EYAI DRABBLE PARTY

[fahye]

Ji pointed out that it would make more sense for me to host this because my journal is busier and less locked! I make no promises that I willl actually write anything* because the end of Three Bags Full was meant to signify a return to the studying and sewing I was SUPPOSED to be doing all week.

*who are we kidding really

DRABBLES. GO. London or any other place ahem ahem Emma & Sares (nobody gets Australia, though -- that one's mine). Feel free to leave requests, fulfil requests, or just post drabbles about any characters you damn well please.

Comments

[girl-wonder.livejournal.com]

Requests: Secret agent eyai. Also, omg, anything with the assassin who defines themself as a "pacifist."

And I will fulfill any request that comes my way.

[fahye.livejournal.com]

I request FRANCE. Doesn't have to be Liz & Aimee, but anything about the fashion stuff we talked about. CATWALK SHOW OF NEW MODELS PERHAPS?

[littledust.livejournal.com]

Requests:
* anything about the Gallows ever
* Oliver Wolf's philosophies!
* a conversation between Tee and Will
* Blacksheep team dynamics!

Feel free to hit me with requests... oh lord, I am intimidated.

[fahye.livejournal.com]

skhdssdjk damn you. I am putting dibs on Tee & Will. I'll write when I'm not in the middle of a lecture.

I would like to hear more about Lukerya Aksakova! Because psallopianists are always fun. And I have no idea whatsoever about her story so you can do whatever you like.

[schiarire.livejournal.com]

Request: Something with Nahia?

[schiarire.livejournal.com]

The eyai-- Wilson-- says, "Good. I'll send you one of our men to flesh out the details."

"Bang on," says Tee, gone tube with ambivalence, and tries to stare through the stiff canvas of her uniform to her ass as she leaves-- without much success. Or disappointment.

He thinks Wilson'll be the type to make him wait, to try and make him sweat (which he assures himself that he wouldn't), but in fact the detail-flesher arrives the very next day.

Tall, dark and visibly abstemious, this eyai has a long, narrow face; lips thin, mouth wide, brows heavy. He's wearing clothes Tee would have worn uncomplainingly once himself, but which he would now hesitate to give to a church.

The eyai says, "Well met." He holds a hand out to Tee, who accepts it, bemused, and notes that either the eyai's tissue has not adapted itself to his habitual labor or he has no habitual labor. "You must be Tee. I'm Nacio."

"Pleased to meetcha." Tee knows better by now than to ask for a surname. Half-expecting Nacio to bow, he asks, "Ah, are we going to do business here in the foyer, or would you like to meet the rest of the team?"

Nacio's smile is instant and surprisingly warm. "Why," he says, "I believe I should like that very much."

Oh, God, thinks Tee. The cog's a relic.

But he shows Nacio around nonetheless; watches him shake hands and nod and smile hair-fine and generous at Blacksheep's members until an unprecedented quantity of personal information answers his few, gentle questions. This is the moment when Tee realizes-- as his team no doubt also does-- that Nacio has the potential to be extremely dangerous.

Immediately following which realization Tee has the second realization that this is a stupid and absurd realization to have about an envoy from the Iron Revolution's higher echelons.

His third realization is that the eyai is old. Older than any eyai Tee has ever seen in one piece; even older than the twins, perhaps. The thought makes his fingers itch; would make him sweat, if the past year's many shocks had not yet come to pass.

Perhaps? No, impossible. Still...

Tee is wondering how often Nacio has needed to replace his organic components when Nacio says, "You'll have to excuse me, Tee, but I haven't got time to take this any further today. Shall I come back to-- no, not tomorrow, sorry, but perhaps the day after?"

Tee starts. "What? Leaving? But we ain't talked business at all yet."

Nacio blinks. "I suppose we haven't. Next time I come I'll try to be more focused. I'm sorry."

"Nah," says Tee. "Don't be. 's OK. The day after tomorrow works for me, too."

Not waiting for Nacio to murmur assent (he's noticed this as well, that Nacio actually fucking murmurs), by way of not asking the biggest question on his mind-- What do you want from me?, Tee asks the second biggest question on his mind. "Hey, Nacio. How old are you?"

"Twenty-five," says Nacio. "Why?"

Tee's breath does not catch in his throat. "No reason," he says. "See you soon. Have a good day."

Which Nacio may or may not-- but Tee does.

[fahye.livejournal.com]

Immediately following which realization Tee has the second realization that this is a stupid and absurd realization to have about an envoy from the Iron Revolution's higher echelons.

I want to frame this sentence.

I also REALLY want to know what Nacio is thinking.

[nextian.livejournal.com]

One of my greatest and most favorite thing is when Nacio is inexplicably, continually badass.

I feel like for this scene and for this scene only he was played by Edward James Olmos.

[girl-wonder.livejournal.com]

OMG. I love this line so much:

Oh, God, thinks Tee. The cog's a relic.

Because YES AND NO. And how much win.

[nextian.livejournal.com]

REQUESTS:

* LOOK, IT'S ME. I want Nacio and Oliver in my life. I will never not want this.
* DITTO DITTO DITTO Mai Linh and Nahia.
* What are eyai like in Russia? Sares?
* This is open to Sares anyone but anything particularly obnoxiously LA would be ace. Like, the plastic surgery variety.
* TEE AND LEO HAVE HANGOUTS. SEE IF I REQUEST IT I CAN MAKE YOU WRITE IT, OTHER PEOPLE.
* Someone, I am not particular who, playing a game of aldress.

[girl-wonder.livejournal.com]

Ok, re: aldress, let me know if I've quoted this one at you yet:

Aldress is not a game of chance, but it is not exactly a game of strategy. The fine webs of crystallized light that hold the senior board above the junior create a certain amount of chaos in the plays, a carp as likely to destabilize the senior board as a dauphin.

Kelly Manuel in his definitive book on aldress said, "If the leaders of today paid more attention to the game of aldress than their pocket books, there would never be any need for revolution."

The Doctor moved the palm across the axe and grinned. "I call destabilization."

Across from him, the girl smiled. She looked no more than 16, with dark hair and wide, wide eyes. "No," she said.

Casually, she moved her oxen in tandem with the carp and the senior board dropped.

"I call collapse," she said.

He moved in, claiming the board. Holding up her dauphin, he offered it back to her. "I win."

Shrugging, she offered over her hand, "Good game."

"Good game," the Doctor agreed. "Another?"

She shook her head. Gesturing out the window, she said, "We're almost in London."

"Ah," he paused. "Yes."

The empty train car swayed just slightly as it rounded a corner. Replacing the pieces in her traveling case, she faltered as the train door opened behind her, turning to see who had come in.

For a second, the Doctor knew he saw fear on her face, the same expression he'd seen when he first entered the car, when he'd seen her playing both sides of an aldress board.

"Liz," she said. When she stood, she scattered pieces all across the floor, and the other woman took two steps across the car before bending to pick up a fallen oxen.

"Who's this?" Liz asked, glancing to him. Her expression was blank, the hint of a smile making it seem as though she was alive, but he saw underneath that to the gears turning, the binary flowing.

"You're a machine," he said, pulling out his sonic screwdriver, setting it until it for a program scan.

As with most of the larger complications in his life, he missed the girl picking up the aldress board until he felt it slam down on his hand, knocking the sonic screwdriver down.

The expression on her face was deeply afraid and he said, "Wait."

She didn't, instead slamming it across his cheek, going for another blow when Liz reached her.

"Aimee," Liz said, hand against Aimee's neck.

The Doctor sat frozen on the ground, fumbling for the sonic screwdriver. He could feel blood on his face and thought that he needed to say something to make the situation less dangerous, but there was a horrible sort of terror in her face. She looked at him like he was the Destroyer of Worlds and she didn't even know him.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said. His voice faltered. The last girl who had trusted him was probably sitting in her house, going about her life, not remembering a single thing about him.

"We're about to arrive," Liz said. She knelt down and picked up the screwdriver from under the table, tucked it into her dress in the invisible way he'd noticed that beautiful women could hide terrible things. Then, pulling a handkerchief from the edge of her glove, she dabbed at his cheek, making a soft 'shush' sound as though he was a child.

"Liz," Aimee said, quietly behind her, and he noticed that the aldress pieces had been collected. "We have to knock him out."

"No we don't," Liz argued, quietly. There was a familiarity in her disagreement, as though it was an old argument. "He's not going to say anything."

Gently, she pressed the white cotton square into his palm and ran her fingers through his hair. She made a slight humming noise and shook her head, standing and straightening her skirts. He would have loved to see her programming in that moment, the grace of mechanics meeting the organic flow of reality.

Wibbly-wobbly time-space flexing and shifting to accommodate something so beautiful.

The train stopped and he stood as the conductor came through, announcing that it was the end of the line, due to the revolution.

"Revolution?" the Doctor exclaimed.

REAL DRABBLE(S) COMING SOON

[pushingmetaphor.livejournal.com]

"Leo, baby," Harry says, one hand over his cell phone's receiver, "it better be a fucking emergency, because I'm missing pilates for this."

[schiarire.livejournal.com]

Make requests 1 & 2 more detailed and I'll see what I can do!

[seekingferret.livejournal.com]

Dylan averted his eyes as he entered. Piercing fluorescent lights rained down on him from every angle, reflecting endlessly off an inescapable whiteness. Within moments, his eyes adjusted to the illumination. He shook his head and muttered.

He glanced around, briefly, taking in the room. No different from the dozens of others he'd been to in its gross details. Sink for washing hands, box of gloves sitting neatly next to the sink. Assorted vaguely threatening implements carefully stored in clear plastic boxes. Dylan had been nervous the first time he'd come to one of these places. He'd long since gotten over that nervousness. Or at least, the nervousness had taken on a new focus. His fear of rejection.

He sat and waited for a few minutes, quietly whistling an electropop tune, and finally the doctor entered. She was young, perhaps thirty-two or thirty-three, with short, blonde hair. She wasn't quite attractive. Something about her nose was a little bit too... natural. Dr. Lewis was only the second female surgeon he'd visited.

"So you're Dylan Andrews? I've heard about you. I expected a visit, sooner or later. You've hit most of my colleagues already. I gather you have an unusual request." Her grin was a little bit fiercer than he was prepared for. "I specialize in unusual requests."

Dylan didn't know how to handle the way she stared straight into his eyes. It was a directness he'd never seen in LA before. He shrugged, indifferently, and looked away from her. "I guess it's unusual. Isn't this city all about living out your dreams?"

"No." Her voice drifted away, spacier than it had been "LA is about dreams. Not living them out." Somehow, she managed to make eye contact again. Dylan averted his eyes again.

"So you want a lock."

He nodded, with as much assertion as he could muster. "I want a lock."

Her eyes gleamed with an unsavory satisfaction. "Let's make it clear what I cannot do. The lock will not be fully functional. A counterclockwise turn will not shut off your nervous system. I've heard rumors they can do that in Thailand, but the neural wiring is too sophisticated for American medical systems. And it's probably against my Hippocratic Oath, anyway."

"I understand."

"Depending on how much you pay, a clockwise turn can be wired into your adrenal gland, so that you get a rush of energy when you turn it."

His eyes widened in surprise. She shrugged. "Some people get off on that." Dylan rolled his eyes.

"What you will have is a lock. Buried into your shoulder. Same as you'd find in any eyai- I buy straight from the supplier. Nobody will be able to tell the difference. I do good quality work. Only 1 in 20 of my patients have any post-operative complications."

He nodded. "So when can you start?"

[schiarire.livejournal.com]

"Look, Nacio," said Wolf, bursting into his own office. "I got you a birthday present!"

Nacio looked puzzled. "But it isn't my birthday. And anyway, Oliver, I thought we talked about the exclusionary effects of birth-related language -- "

Wolf waved the exclusionary effects of birth-related language away. "Right, you caught me, it jes' came in the post today. An' I want you to have it! Asap!"

Pleased, Nacio accepted the parcel. "Did you wrap this yourself?"

"Yes," lied Wolf. "I mean-- no. Does it matter?"

"No," said Nacio, blinking. "It's just that it looks so sloppy, I thought you might have done it."

"Flatterer."

" ... "

"Yea?"

"Oliver," asked Nacio, "what is this?"

In an impressive display of expressiveness, Wolf looked even more pleased with himself than he usually did. "It's a shirt."

"So it is," said Nacio. "Ah. It has a picture of ... you ... on it?"

"Yea! It came all the way from California."

Savouring the word California, Wolf said, staring dreamily at the state portrait of himself that hung over his desk, "Y'know, I've often thought I would've been fully awesome in movies."

Nacio raised an eyebrow. "Your life now isn't 'fully awesome'?" He turned the shirt over. "Oliver ... where are the sleeves?"

"Those are the sleeves," Wolf explained. "It's called a 'T-shirt,' see. 'Cos the shape is like the letter T."

Gingerly, Nacio lifted one T-sleeve and let it fall again. "Oliver, I'm not convinced it's decent."

Wolf leered. "That's the point, love."

"Well," said Nacio. "All right. But just once, and then it goes in the state archive."

"Fine with me," said Wolf. "For now. But jes' wait till you see what's in the next shipment!"

[fahye.livejournal.com]

All of my drabbles currently existing in potentia are developing inferiority complexes in the face of this one.

I AM JUST SAYING.

[pushingmetaphor.livejournal.com]

ohmyfuckinggodithinkijustdiedofhappiness.

[girl-wonder.livejournal.com]

In an impressive display of expressiveness, Wolf looked even more pleased with himself than he usually did. "It's a shirt."

"So it is," said Nacio. "Ah. It has a picture of ... you ... on it?"

THIS IS THE BEST LINE IN THE WORLD.

[pushingmetaphor.livejournal.com]

Sares would be a happy camper if gifted with:

1) ANYTHING WITH DIETER IN.
2) Zeke Emanuel in eyaiverse L.A. EMMA YOU KNOW WHAT I'M FUCKING TALKING ABOUT.
3) Eyai and Hollywood, Hollywood and eyai. Make it happen, Emma people!
4) I am just going to second the request for TEE AND LEO MAKING BEAUTIFUL MUSIC TOGETHER.
5) Julian and Dom's ridiculous sexcapades.

I will happily attempt any requests that fall under my areas of (questionable expertise), i.e. terrible banter, flash bastards, gangster ultraviolence, anything disgustingly American, etc.

[fahye.livejournal.com]

I, er, may or may not be planning an entire romcom spinoff fic about 5)

*shifty eyes*

[schiarire.livejournal.com]

I REQUEST RUSSIAN MAFIA + EYAI.

Alternate request: Leo + jacuzzi.

Sares & Ji: this is for you! (NOW ACTUALLY EDITED)

[fahye.livejournal.com]

"How about this one?"

Dom turns in time for Julian to set a woman's sunhat on his head, wide sweeping brim and dangling blue ribbons and all.

Dom laughs. "Unless you can provide irrefutable evidence that genderfluidity of style has been endorsed by the best magazines, I'm afraid not."

Julian tilts his head and pretends to regard him critically. "It's not so bad," he says, and then takes hold of the ribbons and uses them to tug Dom's mouth down to his. Dom forgets where they are for a moment and then, with a soft jerk of realisation, pulls away.

"Jules," he says, pained. "Those ribbons are made of pure silk."

One of the excellent aspects of Julian's character is that where some men might complain about Dom's priorities at this point, Julian releases the ribbons immediately.

"Oh," he says, smoothing them through his fingers and then taking firm hold of Dom's cravat instead, "do excuse me." The tugging and kissing recommence as though nothing has happened. Dom is almost -- almost -- done with being surprised at the vast range of locations that Julian considers to be appropriate for kissing. And more than kissing.

With difficulty, Dom convinces himself that the discreet coughing of the shop assistant is more important than the feel of Julian's delicate wool trousers and the teasing flick of his tongue against Dom's, and he pushes him gently away. "We're looking for an evening hat," he reminds Julian, removing the sunhat and putting it back on display.

When Dom turns back from perfecting the angle of the hat and the drape of its ribbon, Julian is chewing his wet lip thoughtfully. Dom raises an exasperated eyebrow, recognising the expression. "What are the chances that I'll be able to finish my shopping without fucking you in a changing room?"

"Slim," Julian says cheerfully. "Don't you think that man over there looks just like Oliver Wolf?"

Dom glances in the direction indicated. "I think it is Oliver Wolf."

"No. Truly?" Julian frowns. "I always thought he'd be taller than that."

The man in question is turning a tall grey hat over in his hands. Nearby is a tall, solemn eyai wearing extremely boring clothing that's obviously meant to help him blend in and is doing a terrible job of it. He's also spending far more time glancing over at maybe-Wolf than at any of the hats in the shop. Dom thinks: we've written bodyguards with ten times the stealth ability of that one.

"I think it's really him."

"In that case," Julian says, sounding excited, "the head of the government is checking you out."

Indeed, when Dom looks back at Wolf, he's checking Dom out; more accurately, he's directing a look of faint irritation at Dom's boots. Dom knows they are beyond reproach, fashionably speaking -- riding boots are the newest thing (again) and his show the unfakeable rough polish of the true antique -- so it must be envy. Dom takes a moment to think that the code dictating the association of visual input to create a value judgement of taste would be interesting to fiddle with, and then he returns to feeling pleased with himself. He waits for the head of the government's gaze to ascend past his well-fitted trousers and crisp shirt, and then gives a polite smile when it reaches his face.

"That's a fierce cravat," says Oliver Wolf, combatively.

"Thank you." Dom gives his best shallow bow, which still doesn't quite bring his head level with Wolf's. "So is yours," because it is.

"We were jes' sayin' what a pity it is that the unrest in China has slowed the export of silks, weren't we?"

The boydguard's expression gains an edge of long-suffering amusement. "Yes, Oliver," he says.

Something about his voice makes Dom think for a moment that this is really kind of a ridiculous thing to be doing, and also makes him contemplate the likelihood that there's a law dictating the penalty for out-dandying Oliver Wolf. But then Julian, the bastard, murmurs, "You can take him," to a row of berets.

"I've always felt that Italian silk is superior when it comes to texture and finishing," says Dom's mouth.

Wolf's eyes narrow.

[fahye.livejournal.com]

THIS IS NOT A DRABBLE but I feel it will provide entertainment anyway:

~

me: ajfhsakf now i am imagining Nacio
in a Wolf hat
Jinah: omg
can that be a drabble
me: and Oliver is like: I would be turned on by this
if I were the type to be turned on
Jinah: You know the person with the largest collection of Oliver Wolf merchandise is Oliver Wolf.
me: oh yes
Jinah: Oliver Wolf: AND here's a first edition illegal knockoff of the original action figure of me!
me: Dieter has a shot glass
Jinah: I also want an Oliver Wolf shot glass..
You couldn't really put him on other liquor glasses though.
Like, no Oliver Wolf champagne flutes.
Oliver Wolf beach towels!
me: fkahdjhffak oh man
Jinah: water coolers... scarves... belts
me: drabble me Nacio + merchandise
pleeeease

& then

me: also I find Nacio's promise to wear the shirt 'just once' to be very suggestive
Jinah: oh man, it sort of is isn't it
heeeee. That's OK.
me: It's like the lingerie you wear for special birthday sex
Jinah: That is the most fucked up yet hilarious thing I've ever heard.
That's basically exactly what it is.
me: but I mean. NACIO IS WEARING HIS FACE. that is like special birthday sex for wolf
Jinah: Exactly!!

[nextian.livejournal.com]

every single one of the oliver wolf + merchandise ... conversations ... happenings ... has made me laugh so hard my family thought i was having a seizure I AM STILL LAUGHING

Oh Man, This is a Terrible thing

[seekingferret.livejournal.com]

"You know," murmured Dieter to Mai in a dire and smirking whisper, "It seems to me that any time something interesting happens around here, it can be ultimately traced to Wolf getting bored."

"Show a little respect!" She winked. "He is our almighty leader. We wouldn't be where we are without him."

"No, you're right. That is undeniable. And neither would Wimbledon be what it is. Mixed doubles was truly an inspiration, don't you think?"

She laughed, sharply, an irresistible mixture of malice and mirth. "Well, after years of the humans talking about how Roger Federer played like a machine, it was about time someone actually showed how a machine played."