, but this morning she’s silent, curled up under a blanket How is a mirage doing that? That's so cool. Rock on, Hallucinated!Syd! she’d never warmed, legs tucked up to keep her safe from the monsters under his bed. Like that, too She didn’t know that the only things under there were dust and boxes of silly mementos he was trying to keep out of his mind. Awww, poor Vaughn, hiding his memories with the dust. Well, not with the dust, but like, among the dust bunnies. Next to his bed was a wooden frame that could barely contain the joy of the two people in the picture it surrounded. I kind of like that, and kind of don't. I like the idea more than the delivery.
A piece of ice melts WHAT? WHY did I say that? That makes no sense! Rage! down her cheek as he looks from her to the photograph.
In the dreams there are parties and birthdays, candles and cakes. Cakes. I like cake. There are holidays and a holiday decorations and Christmas mornings where she’s so excited she’d rather he open his gifts first rather than waiting. Hee, if I'd seen the interview before I'd written this I would've said Easter baskets and Easter, but I hadn't. Dammit. Block parties and barbecues, friendly neighbors who lent sugar when she went from door to door asking because she wanted to prove that she could get it. I like that image a lot. Syd wandering around asking for sugar. Bet she bounced on her heels in excitement, too.
The birthday cake she baked with the borrowed sugar was not nearly as sweet as her kisses. I remember someone really liked this sentence, but I really think it's trite and stupid.
The room is brightening, Oh, transition! and particles of time ... whaaaaat? filter through the weak light. She tries to capture it in her hand, the window she’d never looked out of revealing her quarry. *headdesk* It flits away in a frustrating metaphor. Oh, that makes me want to cry. The silence strains and snaps at its bonds, That I like, though. wanting to break forth into words.
He does not know what to say. She cannot speak. Well, Vaughn, it's your deal, buddy.
In the dreams she’s delighted when the tulips bloom Tulips! I have a thing about Syd and tulips along their walkway, when summer comes and he has more time off, when they spend their mornings lounging in bed watching old reruns and their nights out in the yard wishing on shooting stars. ... Trite. Lame. Their refrigerator is a collage dedicated to them, table tops and walls covered in frames chronicling their bliss. And that's so... weird. Do people really do that? When they don't have kids, I mean.
He cannot imagine life without her. Awww.
He can hear her words although she is quiet. I don't think there's a single line of dialogue in this whole fic. I kind of hate dialogue. Sometimes she admonishes him gently, other times she encourages him. And sometimes she BITCHES! He can hear her becoming disenchanted as her timbre quakes with bitterness, her tone matching the liquid in his mouth. Well, that was an interesting way to put it. I'll let it pass. The liquor cabinet she’d never seen was almost empty.
He would be, too, if she didn’t stay. Would be what, empty? Sure, why not.
There’s a lullaby in the dreams, and a nursery, and suddenly their peaceful world is turned upside down by a small bundle that garners I think Nica laughed forever when I used that word, because, you know. Jen Garner. more love than he thought possible. Quiet nights are interrupted by the shrill cries of a child that, and this he was certain, was the most beautiful and the most loved on the planet.
The glow she’d had when she’d been with him was nothing compared to her joy as a mother. I like babies.
She blurs Oh noes! as she steps across the floor she’d never tread upon, and he is afraid to rub his eyes in case she disappears on him. He wants to beg her to say something, to hear the sound of her voice, to add dialogue to this fic, to prove to himself that he’s not insane. Heh. Or maybe to prove that he is, in fact, insane, At least the boy is open to the idea. Good for him. but if insanity entails listening to her he’s willing to go along with it.
The only problem is that she’s not.
It never rains in the dreams, It's like those Walgreen commercials for life in Perfect. it’s always sunshine to light the path of their life. Ugh, is that saccharine enough for you? I think I'm getting cavities. Ew. First steps and PTA meetings and studying all meld into a routine. The child grows up, graduates, falls in love. Suddenly they’re alone in their house again, much older now. She still sings around the house and he still brings her flowers to surprise her.
Growing old serenely, still in love. So, what's next, death? Together? In their sleep? Haaaate.
He realizes abruptly that she’s going to leave him, Well, darling, she's dead. It's kind of inevitable. and the chill he’d felt before is nothing compared to the abject horror I like "abject horror." that washes over him now. Without her, what will he do? Move on, marry a terrorist... What good would a life be without her? She was life, hope, happiness and health. I like that. The apartment she’d never entered was empty without her.
She has tears in her eyes as she disappears. But his heart will go on, Syd! His heart will go on and onnnnnn!
He begins the long and difficult process of moving on. Well. That's descriptive. He dares to enter places her presence had never graced, ... LIKE HIS OWN APT.? DUH? try things she’d never experienced, to read novels she’d never enjoy and listen to music she’d never learn lyrics to. The dreams stop shortly after she leaves. Aw. Well, that's kind of sad.
He puts their picture away. I swear I'll change my ways, I just called to say I want you to come back hommme.... it's a Sheryl Crow song. And Kid Rock. I obviously have no shame.
That was like, a hundred times sweeter than I thought it was and god, do I hope I've improved since then. Since that one reeked.
Alright, Nica's giving me a hard time about getting this done, even though I did it in order of people requesting it for me- whatever.
Request #6 for agent_nica
Okay, this, according to what I put on ff.n, was the first fic I ever wrote for Alias! I actually have no record of this on my harddrive, which starts my Alias file off with "perdition," so, really, God only knows.
- - -
True, it may seem like a stretch
but it's thoughts like this that catch
my troubled head when you're away
and I am missing you to death
-'Such Great Heights', The Postal Service
Someone once nitpicked about how Margaret Atwood always starts with three little... thingies... like that. They have a name, I know they do, and I like to use at least one. Or, I really use to like to, back when I wrote. The first two songs that really hit Alias for me other than the entire Maroon 5 CD (please, please, I know, don't judge me, okay?) were "Such Great Heights" and "Latter Days," and they both came off Alias wallpapers. Go fig.
- - -
It was not yet morning when he awoke, if waking could be used to describe the action performed. Um. That's... an interesting way to start. He was merely That makes me feel like I was trying to be so high-minded sounding, and arg sliding from one form of consciousness to another, effortlessly, awkwardly. Oh, dichotomous terms. Look at me and m'bad self.
His apartment was bathed baaaathed in a grey is that supposed to be gray? I think in American English it is. But I always use grey 'cause I like it better. Also, what kind of a stupid name is Gray for a girl? Damn writers who put Jen Garner in a movie with that name and then shelf it for a year. a color suitable to his disposition, tossing shadows upon the walls that she'd never seen. And heeeere we go!
Meaningful spaces abound! Whee!
He dreamt in vivid colors See, see! Difference! and delicious warmth, flower prints No idea why. I actually happen to hate flower prints as a general rule. I am very particular about them and sunshine I usually involve sunshine and Sydney. I like to. and grass and picnics. In the dreams there was a house and a garden and a two-car garage they've been movin' on up to a deluxe apartment in the skyyy, and she’d been vacuuming and singing “California Dreamin’” Oh, also, that was an important Sydney song at the time. I really don't know why. Like, I guess I know why, because it's about being lonely and longing, etc etc and so forth, and I really like the idea of Syd singing aloud when she does chores. at the top of her lungs.
The dream faded as he faced reality. Awww. Poor Vaughn.
She sat sullenly Oh, boo. in a corner, in an armchair she’d never touched, her hair disheveled, There are no brushes in the afterlife. watching, always watching. My sister and I have this thing where we constantly quote, for no good reason, this one line from "Monsters, Inc." And that line is "I'm watching you, Wazowski. Always watching." and I was just reminded of that. Which is probably a bad thing. She shivered in the cool light; she was never warm. Seeee? No sunshine! She was deprived, malnourished, withering ew.- she needed sun to grow, and he was overcast. She could not adapt. He could not change. The past two sentences were the little summary thing I used at ff.n. I think it... kind of sums this thing up. Although I hate the fact that I called him "overcast." It's dumb. I was trying for a weather thing. Ugh.
She would not leave. It's because she's a hallucination. She would leave if you wanted her too.
Speaking of hallucinations, (since this is a meaningful pause) when Nadia said "Later" to Sloane in the finale and I was all trimphant, because, HA HA ON YOU, SLOANE, my mom burst my bubble with a "She's a hallucination. If he wants her to come back, guess what? He'll make her come back. Duh."
That made me sad.
He felt a pang of longing for the color and heat of the dreams. There we are His dreams were cruel, lifting him to unattainable highs ugh, so ugly. So amazingly ugly. featuring her, always her, her scent and I know you all know how big I am on scent and her touch and her taste and her sound, I like the senses, y'all. all his senses bombarded by him, HER! I HATE that mistake! ARG! I also kind of hate "bombarded," since it's such a... a war verb. and though he knew he should savor it and tuck the experience away, he found himself too enamored to behave sensibly. I'm doing the thing I always bitch about people for doing- being so impressed with my own wordcraft that I sound ridiculous. Therefore, I arg.
In dreams she would smile and laugh and point and touch, and point and click? lord. she was happy and alive. In dreams she was there. Well, in "reality" she's there too, but she's sulking. Stupid bitch.
He struggled to meet the light, grimacing as a shiver ran through his body. I think my tenses just went to hell, but who knows? She was unhappy and she radiated disapproval. Well, radiating is a warm verb at least. He wished he could shake it off and ignore her silent gasps of horror. Well, if they're silent, what's stopping you? Shut up, Vaughn. He wanted her to crawl into the bed she’d never lain Is that the right one? on; under the sheets she’d never rumpled I love the word rumple. I use it whenever possible. to try to recapture sleep.
They’d captured the castle, once. It was keeping up with the rent that had gotten them in the end. I was not clever enough to come up with it on my own, but I liked it a lot at the time, obviously, but it doesn't fit and is dumb and doesn't belong.
There were oldies Songs? Movies? People? in the dreams, and novels with bright covers and dog-eared pages, calendars with notes in the squares and dishes in the sink. I like that sentence regardless. A front porch with a swing for two. A bay window with a window seat. Holy telegraphic sentences, Batman. Matching china and silverware, tea-cups and saucers and dessert plates. I am VERY big on plates and silverware. No idea why. A coffee machine, cartons of half and half and a jar of sugar with a spoon inside.
Two coffee mugs, matching, wreathing with steam, his black, hers pale. That's another thing I always do- have Vaughn take his coffee black and Syd with so much stuff in it it's more "would you like some coffee with your milk?"
Sometimes she talks, but this morning she’s silent, curled up under a blanket How is a mirage doing that? That's so cool. Rock on, Hallucinated!Syd! she’d never warmed, legs tucked up to keep her safe from the monsters under his bed. Like that, too She didn’t know that the only things under there were dust and boxes of silly mementos he was trying to keep out of his mind. Awww, poor Vaughn, hiding his memories with the dust. Well, not with the dust, but like, among the dust bunnies. Next to his bed was a wooden frame that could barely contain the joy of the two people in the picture it surrounded. I kind of like that, and kind of don't. I like the idea more than the delivery.
A piece of ice melts WHAT? WHY did I say that? That makes no sense! Rage! down her cheek as he looks from her to the photograph.
In the dreams there are parties and birthdays, candles and cakes. Cakes. I like cake. There are holidays and a holiday decorations and Christmas mornings where she’s so excited she’d rather he open his gifts first rather than waiting. Hee, if I'd seen the interview before I'd written this I would've said Easter baskets and Easter, but I hadn't. Dammit. Block parties and barbecues, friendly neighbors who lent sugar when she went from door to door asking because she wanted to prove that she could get it. I like that image a lot. Syd wandering around asking for sugar. Bet she bounced on her heels in excitement, too.
The birthday cake she baked with the borrowed sugar was not nearly as sweet as her kisses. I remember someone really liked this sentence, but I really think it's trite and stupid.
The room is brightening, Oh, transition! and particles of time ... whaaaaat? filter through the weak light. She tries to capture it in her hand, the window she’d never looked out of revealing her quarry. *headdesk* It flits away in a frustrating metaphor. Oh, that makes me want to cry. The silence strains and snaps at its bonds, That I like, though. wanting to break forth into words.
He does not know what to say. She cannot speak. Well, Vaughn, it's your deal, buddy.
In the dreams she’s delighted when the tulips bloom Tulips! I have a thing about Syd and tulips along their walkway, when summer comes and he has more time off, when they spend their mornings lounging in bed watching old reruns and their nights out in the yard wishing on shooting stars. ... Trite. Lame. Their refrigerator is a collage dedicated to them, table tops and walls covered in frames chronicling their bliss. And that's so... weird. Do people really do that? When they don't have kids, I mean.
He cannot imagine life without her. Awww.
He can hear her words although she is quiet. I don't think there's a single line of dialogue in this whole fic. I kind of hate dialogue. Sometimes she admonishes him gently, other times she encourages him. And sometimes she BITCHES! He can hear her becoming disenchanted as her timbre quakes with bitterness, her tone matching the liquid in his mouth. Well, that was an interesting way to put it. I'll let it pass. The liquor cabinet she’d never seen was almost empty.
He would be, too, if she didn’t stay. Would be what, empty? Sure, why not.
There’s a lullaby in the dreams, and a nursery, and suddenly their peaceful world is turned upside down by a small bundle that garners I think Nica laughed forever when I used that word, because, you know. Jen Garner. more love than he thought possible. Quiet nights are interrupted by the shrill cries of a child that, and this he was certain, was the most beautiful and the most loved on the planet.
The glow she’d had when she’d been with him was nothing compared to her joy as a mother. I like babies.
She blurs Oh noes! as she steps across the floor she’d never tread upon, and he is afraid to rub his eyes in case she disappears on him. He wants to beg her to say something, to hear the sound of her voice, to add dialogue to this fic, to prove to himself that he’s not insane. Heh. Or maybe to prove that he is, in fact, insane, At least the boy is open to the idea. Good for him. but if insanity entails listening to her he’s willing to go along with it.
The only problem is that she’s not.
It never rains in the dreams, It's like those Walgreen commercials for life in Perfect. it’s always sunshine to light the path of their life. Ugh, is that saccharine enough for you? I think I'm getting cavities. Ew. First steps and PTA meetings and studying all meld into a routine. The child grows up, graduates, falls in love. Suddenly they’re alone in their house again, much older now. She still sings around the house and he still brings her flowers to surprise her.
Growing old serenely, still in love. So, what's next, death? Together? In their sleep? Haaaate.
He realizes abruptly that she’s going to leave him, Well, darling, she's dead. It's kind of inevitable. and the chill he’d felt before is nothing compared to the abject horror I like "abject horror." that washes over him now. Without her, what will he do? Move on, marry a terrorist... What good would a life be without her? She was life, hope, happiness and health. I like that. The apartment she’d never entered was empty without her.
She has tears in her eyes as she disappears. But his heart will go on, Syd! His heart will go on and onnnnnn!
He begins the long and difficult process of moving on. Well. That's descriptive. He dares to enter places her presence had never graced, ... LIKE HIS OWN APT.? DUH? try things she’d never experienced, to read novels she’d never enjoy and listen to music she’d never learn lyrics to. The dreams stop shortly after she leaves. Aw. Well, that's kind of sad.
He puts their picture away. I swear I'll change my ways, I just called to say I want you to come back hommme.... it's a Sheryl Crow song. And Kid Rock. I obviously have no shame.
That was like, a hundred times sweeter than I thought it was and god, do I hope I've improved since then. Since that one reeked.