(no subject)
Jul. 6th, 2008 03:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bodldopsA drabble meme, stolen shamelessly from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
newredshoes. I'm taking it as she wrote it, and offering two flavors of meme:
1) I'll post the first lines of my fic, and you write a new fic/drabble for them. The new fic can be an utterly different canon from the original fic.
2) Post the first lines of your fic here (or in your own journal, I'll hunt them down) and I'll post fic here using those first lines - and I'll probably change the canon too, while I'm at it. :D
Post away!
Prompts!
“So… what is this place again?” Rose asks curiously as she leans against the metal railing surrounding the TARDIS’s central console, addressing the owner of the pair of stripped trouser-clad legs that are disappearing underneath said console. (DW)
“Ah, there you are. Do you have any preference as to our next destination?” (DW)
Han tugged on the stays anchoring the emergency shelter to the surrounding ice shelf, noting with grim satisfaction as they held tautly. (SW)
“’Ro!” A soft, anxious whisper broke the pre-dawn silence. (LotR)
It had been some years after Mad Bilbo’s party, and folk were still talking about it. (LotR)
“Give me your hand, Elladan.” A deceptively calm voice ordered. (LotR)
The sky was a pale blue at that early hour of the morning, with just a few wispy clouds marring the great expanse. (LotR)
It did not rain today. (LotR)
It is quiet now, save for the pop and crackle of the fire as it burns, casting a reddish glow on my two sleeping companions and me. (LotR)
The council was silent, watching the young master before them. (SW)
Sighing, I slid into the last seat of the shuttle. (SW)
Someone is attempting to drill his head off with a sonic pick. (Torchwood)
There was silence from both ends of the workstation. (ST/DW)
He storms off of the roof, not wanting, not able to face the desperation in the young man's eyes. (Heroes/DW)
It was a well known fact, Han mused, that war is made up of two distinct and unequal time frames – there is the frantic, scrabbling, heart-pounding terror of battle where it was all you could do to stay alive, and there is the long, unbroken stretch of complete and utter boredom between battles. (SW)
The eored slowly rode through the ruined village, each step of the horses raising puffs of black dust from the burnt grasses underfoot. (LotR)
I am tired of hiding in dark corners and deserted alley-ways, only able to go about the city in disguise. (Peabody Mysteries - He Shall Thunder In The Sky)
Drabble #1, fromnewredshoes, DW - Hex's POV, 320 words
I never get tired of the fireworks.
The fear, that got old about five minutes after the first adventure I had started, fleeing from something unknown on a motorbike with McShane. The usual painful horror, yeah, I can do without that too. They attract bodies. Not on purpose, one look at them confirms it is never on purpose, but they do. Everywhere we go, there's bodies, most dead, some still clinging to life for a few more minutes, just long enough that I can make some last-ditch attempt to save them that inevitably fails. I hate standing up with blood on my hands, sometimes human, sometimes not, feeling utterly inadequate in the face of a brutal universe.
New places, that took a lot longer to get tired of, the first time. After our desperate escape from the Dreaming, though, I was jonesing for something a little more familiar than purple sand and emerald skies, even if McShane did wear that skimpy two-piece while playing in the waves.
His damnable need for secrecy, that got old fast. Sure, he's Time's Champion and all that, but would it kill him to let us in on the plan now and again, preferably before everything goes to hell? Just for a change? There would probably be fewer encounters with bear traps if he'd just talk to us as equals once in a while.
Running. For the record, I hate running. It is a horrible form of exercise, and should be banned. And yet, we run everywhere. Aren't there any planets with moving sidewalks? She loves it, in that mad inhuman way she gets sometimes. But me? I can definitely do without.
But I never get tired of the fireworks. When she can cut loose with a pyrotechnics display just for the sheer hell of it, and he grins with that odd mixture of pride and affection as she celebrates. Those are good times.
They make everything else more than worth it.
newredshoes. I'm taking it as she wrote it, and offering two flavors of meme:1) I'll post the first lines of my fic, and you write a new fic/drabble for them. The new fic can be an utterly different canon from the original fic.
2) Post the first lines of your fic here (or in your own journal, I'll hunt them down) and I'll post fic here using those first lines - and I'll probably change the canon too, while I'm at it. :D
Post away!
Prompts!
“So… what is this place again?” Rose asks curiously as she leans against the metal railing surrounding the TARDIS’s central console, addressing the owner of the pair of stripped trouser-clad legs that are disappearing underneath said console. (DW)
“Ah, there you are. Do you have any preference as to our next destination?” (DW)
Han tugged on the stays anchoring the emergency shelter to the surrounding ice shelf, noting with grim satisfaction as they held tautly. (SW)
“’Ro!” A soft, anxious whisper broke the pre-dawn silence. (LotR)
It had been some years after Mad Bilbo’s party, and folk were still talking about it. (LotR)
“Give me your hand, Elladan.” A deceptively calm voice ordered. (LotR)
The sky was a pale blue at that early hour of the morning, with just a few wispy clouds marring the great expanse. (LotR)
It did not rain today. (LotR)
It is quiet now, save for the pop and crackle of the fire as it burns, casting a reddish glow on my two sleeping companions and me. (LotR)
The council was silent, watching the young master before them. (SW)
Sighing, I slid into the last seat of the shuttle. (SW)
Someone is attempting to drill his head off with a sonic pick. (Torchwood)
There was silence from both ends of the workstation. (ST/DW)
He storms off of the roof, not wanting, not able to face the desperation in the young man's eyes. (Heroes/DW)
It was a well known fact, Han mused, that war is made up of two distinct and unequal time frames – there is the frantic, scrabbling, heart-pounding terror of battle where it was all you could do to stay alive, and there is the long, unbroken stretch of complete and utter boredom between battles. (SW)
The eored slowly rode through the ruined village, each step of the horses raising puffs of black dust from the burnt grasses underfoot. (LotR)
I am tired of hiding in dark corners and deserted alley-ways, only able to go about the city in disguise. (Peabody Mysteries - He Shall Thunder In The Sky)
Drabble #1, from
newredshoes, DW - Hex's POV, 320 wordsI never get tired of the fireworks.
The fear, that got old about five minutes after the first adventure I had started, fleeing from something unknown on a motorbike with McShane. The usual painful horror, yeah, I can do without that too. They attract bodies. Not on purpose, one look at them confirms it is never on purpose, but they do. Everywhere we go, there's bodies, most dead, some still clinging to life for a few more minutes, just long enough that I can make some last-ditch attempt to save them that inevitably fails. I hate standing up with blood on my hands, sometimes human, sometimes not, feeling utterly inadequate in the face of a brutal universe.
New places, that took a lot longer to get tired of, the first time. After our desperate escape from the Dreaming, though, I was jonesing for something a little more familiar than purple sand and emerald skies, even if McShane did wear that skimpy two-piece while playing in the waves.
His damnable need for secrecy, that got old fast. Sure, he's Time's Champion and all that, but would it kill him to let us in on the plan now and again, preferably before everything goes to hell? Just for a change? There would probably be fewer encounters with bear traps if he'd just talk to us as equals once in a while.
Running. For the record, I hate running. It is a horrible form of exercise, and should be banned. And yet, we run everywhere. Aren't there any planets with moving sidewalks? She loves it, in that mad inhuman way she gets sometimes. But me? I can definitely do without.
But I never get tired of the fireworks. When she can cut loose with a pyrotechnics display just for the sheer hell of it, and he grins with that odd mixture of pride and affection as she celebrates. Those are good times.
They make everything else more than worth it.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-06 11:41 pm (UTC)*shifty*
“Ah, there you are. Do you have any preference as to our next destination?”
Dean actually jerks back in his seat. "Dude. What the hell are you doing talking like that?"
It's only because he knows he can get a bigger reaction that Sam has the constitution to keep an utterly straight face.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-07 12:42 am (UTC)Also, McCoy-era DW episodes are made of crack and angst and really corny props and costumes. Go waaaaatch.