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fic rambling
Ugh. I did actually write your drabbles, everyone, but the Mac I'm on here at uni has taken a deep dislike to my .txt file and has frakked up the formatting. I'll post them from a PC later on. Meanwhile, if anyone who didn't request a drabble wants me to write them something (and by 'drabble' I mean 'oh look, there goes my word count again') - request away in comments!
Ooh. By the way. My Firefly/Sandman fic 'Nights of endless conversations' got nominated in the Crossovers category of the Blue Sun Fandom Awards. So yay :)
Okay, I'm going to post ONE of these drabbles, because I have taken a huge liking to this one and thus can actually be bothered to totally reformat it.
The kid has fallen asleep on the rec room table again. Sharon covers him with someone's discarded jacket and shrugs off the bemused looks that come her way - our Boomer, acting maternal? She's never been one to explain herself. And the simple fact of it is that having someone else to be responsible for can be a relief in itself, sometimes, a distraction to draw her mind away from the stress of their situation and the darker thoughts that flood her insomnial nights
The triad game ends and Dee heads off for her shift in CIC, Crashdown to his rack. Starbuck slings an arm around Apollo's shoulders as they wander away and steals a puff of the stogie he won right out of her lips, bluffing outrageously, taking the pot. Everyone is always taken aback when Apollo bluffs; Sharon suspects that's why he doesn't do it often. She watches him smile fondly at Starbuck's animated insistence that she'll win it all back from him tomorrow, and wonders if they're frakking yet.
She yawns and shakes Boxey's shoulder gently. "C'mon, mister. You can't sleep here. Wake up."
When his eyes open they are the same shape, the same colour, in every dimension and subtle tired shade the same boy's eyes that she knows. And yet her heart muscle seems to wrench itself out of position for a moment.
"Hello, Three," he says. "I don't think you were meant to wake me up just yet."
She opens her mouth to form a reply and a sharp pain lances through her forehead, slicing her thoughts neatly into pieces before the words can come out.
"Oh. It's all right, Boomer." His disinterested smile swims before her eyes. She tries to remember what they are talking about, flails for the thread of conversation, but it has drifted out of reach. "I doubt you'll remember."
She doesn't.
Ooh. By the way. My Firefly/Sandman fic 'Nights of endless conversations' got nominated in the Crossovers category of the Blue Sun Fandom Awards. So yay :)
Okay, I'm going to post ONE of these drabbles, because I have taken a huge liking to this one and thus can actually be bothered to totally reformat it.
The kid has fallen asleep on the rec room table again. Sharon covers him with someone's discarded jacket and shrugs off the bemused looks that come her way - our Boomer, acting maternal? She's never been one to explain herself. And the simple fact of it is that having someone else to be responsible for can be a relief in itself, sometimes, a distraction to draw her mind away from the stress of their situation and the darker thoughts that flood her insomnial nights
The triad game ends and Dee heads off for her shift in CIC, Crashdown to his rack. Starbuck slings an arm around Apollo's shoulders as they wander away and steals a puff of the stogie he won right out of her lips, bluffing outrageously, taking the pot. Everyone is always taken aback when Apollo bluffs; Sharon suspects that's why he doesn't do it often. She watches him smile fondly at Starbuck's animated insistence that she'll win it all back from him tomorrow, and wonders if they're frakking yet.
She yawns and shakes Boxey's shoulder gently. "C'mon, mister. You can't sleep here. Wake up."
When his eyes open they are the same shape, the same colour, in every dimension and subtle tired shade the same boy's eyes that she knows. And yet her heart muscle seems to wrench itself out of position for a moment.
"Hello, Three," he says. "I don't think you were meant to wake me up just yet."
She opens her mouth to form a reply and a sharp pain lances through her forehead, slicing her thoughts neatly into pieces before the words can come out.
"Oh. It's all right, Boomer." His disinterested smile swims before her eyes. She tries to remember what they are talking about, flails for the thread of conversation, but it has drifted out of reach. "I doubt you'll remember."
She doesn't.
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I have this long, bizarre Boxey-the-Cylon fic slowly building itself in my head. I have no idea. But it will give me a chance to play around with how the main characters are seen from a different perspective or three.
Glad you liked :)