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in your hands
When in doubt, I let my flist make my decisions for me. So you lot are going to pick one of the two Bones epics currently festering away on my hard drive, and I'm going to work on only that one until it's finished, rather than flicking between documents like the flightly little thing that I am. All right then.
Option #1 - boy with a coin
Crossover with Supernatural. Dean POV. Big cast, dialogue-heavy. Wacky forensic and supernatural hijinks, light Booth/Brennan, light Dean/Bela.
~
"How old are you?" the kid demanded.
"I'm twenty-four." The side of Sam's mouth quirked. "How old are you?"
A woeful expression fell over Zack's face. "Twenty-five," he said. "Man, I hate my jeans."
Dean shrugged. "Yeah, well, that blue lab coat thingy isn't doing you any favours either, you know what I'm saying?"
The kid turned and fixed him with a look that Dean was starting to become accustomed to. It said: I am five times more intelligent than you will ever be, but to Dean's trained eye it also said I could count the number of times I've had sex on my fingers, so he didn't feel too bad about it. "Genes," he said. "My DNA, my chromosomes, the genetic material inherited from my biological parents."
Dean grinned. "Okay, shortass, whatever you say."
Zack peered back up at Sam. It was a bit like watching a beaver assess a grizzly bear. "Well, when it comes to your genetic material, I think you drew the short straw as well. Hah. Short." A smile broke out over his face. "I made a joke."
~
Option #2 - 80%
Huge amounts of overthinking and emotional tangles wrapped around a case. Brennan POV. Therapy sessions, indoor flooding, strong and central Booth/Brennan.
~
"Okay." Sweets puts down his pen. "If you can't tell me what the feeling is, perhaps you can tell me what it's like."
"I don't deal in abstractions." This is the core of her; surely he knows that by now. "I deal in facts."
"A simile can be a fact," he says. "Indulge me."
"It feels like..."
"Yes?"
"Like..."
"Yes?"
She's trying, she really is, but he keeps interrupting and she is, familiarly, starting to get angry. But then the image bursts into her mind and it's abstract and illogical and awkward. And perfect.
"Like if sunlight falls on me I'll explode," she says, and makes a weak little exploding motion with her hands -- boom -- like that. It isn't a big enough boom for the force of the feeling, though, so she does it again. Then again, so hard that her wrist catches the edge of the desk with a crack, and she gasps.
Sweets is looking at her like...
No. She hasn't got a simile for it. But he hasn't picked up his pen and he isn't saying anything, and for all that she mostly wishes he'd just be quiet, right now -- this silence -- well, she looks down at her fingers rubbing incessantly across her aching wrist and wishes that he'd talk and talk and talk at her.
~
[Poll #1113429]
Option #1 - boy with a coin
Crossover with Supernatural. Dean POV. Big cast, dialogue-heavy. Wacky forensic and supernatural hijinks, light Booth/Brennan, light Dean/Bela.
~
"How old are you?" the kid demanded.
"I'm twenty-four." The side of Sam's mouth quirked. "How old are you?"
A woeful expression fell over Zack's face. "Twenty-five," he said. "Man, I hate my jeans."
Dean shrugged. "Yeah, well, that blue lab coat thingy isn't doing you any favours either, you know what I'm saying?"
The kid turned and fixed him with a look that Dean was starting to become accustomed to. It said: I am five times more intelligent than you will ever be, but to Dean's trained eye it also said I could count the number of times I've had sex on my fingers, so he didn't feel too bad about it. "Genes," he said. "My DNA, my chromosomes, the genetic material inherited from my biological parents."
Dean grinned. "Okay, shortass, whatever you say."
Zack peered back up at Sam. It was a bit like watching a beaver assess a grizzly bear. "Well, when it comes to your genetic material, I think you drew the short straw as well. Hah. Short." A smile broke out over his face. "I made a joke."
~
Option #2 - 80%
Huge amounts of overthinking and emotional tangles wrapped around a case. Brennan POV. Therapy sessions, indoor flooding, strong and central Booth/Brennan.
~
"Okay." Sweets puts down his pen. "If you can't tell me what the feeling is, perhaps you can tell me what it's like."
"I don't deal in abstractions." This is the core of her; surely he knows that by now. "I deal in facts."
"A simile can be a fact," he says. "Indulge me."
"It feels like..."
"Yes?"
"Like..."
"Yes?"
She's trying, she really is, but he keeps interrupting and she is, familiarly, starting to get angry. But then the image bursts into her mind and it's abstract and illogical and awkward. And perfect.
"Like if sunlight falls on me I'll explode," she says, and makes a weak little exploding motion with her hands -- boom -- like that. It isn't a big enough boom for the force of the feeling, though, so she does it again. Then again, so hard that her wrist catches the edge of the desk with a crack, and she gasps.
Sweets is looking at her like...
No. She hasn't got a simile for it. But he hasn't picked up his pen and he isn't saying anything, and for all that she mostly wishes he'd just be quiet, right now -- this silence -- well, she looks down at her fingers rubbing incessantly across her aching wrist and wishes that he'd talk and talk and talk at her.
~
[Poll #1113429]
no subject