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Sep. 2nd, 2003 07:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
itsallovernowIt's more writing, but I've been listening to Blood on the Tracks obsessively, so it seemed fitting. My allergies are getting better, and I've been incredibly prolific today. Which is good, since I have to be in frigging Hawthorne tomorrow at 8. Not somewhere you want to be that early in the morning.
I finished the rough draft of the Seven Virtues Challenge. Can you tell what goes with what: Faith, Hope, Charity, Prudence, Temperance, Fortitude and Justice. Not necessarily in that order. And it doesn't extol the virtues so much as tease them. It needs a beta, but I'm not sure if I'm gonna keep it or scrap it and start over. I wanted one virtue to trail seamlessly into the next and that just didn't work at all. Possibly miniscule spoilers LGM 3 and the beginning of DMD.
And fuck, I forgot to set the VCR. Thank god for Saturday repeats.
Oh, and each drabble. 100 words or less!! Yes. Finally did it.
'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm
1. He’s drowning. They can all see that, his eyes red-rimmed, bloodshot, hands shaky and grasping. She tucks herself around him, holds him close, and hums tunelessly. A cycle ago, she thought the only thing she had to offer was her body, and it turns out that she wasn’t wrong, she just wasn’t right either. His skin is warm and damp, doesn’t feel Sebacean. She smells his sweat, hugs him to her, and brushes dusky lips across his pale forehead. He doesn’t say thank you, and she’s pretty sure she hasn’t banished his nightmares. But somewhere in there, he takes a breath, breathes her in and feels peace.
2. This is my son, D’Argo says. John just smiles and begs. This is my son, and I want you to meet him, he repeats. John asks for death. D’Argo wraps his hands around John’s face, cradling the fine bones as if he were a child. This is Jothee, my son, he emphasizes, slowly, surely. He survived. You got him back, Tears sting Crichton’s eyes, the blue so bright against the tracks of burst capillaries, the tears run down his face, pool o n D’Argo’s hands, hot and smelling of salt.. This is my son, he adds gently, and everything will be all right. The pulse pistol halves the game board, and the players lie scattered on the floor.
3, She has no voice to whimper with, not for herself, not for the human who roams her halls, running his hands over her scabbing flesh. He sings and whispers to himself, and she wants to bob and roll and share her own wordless pain. They all watch him, saying nothing, breaths drawn, fear pouring off them so strongly it makes her remaining senses burn. She’d like to shut down, turn off her senses, tune out her Pilot and rest, but others need her, and she will keep going, shuddering ahead to see if her visitors can keep their promises.
3. He sinks his arms into the treasure, buries his limbs up to the shoulder joint and sighs in pure pleasure. He’d like to swim through the wealth, roll about in it, but this will do for now. It has been a very long time since he was covered in gold. He draws back, selects an item at random, and closes the lid. Moves on without a backwards glance.
5. She chants without finding peace, holds tightly to Stark, feeling his gift in her skin, that precarious contact with the dead. She doesn’t sense Moya within the sea of beings that swim in and out of Stark’s consciousness. She made this decision, she alone is responsible, and she will not beg for forgiveness for herself. She will however, beg for Moya, beg for John. Her restraint cannot encompass all of them. She has lived 800 cycles, she will plead for others, and she will accept the consequences for herself.
6. When she holds his face in her hands, feels warm flesh and the beating of blood, sometimes he’s just not there. She curls her nails into his skull, and sometimes that brings him back, wincing and feral, but present. But sometimes it doesn’t. As a Peacekeeper, she relied upon her comrades, knew without question that they would follow through, do their duty, be at her back. She’d been trained to believe that. Believing in him had been her own doing. When he disappears from his own skin, she finds herself lost.
7. You killed me John, Scorpy’s oily outraged voice says over and over again, ad nauseum until Crichton tries to drive the chess piece through his eye and into his brain. He can’t, is impotent even at self destruction. Aeryn orders him to confront his fears with strength, a kind of outraged desperation riding in her voice, and he wants to soothe and calm. Wrap her up and say, baby, it’ll be all right. Chi sings him to sleep, and Aeryn wakes him with frantic, bruising kisses, checking to make sure he’s still where she left him. You killed me. John, the voice repeats, and in a moment of clarity, he thinks damn straight and not a moment too soon.
I finished the rough draft of the Seven Virtues Challenge. Can you tell what goes with what: Faith, Hope, Charity, Prudence, Temperance, Fortitude and Justice. Not necessarily in that order. And it doesn't extol the virtues so much as tease them. It needs a beta, but I'm not sure if I'm gonna keep it or scrap it and start over. I wanted one virtue to trail seamlessly into the next and that just didn't work at all. Possibly miniscule spoilers LGM 3 and the beginning of DMD.
And fuck, I forgot to set the VCR. Thank god for Saturday repeats.
Oh, and each drabble. 100 words or less!! Yes. Finally did it.
'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm
1. He’s drowning. They can all see that, his eyes red-rimmed, bloodshot, hands shaky and grasping. She tucks herself around him, holds him close, and hums tunelessly. A cycle ago, she thought the only thing she had to offer was her body, and it turns out that she wasn’t wrong, she just wasn’t right either. His skin is warm and damp, doesn’t feel Sebacean. She smells his sweat, hugs him to her, and brushes dusky lips across his pale forehead. He doesn’t say thank you, and she’s pretty sure she hasn’t banished his nightmares. But somewhere in there, he takes a breath, breathes her in and feels peace.
2. This is my son, D’Argo says. John just smiles and begs. This is my son, and I want you to meet him, he repeats. John asks for death. D’Argo wraps his hands around John’s face, cradling the fine bones as if he were a child. This is Jothee, my son, he emphasizes, slowly, surely. He survived. You got him back, Tears sting Crichton’s eyes, the blue so bright against the tracks of burst capillaries, the tears run down his face, pool o n D’Argo’s hands, hot and smelling of salt.. This is my son, he adds gently, and everything will be all right. The pulse pistol halves the game board, and the players lie scattered on the floor.
3, She has no voice to whimper with, not for herself, not for the human who roams her halls, running his hands over her scabbing flesh. He sings and whispers to himself, and she wants to bob and roll and share her own wordless pain. They all watch him, saying nothing, breaths drawn, fear pouring off them so strongly it makes her remaining senses burn. She’d like to shut down, turn off her senses, tune out her Pilot and rest, but others need her, and she will keep going, shuddering ahead to see if her visitors can keep their promises.
3. He sinks his arms into the treasure, buries his limbs up to the shoulder joint and sighs in pure pleasure. He’d like to swim through the wealth, roll about in it, but this will do for now. It has been a very long time since he was covered in gold. He draws back, selects an item at random, and closes the lid. Moves on without a backwards glance.
5. She chants without finding peace, holds tightly to Stark, feeling his gift in her skin, that precarious contact with the dead. She doesn’t sense Moya within the sea of beings that swim in and out of Stark’s consciousness. She made this decision, she alone is responsible, and she will not beg for forgiveness for herself. She will however, beg for Moya, beg for John. Her restraint cannot encompass all of them. She has lived 800 cycles, she will plead for others, and she will accept the consequences for herself.
6. When she holds his face in her hands, feels warm flesh and the beating of blood, sometimes he’s just not there. She curls her nails into his skull, and sometimes that brings him back, wincing and feral, but present. But sometimes it doesn’t. As a Peacekeeper, she relied upon her comrades, knew without question that they would follow through, do their duty, be at her back. She’d been trained to believe that. Believing in him had been her own doing. When he disappears from his own skin, she finds herself lost.
7. You killed me John, Scorpy’s oily outraged voice says over and over again, ad nauseum until Crichton tries to drive the chess piece through his eye and into his brain. He can’t, is impotent even at self destruction. Aeryn orders him to confront his fears with strength, a kind of outraged desperation riding in her voice, and he wants to soothe and calm. Wrap her up and say, baby, it’ll be all right. Chi sings him to sleep, and Aeryn wakes him with frantic, bruising kisses, checking to make sure he’s still where she left him. You killed me. John, the voice repeats, and in a moment of clarity, he thinks damn straight and not a moment too soon.
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no subject
Date: 2003-09-02 07:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-03 02:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-02 08:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-03 02:26 pm (UTC)Thanks.
no subject
Date: 2003-09-03 12:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-03 02:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-03 08:12 am (UTC)*picks up keyboard and chucks it through the window* I won't be needing this anymore.
no subject
Date: 2003-09-03 02:18 pm (UTC)But thank you. That means a lot to me. I wasn't at all sure how this worked because it wasn't at all what I had envisioned. But it was a welcome relief from the 20 some pages of Blue Eyes. I got to mess with an already established plot:)
no subject
Date: 2003-09-03 02:18 pm (UTC)But thank you. That means a lot to me. I wasn't at all sure how this worked because it wasn't at all what I had envisioned. But it was a welcome relief from the 20 some pages of Blue Eyes. I got to mess with an already established plot:)