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Entry tags:
in which I make rash promises
In great anticipation of this damn perception report being finished some time within the next hour:
NOW ACCEPTING DRABBLE REQUESTS
One each, please. As Ji said: You may get a sentence. You may get plural sentences. You may get a scream of despair.
NOW ACCEPTING DRABBLE REQUESTS
One each, please. As Ji said: You may get a sentence. You may get plural sentences. You may get a scream of despair.
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~
The best thing about calling Harry ten minutes before a sitting of the Commons is that Draco can sit back in his beautiful stylish armchair and use the tone of the man's voice to create a mental image of him getting progressively more dishevelled and harrassed.
"-- can’t believe you called me to chat about social engagements, you overbred git, I'm supposed to be in the Chamber in --"
"-- and so I was thinking I could book out the Crimson Room for the fifteenth," Draco cuts in, and hears a bitten-back curse and a scuff of carpet. Bless his Gryffindor heart and misguided sense of chivalry, but Harry has become a lot less likely to hang up on Draco ever since they started having sex. It's almost cute. It also means Draco can get him at least three times more irate before the conversation ends, even when the 'conversation' is the two of them talking loudly over each other.
"-- what the good people of Britain would say if they knew that their money was keeping the Viscount Northallerton in champagne cocktails and string quartets --"
"-- at least three balls next month, enormous ones, and maybe they'll be prepared to overlook the fact that not even the best magical serums can prevent my date's hair from looking like he's been searching vainly for a sense of style in a bramble patch --"
"-- oh, sod your enormous balls, Malfoy --"
Horrified silence from Harry's side, broken after a moment by an alarmed female voice. Draco bites his lip, highly amused, as he listens to Harry's muffled attempts to explain.
"All right," Harry says when he gets back on the line, sounding resigned. "I'm not living that down for at least a month, am I?"
"No, really, Potter, I'm flattered." Draco sniggers. "Who was that?"
"The Member for Upminster," Harry says miserably. "Fuck."
Draco laughs so hard that he spills his coffee all over the fifth chapter of Blaise's manuscript, but it's totally worth it.
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*plays around covertly*
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"Do I add one more?" she asked without preamble.
He didn't answer for such a long time that she thought maybe the link had opened by accident and he was on the other side of the room, shaving, or pouring himself a drink. But eventually he spoke. "I don’t know what to think. We've been deceived before."
She swallowed down her own doubt, her own frighteningly cold resolve, and played the warm devil's advocate that she knew he wanted to hear. "She might not be -- well, she brought me the Arrow of Apollo. And you were in that tomb, you saw what the rest of us saw."
"Don't pull religion on me, Laura." But he didn't sound angry, just tired. "Right now I don't need myths. Lee isn't talking to me and Kara..."
"They're your children," she said, feeling awkward. "I know. Well, I don't know, of course I can't know --"
"Madam President." She closed her eyes and found comfort in the fond formality of his voice. "Nobody doubts that you have more children to worry about than the rest of us."
"Forty-one thousand, three hundred and ninety-nine, in fact."
"Did you --" He coughed. "Is that one more than yesterday?"
After a moment she smiled, and imagined that he would hear it. "I think, Bill, that you'll have to decide that for yourself."
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Oh my god. <3 Just. So much going on here and it is all THE BEST. <3333333
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(If it involved babies in some way, all the better!)
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Yet he dreams Roslin's voice breaking over him, slapping him in the face, a cool sharp wave - we need to start having babies.
He dreams Dualla's patient, capable expression and misses her, sometimes; he dreams Kara reaching out until her fingertips touch his heart and then pressing further, further, right into his flesh.
"Don't look so surprised, Apollo," she says, and squeezes. "I'm only a ghost, after all."
He dreams that he is breaking into tiny pieces that a child could choke on, and he wakes up gasping for breath.
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*serene*
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Starbuck grabbed at her arm on reflex, hauling her upright, and there was certainly strength in the muscles of that arm; fortunately, by the looks of her, the girl could have been as strong as an ox and she still would have missed Starbuck's head by about a foot had she decided to start throwing punches.
"I'm sure you could, sweetheart." She patted her wrist and signalled for more drinks, because the girl was half the size of Sam and she could get him drunk enough to take advantage of with no effort whatsoever.
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Which is to say: oh my god I love that idea SO MUCH.
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I saaaaaw.
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I just read your milliways fics and have accidentally fallen in love with War and Lucifer, seperately and together and, um.
If you could write them? Maybe?
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and if you want more of a prompt: post-first strike and/or water.
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hahahaha....
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