(no subject)

[skygiants]

So.

I seem to have acquired a diploma-shaped thing.

O.O!!!!!!!!





Guys, if you want to give me a graduation present, leave me drabble prompts please! It's a long flight home tomorrow, and a longer few weeks after that as that whole Real World Terror thing starts to hit, and so write-y distractions would be useful for both.

Comments

[buongiornodaisy.livejournal.com]

I cannot think of a drabble prompt. However: CONGRATS! :D

[skygiants]

Thank you! :D :D

[agonistes]

HURRAH! Go you. :D :D :D :D :D

Prompt: Jayne and Kaylee in matching costumes on Halloween.

[skygiants]

Thank you! :D :D

Um, so initially I was just going to stick with the basic prompt, and then it expanded a little. :D?






Their contact swears that the party’s the best place for the exchange to happen without the Feds overseeing, and though, as Mal says, he doesn’t trust the slimy weasels more than half an inch, there doesn’t seem to be much choice but to go.

“What we got on our side,” Mal goes on, as the crew listens, “is that it’s a Halloween party – that’s a sort of custom they got round these parts, means everyone’s got to come dressed all wacky-like. Long as we’re smart about what we decide to wear, we should be able to bring enough security to make us all less jittery.”

“A real costume party!” says Kaylee, enchanted.

“Yeah, and if I had things my way you wouldn’t be coming,” Mal says, “seeing as there’s a good chance things’ll get ugly. But Wash has to stay behind in case we got to leave in a hurry, and I’m gonna need all the rest of you to help me smuggle in the stock. Now here’s the plan –”




People have been stopping to congratulate the party in the corner on their costumes all night. The little cluster of folk look a little uncomfortable with all the attention, and to be honest, the first two aren’t anything too out of the ordinary. Cross-dressing’s fairly standard for this kind of party, and though the tall black woman does make a rather dashing husband, the bonnet and wide skirts don’t do much to prettify the man.

(“You sure you don’t get us into these kinda situations on purpose?” Zoe had demanded, when this part of the plan was explained. “That makes the second time this month.”

Mal just grinned and said, “Laugh all you like, but you can’t deny these skirts have room for half the cargo under ‘em.)

The fake baby in the “wife’s” arms everyone mentions as a nice touch – though she is a little long and angular, and her elegant swaddling clothes contrast rather oddly with her “mother’s” worn old outfit.

(“Vera’s got her dignity,” Jayne had said sternly as he relinquished her to Mal, “and you ain’t to make her a laughingstock, you hear? I see you getting up to any funny business with her –”

Mal looked at him. “You want to be the one in the skirt?”)

But it’s the “family pet” that earns the real praise from the gathered pixies, ghosts, and G.I. Feds. The big spotted cow costume hangs to the ground, and it’s clearly got at least two people inside. Every so often, the man in the dress pats the “cow’s” side and says, “Milking time, Bessie!” At this a sullen hand emerges through a pink patch on the side of the costume holding a bottle of white liquid. This always gets uproarious laughter from the observers, none of whom imagine that it could possibly be actual milk. Cows don’t exactly thrive on St. Albans. They don’t notice, either, the man who carefully takes the bottles away to load them in the bottom, hidden compartment of a truck out back.

(“This ain’t exactly what I had in mind,” mutters Kaylee, glaring at Jayne’s rear end.

Jayne glares too, although it’s a little wasted on Kaylee. “It ain’t so much my idea of a good time, neither.” In fact, the only thing that is keeping Jayne from committing outright mutiny is the fact that he’s got at least six guns strapped around him at various strategic points, which does not bode well for his popularity outside the costume.

“At least you got a view,” Kaylee points out.

“You sayin’ you don’t?” The leer in his voice is audible.

Kaylee rolls her eyes. “Now you come to mention it, it ain’t all that different from looking at your face.”

Jayne just sniggers.)





The cow’s been pretty funny all night, but everyone at the party agrees that the best part is when the pretty girl shoves her way out the back, pats the sputtering head, says sweetly, “Have fun, Bessie,” and takes off for the drinks counter at speed.

[bcgphoenix]

YEEE CONGRATULATIONS! :D :D :D :D

My prompt for you: Iroh and Bill Adama.

[skygiants]

Cheating a little, because I can't do Iroh's voice AT ALL.



“Old man’s getting soft,” Seelix says to Racetrack.

“Yeah?” Racetrack says. She pulls her chin up to the top of the bar and adds, “What makes you say that?”

“You seen his new sparring partner?” Seelix says. “Fat as a frakkin’ Raider.” She sniggers. “Heard they go for tea parties after, too.”

“I like tea,” Racetrack remarks.

Seelix snorts. “That’s not the point. You never get it, do you?”

“All right, I’m done,” Racetrack says, and drops down to the floor. “You’re up. You hear there’s a new record to beat?”

“Yeah?” says Seelix. “What, Starbuck bodybuilding again? You know she loves making the rest of us look bad.”

“No,” said Racetrack.

“Then who set it?”

Racetrack grins, and points to the scrawled sheet tacked up to the side of the gym. Top ranking on every list is a neat set of calligraphic figures.

“I can’t read that,” says Seelix, and Racetrack says, “It says 'Western Dragon'.” When Seelix still looks blank, she adds - patiently, but clearly savoring every word - "It's the old man's sparring partner."

[varadia]

CONGRATULATIONS!!!

Also, I think you should write a drabble about Cernan/Noony bodyswap.

Or them meeting each other.

Or Paul meeting Noony while he and Cernan are bodyswapped.

There should be poodles.

[genarti]

*chokes*

You are a terrible, terrible person. In case you were wondering.

[in-the-blue.livejournal.com]

CONGRATULATIONS YOU!

And I think you should definitely drabble me the first conversation Sophie and Howl have post-House of Many Ways... if you're done reading it.

[skygiants]

Thank you! :D

(And I have!)

[areyoumymemmy.livejournal.com]

CONGRATULATIONS! :D!!


uh.... five times Jayne and Lilly accidentally got married (and one time they did it on purpose!)

[skygiants]

Six is a lot! *giggling* So since this first one turned out longish, I shall post it by itself, and see how fast the others come.

1. Jayne and Lilly were neither of them terribly surprised when River drifted across the room, announced, “I pronounce you man and wife,” and floated off into the corridor. Part of this, admittedly, was because they had both drunk quite a lot by this point, but mostly it was just because they were both used to River.

They were slightly more surprised the next day when they stumbled into the kitchen the next morning, bleary-eyed, and saw an extremely confused Simon eyeing a package that Mal had just given him. “But I don’t understand,” he was saying. “Why would River be receiving mail from the –” He squinted. “Electronic Correspondence College for Shepherds?”

“Open it and see,” suggested Mal, busy with his breakfast of scrambled protein and ketchup.

“I suppose they want money,” muttered Simon, sliding the sheet out of its wrapper, “but I can’t see –”

He broke off, staring down at the paper with its glowing letters.

“What?” said Mal, coming to squint over his shoulder.

“But River’s not even religious!” said Simon, as Mal’s eyes bugged out of his head.

“Tell me I’m dreamin’,” said Mal. “Tell me it don’t say right there that your crazy sister can perform weddings.”

“It can’t be legal,” said Simon.

“I ain’t havin’ any more surprise weddings on my ship,” said Mal.

River chose this moment to stick her head around the lintel of the door. “Forming ka-tet,” she informed them all, with a seraphic smile. “Part of the job.”

“She thinks ‘cause she’s part of a secret gun club, she got to make herself a priest?” demanded Mal, after a moment to translate this.

“I suppose Roland did marry Eddie and Susannah, in a way,” said Simon, “but that doesn’t mean –”

River’s smile faltered a little. “I serve the Light,” she said, rather severely.

Jayne and Lilly looked at each other in dawning horror. As the conversation started to grow more heated, each made a silent resolution to say absolutely nothing.

[gramarye1971]

Congratulations!

Also, for a prompt: Mary Lennox attempts to ride a penny-farthing. Preferably with friends around to help/hinder the process.

[skygiants]

As requested! :D


“I could lift you up,” Duo suggests, all innocence.

“You could not,” Mary says. “I am as tall as you now, you could hardly lift me.” She does not add her real objection, which is that she is far too dignified to be lifted onto things these days. Instead, scowls at the high wheel, and adds, “If I can mount a horse – and I can – it is not as if this should cause a difficulty. It is not nearly so high as a horse.”

“Those skirts aren’t doing you any favors, kid,” Logan says, but Ingress gives her an encouraging smile. “I think you can do it, Mary!”

Mary favors the (constantly increasing) half-circle of bystanders with a haughty look. “I shall never manage it if I cannot concentrate,” she tells them, and, when this seems to quell the helpful comments, focuses her attention back on the penny-farthing. After a few seconds of tight focus, she hikes up her long skirt and petticoats with one hand, lunges towards the penny-farthing, grabs for the handle and vaults herself up. For a second she’s perched on the high seat, and Ingress starts to clap –

- and then down comes Mary, cycle and all, as she overbalances and falls in the other direction to come sprawling on the grass, the wire frame toppling over her.

“Mary!” says Ingress anxiously, and several other watchers bite their lips – some in worry, most trying not to laugh.

Mary sits herself up, pushing the penny-farthing away from her, and then climbs slowly back to her feet with as much dignity as she can muster. Her sleeve is ripped where she has scraped her elbow, and her face is bright red.

“Well!” she snaps. “I should like to see any of you try it! It must be a prank of some sort – I don’t think it can be done!”

“Miss Lennox.” This voice comes from the back. A few heads turn to see a man in the robes of an Oxford scholar, surveying the scene through his glasses in his most intimidating manner. “I believe that is my bicycle you have appropriated.”

Several jaws drop; if Mary’s doesn’t, it is only by dint of greatest effort. “But it was here!” she protests. “Edward showed it to me!”

Unnoticed by anyone, a small, curly-headed boy known by Mary as Edward turns himself into a bee and flees the scene of the crime.

“Nevertheless,” says Merriman Lyon, “it is mine. If you will allow me?”

Mary, at a loss, steps aside. With great composure, Merriman steps forward, hops up onto the small step in between the back wheel and the front, leans forward into the pedals, and rides his penny-farthing off into the woods.

It is the most dignified bicycle ride that any members of his audience have ever seen.

[dramaturgca.livejournal.com]

Congratulations!

Write me...

Meg and Tere and accordians and pool noodles.
AND/OR
Kara and Lee and late night Triad.
AND/OR
Meg, Tere, and Mike, the woods, camping.

[skygiants]

At long last! Sorry, this probably isn't exactly what you wanted, but it's what came into my head. :D



Lee Adama and his father don’t watch sports together.

It’s a little thing. It’s not even really a thing at all. Lee’s just never been all that interested in watching a bunch of people run around throwing balls into holes and shouting about it so they can end up with some kind of a shiny cup. He’s got better things to do with his time – reading, training, things that have a point, that are productive. And in theory his father approves of all this productivity. In theory his father is proud of him.

Lee’s always been great with theory.

And when his father and Zak sit around shouting at the octagonal screen, that’s their thing, that’s their father-son bonding, and Lee doesn’t begrudge them that.

He doesn’t begrudge it either when Zak and Kara take off after lessons for a quick pick-up game at the Pyramid court, working off steam – or maybe working it up, it’s not hard to guess what they’re going to do afterwards. Theirs are the only games Lee ever really watches. Even if he’d been a fan as a kid, he’s got no time to sit in front of the vidscreen now that he’s in flight school, on officer track.

But those late nights, it’s a good way to unwind, sometimes. They all go to watch them play, the whole gang of grinning viper jocks who haven’t ever shot anything yet except holographic targets. They bring beer and place bets; the safe money’s always on Kara. Lee goes because they all go, and he looks at Kara because she’s a good player, and because she loves to move, and that makes her movements beautiful. That’s all. And you can look at the way she moves and see what’s going to come afterwards, or maybe that’s just Lee’s imagination – but either way it doesn’t really matter, because it’s all part of the same thing for her anyways, flying and the game and all the rest of it.

Anyways, of course Lee doesn’t begrudge Zak that, and he never asks for a game himself. He’s never been much interested in sports.

Not at all.

[rymenhild.livejournal.com]

CONGRATULATIONS!!

Mary Lennox, having succeeded in her quest to Research Sex, shares her newfound knowledge with Ingress.

[skygiants]

“Well?”

Mary took a hasty step backwards as Ingress popped out at her from behind the greenhouse door, her hand already going to the knife on her hip. “Ingress! Don’t startle one like that!”

“Sorry,” said Ingress, not looking very contrite, and dragged Mary inside. “But I’ve been waiting for you all day. I knew you’d come here, and I couldn’t wait for you to tell me all about it!”

Mary contrived to look prim. “All about it?”

“You know!” Ingress gestured in a way that would probably not have been expressive to anyone except Mary; when you have known each other as long as Ingress and Mary had, certain private language symbols become easily understood.

“Oh,” said Mary, with studied casualness. “I suppose you mean, when I went to the brothel yesterday.”

“Yes.” Ingress didn’t bother to conceal her impatience. “What was it like?”

Mary thought about this for an infuriatingly long time, and then finally announced, “It was not dull.”

“Who thought it would be?” demanded Ingress.

“I did,” said Mary, “when I was little. And it was awfully dull that one time that I nearly did with Zachary – and I should have done it anyways, for purposes of Research, no matter how dull it was,” she added, rather injured, “so I do not see why he became so cross when I told him that it was so. I cannot imagine that he was finding it very interesting either.”

“I’m glad you didn’t with him,” said Ingress. “I don’t like him.”

“Well, I don’t either. He thinks he’s very grand and then he runs away from things.” Mary’s voice took on a lecturing tone. “But that would have been part of the benefits, you see, is that if it had been terrible I shouldn’t have minded not talking to him ever after – as I haven’t done, and you see I haven’t minded in the least. If I had liked him very much it might have made things difficult for my Research to judge objectively anyways. And he did make it sound as if he were very experienced.”

“I know, I’ve heard,” Ingress said, a little ruefully. “Never mind about Zachary Grey. Go back to telling about what happened last night! Did it hurt?”

“Yes,” Mary admitted. “But not all the time, only for a very little, and not as much as I had thought it should – for I knew it would, it always said in the book. And for the most part –” She stopped again, with a look Ingress knew well – one of considering the statement about to emerge from all angles to assure herself of its veracity before committing herself to it – and then announced, “For the most part I enjoyed it a surprising amount. I should recommend the experience overall.” She said it the same way she might put it in a guidebook, but there was something maddening in her tone that made Ingress suspect that there might be something more to it than that.

She said, looking at Mary closely, “I still think you might have wanted to try it with someone who mattered at least a little first – instead of a stranger, I mean.”

“I told you, that would hardly make for good Research,” Mary said, with great dignity; then, in a sudden spurt of irritation, “besides, everyone who matters has these stupid ideas about waiting and making sure I’m absolutely ready and loads and loads of rot. If I hadn’t done it this way, I don’t think it should have happened until I was an aged crone. Now it’s already been done and no one can say anything about it any more. Besides –” Mary’s smiles were always blink-and-you-missed-it affairs, and one of these flashed onto her face now. “This way I know I can get reasonably accomplished at it before trying it with anybody else.”

[aberration]

Congratulations.


And prompt.


Um.




... somehow Jamie/Elle?

See, you already have a diploma, so it's ok if I break your brain!

[skygiants]

You're kind of evil, you do know this. *dying* Also I can't write Elle. At all.

“You got taller.” Elle’s tone is blank. It’s impossible to tell what she thinks about this development just yet.

“It does happen,” Jamie says, swinging around to face her. “Hullo to you too, nice to see you, and yes, I’ve been well, thanks for asking –” but Elle has already started snickering.

Some of the hair feathering over Jamie’s chin and cheeks disappears into creases around the corners of his mouth as he grins. “Ah, you noticed the beard.” He is terribly proud of it. It adds three years to his apparent age at least, he’s positive – or it will when it’s done. He has to admit that it’s not quite finished yet.

“That’s not a beard,” Elle says, and extends three fingers to investigate. She runs them lightly over the brown fuzz on his lower lip. Jamie shifts in his seat, and decides to hold back on responding until she’s done. It’s been decades since he saw Elle, for him, and he’d forgotten quite how touchy-feely she can –

“Hey!” he says, breaking his resolve, as a spark flies from Elle’s finger through his embryonic beard. Elle pulls back her hand and laughs, and without thinking Jamie reaches out his own hand to grab hers.

“I’m not letting you singe off this beard. You don’t know how long it took me to get this far on it.” He shakes her hand lightly to drive this point home.

Elle’s voice holds the usual light scorn. “I’m not going to set you on fire.” She gives him another shock, this time through his hand, and Jamie jumps.

“I wish you’d stop that.”

“So let go.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Jamie says this with a grin, without thinking, and then reconsiders it in sudden horror. He’s been somewhere around sixteen years old for the past hundred years and he knows exactly what he’s just done. He’s moved this to the realm of flirting.

[wanderlustlover]

Eeeeeee!!!! Congrats! *twirls you*


Marian and Mary, set some five or six years later. Bonus points for sex, babies, or multiverse will always win.

Oh! Or!

Haruhi and Tamaki. Angst. Brilliance. What it means to care or have friendship or have ninja character depth. I believes in you!

[skygiants]

I will have you know that it is very hard to write angst Ouranfic! :O




“Where’s Tamaki-senpai?” Haruhi asks, and then checks behind herself, quickly, in case he’s lurking in the corner with a bunny rabbit outfit at the ready.

(It’s a holiday, and Tamaki always has special outfits for the Host Club on holidays – and though Haruhi’s at something of a loss to figure out how today’s theme could be made appealing. Still, it’s always a mistake to underestimate Tamaki’s capacity for enthusiasm and ability to make them all look ridiculous.)

Kyouya looks up from the omnipresent clipboard. “He isn’t in today,” he says. The light glints off his glasses in a particularly unapproachable fashion. Haruhi wonders if it’s worthwhile to try to get him to volunteer more information, and decides that it probably isn’t. Besides, it’s something of a relief, to be honest. She has a visit to pay after school and she doesn’t trust Tamaki not to try and tag along. Even though she’s expressly told him not to. Especially though she’s expressly told him not to.

“I hope Keiko-chan isn’t too disappointed,” she says, instead.

“She isn’t here today either,” says Kyouya, not bothering to check his list. “A significant proportion of the class is absent for Respect for the Aged Day. I’m surprised you didn’t notice already.”

Of course, thinks Haruhi, rich students like these don’t need to worry about missing a little homework. All the same, it seems strange to her that so many would have chosen to make this a student skip day. “Why?”

If you know Kyouya well, it’s not hard to pick up on the slight shift in expression that implies that you’re being particularly stupid, or willfully innocent. His tone, of course, remains perfectly bland. “Considering their elite backgrounds, it’s not surprising that students here feel that on a day like today responsibility to their families is more important than their studies.”

“Oh,” says Haruhi, and a slight frown crosses her face as she starts putting things together. But then it’s time to go out and start serving the tea, so she sets it all aside for the moment to concentrate on the daily difficulty of reaching the table before Honey pounces and causes her to spill hot liquid all over her uniform.

They’re halfway through the Host Club activities period when Tamaki sweeps in through the door, sparkling with a brightness that seems to Haruhi above and beyond the call of duty. “Hello, my adored subjects!” he cries, roses twirling in the background behind him, and then lowers his voice to say seductively, “Did you miss me?”

The two closest girls faint into his arms, Hikaru and Kaoru straighten from their tenderly entwined posture and salute, Honey cries “Tama-chan!” and dives for his legs, and Mori gives a solemn nod. Haruhi is about to roll her eyes when Kyouya says, watching Tamaki with his unreadable eyes, “Back so soon?”

Tamaki meets Kyouya’s gaze for a very brief moment, and then tilts his head back, somehow managing to strike a noble pose while still supporting a girl with each arm. “I couldn’t be so selfish as to deprive you all of my company for too long,” he declaims, with the unbelievable and unfakeable sincerity with which Tamaki always declaims this sort of thing. “How could I allow my beloved princesses to suffer such a cruel fate?”

“Of course,” Kyouya says, and then he looks at Haruhi. “You have a lot of clients today, Haruhi, and some of them are Tamaki’s regulars.”

“Oh - yes,” Haruhi says, and turns to give her customers her best Natural Rookie smile. (It’s not patented yet, but Kyouya is working on this.) “Of course I don’t mind if you want to go spend time with Tamaki before the period is over! I know you would have usually designated him.”

“It’s all right,” says the first girl shyly, but the second, quicker on the uptake, glances between Kyouya and Haruhi and says “It’s unfair to make you entertain all of us when there’s a host free, isn’t it? Come on, Akane.”

Soon Tamaki is surrounded, as usual, by a circle of adoring girls. It all looks just as it always does – if anything, Tamaki seems to have managed to turn the charm up an extra few watts – but Haruhi still finds herself glancing over every few minutes. Just to see.

[cupenny.livejournal.com]

Hurrah and Congrats!

Hm.

Mary on board the Black Pearl.

[skygiants]

Much delayed, I know . . . but since you had a not-a-great day today, consider it a timely present? :D



“Well,” Mary says, ignoring the frantic signals Wellard is sending her behind Jack’s back, “I don’t see anything so special about it. It is only a ship.”

Jack throws up his hands and stalks – or, rather, sways and sashays in an offended manner – over to the steering wheel. “I’m not speaking to you,” he informs Wellard, over his shoulder. “You’re the one as stuck us with this shrew-sized harpy!”

“He did not either!” Mary shouts after him. “I came myself! I did it properly!” This is very true, as far as it goes; when Wellard discovered Mary among the barrels of gunpowder, he had also found her sheafs of notes about the most effective and appropriate way to stow away on a ship.

“Jack,” Wellard says, taking off in pursuit of his current ships’ captain, “why can’t we just turn around and drop her off –”

“In the ocean? Wonderful plan. I’ll order it immediately.”

“Back at Milliways,” concludes Wellard, trying very hard not to allow himself undue exasperation. “It would only take us a day or two out of our way.”

But Jack is now ignoring him, or possibly has simply forgotten his existence, so Wellard sighs and goes back to Mary to try out Plan B.

“I know you are going to be cross with me,” Mary says, before he can say anything. “But if you are going to go off on secret missions without telling me the least thing about it, I cannot help but conclude it is dangerous and you do not want to frighten me. It is logical. And if it is dangerous, you must have someone with sense. Captain Sparrow hardly counts. And my uncle is in France and won’t return for a month, so he will not even miss me – and I brought my own compass for in case you set me off in a boat and I had to row my way back.” She dangles the small wooden compass in the air, looking terribly pleased with herself in general.

Wellard looks down at her. “That’s very clever, Mary, but you’ve forgotten one thing.”

Mary clearly does not like to think she can have forgotten anything. “I have not,” she says, rather indignantly.

“Yes, you have,” Wellard says. “I’m sorry, of course, to bring it up, and you may of course have outgrown it, but haven’t you always told me how very seasick you got on your first trip to India?”

From Mary’s expression, she has indeed forgotten this little fact.

And from the greenish tinge that starts to creep over her features shortly thereafter, it has not been in the least helpful for her to be reminded.

The mulish look on her face as she dives back into the cabin for the privy pot informs him that she’s not giving in without a fight. Still, Wellard thinks, seasickness is probably the only force that has a chance of wearing Mary down and helping her to see sense and go home. At the very least, it’s got a much better shot at it than he or Jack.

[batyatoon]

YAY YAY YAY GO YOU.

Drabble prompt: Um ... Jamie landing in the Buffyverse.

:D?

[skygiants]

For YOU! *heliumvoice*



At first it seemed like it was going to be one of those strict sort of worlds where all the children go to school and have proper families and loads of ID, but very shortly Jamie realized something wonderful: it seemed that nobody in at Sunnyvale High really cared if you had any documentation, or, in fact, if your parents existed at all. Jamie couldn’t believe his luck.

And after some careful observation of the town, he realized that there was probably even a way of getting out of going to school altogether. There were all these people in Sunnyvale – teenaged people, school-aged people, for the most part – that everyone seemed absolutely determined to ignore. They lived like hobos in local caves and cemeteries, loitered about suspiciously at night, and occasionally ran about in broad daylight holding raincoats over their heads, and all the policemen and teachers and other responsible types looked the other way and pretended intently that they didn’t exist. It was a golden opportunity, the perfect scam, and Jamie intended to take advantage of it.

The process was easy as anything. Step one: he had to establish his cover. Jamie informed all his school acquaintances, loudly, that he was going to spend all night in the cemetery on a dare, and if anyone wanted to join him they’d be more than welcome. Predictably, no one did. One older boy whom Jamie quite liked came up and warned him to stay home. Jamie said, in his best scornful picking-fights-with-the-boys-at-Queen-Elizabeth’s tone, that he could be frightened of the dark all he liked, but Jamie wasn’t going to be. He felt a little bad about that afterwards, but at least Harris would think Jamie was getting what was coming to him.

Next he had to create his disguise. It didn’t have to be anything fancy, he’d worked out. Real vamps might have the bumpy faces and so on, but people were so used to not looking at them it was doubtful whether anyone would notice, and besides, there were all kinds of other varieties of terribly fake-looking green people and red people and so on wandering around as well, and it’s not like anyone accused that lot of not being properly supernatural. So after school Jamie went to the local party store to shoplift a set of decent-quality fake fangs, popped into the bathroom for the judicious application of interesting pallor, and decided that would probably be enough for his purposes.

The scam had the benefit of not being complicated. The only step left was ‘profit’. No one at school would ever expect to see him again; he could wander into supermarkets and steal everything without anyone lifting a finger; even the real vampires might leave him alone, although there was a strong possibility that they weren’t that stupid. And even then, so what? Good old Rule One would keep him all right, and blood loss would work even better than the makeup for giving him pale skin. Sunnyvale was a good place for a boy who couldn’t die.

Having judiciously waited out the sun, Jamie wriggled out the small window of the bathroom to the outside and prepared to spend the next few months in ease and luxury. He was wandering down an alley near the cemetary and contemplating making a raid on the pizza store when he was tackled to the ground by a blonde girl with a sharp stick.

“Hey!” said Jamie.

The blonde girl squinted down at him, and prodded him cautiously with the stick. “You,” she said, “are a weird-looking vampire.”

Jamie said something unprintable and thudded his head back against the pavement.

Apparently he hadn’t factored in quite everything, after all.

[vivien]

EEEEEEEEEE! Fabulous, my dear. I'm so proud of you!

Um, drabble - anything Mary-Ingress would delight me. This age, teen-aged, adult, whatever. Something involving Puck would be amusing, too, no?

[skygiants]

I couldn't get Puck in the actual story himself, but much discussion counts, yes?

Mary stared, stalked across the room, turned around, demanded, “Why would you agree to do that?” and then stalked back for good measure.

“I spent all my allowance,” Ingress said, not looking terribly embarrassed about it. “Shopping with Lilly. And I got wonderful shoes, you should see –” One look at Mary’s face convinced her that Mary did not, in fact, have any interest in seeing, to say the least, and she sighed and went on. “But then I remembered that I didn’t have the money I needed to get my dress whites laundered, and we have a Herald function the day after tomorrow. And Lilly said she and Puck had a party tomorrow, so she could pay me to babysit. So you see, it’s simple. And anyways, Mary, I’ve never understood your whole vendetta against Puck. He’s always been really nice to me.”

Mary glared. “He turned me into a rock!” (Mary had herself grown quite tired of repeating this, which made the fact that nobody ever seemed to get the point all the more frustrating.)

“He’s not really going to turn his babysitter into a rock,” Ingress pointed out. “What would be the point?”

“I don’t trust him,” Mary said darkly. “I told you about the time I found a man tied up in there. And about the time that he cast a love spell on my guardian! You could find yourself the father of Puck’s next baby before you know it.”

Ingress had to giggle at that. “Mary, don’t be silly! Puck hasn’t had any babies in years. Anyways, if he even played a harmless prank on me, Tom would –”

“He could turn Tom into a rock.”

“He couldn’t! Tom is a wizard. And Door too –”

“Well, all he would have to do was use the love-in-idleness and Tom and Door would say nothing except ‘oh Puck, how terribly handsome you are! How your eyes sparkle! How dashing you look when you are unscrupulously pretending to be other people in order to deceive your unsuspecting victims!’”

“Mary,” said Ingress feeling that enough was enough, “you’re being ridiculous, you know you are. I’m just babysitting! Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“No,” Mary agreed. Ingress eyed her warily – when sudden capitulation was coupled with that note of grim determination in Mary’s voice, it never boded anyone any good. (Unless of course it was directed towards a bad guy, in which case it often boded Mary or Ingress some good.) “Nothing shall. Because I am going to go with you.”

Ingress stared at her. “But Mary – you don't, um, get along with small children.”

“Yes,” said Mary, coolly.

“And you really don't get along with these children. Remember that time with the fishing worms and –”

“Yes,” said Mary, “but that is besides the point. You are there to handle the children –” Her tone of voice implies that ‘spawn of evil’ might be a better phrase – “and in the meanwhile I shall ensure your safety. I did of course have other plans for the evening,” she goes on, pointedly, “but I am so concerned that –”

“I can’t believe you’re trying to guilt me into not babysitting for Puck and Lilly,” said Ingress.

“I am not.” Mary squared her shoulders, and, with the look of one about to walk willingly through the gates of Hell, went on, “But I am going with you.”

She was clearly not to be easily talked out of it, so Ingress decided it wasn’t worth the effort.

Six hours, a flooded apartment, an angry grizzly bear, two violent and passionate squid scandals, and seven and a half operatic shouting matches later, Ingress started to wonder if maybe she should have tried a little harder, after all.

Then again, to be honest, she probably wouldn’t have wanted to miss it.

[bodldops.livejournal.com]

Prompt:

In which someone in-bar is betutued. Because I miss the betutuing.

*makes up words with abandon*

CONGRATS! :D

[skygiants]

Man, it's been so long since there's been any betutuings in bar that I've almost forgotten how it's done! *giggles*



“. . . Meg?”

“Yes?” Meg looked up, an expression of innocence plastered hastily onto her face. “Oh, salut! I didn’t see you there -”

“You’re lucky you’re still there, y’know,” said Ace, coming forward rather hastily to grab her arm. “Don’t you know what those are?”

“Oh, I heard all about it from Lilly, but these two are harmless now.” Meg gave one a fond pat on the arm, and Ace twitched. “I was just out here to practice, and I just thought they could use a little bit of jazzing up – et voila!” She gestured proudly to her handiwork with a dripping pink paintbrush.

The stone angels bared sharp teeth at each other across a grassy expanse of four or five feet. Each classically clad sculpture had a bright pink tutu tied demurely around its waist, under the wings. Ace had apparently interrupted Meg in the process of painting the sharp claws pink to match.

“You see,” Meg said happily, “now because of the tutus, people can see that this is my practice space here! See how they’re posed, with the lunge, it’s almost like I have my own backup chorus – and if anyone else decides that they want to learn, it’s also free advertising!”

[ashen_key]

Gareth and Lynette :)?

(also, congratulations!)

[skygiants]

The real difficulty was that the boy was so likeable.

She could have managed if he’d been coarse and bitter, angry about the fate that had made him a kitchen-boy and determined to better himself without knowing how. She would have understood bitterness, she felt. He would have expected her to be snobbish and cruel, and she could have gotten a perverse satisfaction out of surprising him with kindness. Then he would have been the one off-balance and she could have explained things reasonably and made him understand.

As it was she was always the one surprised, and she hated it. He should have been rude and impolite, or, failing that, he should have been arrogant and over-fond of flashing his muscles. He should have boasted about catching her when he ran away. Instead he seemed almost embarrassed about being quicker than she was. And he was always so courteous, and seemed to want very hard for her to like him, which he should have given up on from the start. What kind of person went on liking someone who spent all their time shouting at them? Only an idiot.

So he must be an idiot; that, she decided, was the fatal flaw in the polite courteous exterior, the thing that made it sensible that he was a kitchen-boy and not a knight and set the world sane again. You ought to be kind to idiots. (She hadn’t been able to escape him by outsmarting him so far.) But he was the sort of person who expected the world to be kind, you could tell, and maybe that was the real difficulty. He never would get through life, she told herself sanctimoniously, thinking that everyone would be like that. He ought to learn better. Really by being cruel she was doing him a kindness.

And if she could only see him set off balance for once, just once, surprised into unexpected rudeness or a crude phrase or anything, then she could stop needling him. She could, she knew she could. She just had to win once, prove to herself that he was not, in fact, that most frustrating of all things, a saint, and then maybe she could bring herself to be reasonable and try once again to talk him out of dying stupidly for something he didn’t even need – because polite and strong and courteous as he was, what could he possibly have to prove? He didn’t need this, or her, or Lyonesse. He was the most irritating kind of person of all, the kind that could be happy anywhere. She hated those people. But that was not the point; the point was that she should try to explain this to him before he threw his life away. She could show him how unreasonable his plan was, with gentle and dignified pity, the way a lady should. Lyonesse would be far better at that than she was, but she could manage it at least for long enough to send him on his way.

First, though, he had to slip. She had to be able to pity him, and for that she had to be better than him – the lady better than the kitchen-boy, why should that be so hard! – and for that he had to show himself low.

And so they rode along, she unbearably rude and he polite and earnest and endlessly, terrifyingly likeable, and she grew angrier and angrier, at herself and at him and, increasingly, at a world that was making less and less sense with every league they went.

[sdelmonte]

Mazel tov!!

[skygiants]

Thank you! :D

[darthrami.livejournal.com]

Congratulations!!!

[skygiants]

Thanks! :D

[rowanberries.livejournal.com]

YAY BECCA! *Twirls*

Hmmm prompt... How about Mary Lennox, Vampire Slayer?

She's got all the knowledge already! *Hides*

[skygiants]

IF ONLY I COULD MAKE THIS CANON.


When Mary Lennox grew up, she thought she should like to be a gardener as well as a scientist-researcher, and quite possibly a doctor as well, and also care for animals. She imagined she might do battle with villainous and troublesome characters in her spare time, as a sort of hobby.

Ordinarily she would have considered ‘vampire slaying’ as a mere sub-category of this last, and not a terribly important one either. There were not, after all, a great many vampires in Yorkshire. However, when Martha realized she suddenly no longer needed the help of any of the grooms to shift the heavy wardrobe in the spare room, which had hitherto been the bane of any serving maid assigned to dust in that corridor, the circumstances became substantially different. A rather irritating old man popped up and explained that Martha was going to have to relocate to the nearest Hellmouth – located somewhere in Wales – in order to do her duty for King, country and species. It would have been impossible, he added, for her to remain employed at Misselthwaite regardless, as being in service and having to be up at all hours to clean the house and so on did not allow a great deal of time for vampire slaying.

Mary, of course, was not in the least pleased about Martha’s departure. She would have been cross about Martha leaving in an case, but her departure on an exciting evil-fighting tour of Great Britain on which everyone was adamant Mary was not allowed to accompany her, not even for only a few weeks of holiday, and not even with all Mary’s extensive and useful experience with pisachas, was an especially hard blow.

However, she did not have time to feel it long. The difficulty, it seemed, was that the Sowerbys were so numerous, and moreover so very well-known about the county to be kind and simple folk all, and exceedingly attached to one another. It was hardly a week after Martha had left that the first vampire showed up in the area and snatched away little Sue Ellen as a hostage against the Slayer to be allowed to pursue some wicked scheme or other. Mary was never quite clear on the details; Dickon gathered most of them by observing the obscure and arcane reactions of various unnerved woodland creatures, and they none of them felt much need to allow the vampire to explain itself.

[genarti]

CONGRATULATIONS!!!

Drabbles: Ummmm. Galadan-Oz, in the Buffyverse?

[skygiants]

You have seen this already! But I post it for completeness' sake.


“But he’s so decorative,” said Buffy sadly.

“Um,” said Willow. “Not to imply anything . . . implication-y, but you do have kind of a, a track record when it comes to attractive older men, and it’s not the good kind.”

Buffy scowled at her. “Look who’s talking, Bride of Cybertron.”

“Mummy,” said Xander. “Definitely mummy. Or giant praying mantis. Do those come in man-flavor?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Is it that big a deal? Does anyone even take Latin?”

“You do,” said Willow apologetically.

“Only for the sake of the pretty! I don’t actually try to learn it.”

Giles frowned at her over the top of his glasses. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” he informed them all, with great dignity.

Buffy sighed. “All right, so he’s hot and speaks a dead language and isn’t eighty. Or British,” she added quickly, as Giles bristled. “And he’s a new teacher at Sunnydale. You don’t have to spell it out more than that, I know, but it’s really a shame, guys.”

“Um,” said Oz, and everyone turned to look at him.

“Oz is thinking thinky thoughts,” said Willow, looking wise.

“Well, no,” said Oz. “Well, yes, by definition. It’s more of a feeling, though.” He paused, considering, and then decided, “There’s probably not enough fact in there to call it an inkling.”

Xander crossed his arms. “Well, of what?”

Oz shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t think he’s a vampire, though.”

“Why?” said Buffy.

“Just a feeling,” said Oz.

*******

“Hey,” said Oz.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Osbourne,” said Mr. Wolfe. He put down his pen, with a careful motion – even when he moved very quickly, all of Mr. Wolfe’s movements gave the impression of carefulness – and folded his hands on his desk. “May I help you with something?”

“Mmm,” said Oz, and looked at the nameplate. “Maybe.”

Mr. Wolfe waited.

“Yeah, the thing is,” said Oz, after a few moments, “around here things tend to lean towards the literal side of the spectrum. Not that I’m judging or anything.”

“Some might label you the hypocrite were you to do so,” said Mr. Wolfe.

“That’s fair.”

Silence reigned for a while.

“Was there something else?” asked Mr. Wolfe, eventually.

Oz thought about this, and then said “No, not really,” and ambled out.

Galadan leaned back in his seat and smiled slightly. People were so useful about making assumptions. And if he ended up needing Daniel Osbourne – well, there he was. Three days out of the month, at least.

********

“So . . . werewolf,” said Buffy. “That’s not terrible. That’s not, like, undateable.”

“Absolutely not,” said Willow.

“Except for the minor detail that he is a teacher and you a student,” said Giles, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes in a pained fashion, “and as such any relationship would be prohibited by the strongest ethical codes. But never mind about that.”

Xander snorted. “Can we run through Buffy’s past relationships again and then go back and talk about strong ethical codes?”

Buffy turned to glare at Xander. “Does every day have to be Make Fun of Buffy’s Dating History day?”

“I could stand to make it only an annual thing,” said Oz.

“Anyways.” Buffy smacked her hand on the table. “Mr. Wolfe. Do we have to hunt him down and stick him in a cage every month? Because that’s gonna be awkward.”

“No one’s reported seeing – well. You know –”

“Shredded pieces of adorable baby bunny rabbit?” Xander filled in helpfully.

Oz gave another of his signature shrugs. “The guy seems to have himself pretty together.”

Buffy stretched her arms up over her head and let out a relieved sort of sigh. “Finally,” she said. “Something that isn’t our problem.”

[adiva_calandia]

WOOHOO YOU.


Mary/Eustace. See how you like it. :P

[skygiants]

:P TERRIBLE PUNISHMENT.


Mary gave Eustace’s story some thought and then said, finally, “It could have been a great deal worse.”

Eustace gaped at her a little. “Well, I know that,” he said. “That wasn’t the point – were you even listening?”

“Of course I was.” Mary lifted her chin and folded her arms in front of her, looking like nothing so much as a small blocky fortress. “You were trying to tell me that it is dangerous to be too cross and sulky and selfish. But I think there are far worse things to be than a dragon. Dragons are very brave and very fierce and they are not in the least bit stupid. I should much rather be a dragon than a – an amiable sort of mouse!”

“You never met Reepicheep,” said Eustace, torn between exasperation and amusement. “There’s nothing meek and amiable about mice, let me tell you. But look, don’t you think you’d really rather be a human being more than anything?”

“Yes, but mostly because of the fingers,” said Mary.

“What?”

“You need fingers to do anything useful,” Mary explained, and unbent enough to disentangle her elbows from each other and hold out her hand. She wiggled her fingers to demonstrate. “If you are anything other than a person you have not got fingers – except perhaps a monkey, and they lack dignity.”

Eustace shook his head. “I’ll grant you fingers have their uses, but that can’t be the only thing you like about being a human being.”

“Being able to speak is also an advantage,” said Mary thoughtfully, and Eustace grinned at this – it was extremely difficult to imagine a Mary who was at all capable of not speaking – “but on the other hand dragons can likely speak dragon, so that does not
bear on the present discussion. And being a dragon would have other advantages.”

“If you’re imagining something like you get in illustrations, you should think again,” Eustace told her, aware that he was sounding perhaps slightly patronizing. Then again, as stuffy as Mary was sounding at the moment, it was really a question of the pot and the kettle. “It wasn’t all soaring elegantly about – I mean, I wasn’t exactly a handsome beast. It was crawling and scaly and perfectly ghastly. And it hurt like anything getting out of it.”

Mary looked at him with some scorn. “As if I should mind how I looked as a dragon! I should not be missing a great deal; I am hardly handsome as a person.”

Eustace was not at all sure what to say to this, except perhaps to protest once more that she was missing the point entirely. On the other hand, although Eustace hadn’t much experience with members of the opposite sex who were not his cousins – or Jill, who nearly counted – he was at least aware that if a girl made any disparaging comments about her looks, you were meant to contradict her as soon as possible. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, “you’re far better-looking than a dragon.”

Immediately after he said it, Eustace became aware that this remark was perhaps not going to make the list of Top Ten Most Flattering Compliments ever. Now, he thought, kicking himself internally, she was going to fly into a rage – and indeed Mary was giving him a very peculiar look.

After a moment, however, her expression resolved into one of understanding. “Well, of course you would say that,” she told him kindly. “You’re prejudiced against dragons.”

Eustace sputtered. “I am not – you’re mad, you know that? I’m trying to tell you you’re pretty, and you’re trying to protect draconic reputations!”

“But,” said Mary, looking puzzled again, and then, suspiciously, “Why?”

“Because you said you weren’t!”

“Oh, well, then I hardly think you can say being a dragon cured you of being contrary!” Mary was using her triumphant ‘I told you so’ voice, but her arms were crossed in front of her again.

[dictator-duck.livejournal.com]

Finn, Jamie, World Domination. :D. Any flavor of world domination that you wish (commercial, military, otherwise).

<3 Congrats!

tl again

[(Anonymous)]

and (if you need another): Dave, Tamaki, concerning teapots. And possibly battle axes.

[tiltingheartand]

HEY CONGRATULATIONS YOU.

[skygiants]

THANK YOU! :D