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Drabble Meme!
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honorh and artaxastra. Read Emverse stories and HP meta by cadesama. Try to resist the allure of the drabble meme. Post the results of ignoring said sane advice.
Mr. Morden enjoyed his work. He was the most dedicated of employees, never doubting once the purpose or wisdom of his associates, never asking for free hours or a salary raise. Why should he, when urges like these were catered to before he was even aware that he had them?
But sometimes, even his unwavering zeal was severely tested. Spending endless hours hearing Vice President Clark ramble on about what he would do in Santiago's place was crushingly dull; being forced to go golfing with Clark afterwards was worse. And then Clark actually asked him to kneel down and pray with him for the success of their endeavour.
After this, Mr. Morden made a point of never asking a human politician what he wanted again. Clearly, his future lay in the alien sector.
There is a face she wears only in the mirror, or sometimes in cafes or spaceports, places full of anonymous people. She hasn't shown it to anyone else in years.
As Queen of Naboo, she was not supposed to have a face of her own anyway. That was why all Queens wore the ceremonial make-up while in office. Now her term is over, and the white face has been cleaned away for the last time. She does not quite know what to do with the one that remains. It is Padmé Naberrie's face, but it has become a disguise for Amidala, and now she is no longer convinced it ever was as real as the mask.
The boy, she thinks, suddenly. She had shown this face to the boy Anakin, and to him, it had been the truth.
Perhaps, if she saw him again, it would become the truth to her as well.
She looked at the mirror. It was an equisite piece from Bohemia; by now, she could tell these things. In her human life, which she remembered less and less and didn't particularily care to, she had never earned enough to afford a mirror like that, made of mercury, with the frame consisting of carefully carved ebony. Her fingertips touched the cherubic faces on each of the four corners. How very appropriate.
The surface, smooth and clear like the scratched bronze thing she had used as a human never had been, showed her everything she wanted to see. The room, draped in velvet curtains, with paintings that had never been allowed in the colonies. The charming pair of lovers she had drained to aquire it; they were far more decorative now that their voices were stilled.
Most of all, it did not show her any part of herself.
So, having played myself, here it comes:
Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write a drabble with the same first line as one of my stories, and leave it in my comments here. Any fandom, any pairing, and you can interpret "drabble" as loosely as you want.
She is dying, and death does not come as a surprise to her.
I believed I would stop talking to you in my mind when I killed you.
"You're not serious."
Warren knew he hated Sunnydale the moment he saw it, but of course his mother didn't listen.
"I am, Ambassador."
Sex is not linear.
Both of them were, of course, considerably drunk.
There was a vague familiarity about the girl which he could not quite identify.
There had never been a time when they had been alone, and so there was an aptness about their fate that held the elegance of a poem.
Connor wasn’t sure what he had expected to find.
She was tired, tired beyond belief when he showed up.
Obi-Wan Kenobi had not visited Mos Espa for years.
The first time it happened, it was to make a point as much as for any other reason.
"The love of the Prophets," Bareil once told Winn, "is unconditional."
She is running, running, and the night around her shields her with it s
cool, whispering airs.
I also tried to catch up on the second presidential debate. Behold the snark version here.
honorh and artaxastra. Read Emverse stories and HP meta by cadesama. Try to resist the allure of the drabble meme. Post the results of ignoring said sane advice.Mr. Morden enjoyed his work. He was the most dedicated of employees, never doubting once the purpose or wisdom of his associates, never asking for free hours or a salary raise. Why should he, when urges like these were catered to before he was even aware that he had them?
But sometimes, even his unwavering zeal was severely tested. Spending endless hours hearing Vice President Clark ramble on about what he would do in Santiago's place was crushingly dull; being forced to go golfing with Clark afterwards was worse. And then Clark actually asked him to kneel down and pray with him for the success of their endeavour.
After this, Mr. Morden made a point of never asking a human politician what he wanted again. Clearly, his future lay in the alien sector.
There is a face she wears only in the mirror, or sometimes in cafes or spaceports, places full of anonymous people. She hasn't shown it to anyone else in years.
As Queen of Naboo, she was not supposed to have a face of her own anyway. That was why all Queens wore the ceremonial make-up while in office. Now her term is over, and the white face has been cleaned away for the last time. She does not quite know what to do with the one that remains. It is Padmé Naberrie's face, but it has become a disguise for Amidala, and now she is no longer convinced it ever was as real as the mask.
The boy, she thinks, suddenly. She had shown this face to the boy Anakin, and to him, it had been the truth.
Perhaps, if she saw him again, it would become the truth to her as well.
She looked at the mirror. It was an equisite piece from Bohemia; by now, she could tell these things. In her human life, which she remembered less and less and didn't particularily care to, she had never earned enough to afford a mirror like that, made of mercury, with the frame consisting of carefully carved ebony. Her fingertips touched the cherubic faces on each of the four corners. How very appropriate.
The surface, smooth and clear like the scratched bronze thing she had used as a human never had been, showed her everything she wanted to see. The room, draped in velvet curtains, with paintings that had never been allowed in the colonies. The charming pair of lovers she had drained to aquire it; they were far more decorative now that their voices were stilled.
Most of all, it did not show her any part of herself.
So, having played myself, here it comes:
Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write a drabble with the same first line as one of my stories, and leave it in my comments here. Any fandom, any pairing, and you can interpret "drabble" as loosely as you want.
She is dying, and death does not come as a surprise to her.
I believed I would stop talking to you in my mind when I killed you.
"You're not serious."
Warren knew he hated Sunnydale the moment he saw it, but of course his mother didn't listen.
"I am, Ambassador."
Sex is not linear.
Both of them were, of course, considerably drunk.
There was a vague familiarity about the girl which he could not quite identify.
There had never been a time when they had been alone, and so there was an aptness about their fate that held the elegance of a poem.
Connor wasn’t sure what he had expected to find.
She was tired, tired beyond belief when he showed up.
Obi-Wan Kenobi had not visited Mos Espa for years.
The first time it happened, it was to make a point as much as for any other reason.
"The love of the Prophets," Bareil once told Winn, "is unconditional."
She is running, running, and the night around her shields her with it s
cool, whispering airs.
I also tried to catch up on the second presidential debate. Behold the snark version here.
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Buffy eyed Xander and Willow, not sure whether to frown disapprovingly or collapse to the floor in laughter. "You two look ridiculous," she said finally.
Xander flinched, spinning around on his ass so fast Buffy winced in sympathy for the bad carpet burns he'd have in the morning. "FU- Buffy! Um, hi!"
"Nice to see you, Fubuffy," Willow said more calmly. She grinned. "You wanna play?"
Buffy considered, then dropped to the floor in between them. "Strip-Lara-Croft, huh? How many beers do I need to have to catch up with you guys?"
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If only "I believed I would stop talking to you in my mind when I killed you.
" wasn't such a tempting line for a little AtS drabble ...
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Three hundred sixty degrees to every touch and every breath, and she kept coming back to the one where she heard her words. “I'm going to leave you soon,” said Zhaan.
(I think I mentally jumbled your lines with Astrogirl's topic of choice, while looking at her drabble challenge in a fit of intense sleep deprivation. But I had to use it anyway. Forgive me.) :)
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He, of course, preferred to view their situation, his situation, with the same sarcastic wit - some of his victims, and even his former readers, might have called it cruelty - that had always been his speciality:
It was pathetic.
He hated the silence, as they all hated the silence, and yet there was only one way to escape it, and even that had been barred by those who were quietly watching them, and, as he suspected, secretly enjoying their punishment.
Oh, how he longed for death.
And yet, he wasn't ready to leave. He wasn't sure what exactly it was, but he knew that there was something he had to do before he would be allowed to escape this prison that held both his body and his mind captive. Something he would have to face, to acknowledge, to endure. Something worse than the silence...
Yes, they had chosen their penalty quite fittingly.
And so he was waiting, suffering the loneliness and the silence of his small cell, a silence that was by its sheer existence shaking him more than the loudest constant noise could ever have done.
His mind was numb and yet as alert as it had never been before, and finally, finally, he wasn’t able to escape his fate anymore.
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I believed I would stop talking to you in my mind when I killed you.
The act had a certain finality to it. The end of half-whispered justifications. A boy's sob, hastily suffocated by the sound of your footsteps, so swift and precise, on the staircase above.
It's rather funny, how much the universe actually depends on matters of darkness and distance. Wouldn't you say so?
When we finally were on that roof together, watching your body tumble gave me one small glimpse of how liberation would look like. Not a pleasing sight, but one I'd have faced bravely.
To bad, this particular incarnation of you proved to be just a compilation of magic and steel.
Your doting son,
W.
ah, Wesley angst! Wyndham-Pryce patricide issues!
I couldn't resist...
Winn expected to be arrested, but instead the Cardassians took Bareil, and flogged him naked in the town square. In the ancient times, Vedeks could protect their people, and Bajoran women saved their men from shame. Winn cleaned the bloody gashes on Bareil's back, and thought of Opaka.
"To hear the voice of the Prophets, sit for a day in darkness." That was the teaching that the Kai once had given her. No darkness is greater than the occupation, and this darkness spoke the will of the Prophets more clearly than any revelation. Winn left Bareil the next morning, and returned to the streets, preaching of the martyrs of Kendra Valley and what Bajor must do to honour their sacrifice. Her words were repeated on Bajor long after the gates of the prison camp shut behind her.
Bareil liked to preach about unconditional love, and Winn had no doubt that he still felt it, even though the ten years that she spent in prison had proven too long for him to wait. But ten years of unrelenting torture had taught her to speak more clearly. In the end, it is not the love that the prophets give us that matters, but the sacrifices that they demand. At the end of his life, it seemed that at last Bareil understood.
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and it is good you didn't!
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I don't know what you could possibly mean.*g*
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Forgot to mention earlier that picturing this scene was extremely amusing, especially when for some odd reason I kept replacing Clark with a certain president of our age. Ahem. ;p
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"She is dying, and death does not come as a surprise to her" is asking me to write a complementary drabble, but this will have to wait till tomorrow.
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You whisper words in my ear, but they're different now. Before, you whispered things that chilled me to my very core, things that would make even the most fierce of evils cower in terror. Now the words you whisper are sweet nothings, promises of eternity that will never come to anything.
It's ironic, with you I felt I was always chasing the dream, or maybe Xander's nightmare. Now all I have left is the dream, fading before sunrise.
Thanks!
Re: Thanks!
I suppose it just goes to show you that the Jossverse is full of people killing the ones they love. :)
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you're welcome, and...