Something like a crossroads song (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
charlieblue) wrote2009-08-10 05:59 pm
charlieblue) wrote2009-08-10 05:59 pm
Icon Meme
Drabbles from the icon meme posted a couple days ago.
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For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bessemerprocess
He's sitting alone at the bar, drinking the single malt Irish that he favours on the bad nights, and nobody's game enough to take him on over the cigar he's been steadily grinding down to dust and ash for the last two and a half hours.
He's your last customer, and you have a paper due in eight hours.
He looks up at you for a bare moment, his hand pressed so hard against his brow his knuckles whiten and strain, and you're not a fool, you've noticed the seal of the White House on the documents he's been glaring at, and you've also seen the deep lines folded around his eyes, lines that weren't put there by laughter or smiles.
You shine the last glass to a polish, yawn, and pour the man another drink.
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Forlizzy_someone
"So we're totally prepared, right? I mean, we have survival packs, three gallons of water, solar-charged generators, a three-person tent, satellite phone, spark plugs and enough canned spam to last us at least thirty years in an underground bunker, I mean, we are seriously all over this. We are hard core survivalists. You should see our truck. Did I mention the truck? It's one hell of a truck."
"Josh, you do realize we're going camping, not on a two-man jihad, yes?"
"You can never be too prepared, Sammy boy, that's my motto!"
"I thought that was the boy scouts?"
"Yeah, well they stole it from me. Moving on! How's it coming?"
"..."
"Come on Sam, if you can't get a simple jammed trunk open, how do you expect to survive in the manly, manly wilderness of-"
"Hey, Josh. Where did you say you got this truck from again?"
"Some guys down at the garage, why?"
"Well, I have good news, bad news and good news."
"That sounds ... promising?"
"I got the trunk open."
"Awesome! Now get me mah spark plugs and we'll get this show on the road!"
"Ah, see, now that's where the bad news comes in. And the good news. The second lot, that is."
"Sam, if you don't hurry up, I'm in danger of actually getting up off my ass to come down there."
"Well, all I've got are two Uzis and a shovel."
"Say what?"
"So, the bad news is, looks like we're stuck out here for the night. Good news is, I suppose this means now we can ... shoot things?"
"And apparently bury them afterwards. I'm going. To have. To. Recommend. That garage. For full service."
"Josh, Josh, stop that, JOSH! Denting the truck is not going to help!"
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Forevercourant
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy has this to say about Zombies:
Of all the proposed modes of extinction hypothetically proposed by the spiritual, scientific, philosophical, political, religious, social, literary, artistic, meteorological, astrological, tautological, etc., etc., schools of thought, it has been universally agreed that, based on the groundbreaking logical math theorem developed by Sh'Krrim Doodaa (which purports that once the scientific improbability of an event based on the physically measured initial conditions of the universe has been established, the likelihood of that event occurring increases exponentially with every statement imbued with the copyrighted 'Fah-mouse Larstlyh Ngh'™ intonation) the Zombie Apocalypse will be the way civilized life, collectively, will kick the proverbial bucket.
The planet Earth has one of the most highly developed and nuanced global cultures devoted to the belief in the coming Dawn of the Dead, and all Hitchhikers who find themselves requiring a greater examination of this inevitable Doom are advised to avoid this sector of space entirely. The propaganda 2D media appears to have the somewhat ironic effect of inducing those exposed to a state similar to the monsters depicted therein.
This singular fact is also, as chance has it, the precise reason for the inclusion of the 'Mostly' addendum to the description of the planet Earth currently included in our database, for your utmost convenience.'
Barack grinned down at the device. "This is so cool!"
Arthur gaped. "President? Black?" He made a garbled sort of noise, the kind a fish might make upon discovering sea monkeys in its very expensive algae dinner course. "I'm starting to find I have a whole new level of respect for Americans. I might actually have some."
Barack ignored him, gleefully jabbing at the screen, while behind him on the plasma screen, zombies trundled their way across CNN.
The sound of a toilet flushing cascaded its way through the room, and then Ford Prefect emerged from a door Barack hadn't previously realized existed, toilet paper trailing from one boot, examining a towel.
"Say, Mr President, can I keep this? I always wanted one with the seal of a president."
Unfortunately, at that point this riveting set of determinedly self-sufficient monologues was interrupted by the flaming collapse of an entire wall of the Oval Office through which Rahm, his polka-dotted tie wrapped firmly around his head, hair spiked up and shirt ripped to the nines, strapped over with ammunition, wielding a smoking flamethrower, two axes strapped to his back and a still-animated head clutched in his free hand stalked through the flames.
"I'VE HAD IT WITH THESE MOTHERFUCKING ZOMBIES IN MY MOTHERFUCKING WHITE HOUSE."
"My White Motherfucking House, Rahm," Barack corrected mildly.
"BARACK'S MOTHERFUCKING WHITE HOUSE."
-
Foregregiouslypink
Eric rarely hunts. He prefers to be civilized, efficient, keep the humans handy and where they belonged. In cages. He always found the hypocritical horror with which the humans faced such treatment tedious, if ironic.
Now that the trade of blood, both human and vampire has taken on a capitalist bent, now that he can pay for the willing as well as cage the unwilling, the chance to watch him hunt has been greatly reduced. Pam finds this a pity. Even if she shares the essential laziness that has driven Eric to find ever more efficient means of keeping himself sated, there never quite was anything like Eric when he hunted.
"Darling," she drawls, and smiles when Eric languidly raises his head before the first syllable is even out of her mouth.
She licks the trailing blood from his jaw, and twists her stiletto more firmly into the human's bloody mess of a gut.
"We really should do this more often."
Eric grins, all teeth and maw, fangs flashing, eyes only for her as arches her back and comes.
-
And now to work on The Best Fucking AU On The Planet (Now With 100% More Misha Collins), As Dubbed, Instigated, Invented and Co-Written Byegregiouslypink. I find this is a working title that tends to grow on one.
-
For
bessemerprocessHe's sitting alone at the bar, drinking the single malt Irish that he favours on the bad nights, and nobody's game enough to take him on over the cigar he's been steadily grinding down to dust and ash for the last two and a half hours.
He's your last customer, and you have a paper due in eight hours.
He looks up at you for a bare moment, his hand pressed so hard against his brow his knuckles whiten and strain, and you're not a fool, you've noticed the seal of the White House on the documents he's been glaring at, and you've also seen the deep lines folded around his eyes, lines that weren't put there by laughter or smiles.
You shine the last glass to a polish, yawn, and pour the man another drink.
-
For
lizzy_someone"So we're totally prepared, right? I mean, we have survival packs, three gallons of water, solar-charged generators, a three-person tent, satellite phone, spark plugs and enough canned spam to last us at least thirty years in an underground bunker, I mean, we are seriously all over this. We are hard core survivalists. You should see our truck. Did I mention the truck? It's one hell of a truck."
"Josh, you do realize we're going camping, not on a two-man jihad, yes?"
"You can never be too prepared, Sammy boy, that's my motto!"
"I thought that was the boy scouts?"
"Yeah, well they stole it from me. Moving on! How's it coming?"
"..."
"Come on Sam, if you can't get a simple jammed trunk open, how do you expect to survive in the manly, manly wilderness of-"
"Hey, Josh. Where did you say you got this truck from again?"
"Some guys down at the garage, why?"
"Well, I have good news, bad news and good news."
"That sounds ... promising?"
"I got the trunk open."
"Awesome! Now get me mah spark plugs and we'll get this show on the road!"
"Ah, see, now that's where the bad news comes in. And the good news. The second lot, that is."
"Sam, if you don't hurry up, I'm in danger of actually getting up off my ass to come down there."
"Well, all I've got are two Uzis and a shovel."
"Say what?"
"So, the bad news is, looks like we're stuck out here for the night. Good news is, I suppose this means now we can ... shoot things?"
"And apparently bury them afterwards. I'm going. To have. To. Recommend. That garage. For full service."
"Josh, Josh, stop that, JOSH! Denting the truck is not going to help!"
-
For
evercourantThe Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy has this to say about Zombies:
Of all the proposed modes of extinction hypothetically proposed by the spiritual, scientific, philosophical, political, religious, social, literary, artistic, meteorological, astrological, tautological, etc., etc., schools of thought, it has been universally agreed that, based on the groundbreaking logical math theorem developed by Sh'Krrim Doodaa (which purports that once the scientific improbability of an event based on the physically measured initial conditions of the universe has been established, the likelihood of that event occurring increases exponentially with every statement imbued with the copyrighted 'Fah-mouse Larstlyh Ngh'™ intonation) the Zombie Apocalypse will be the way civilized life, collectively, will kick the proverbial bucket.
The planet Earth has one of the most highly developed and nuanced global cultures devoted to the belief in the coming Dawn of the Dead, and all Hitchhikers who find themselves requiring a greater examination of this inevitable Doom are advised to avoid this sector of space entirely. The propaganda 2D media appears to have the somewhat ironic effect of inducing those exposed to a state similar to the monsters depicted therein.
This singular fact is also, as chance has it, the precise reason for the inclusion of the 'Mostly' addendum to the description of the planet Earth currently included in our database, for your utmost convenience.'
Barack grinned down at the device. "This is so cool!"
Arthur gaped. "President? Black?" He made a garbled sort of noise, the kind a fish might make upon discovering sea monkeys in its very expensive algae dinner course. "I'm starting to find I have a whole new level of respect for Americans. I might actually have some."
Barack ignored him, gleefully jabbing at the screen, while behind him on the plasma screen, zombies trundled their way across CNN.
The sound of a toilet flushing cascaded its way through the room, and then Ford Prefect emerged from a door Barack hadn't previously realized existed, toilet paper trailing from one boot, examining a towel.
"Say, Mr President, can I keep this? I always wanted one with the seal of a president."
Unfortunately, at that point this riveting set of determinedly self-sufficient monologues was interrupted by the flaming collapse of an entire wall of the Oval Office through which Rahm, his polka-dotted tie wrapped firmly around his head, hair spiked up and shirt ripped to the nines, strapped over with ammunition, wielding a smoking flamethrower, two axes strapped to his back and a still-animated head clutched in his free hand stalked through the flames.
"I'VE HAD IT WITH THESE MOTHERFUCKING ZOMBIES IN MY MOTHERFUCKING WHITE HOUSE."
"My White Motherfucking House, Rahm," Barack corrected mildly.
"BARACK'S MOTHERFUCKING WHITE HOUSE."
-
For
egregiouslypinkEric rarely hunts. He prefers to be civilized, efficient, keep the humans handy and where they belonged. In cages. He always found the hypocritical horror with which the humans faced such treatment tedious, if ironic.
Now that the trade of blood, both human and vampire has taken on a capitalist bent, now that he can pay for the willing as well as cage the unwilling, the chance to watch him hunt has been greatly reduced. Pam finds this a pity. Even if she shares the essential laziness that has driven Eric to find ever more efficient means of keeping himself sated, there never quite was anything like Eric when he hunted.
"Darling," she drawls, and smiles when Eric languidly raises his head before the first syllable is even out of her mouth.
She licks the trailing blood from his jaw, and twists her stiletto more firmly into the human's bloody mess of a gut.
"We really should do this more often."
Eric grins, all teeth and maw, fangs flashing, eyes only for her as arches her back and comes.
-
And now to work on The Best Fucking AU On The Planet (Now With 100% More Misha Collins), As Dubbed, Instigated, Invented and Co-Written By
egregiouslypink. I find this is a working title that tends to grow on one.
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