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on the same old tune
Two down, two to go, blah blah blah. Amongst other tortures, I got to write a 2.5 page essay with many many diagrams on the transcriptional regulation of the lac operon in bacteria and another on the ventral and dorsal distinction in cortical processing of visual input and they really shouldn't have excited me as much as they did.
I think I could make a fortune selling eyelid glue to people who have to CRAM ALL NIGHT on account of their THREE EXAMS in the space of TWO DAYS.
I am fairly certain you are all heartily sick of my bitching and so I'll keep this short but OMG IF I DON'T GET TO WRITE SOMETHING SOON I WILL GO MAD. SOMETHING. ANYTHING.
Preferably the rest of the Big Damn Millific For Sophie, which, uh, yes, still sitting there. Reread the first half. Havva cookie. I promise I'll get onto it as soon as I am liberated.
Inara is brushing something onto her cheeks when Crowley enters the shuttle. She turns her head and smiles at him and the powder shimmers under the reddish lights.
“Good evening.”
“Evening, Inara.” He nods and closes the shuttle door, the hum-slide-click rendering them completely separate from the rest of the ship. It really is a world removed. “I’m not quite sure of the protocol involved here.”
“Neither am I,” she says, dimpling calmly, her head tilted to one side. “But I find that any sort of ceremony has meaning in it if one takes it seriously. We’ll improvise.”
And they do. Crowley takes off his shoes and rolls up his shirt sleeves and feels a bit silly, cross-legged on a rich green rug with incense pinched between his fingers, but Inara has a perfect knack for putting people at their ease. And she looks born to it, of course, limbs folded gracefully under her and soft voice modulating the Mandarin chant. Crowley lets out a slow breath and relaxes as far as he is able. The Endless have always made him twitchy.
“Well, that was creative.”
There’s a faint smell of peaches and Crowley bats down the immature urge to open an air vent.
“Desire.” Inara bows from the waist.
“And it’s lovely to see you too, my dear.” Desire runs a fond hand over her hair and flicks sharp (blue) eyes to Crowley. The demon pulls together his mental resources and Desire’s form stops flickering in and out of lanky-blond mode.
“Hey,” he says, going for casual and succeeding admirably.
I think I could make a fortune selling eyelid glue to people who have to CRAM ALL NIGHT on account of their THREE EXAMS in the space of TWO DAYS.
I am fairly certain you are all heartily sick of my bitching and so I'll keep this short but OMG IF I DON'T GET TO WRITE SOMETHING SOON I WILL GO MAD. SOMETHING. ANYTHING.
Preferably the rest of the Big Damn Millific For Sophie, which, uh, yes, still sitting there. Reread the first half. Havva cookie. I promise I'll get onto it as soon as I am liberated.
Inara is brushing something onto her cheeks when Crowley enters the shuttle. She turns her head and smiles at him and the powder shimmers under the reddish lights.
“Good evening.”
“Evening, Inara.” He nods and closes the shuttle door, the hum-slide-click rendering them completely separate from the rest of the ship. It really is a world removed. “I’m not quite sure of the protocol involved here.”
“Neither am I,” she says, dimpling calmly, her head tilted to one side. “But I find that any sort of ceremony has meaning in it if one takes it seriously. We’ll improvise.”
And they do. Crowley takes off his shoes and rolls up his shirt sleeves and feels a bit silly, cross-legged on a rich green rug with incense pinched between his fingers, but Inara has a perfect knack for putting people at their ease. And she looks born to it, of course, limbs folded gracefully under her and soft voice modulating the Mandarin chant. Crowley lets out a slow breath and relaxes as far as he is able. The Endless have always made him twitchy.
“Well, that was creative.”
There’s a faint smell of peaches and Crowley bats down the immature urge to open an air vent.
“Desire.” Inara bows from the waist.
“And it’s lovely to see you too, my dear.” Desire runs a fond hand over her hair and flicks sharp (blue) eyes to Crowley. The demon pulls together his mental resources and Desire’s form stops flickering in and out of lanky-blond mode.
“Hey,” he says, going for casual and succeeding admirably.
*cookies you back*
Little pig, little pig, let me come in; you will all disarticulate noiselessly under our surgical hands, you will all fall apart in our eyes.
- coming soon to a birthday near you!
Re: *cookies you back*
BOOYAH, SURGICAL METAPHORS.
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There are totally surgical metaphors! or dissection metaphors. Or just kind of sciency metaphors. I don't know. I dissected too much last year.
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Though both are surpassed by the amount of OMGSCREWED currently brewing in my head, as I am yet to start studying for this exam which is TOMORROW. Ahaha.
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*blurbles* loooove is eeeverything you saaaid it would bee-ee-ee
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err, sorry 'bout that...
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Also, the thing I wanted to talk about earlier.
Remember your fic, Gethsemane (http://www.livejournal.com/users/mercurial_wit/19037.html)?
Well, I wrote it in a script form to possibly be used to make a film while I'm here at film school. Is that okay? You're credited and everything.
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:D
That's really quite cool. Can I have a look at the script? DO I GET ROYALTIES?
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Also, My first FanFic100 Entry (http://www.livejournal.com/community/fanfic100/597418.html).
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...can I tweak a few words? *eyes that fic* It was rough and I'm not happy with the wording in places.
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*waves hands*
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And sent the script.
And on royalties? I'll get back to you on that.
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WOOOOORK. Ah well. I'll go study now and see if it's working later.
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Damn you, Gmail! I must SLEEP soon! *eyes clock. Eyes 10 am class* Fucker.
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Best misleading opening EVAR, HEE.