(no subject)
Nov. 5th, 2004 07:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
The "give us one sentence from your WIPs" meme appears to have morphed into "wee snippets from your WIPs," which is fine with me, since relatively few single sentences are able to stand on their own in a provocative way. That's my excuse, anyway.
From the Mulder-and-Methos Roadtrip-o'-Angst, provisionally titled The Art of Losing:
"Okay, damn it, so it's not the Hilton. You know we can't go to the ones where they make you check in with your credit card. I'm sorry, all right? And this isn't so bad." Mulder felt belligerent. "I've stayed in worse."
"Stayed in worse, have you?" Adam brushed past him. "You think you've seen bad lodgings? Try sharing a flea-infested straw mattress with a gang of unwashed drovers who've gotten puking drunk. Or, for that matter, a roadside ditch in a downpour--now that's misery." He pulled back the coverlet on the further bed, eyed the linens, and suddenly flopped down full-length, wriggling himself against the mattress. "This'll do."
From the as-yet-untitled Fraser-as-priest AU:
And hardest of all, on those occasions when no intercession could help--watching them die, strapped to a table, a needle in the arm. I am one of the last things that a few of them ever saw, my words the among last things they have heard in this life, speaking to them of the new life to which they might be born.
From the Joe-and-Methos-talking-late-at-night thing, untitled:
But you know the first thing they teach you in Watcher Academy--never take these guys at face value. Never think that what you see's what you get. They haven't just got histories, they are their history, every one of 'em, even while they're right here and right now. What's that line of Faulkner's? The past ain't dead. It ain't even past.
So--how deep was it buried, for Darius? How tight does Methos have it locked up? Tighter than my wild dogs? I've got some vicious ones myself, deep down in the basement, ones that've tasted blood. Long ago, but you know what they say. Once a dog's tasted blood, it never forgets. And you never trust it quite the same way again.
From the Politics of X sequel thingie:
"I'm not a very reasonable person, Ray. I thought you'd noticed. You're the one who tells me I'm unhinged. A freak. I know I am. I thought you knew it too. It doesn't matter how much you might like me to be like everyone else--like you. I can't be. I have no vocation for normality."
And now, having scanned through the WIPs to dig these out, I really want to stay home and write, dammit. Good things it's Friday.
From the Mulder-and-Methos Roadtrip-o'-Angst, provisionally titled The Art of Losing:
"Okay, damn it, so it's not the Hilton. You know we can't go to the ones where they make you check in with your credit card. I'm sorry, all right? And this isn't so bad." Mulder felt belligerent. "I've stayed in worse."
"Stayed in worse, have you?" Adam brushed past him. "You think you've seen bad lodgings? Try sharing a flea-infested straw mattress with a gang of unwashed drovers who've gotten puking drunk. Or, for that matter, a roadside ditch in a downpour--now that's misery." He pulled back the coverlet on the further bed, eyed the linens, and suddenly flopped down full-length, wriggling himself against the mattress. "This'll do."
From the as-yet-untitled Fraser-as-priest AU:
And hardest of all, on those occasions when no intercession could help--watching them die, strapped to a table, a needle in the arm. I am one of the last things that a few of them ever saw, my words the among last things they have heard in this life, speaking to them of the new life to which they might be born.
From the Joe-and-Methos-talking-late-at-night thing, untitled:
But you know the first thing they teach you in Watcher Academy--never take these guys at face value. Never think that what you see's what you get. They haven't just got histories, they are their history, every one of 'em, even while they're right here and right now. What's that line of Faulkner's? The past ain't dead. It ain't even past.
So--how deep was it buried, for Darius? How tight does Methos have it locked up? Tighter than my wild dogs? I've got some vicious ones myself, deep down in the basement, ones that've tasted blood. Long ago, but you know what they say. Once a dog's tasted blood, it never forgets. And you never trust it quite the same way again.
From the Politics of X sequel thingie:
"I'm not a very reasonable person, Ray. I thought you'd noticed. You're the one who tells me I'm unhinged. A freak. I know I am. I thought you knew it too. It doesn't matter how much you might like me to be like everyone else--like you. I can't be. I have no vocation for normality."
And now, having scanned through the WIPs to dig these out, I really want to stay home and write, dammit. Good things it's Friday.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-05 08:22 am (UTC)As a priest.
*combusts*