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Entry tags:
& continuation!
I've decided I'm going to write this as a series of drabbles, paying no attention whatsoever to continuity and just going with my whims. WHOO. Plot and/or logic may sort themselves out as as I go, or they may not.
Blatant theft and pastiche of events, characters and timelines from both Crying Call and Millicanon will be taking place. Fair warning: I'm going to be fucking around with all sorts of stuff.
The working title is letters of the void, because I am predictable.
~
A woman, young, with reddish blonde hair and a knack for finding information, is splicing wires together and trying to ignore the way the air is humming and light seems to be bending to avoid her eyes. Creation is wide but, in one sense, homogeneous: she's on her own ground (ultimately, and always) and devastation on this scale is the perfect catalyst. Some things breed true.
Andronicus Crowley looks down into cloud-grey eyes above a human, laughing mouth, and for almost thirty seconds he drops the habit of breathing.
"Elana," he says, testing.
"Almost in, boss."
She's wondering why stormclouds are gathering deep inside her chest, why she suddenly feels as though she could reach out and tear a hole in the universe.
He's wondering if there's any point at all in telling her. Probably not, or at least not yet: it's the wrong war for that.
"I'd better be getting a Christmas bonus the size of your Bellerophon house for this," she mutters.
He grins, sharp and relieved. "Didn't you read the fine print? Your standard pay rate covers any and all acts of necessary illegal hacking that may arise during a time of crisis."
Instead of a joke in return he gets another of those glances, worried and inexorable. Not quite like she's reading the inside of his skull, but maybe like she's lost in the veins nearby. "I'm not doing anything special. This bloody mess ain't right." Since day one of her employment Elana has been blending the patterns that the angel wove into her speech with those picked up exchanging waves with Malcolm Reynolds; she sounds normal, so normal.
But then she frowns and adds, "Things need to happen, I can't exactly sit here and do nothing, can I?" and she's searching the floor for her bottle of water so only Crowley sees the wires flash, white-hot and furious, between her fingers.
And then they're in.
Blatant theft and pastiche of events, characters and timelines from both Crying Call and Millicanon will be taking place. Fair warning: I'm going to be fucking around with all sorts of stuff.
The working title is letters of the void, because I am predictable.
~
A woman, young, with reddish blonde hair and a knack for finding information, is splicing wires together and trying to ignore the way the air is humming and light seems to be bending to avoid her eyes. Creation is wide but, in one sense, homogeneous: she's on her own ground (ultimately, and always) and devastation on this scale is the perfect catalyst. Some things breed true.
Andronicus Crowley looks down into cloud-grey eyes above a human, laughing mouth, and for almost thirty seconds he drops the habit of breathing.
"Elana," he says, testing.
"Almost in, boss."
She's wondering why stormclouds are gathering deep inside her chest, why she suddenly feels as though she could reach out and tear a hole in the universe.
He's wondering if there's any point at all in telling her. Probably not, or at least not yet: it's the wrong war for that.
"I'd better be getting a Christmas bonus the size of your Bellerophon house for this," she mutters.
He grins, sharp and relieved. "Didn't you read the fine print? Your standard pay rate covers any and all acts of necessary illegal hacking that may arise during a time of crisis."
Instead of a joke in return he gets another of those glances, worried and inexorable. Not quite like she's reading the inside of his skull, but maybe like she's lost in the veins nearby. "I'm not doing anything special. This bloody mess ain't right." Since day one of her employment Elana has been blending the patterns that the angel wove into her speech with those picked up exchanging waves with Malcolm Reynolds; she sounds normal, so normal.
But then she frowns and adds, "Things need to happen, I can't exactly sit here and do nothing, can I?" and she's searching the floor for her bottle of water so only Crowley sees the wires flash, white-hot and furious, between her fingers.
And then they're in.
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*is DELIGHTED*
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