fic things!
Apr. 6th, 2008 11:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonsheenSo the Once And Future Roommate ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pocky_slash has started the terribly clever Writing Chat Thingy.
The game is very simple: a group of writers from various fandom meet in an AIM chatroom on a semi-weekly basis,pocky_slash issues a prompt, and from thenceforth all writers involved have 15 minutes to come up with some sort of response to the prompt. It may be fanfic or original, the point is that in fifteen minutes it's to be posted in LJ-comment form for all to see and then, hopefully, discuss or pull hair about before you go another around. Now I happened to finally get myself involved with the latest round. (Fandoms are primarily original, Stargate Atlantis, Firefly, The West Wing, Phoenix Wright, etc, etc.) Results on my part were of varying quality, mostly due to my being super rusty at this writing thing. But there are a few pieces I am happy with, and I will repost them here in all of their poorly edited, rushed glory.
A gallery opening in the B District. It is arranged by the Bureau of Arts and Leisure. It is expected to be very popular, and Re-l is required to go. There is an hour until the reception. Re-l stands in her open wardrobe and glares into it.
“Iggy,” she says. “Is there any way that I’ll be called to do a sweep tonight?”
Iggy is waiting by the door. He replies, taking the heightened temperature and tonal fluxes to indicate anxiety and setting his vocal applications to respond cheerfully: “Oh, no. There is nothing to worry about, Re-l. Your supervisor already knows. It’s very extenuating circumstances. He wouldn’t dream of--”
“Fuck,” says Re-l, emphatically. “So what what goes with this dress?”
“Those flats would be very cute.”
“I want heel,” grits Re-l.
Iggy processed this. “The boots are in season.”
“The boots are all wrong.”
Re-l slams her closet doors shut, staring into the white surface.
Iggy’s voice is gentle. “Re-l,” he says. “Re-l. Your blood pressure is rising. You know that the Health Bureau suggests that the model citizen should maintain a healthy heartrate of approximately--”
Re-l turns. Her hands are in her hair. “We have any hour, right?”
“52 minutes,” Iggy answers dutifully.
Re-l pulls the boots on and shoves her gun into her purse. “Okay, get the car ready. We’re going to the mall.”
“There is a totally a reason that you shouldn’t kill me,” said Ike. His eyes were wide. His face was puffy and flushed. It might’ve been embarrassment over having been caught. It might’ve also been the ten blocks he’d just run in an attempt to avoid being caught. The implants in his elbow was smoking, slightly. He’d taken a nasty shot there. “Totally. I mean. What’s a little cyber terrorism between friends—ULP.”
Bell closed her hands over his neck and said nothing. A quiet Ike was a good Ike. She learned that back when they’d been in basic programming together. Back when he was the only one who seemed to find the one robot enrolled worth talking too instead of staring at. Back before he was an international criminal, too. Funny how that worked out. She lifted him up.
“Okay. Shoot,” she said.
Somewhere in his flailing, he managed to make a gesture for his neck.
She put him back down on the ground and let him breath again.
“I’ll think of one any minute,” he said.
The screens in her eyes flashed a violent blue. She picked him up again.
“OKAY OKAY HOW ABOUT THAT IT’D BE AGAINST YOUR PROGRAMMING. OR. UH. HOW ABOUT THAT I HAVE VALUABLE INFORMATION THAT YOU’D WANT TO INTERROGATE ME FOR. YOU WANT TO INTERROGATE ME, RIGHT? YOU REALLY WANT TO INTERROGATE ME. YOU LIKE GETTING TO TASER PEOPLE, RIGHT?”
“…and you like getting tasered. So, no,” said Bell, lifting him higher.
He arms flailed in funny ways. “Well, howabouti’mstillcompletelyinloveyou?”
She delivered him to HQ unconscious and slightly charred.
Phoenix got up for a glass of milk and realized halfway back that the main light was still on, the blinds were up, and that little old lady that lived in the apartment complex across the street was looking right at him. It was a complete accident. She’d just happened to have her rocking chair facing the window that evening. And that window just happened to directly face Phoenix’s. And she’d just happened to look up at that second. The needles were frozen in mid stitch and her cat slid out of her lap. Phoenix, for his part, made a grab for the nearest object (turned out to be a magazine), held it over the incriminating evidence and gave a dandy wave that meant: ‘Hi there, Mrs. Parson. I hope your grandson likes that sweater and boy am I sorry you had to see me naked!’
Mrs. Parson finished her stitch and fixed her glasses in a way that meant: ‘Oh, well. It happens to all of us. But put on some briefs, young man, and let this be a lesson to you.’
Phoenix grinned, and shuffled awkwardly around his couch in a way that he hoped translated properly to: ‘Yes’m. Never happening again, m’am. Also, that tattoo is not of what it probably looks like from where you are, I swear.’
Then Mrs. Parson put her knitting down, and gathered her cat back up into her lap, and leaned her head into her palm in a motion that, after a moment, was clearly understood to be: ‘Good. And by the way, congratulations on that well-dressed fellow you brought home earlier this evening. He is a real hotass. I would ride it like I stole it.’
Miles yelped at the impact with which Phoenix fled back to bed.
pocky_slash has started the terribly clever Writing Chat Thingy.The game is very simple: a group of writers from various fandom meet in an AIM chatroom on a semi-weekly basis,
pocky_slash issues a prompt, and from thenceforth all writers involved have 15 minutes to come up with some sort of response to the prompt. It may be fanfic or original, the point is that in fifteen minutes it's to be posted in LJ-comment form for all to see and then, hopefully, discuss or pull hair about before you go another around. Now I happened to finally get myself involved with the latest round. (Fandoms are primarily original, Stargate Atlantis, Firefly, The West Wing, Phoenix Wright, etc, etc.) Results on my part were of varying quality, mostly due to my being super rusty at this writing thing. But there are a few pieces I am happy with, and I will repost them here in all of their poorly edited, rushed glory.A gallery opening in the B District. It is arranged by the Bureau of Arts and Leisure. It is expected to be very popular, and Re-l is required to go. There is an hour until the reception. Re-l stands in her open wardrobe and glares into it.
“Iggy,” she says. “Is there any way that I’ll be called to do a sweep tonight?”
Iggy is waiting by the door. He replies, taking the heightened temperature and tonal fluxes to indicate anxiety and setting his vocal applications to respond cheerfully: “Oh, no. There is nothing to worry about, Re-l. Your supervisor already knows. It’s very extenuating circumstances. He wouldn’t dream of--”
“Fuck,” says Re-l, emphatically. “So what what goes with this dress?”
“Those flats would be very cute.”
“I want heel,” grits Re-l.
Iggy processed this. “The boots are in season.”
“The boots are all wrong.”
Re-l slams her closet doors shut, staring into the white surface.
Iggy’s voice is gentle. “Re-l,” he says. “Re-l. Your blood pressure is rising. You know that the Health Bureau suggests that the model citizen should maintain a healthy heartrate of approximately--”
Re-l turns. Her hands are in her hair. “We have any hour, right?”
“52 minutes,” Iggy answers dutifully.
Re-l pulls the boots on and shoves her gun into her purse. “Okay, get the car ready. We’re going to the mall.”
“There is a totally a reason that you shouldn’t kill me,” said Ike. His eyes were wide. His face was puffy and flushed. It might’ve been embarrassment over having been caught. It might’ve also been the ten blocks he’d just run in an attempt to avoid being caught. The implants in his elbow was smoking, slightly. He’d taken a nasty shot there. “Totally. I mean. What’s a little cyber terrorism between friends—ULP.”
Bell closed her hands over his neck and said nothing. A quiet Ike was a good Ike. She learned that back when they’d been in basic programming together. Back when he was the only one who seemed to find the one robot enrolled worth talking too instead of staring at. Back before he was an international criminal, too. Funny how that worked out. She lifted him up.
“Okay. Shoot,” she said.
Somewhere in his flailing, he managed to make a gesture for his neck.
She put him back down on the ground and let him breath again.
“I’ll think of one any minute,” he said.
The screens in her eyes flashed a violent blue. She picked him up again.
“OKAY OKAY HOW ABOUT THAT IT’D BE AGAINST YOUR PROGRAMMING. OR. UH. HOW ABOUT THAT I HAVE VALUABLE INFORMATION THAT YOU’D WANT TO INTERROGATE ME FOR. YOU WANT TO INTERROGATE ME, RIGHT? YOU REALLY WANT TO INTERROGATE ME. YOU LIKE GETTING TO TASER PEOPLE, RIGHT?”
“…and you like getting tasered. So, no,” said Bell, lifting him higher.
He arms flailed in funny ways. “Well, howabouti’mstillcompletelyinloveyou?”
She delivered him to HQ unconscious and slightly charred.
Phoenix got up for a glass of milk and realized halfway back that the main light was still on, the blinds were up, and that little old lady that lived in the apartment complex across the street was looking right at him. It was a complete accident. She’d just happened to have her rocking chair facing the window that evening. And that window just happened to directly face Phoenix’s. And she’d just happened to look up at that second. The needles were frozen in mid stitch and her cat slid out of her lap. Phoenix, for his part, made a grab for the nearest object (turned out to be a magazine), held it over the incriminating evidence and gave a dandy wave that meant: ‘Hi there, Mrs. Parson. I hope your grandson likes that sweater and boy am I sorry you had to see me naked!’
Mrs. Parson finished her stitch and fixed her glasses in a way that meant: ‘Oh, well. It happens to all of us. But put on some briefs, young man, and let this be a lesson to you.’
Phoenix grinned, and shuffled awkwardly around his couch in a way that he hoped translated properly to: ‘Yes’m. Never happening again, m’am. Also, that tattoo is not of what it probably looks like from where you are, I swear.’
Then Mrs. Parson put her knitting down, and gathered her cat back up into her lap, and leaned her head into her palm in a motion that, after a moment, was clearly understood to be: ‘Good. And by the way, congratulations on that well-dressed fellow you brought home earlier this evening. He is a real hotass. I would ride it like I stole it.’
Miles yelped at the impact with which Phoenix fled back to bed.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-04-07 04:07 am (UTC)I am dying
(no subject)
Date: 2008-04-07 04:16 am (UTC)That chat thing sounds really fun! I love things like that.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-04-07 04:53 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-04-07 08:58 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-04-07 09:35 am (UTC)‘Good. And by the way, congratulations on that well-dressed fellow you brought home earlier this evening. He is a real hotass. I would ride it like I stole it.’
Best line!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-04-07 05:33 pm (UTC)