| #307 - Rain |
[Nov. 4th, 2009 ~ 10:19 pm] |
or
Thursday, and it's raining in New York.
He appears over the Civic Center in a golden flash, trailing psychic fire. The wind catches in his long-coat, sending it creaking and cracking. It's leather, like his shoes, like his gloves. Opaque shades hide his eyes and wind-tossed hair too, here black, here white.
And he should be thinking about Proposition X, about peaceful pacifist protest, but he can't help remembering that it's Guy Fawkes Night in England. It's Bonfire Night. Gunpowder treason and plot.
You really pick your days, Jean-Paul.
He descends, floats slowly down, over the Courthouse and the the fountain, and the gathered people, Doug's banners waving here, and over there, the bright sparks with the "NO BABY BOMBS" signs and the perennial "MUTIE GO HOME". Protest. Counter-protest. It's practically Newtonian.
But he's thinking about Halloween now, about ghouls and goblins and things that mutate in the night. About masks and monsters, things we all have, things we all are. Singing, all unknowing and under his breath, if you ain't got a penny, a ha'penny will do; and if you ain't got a ha'penny, then God bless you.
Trick, he thinks, or Treat. Trick or Treat. Which will you be?
He lands between them, between them all, in the middle, on the edge. Just like always. His coat snaps, loud like a whip, and falls. He lifts his hands, spreads his arms, tilts his head back to the hissing, steaming rain.
There is quiet. Then there is sun. And what is, is; but what will be is anyone's guess. |
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| ooc: Art! |
[Nov. 4th, 2009 ~ 01:27 pm] |
Wow! I love it when fun inspires creativity! Here's a lovely piece of artwork made by ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) endlessdrums, inspired by the RP quitehomoerotic and I have been doing in our "Two Immortals" verse. It made my morning, thank you!
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for ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif) sixwordstories |
[Nov. 4th, 2009 ~ 02:57 pm] |
What is worse, ignorance or apathy?
sws |
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| for quitehomoerotic: Welcome to Cardiff, 2008 |
[Nov. 3rd, 2009 ~ 02:38 pm] |
Following this. &hearts
The Doctor dreamed.
He didn't often dream, as Time Lords didn't often dream, but seeing as his mind was slowly reconstructing events of his life, he supposed he shouldn't have been too surprised.
The first dream was pretty standard brain-dumping. The Doctor was late for class and looking for Zac Efron at a Beatles concert, and Ringo Starr chased him around with a hypodermic needle. Dreams of that level of absurdity were pretty easy to ignore.
The second dream, not so much. He was standing on a beach. It was Norway, or was it Boeshane? It was hard to tell. Everything was fuzzy at first, but the further he walked along the beach, the clearer it became. The single sun (or the twin suns) obscured by clouds, the biting cold. He tucked his hands into his pockets for warmth, but it kept getting colder. The lights kept fading.
"Doctor."
He spun around, and there was Jack. Standing with his feet in the icy water. The Doctor knew Jack was supposed to be a fact, but he couldn't shake the strong, petrifying worry that Jack might die of hypothermia. The tide rose quickly, too quickly.
"Jack," the Doctor said. "Get away from there."
"Doctor, it's coming," Jack said. Only, Jack didn't call him Doctor. He called him his name, the name he never used, the name he'd all but forgotten after so many years.
Curiosity overtook worry for one moment. "Who's coming?"
Jack shook his head, but didn't move. The water level kept rising, quickly overtaking his companion. The Doctor raced towards the shoreline, but it wasn't getting closer.
"Jack!" he called. "Jack!"
"He will knock four times," Jack said, firmly, right as the water overtook his head.
"Jack!"
The Doctor sat up from his curled position in the center of the Zero Room. It was colder than he remembered, but he could feel the TARDIS had fallen back into a restorative hibernation. Jack hadn't come back and from the amount of stubble on his chin, the Doctor imagined he'd actually slept a good few hours this time.
He struggled to his feet and hobbled to the door. With a tug, it came open to reveal the dark, cold corridors lit by fuzzy, organic nightlights. He headed back towards the bedrooms, intent on his own room for a shower and a long-needed shave. He stopped as he passed Jack's room. Would he be in here? Would he be gone?
He gave the door a quiet knock. |
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| What Color Skittle Are You? |
[Nov. 3rd, 2009 ~ 06:46 pm] |
| [ | Tags | | | meme | ] |
| [ | mood |
| | creative | ] |
What Color Skittle Are You?Your Result
You are the orange coloured skittle. You have a very bad temper, you are confident and independent. You can come across as ignorant and cocky, but you mean well. You are generally a loner.
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| It's a girl. :) |
[Nov. 3rd, 2009 ~ 06:31 pm] |
Coco Emily (it's a girl - or so the balloons tell me) born 29th October, 2009 - 10:29pm. 5lbs 8oz, 18.5 inches. Mother and baby doing well (did I just steal Harry's line?).
Happy November to everyone and good luck to everyone doing Nano. I started to give it a go and wrote maybe 250 words or something and went... yeah, no. Maybe next year.
( Read more... ) |
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| ooc: A few things |
[Nov. 2nd, 2009 ~ 04:53 pm] |
Just a few quick things, because I need to make sure they're out!
1) Yes, I am participating in Nanowrimo. I hope it won't stunt my RP or writing too badly, but who can tell, yeah? Knowing me, I'll get a good 25,000 words in and give up (as is my usual MO for Nano). You're welcome to friend or follow my progress on Nano under the username rickmaniac101.
2) A few notes on commenting in this journal:
a) I don't always comment back (I'm notoriously bad at it, actually), but I really do thrive on comments and feedback on my stories, please don't stop.
b) If you comment DO NOT DELETE YOUR COMMENTS. I mean, yeah, if you make a misspelling and you can't edit, please feel free to delete and recomment. But if you feel stupid by something you've said (ten to one, I don't think you're stupid!) or I haven't commented back (see section a), don't delete your comment. It throws me off, and hurts my feelings. Unnecessarily wanky comments, even deleted ones, will get you banned. And I don't do a lot of banning, so don't make me start!
c) If you comment anonymously on my HMD post, please check back to see if I've responded. I need some clarifying on one of my most recent concrit comments and the mousie who commented never wrote back. I can't improve if you don't explain!
3) If we're threading and I haven't responded in a while, please drop me a line. I've been a little overwhelmed in the real world and I know I've neglected someone. Just let me know!
EDIT TO ADD: Also, do not send me PMs if you intend to block me from replying.
EDITED TO ALSO ADD: To the person who refuses to leave me alone who is continuing to send me messages: Stop sending me PMs. Stop sending me private posts. You are a crazy person. I do not want to be part of your communities and I want you to leave me alone.
Also, can someone please tell me how to block IP addresses? |
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| Theatrical Muse #307. Treat |
[Nov. 1st, 2009 ~ 09:23 pm] |
Days didn't matter so much when no one else was around to celebrate them. They made up their own holidays. Jesus-Christ-I-Can't-Believe-It-Was-That-Close day. Hey-We-Grew-Potatoes day. Some of them they kept. Birthdays. Christmas.
Halloween.
The candy thing was mostly an American thing. But since there were two Americans they declared they made a majority and that meant they were celebrating in American fashion. Plus, they were on American soil. Plus, they could use a real holiday. There was no village or town or city to go trick or treating in, and even if most of the zombies were dead or dying of starvation by now -- or having ripped each other to shreds -- it wasn't safe to go out and look. Not by themselves. Not if they got caught away from their resources. Their supplies. They'd made it good here, and they'd somehow survived this far.
So, Halloween. With no houses to go by, no doors to knock on, they knocked on each other's doors. They made a trip to the town to find what candy hadn't spoiled, back to back to back, guns at their sides, then crept back to the house like naughty children and giggled at themselves with only a tinge of hysteria. It was the first time they had been out so far since the apocalypse happened. Somehow, spending Halloween with symbols of the dead didn't seem right.
They went round and round for treats, instead. Knocking on doors and holding out pillowcases for candy and trading pieces back and forth, hiding the best pieces behind each other's backs. They took the day to gorge themselves on candy and be ridiculous, and went to bed overstuffed and smiling. |
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| for sixwordstories |
[Nov. 1st, 2009 ~ 11:36 pm] |
Some cases are impossible to close.
sws |
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