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fic babble
Once again, I watch my holidays float past in a blissful stream of buggre alle.
Have introduced![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tammaiya and tahira_saki to Firefly and watched the first anime series I've seen in approximately forever. 'Tactics', a stylish and entertaining albeit not hugely original mystery-cum-fantasy series with entirely unsubtle gay. Just what I needed.
So...a little while ago,villainny and linnpuzzle managed to collectively con me into promising them a pre-Arrangement Good Omens fic, and to my great delight it began to spin itself in my head today. I still need to reread the canon to clarify some points and hopefully get inspiration for all the current gaping holes in the plot, but I'm feeling quite positive about this. It's the first thing I've written in a while that hasn't immediately demanded a) the present tense and b) a prose-y, word-driven style. It's also far more true to the canon than anything I've done recently :)
“Er,” said the angel that wasn’t. “Hi.”
Hastur looked up from his clipboard with a frown. “You’re very late.”
“Um. I got here as quickly as I could,” he lied uncomfortably. “The traffic on the ethereal planes is just hideous at the moment. Rush hour of the millennia, this.”
The newly appointed Dukes looked at each other, but either they didn’t notice the lie or they took it as proof of his newly-found immorality and moved on.
“Excuse us a moment.” Ligur steered the other demon to a point a few yards away. Corabael fiddled with his hair and tried to hear what they were saying, but he could only catch a few words.
“…desk jobs snapped up already…”
“…posting up at the…that angel, you know.”
“…nitrous oxide.”
“…just cruel. But then…”
“…job description, now.”
Ligur gave an unpleasant chuckle as they swaggered back over, their faces glowing with the ubiquitious smirk of the bureaucratic superior about to hand the dirty work over to someone who was going to be paid less to do it.
“We think we have just the job for you,” he beamed.
“Do I have to kill anyone?” the new demon asked warily.
“Well.” Ligur looked a bit taken aback. “I mean, that’s probably going to be a bit counterproductive at this point. The War is over. But if you’re really enthusiastic about -”
“It’s a vital position,” Hastur said, kicking his partner in the shins. “Very important.”
~
Exam results come out tomorrow.
I shall distract myself by poking Quindlemire, which I find myself strongly attached to despite the fact that a goodly fraction of it came out of my idealistic and unpolished fifteen-year-old brain. I like the plot. The characters are strong and colourful and familiar. It's never going to be anything more than a light-hearted YA adult fantasy novel, but it's my first and longest and most promising original work and I'm not giving up on it.
Hell, have a cookie from it, too. It's come a long way in three and a half years.
~
“I don’t sew.” Braia stared at her half-brother in disbelief. “No cooking. No sewing. We had a deal.”
“Don’t be pedantic, Brai,” Lae said, looking ridiculously domestic as he bit off the end of a thread. “Everyone has something to do. You may as well come and help me with the last of the bags.”
“Why don’t you get your precious little bodyguard to give you a hand?” Braia made a face. “Where is she, anyway? Run off already?”
“She’s getting some new clothes.” Lae looked as unruffled as ever. “She’ll be back soon.”
“With my hard-earned money, I suppose?” Braia’s voice rose. She was too hot and overtired and spoiling for a fight; if not with the object of her direct displeasure, then with Lae. Though he was a very unsatisfying person to argue with, not being at all prone to shouting or throwing things or generally giving her any sort of satisfactory reaction. “Lae.” She snatched the bag out of his hands. “I know you have instincts for people, and usually I trust them, but you’ll forgive me for wondering if your instinct isn’t being drowned out by the fact that you turn into a salivating adolescent whenever she is present.”
“You worry too much,” Lae told her, gently taking the bag and putting it on a pile of similar ones. “I’m not going to let my interest in her interfere with the job.”
“I think it’s a bit late for that.” Braia sat down next to him, her mouth settling into a thin line. “I trust you. But not, unfortunately, around women. And especially not around her.”
“Here.” Lae pressed a piece of cloth and a threaded needle into her hands, ignoring the question in true Lae style.
“What am I meant to do with this?” she snapped, turning it over.
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you how to sew?” Lae’s grin was hampered somewhat by the pin sticking out of his mouth.
Braia shrugged. “She was usually too busy. Where are you getting the rocks from?” Time for a subject change, in her opinion. Braia was practical enough not to hold any sort of grudge against Lae for their father’s actions, but it did hurt a little that he had left her mother – his legal wife – and taken up with someone else. The situation, as her mother had explained it to her, was complex; the other woman had not been a sudden infatuation, but something along the lines of a childhood sweetheart. And Lae had been born before her parents even married.
There was obviously a messy emotional story there, but Braia had never been one for rummaging around in the past. Though one did have to wonder why he’d ever married her mother at all, if he was just going to change his mind again after a handful of years… Braia shot her half-brother a quick glance, wondering if flightiness and complete lack of sense when it came to relationships ran in the bloodline.
“There are plenty around the harbour, we can get some once it’s dark. Do you think my hair is getting a bit long?” Lae turned his head to the side and frowned, apparently trying to look at the back of his own neck.
“Bloody hell. You’re doing this on purpose, Lae, I swear.” Braia buried her head in her hands. “To make me miserable. Figures.”
“Hmm?” Lae said vaguely, now pulling his curls around to in front of his nose so that he could inspect them. “Sorry, were you saying something?”
“No.” Braia hit her head absently against a mast. Thunk. “Not really. Go back to your hair.”
“Right you are, Brai.” Lae frowned at a chestnut strand, looking alarmingly cross-eyed. Braia was fairly certain he hadn’t heard a word.
*
Ten hours later, Braia’s irritation had been transferred from the trouble that was Lae’s obsession with both Rikka and his own appearance and onto the fact that they seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time creeping around the city at night. Lae had smugly decreed it a perfect occasion to wear black, and was slinking along with that cat-like mask. Rikka had been offered a mask and had laughed in his face, giving Braia the perfect opportunity to refuse her own. Finally, something positive had arisen from the girl’s involvement.
All of the mercenaries – bar Mon, who had been left lookout on the ship – were carrying the brown cloth bags, filled with small stones. Sal had done some calculations as to how much room the gold would be expected to take up. It was a lot. Braia hoped that this was one big fishpond. She walked next to Sal, slipping from shadow to shadow without fuss, amusing herself by glaring a hole through Rikka’s back every time the diminutive bodyguard came into her line of vision. She admitted grudgingly that the girl knew what she was doing, walking without sound and not making any dramatically stealthy movements. Not an amateur, this one.
“…many years?” Braia caught a snatch of a whispered question from Lae as she and Sal drew closer to him and Rikka.
“…wasting breath…hair?” The girl sounded incredulous. Braia could have kicked a wall. Or her half-brother, with great enthusiasm. Not only was the man talking on a stealth mission, he was trying to engage an entirely indifferent object of desire in a conversation about hairstyles. Or maybe trying to give her a compliment, but neither option appeared to be going down well with Rikka. The bodyguard took a firm step away from his side.
“How long do you give it?” Sal murmured to her, his voice just at the edge of hearing.
“Until what? She gives in, or he gives up?” Braia shook her shoulders, slightly sore from the bags. The inn they were heading for was a fair distance from the harbour.
“I…do you know, I’m not quite sure.” Sal shook his head. “I can’t see either of them backing down any time in the foreseeable future. What do you think?”
“My money’s on eternity,” Braia muttered, feeling none too happy about it.
Have introduced
tammaiya and tahira_saki to Firefly and watched the first anime series I've seen in approximately forever. 'Tactics', a stylish and entertaining albeit not hugely original mystery-cum-fantasy series with entirely unsubtle gay. Just what I needed.So...a little while ago,
villainny and linnpuzzle managed to collectively con me into promising them a pre-Arrangement Good Omens fic, and to my great delight it began to spin itself in my head today. I still need to reread the canon to clarify some points and hopefully get inspiration for all the current gaping holes in the plot, but I'm feeling quite positive about this. It's the first thing I've written in a while that hasn't immediately demanded a) the present tense and b) a prose-y, word-driven style. It's also far more true to the canon than anything I've done recently :)“Er,” said the angel that wasn’t. “Hi.”
Hastur looked up from his clipboard with a frown. “You’re very late.”
“Um. I got here as quickly as I could,” he lied uncomfortably. “The traffic on the ethereal planes is just hideous at the moment. Rush hour of the millennia, this.”
The newly appointed Dukes looked at each other, but either they didn’t notice the lie or they took it as proof of his newly-found immorality and moved on.
“Excuse us a moment.” Ligur steered the other demon to a point a few yards away. Corabael fiddled with his hair and tried to hear what they were saying, but he could only catch a few words.
“…desk jobs snapped up already…”
“…posting up at the…that angel, you know.”
“…nitrous oxide.”
“…just cruel. But then…”
“…job description, now.”
Ligur gave an unpleasant chuckle as they swaggered back over, their faces glowing with the ubiquitious smirk of the bureaucratic superior about to hand the dirty work over to someone who was going to be paid less to do it.
“We think we have just the job for you,” he beamed.
“Do I have to kill anyone?” the new demon asked warily.
“Well.” Ligur looked a bit taken aback. “I mean, that’s probably going to be a bit counterproductive at this point. The War is over. But if you’re really enthusiastic about -”
“It’s a vital position,” Hastur said, kicking his partner in the shins. “Very important.”
~
Exam results come out tomorrow.
I shall distract myself by poking Quindlemire, which I find myself strongly attached to despite the fact that a goodly fraction of it came out of my idealistic and unpolished fifteen-year-old brain. I like the plot. The characters are strong and colourful and familiar. It's never going to be anything more than a light-hearted YA adult fantasy novel, but it's my first and longest and most promising original work and I'm not giving up on it.
Hell, have a cookie from it, too. It's come a long way in three and a half years.
~
“I don’t sew.” Braia stared at her half-brother in disbelief. “No cooking. No sewing. We had a deal.”
“Don’t be pedantic, Brai,” Lae said, looking ridiculously domestic as he bit off the end of a thread. “Everyone has something to do. You may as well come and help me with the last of the bags.”
“Why don’t you get your precious little bodyguard to give you a hand?” Braia made a face. “Where is she, anyway? Run off already?”
“She’s getting some new clothes.” Lae looked as unruffled as ever. “She’ll be back soon.”
“With my hard-earned money, I suppose?” Braia’s voice rose. She was too hot and overtired and spoiling for a fight; if not with the object of her direct displeasure, then with Lae. Though he was a very unsatisfying person to argue with, not being at all prone to shouting or throwing things or generally giving her any sort of satisfactory reaction. “Lae.” She snatched the bag out of his hands. “I know you have instincts for people, and usually I trust them, but you’ll forgive me for wondering if your instinct isn’t being drowned out by the fact that you turn into a salivating adolescent whenever she is present.”
“You worry too much,” Lae told her, gently taking the bag and putting it on a pile of similar ones. “I’m not going to let my interest in her interfere with the job.”
“I think it’s a bit late for that.” Braia sat down next to him, her mouth settling into a thin line. “I trust you. But not, unfortunately, around women. And especially not around her.”
“Here.” Lae pressed a piece of cloth and a threaded needle into her hands, ignoring the question in true Lae style.
“What am I meant to do with this?” she snapped, turning it over.
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you how to sew?” Lae’s grin was hampered somewhat by the pin sticking out of his mouth.
Braia shrugged. “She was usually too busy. Where are you getting the rocks from?” Time for a subject change, in her opinion. Braia was practical enough not to hold any sort of grudge against Lae for their father’s actions, but it did hurt a little that he had left her mother – his legal wife – and taken up with someone else. The situation, as her mother had explained it to her, was complex; the other woman had not been a sudden infatuation, but something along the lines of a childhood sweetheart. And Lae had been born before her parents even married.
There was obviously a messy emotional story there, but Braia had never been one for rummaging around in the past. Though one did have to wonder why he’d ever married her mother at all, if he was just going to change his mind again after a handful of years… Braia shot her half-brother a quick glance, wondering if flightiness and complete lack of sense when it came to relationships ran in the bloodline.
“There are plenty around the harbour, we can get some once it’s dark. Do you think my hair is getting a bit long?” Lae turned his head to the side and frowned, apparently trying to look at the back of his own neck.
“Bloody hell. You’re doing this on purpose, Lae, I swear.” Braia buried her head in her hands. “To make me miserable. Figures.”
“Hmm?” Lae said vaguely, now pulling his curls around to in front of his nose so that he could inspect them. “Sorry, were you saying something?”
“No.” Braia hit her head absently against a mast. Thunk. “Not really. Go back to your hair.”
“Right you are, Brai.” Lae frowned at a chestnut strand, looking alarmingly cross-eyed. Braia was fairly certain he hadn’t heard a word.
*
Ten hours later, Braia’s irritation had been transferred from the trouble that was Lae’s obsession with both Rikka and his own appearance and onto the fact that they seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time creeping around the city at night. Lae had smugly decreed it a perfect occasion to wear black, and was slinking along with that cat-like mask. Rikka had been offered a mask and had laughed in his face, giving Braia the perfect opportunity to refuse her own. Finally, something positive had arisen from the girl’s involvement.
All of the mercenaries – bar Mon, who had been left lookout on the ship – were carrying the brown cloth bags, filled with small stones. Sal had done some calculations as to how much room the gold would be expected to take up. It was a lot. Braia hoped that this was one big fishpond. She walked next to Sal, slipping from shadow to shadow without fuss, amusing herself by glaring a hole through Rikka’s back every time the diminutive bodyguard came into her line of vision. She admitted grudgingly that the girl knew what she was doing, walking without sound and not making any dramatically stealthy movements. Not an amateur, this one.
“…many years?” Braia caught a snatch of a whispered question from Lae as she and Sal drew closer to him and Rikka.
“…wasting breath…hair?” The girl sounded incredulous. Braia could have kicked a wall. Or her half-brother, with great enthusiasm. Not only was the man talking on a stealth mission, he was trying to engage an entirely indifferent object of desire in a conversation about hairstyles. Or maybe trying to give her a compliment, but neither option appeared to be going down well with Rikka. The bodyguard took a firm step away from his side.
“How long do you give it?” Sal murmured to her, his voice just at the edge of hearing.
“Until what? She gives in, or he gives up?” Braia shook her shoulders, slightly sore from the bags. The inn they were heading for was a fair distance from the harbour.
“I…do you know, I’m not quite sure.” Sal shook his head. “I can’t see either of them backing down any time in the foreseeable future. What do you think?”
“My money’s on eternity,” Braia muttered, feeling none too happy about it.
no subject
ZOMG I OVERFLOW WITH LOVE TODAY.
Nothing intelligent to say, just overflowing with love. :D
no subject
*soaks up love*