Meme! Fiction and Fan-fiction
Gacked from daegaer
When you see this, post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y. (And it did! There is one less WiP here than was mouldering on my hard drive yesterday. Hooray!)
"You look like you're thirteen!"
"And you look like you're eleven," Nagi retorted.
"..." But Omi couldn't argue.
"Do you even have a driver's license?" Apparently, he could.
A permit. Nagi really should have attacked Crawford's 'I-don't-want-to-pull-too-many-strings-because-I-want-to-keep-a-low-profile' excuse, but he had been too tired at the time and it was too late now.
"..."
"HAH!" Omi exclaimed gleefully.
"If you start dancing, you leave me no choice but to resort to violence," Nagi warned.
Obi-wan threw Qui-gon up against the wall and kissed him. Lips and teeth and tongue. It felt wonderful. It felt like flying. Or not, since Obi-wan hated flying. It felt like warm water and bright sun, and it was over far too soon.
"Well," said Obi-wan. He thought he managed it in a remarkably level voice. His master was still catching his breath. "That's all I have to say about that, then."
One of the twins pulled Yusuke into the room while the other seated himself and brought up a colourful display. He tapped something. Then he tapped something else.
"Out of range. Mark!" He slapped McHenry's foot as it jiggled nearby on the dash.
McHenry cracked an eye. "Ten minutes, give or take," he said cryptically, then appeared to go back to sleep.
"Bilgewater," the twin muttered darkly.
"Does this mean I can have some trousers now, or do I have to get nasty?" Gorrammit, it was cold up here.
"If it'd make you more comfortable, we could all take ours off," the unoccupied twin volunteered.
"Captain said no more orgies in the cockpit," McHenry reminded them.
"Who the hell are you anyway?" Ran interrupted a spewing soliloquy on dinner or architecture or something.
"Botan," replied the Leaf Man.
"What kind of a name is Botan?"
"A fake one. What kind of a name do you have?"
"..." Ran cocked an eyebrow. "A real one."
"What is it?"
"Why do you care?"
Botan raised his hands. "Fair's fair."
"You didn't actually tell me your name," Ran felt compelled to point out.
"Piffle."
"I'll call you that, you know," Ran threatened.
"I don't have it in for Kavanaugh!" Rodney protests when Elizabeth asks him outright in a confidential tone behind the closed door of her office, in a voice which is undoubtedly heard by the Marine on guard on the other side of the door. "The man is an idiot, that's all. When he stops being an idiot, I'll stop yelling at him. What, would you rather I let him blow us all up the next time we try and power the shield by positing that the wave property of energy is roughly equivalent to the consistency of bread pudding?"
And there the discussion ends, much as the discussion about the Onegrans ends when Teyla pulls them all over the edge of the cliff and almost drops them the three hundred feet to the pebble-speckled, bush-dotted ground. Instead, she only drops Rodney; but that's later, after Oz's yell of pain makes his feet slip and it's all John can do to hang onto the back of Teyla's vest in a decoupling human chain.
Porfiry: Rodion Romanovitch, I require your assistance.
Rodya: What with? I have already given my confession. Why do you not leave me in peace?
Porfiry: Help with the zombies.
Lupis blinked, staring at what appeared to be a poorly constructed sock puppet. No, that was actual purple fur on that thing, good gods, and no sock ever smelled like that. It blinked its uneven googlie eyes-one small and black, the other large and orange-at him. Upon closer inspection, as the thing turned its head upside-down to look at him, Lupis perceived that it looked more like a cross between Curious George and a camel than anything else. He found himself going cross-eyed trying to imagine what the rest of it looked like. It sounded like Howard Keel, when it had done with examining him and deigned to speak, albeit not to him.
"This? Are you sure, Taffy?"
"Of course I'm sure. You think I'm stupid? This is the one," insisted a stringy arvoidiac, his nasal voice defensive.
"Oh, calm down already. It's just...well...isn't he a little short?"
"Hey, you say find it, I found it. I bring it. See? I make good on my promises. Now make good on yours, eh?"
"Fine," the unidentifiable thing said. Another head appeared with a bag in its mouth and tossed the betasseled thing to Taffy. "Now get out of my sight, you worthless piece of garlic."
"Um, excuse me." It was rather difficult to speak with a counter of some kind under his jaw. Lupis sent silent prayers heavenwards that there wasn't a blade inset, or hanging over his head, out of range of his limited vision. "Might I impose upon you to please tell me what the hell is going on, because if you have a really good reason, there's a chance I won't rip you heads off and use them as umbrella handles."
The thing's two heads blinked at each other. A third head appeared, and the entire tableau exchanged glances before all three heads vanished once more below the counter.
After a few minutes, one head popped warily back into Lupis' field of vision. Its pupils were lost in mottled taupe irises, but it was otherwise identical to the other head.
"Well?" Lupis demanded impatiently.
"Your request is being considered. You will receive a decision upon delivery."
It was dark, dark and damp. Water dripped somewhere, a slow, regular sound that seemed capable of measuring out eternity. Vilin sensed more than saw that she was in a cave, by the unnatural stillness of the musty, cool air. Gradually, her eyes adjusted to a dim light that made no sense-where did it come from?-and she saw that she was in a world of dark, inky purple bubbles pierced by spikes, like some giant carnivore's teeth. A snatch of a song fluttered through the air, wafting through the chain of caverns, an echo uttered in ages past. She shivered.
A burst of lightning flared, followed immediately by a great boom of thunder, dissipating the familiar images. As if the crack had been a knife severing the last of a cord her dreams had been whittling away, something within Vilin snapped. In that moment, she made a decision, though she hadn't known there was a choice. The lock seemed once more to click, this time surely opening.
Vilin down from her dry bed of hay and into the pouring rain, pausing only for her meagre kitbag of possessions. Large, wet drops splattered on her face. She laughed in pure exhilaration. It was amazing, how quickly a day could change.
Zant sighed. He ought to be freed once the barrier dissipated. Not too much longer now. Really. It was almost gone. Maybe Greyal hadn't even noticed.
Suddenly, Zant felt a pressure, like a band over his ears and under his jaw was being pushed forward. There was the sensation of something pressing at his shoulders and the small of his back. Zant didn't have a chance to wonder what it was or remark that it was not, in fact, a recorded method of resurfacing. He definitely wasn't in Mareas' sub-illiephic matrix anymore.
Zant didn't know where he was. It was swimming with energy, he thought, but it was horribly sticky energy. That was all he could think of when he finally got out of it.
"I need a shower," Zant finally said to his brother's anxious questioning. He never knew how he managed the way back to his quarters. His first clear memory was being in the shower with cold water barraging his confused countenance. The merciful blank which had been the past was filling in. Zant moaned and groped for the temperature controls. They were already as low as they got.
"Zant?"
Zant ignored the caller.
"Zant."
This time, Greyal's voice was in the room with him. The water stopped. Zant finall shivered, gasping what sounded like his first breath in ages, when the influx of warm air hit him.
There was Greyal with Mareas peering curiously over his shoulder. Zant fought a brief surge of embarrassment until he realised he was still wearing his uniform.
"Never," Zant said firmly. "Never, never, never."
Greyal glanced at Mareas in hopes of elucidation. Come to think of it, she looked somewhat blitzed herself.
"What happened, Zant?" Greyal pressed.
"Never, dammit. I don't work for you!"
Greyal still wasn't sure his brother was talking to him. The way the drawtou gazed fixedly at a point in midair suggested not. Greyal decided to treat it like he was anyway.
"Of course you don't. Furry great lump that you are, you'd be shedding all over the place."
'Is the moon lonely?' she asked.
'Beneath it, lovers must blur past
To tragedy, with sigh and moan,
Or else days not nights for to own:
Buggered either way, and fleeting-
Is that the moon's message? Entreating
Uselessly in any way
That matters? Or do they
Who see her shining and pledge love
To her face or by it above
To another heart or cause
Please the orb in the world's pause?
Does much love and comfort rise
To ease the distance of the skies?
It puzzles me; I can't decide,'
Arraus mused in silence wide.
Near her, Sigan rustled, shifted
Finally, his gaze he lifted
Though it lit not on the night
But on the same internal sight
As before. 'Through sundry lands I've walked,
And in each that strange face, pocked
With age and ageless celestial cant
Mid the changeful stars hangs pendant...
The things I've seen beneath its rim
When its light is bright but the world is dim
Aren't nice. And in the dark
There is no mitigating spark
Of cheerful life. The good all sleep
While fear and blood and shadows creep
Leaving a trail of bloody slime."
His voice was from a distant clime.
Arraus could hear the desert, steel
And sand, and something to congeal
The rashest blood. It made her wonder
That Vortigern called him younger.
Outside his warren now, his word
Lost its portent and his slurred,
Knowing accents faded just
As Vortigern said they must.
After she left, Arraus could still
Hear Sigan's words upon the hill,
Foreign and bleak. 'Though sweet words ring,
The moon's a lone and ghastly thing.
She smiles not on the here-below
But grimaces with her pasty glow.'
When you see this, post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y. (And it did! There is one less WiP here than was mouldering on my hard drive yesterday. Hooray!)
"You look like you're thirteen!"
"And you look like you're eleven," Nagi retorted.
"..." But Omi couldn't argue.
"Do you even have a driver's license?" Apparently, he could.
A permit. Nagi really should have attacked Crawford's 'I-don't-want-to-pull-too-many-strings-because-I-want-to-keep-a-low-profile' excuse, but he had been too tired at the time and it was too late now.
"..."
"HAH!" Omi exclaimed gleefully.
"If you start dancing, you leave me no choice but to resort to violence," Nagi warned.
Obi-wan threw Qui-gon up against the wall and kissed him. Lips and teeth and tongue. It felt wonderful. It felt like flying. Or not, since Obi-wan hated flying. It felt like warm water and bright sun, and it was over far too soon.
"Well," said Obi-wan. He thought he managed it in a remarkably level voice. His master was still catching his breath. "That's all I have to say about that, then."
One of the twins pulled Yusuke into the room while the other seated himself and brought up a colourful display. He tapped something. Then he tapped something else.
"Out of range. Mark!" He slapped McHenry's foot as it jiggled nearby on the dash.
McHenry cracked an eye. "Ten minutes, give or take," he said cryptically, then appeared to go back to sleep.
"Bilgewater," the twin muttered darkly.
"Does this mean I can have some trousers now, or do I have to get nasty?" Gorrammit, it was cold up here.
"If it'd make you more comfortable, we could all take ours off," the unoccupied twin volunteered.
"Captain said no more orgies in the cockpit," McHenry reminded them.
"Who the hell are you anyway?" Ran interrupted a spewing soliloquy on dinner or architecture or something.
"Botan," replied the Leaf Man.
"What kind of a name is Botan?"
"A fake one. What kind of a name do you have?"
"..." Ran cocked an eyebrow. "A real one."
"What is it?"
"Why do you care?"
Botan raised his hands. "Fair's fair."
"You didn't actually tell me your name," Ran felt compelled to point out.
"Piffle."
"I'll call you that, you know," Ran threatened.
"I don't have it in for Kavanaugh!" Rodney protests when Elizabeth asks him outright in a confidential tone behind the closed door of her office, in a voice which is undoubtedly heard by the Marine on guard on the other side of the door. "The man is an idiot, that's all. When he stops being an idiot, I'll stop yelling at him. What, would you rather I let him blow us all up the next time we try and power the shield by positing that the wave property of energy is roughly equivalent to the consistency of bread pudding?"
And there the discussion ends, much as the discussion about the Onegrans ends when Teyla pulls them all over the edge of the cliff and almost drops them the three hundred feet to the pebble-speckled, bush-dotted ground. Instead, she only drops Rodney; but that's later, after Oz's yell of pain makes his feet slip and it's all John can do to hang onto the back of Teyla's vest in a decoupling human chain.
Porfiry: Rodion Romanovitch, I require your assistance.
Rodya: What with? I have already given my confession. Why do you not leave me in peace?
Porfiry: Help with the zombies.
Lupis blinked, staring at what appeared to be a poorly constructed sock puppet. No, that was actual purple fur on that thing, good gods, and no sock ever smelled like that. It blinked its uneven googlie eyes-one small and black, the other large and orange-at him. Upon closer inspection, as the thing turned its head upside-down to look at him, Lupis perceived that it looked more like a cross between Curious George and a camel than anything else. He found himself going cross-eyed trying to imagine what the rest of it looked like. It sounded like Howard Keel, when it had done with examining him and deigned to speak, albeit not to him.
"This? Are you sure, Taffy?"
"Of course I'm sure. You think I'm stupid? This is the one," insisted a stringy arvoidiac, his nasal voice defensive.
"Oh, calm down already. It's just...well...isn't he a little short?"
"Hey, you say find it, I found it. I bring it. See? I make good on my promises. Now make good on yours, eh?"
"Fine," the unidentifiable thing said. Another head appeared with a bag in its mouth and tossed the betasseled thing to Taffy. "Now get out of my sight, you worthless piece of garlic."
"Um, excuse me." It was rather difficult to speak with a counter of some kind under his jaw. Lupis sent silent prayers heavenwards that there wasn't a blade inset, or hanging over his head, out of range of his limited vision. "Might I impose upon you to please tell me what the hell is going on, because if you have a really good reason, there's a chance I won't rip you heads off and use them as umbrella handles."
The thing's two heads blinked at each other. A third head appeared, and the entire tableau exchanged glances before all three heads vanished once more below the counter.
After a few minutes, one head popped warily back into Lupis' field of vision. Its pupils were lost in mottled taupe irises, but it was otherwise identical to the other head.
"Well?" Lupis demanded impatiently.
"Your request is being considered. You will receive a decision upon delivery."
It was dark, dark and damp. Water dripped somewhere, a slow, regular sound that seemed capable of measuring out eternity. Vilin sensed more than saw that she was in a cave, by the unnatural stillness of the musty, cool air. Gradually, her eyes adjusted to a dim light that made no sense-where did it come from?-and she saw that she was in a world of dark, inky purple bubbles pierced by spikes, like some giant carnivore's teeth. A snatch of a song fluttered through the air, wafting through the chain of caverns, an echo uttered in ages past. She shivered.
A burst of lightning flared, followed immediately by a great boom of thunder, dissipating the familiar images. As if the crack had been a knife severing the last of a cord her dreams had been whittling away, something within Vilin snapped. In that moment, she made a decision, though she hadn't known there was a choice. The lock seemed once more to click, this time surely opening.
Vilin down from her dry bed of hay and into the pouring rain, pausing only for her meagre kitbag of possessions. Large, wet drops splattered on her face. She laughed in pure exhilaration. It was amazing, how quickly a day could change.
Zant sighed. He ought to be freed once the barrier dissipated. Not too much longer now. Really. It was almost gone. Maybe Greyal hadn't even noticed.
Suddenly, Zant felt a pressure, like a band over his ears and under his jaw was being pushed forward. There was the sensation of something pressing at his shoulders and the small of his back. Zant didn't have a chance to wonder what it was or remark that it was not, in fact, a recorded method of resurfacing. He definitely wasn't in Mareas' sub-illiephic matrix anymore.
Zant didn't know where he was. It was swimming with energy, he thought, but it was horribly sticky energy. That was all he could think of when he finally got out of it.
"I need a shower," Zant finally said to his brother's anxious questioning. He never knew how he managed the way back to his quarters. His first clear memory was being in the shower with cold water barraging his confused countenance. The merciful blank which had been the past was filling in. Zant moaned and groped for the temperature controls. They were already as low as they got.
"Zant?"
Zant ignored the caller.
"Zant."
This time, Greyal's voice was in the room with him. The water stopped. Zant finall shivered, gasping what sounded like his first breath in ages, when the influx of warm air hit him.
There was Greyal with Mareas peering curiously over his shoulder. Zant fought a brief surge of embarrassment until he realised he was still wearing his uniform.
"Never," Zant said firmly. "Never, never, never."
Greyal glanced at Mareas in hopes of elucidation. Come to think of it, she looked somewhat blitzed herself.
"What happened, Zant?" Greyal pressed.
"Never, dammit. I don't work for you!"
Greyal still wasn't sure his brother was talking to him. The way the drawtou gazed fixedly at a point in midair suggested not. Greyal decided to treat it like he was anyway.
"Of course you don't. Furry great lump that you are, you'd be shedding all over the place."
'Is the moon lonely?' she asked.
'Beneath it, lovers must blur past
To tragedy, with sigh and moan,
Or else days not nights for to own:
Buggered either way, and fleeting-
Is that the moon's message? Entreating
Uselessly in any way
That matters? Or do they
Who see her shining and pledge love
To her face or by it above
To another heart or cause
Please the orb in the world's pause?
Does much love and comfort rise
To ease the distance of the skies?
It puzzles me; I can't decide,'
Arraus mused in silence wide.
Near her, Sigan rustled, shifted
Finally, his gaze he lifted
Though it lit not on the night
But on the same internal sight
As before. 'Through sundry lands I've walked,
And in each that strange face, pocked
With age and ageless celestial cant
Mid the changeful stars hangs pendant...
The things I've seen beneath its rim
When its light is bright but the world is dim
Aren't nice. And in the dark
There is no mitigating spark
Of cheerful life. The good all sleep
While fear and blood and shadows creep
Leaving a trail of bloody slime."
His voice was from a distant clime.
Arraus could hear the desert, steel
And sand, and something to congeal
The rashest blood. It made her wonder
That Vortigern called him younger.
Outside his warren now, his word
Lost its portent and his slurred,
Knowing accents faded just
As Vortigern said they must.
After she left, Arraus could still
Hear Sigan's words upon the hill,
Foreign and bleak. 'Though sweet words ring,
The moon's a lone and ghastly thing.
She smiles not on the here-below
But grimaces with her pasty glow.'