I can get the missing eps to you, if you still haven't picked them up by tonight--if you could YIM me a reminder if you still need them? That way, when I get home after class & lab it'll be like a post-it on my computer 8 )
I've a love/hate relationship with fics that show me aliens partaking in human life. If it's done well, I eat it up, and if it's done poorly, I still happily read and then grimace, so I'm forgiving myself the construct.
That's exactly it, when the characterization and the consequences are done well it's like seeing them in a double-vision, skewed and yet exactly who they are *because* of the strange setting. They make earth strange (especially John, in a way, culture-shock coming like a last dirty punch to the head when he's already down) and earth somehow makes them more familiar to us, underscores how well-realized their world has become to us, seeing it clash and mesh with our own.
"Show me something… normal." She said, throwing it at you like a dare, a wish, a taunt. "Your normal. You owe me that."
What hurts so much about this thing between them on Earth is how very hard they're each trying to suss the other out despite all the distractions, how much they both need to *see* into the other's heart but are so careful not to project any of their own raw need that they end up seeing nothing at all, and yet it's so painfully obvious that anyone close to them can't help wincing (though the Crichtons and Caroline are fresh enough to the situation to keep trying to call them on it, a brick wall the Moyans are sick of beating their heads against).
"You could stay," soft now, not sure what you're offering, if it's a threat or a gift.
"No. Not alone. Not here."
"I wouldn't…" you stop, the veracity choking your throat. "I wouldn't leave you here…alone."
Conversations weave together on the screen, foleys and creeks and the filtered noises of a constructed life.
"Good," she says. "Then let's go."
That's really it, isn't it? This aches like a fever, their misunderstanding and pain a sickness that burns through the cold of the theatre. Well-done.
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Date: 2005-07-05 12:41 pm (UTC)I can get the missing eps to you, if you still haven't picked them up by tonight--if you could YIM me a reminder if you still need them? That way, when I get home after class & lab it'll be like a post-it on my computer 8 )
I've a love/hate relationship with fics that show me aliens partaking in human life. If it's done well, I eat it up, and if it's done poorly, I still happily read and then grimace, so I'm forgiving myself the construct.
That's exactly it, when the characterization and the consequences are done well it's like seeing them in a double-vision, skewed and yet exactly who they are *because* of the strange setting. They make earth strange (especially John, in a way, culture-shock coming like a last dirty punch to the head when he's already down) and earth somehow makes them more familiar to us, underscores how well-realized their world has become to us, seeing it clash and mesh with our own.
"Show me something… normal." She said, throwing it at you like a dare, a wish, a taunt. "Your normal. You owe me that."
What hurts so much about this thing between them on Earth is how very hard they're each trying to suss the other out despite all the distractions, how much they both need to *see* into the other's heart but are so careful not to project any of their own raw need that they end up seeing nothing at all, and yet it's so painfully obvious that anyone close to them can't help wincing (though the Crichtons and Caroline are fresh enough to the situation to keep trying to call them on it, a brick wall the Moyans are sick of beating their heads against).
"You could stay," soft now, not sure what you're offering, if it's a threat or a gift.
"No. Not alone. Not here."
"I wouldn't…" you stop, the veracity choking your throat. "I wouldn't leave you here…alone."
Conversations weave together on the screen, foleys and creeks and the filtered noises of a constructed life.
"Good," she says. "Then let's go."
That's really it, isn't it? This aches like a fever, their misunderstanding and pain a sickness that burns through the cold of the theatre. Well-done.