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shipperxWIP Meme
When you see this, post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
Arriving Somewhere Not Here
“It’s too late,” Spike said, watching as an irritated vampire hurled the cackling monkey-demon through a plate-glass window while the awning-support-wielding bouncer rammed his metal stake through a Fyarl demon, releasing a spray of acid yellow blood that fizzed when it hit the concrete.
Perfect Vengeance
Spike panted beside her. And, in lieu of the words she couldn’t form or think, Buffy sought his hand and threaded her fingers with his. Spike gave a squeeze of his hand, and she did the same before turning onto her side, curling into him, and drifting to sleep.
(Just to clarify regarding the panting bit, Spike is human at that point in the story.)
When Darkness Falls
For a microsecond confusion flashed across Spike’s face, then comprehension. She knew. And now he knew that she knew…or…um…any combination of she’s, he’s, and knews that made clear that his secret was out and that they were in this mess together.
Spike glanced at the Master.
She rolled her eyes. Like I could forget bat-face.
Recklessly waving his pistol, Dexter asked The Master, “Sure you don’t want me to shoot ‘em?”
Buffy shoved Spike and they continued the floor show. Buffy hit. Spike blocked. They were experts at fruitless fighting. Faking a deadlocked battle was easy, what was hard was finding a way out of this mess.
Buffy glared at Spike. “Coward like you planning to make a break for it?“ Was it an option worth considering?
Spike ducked her flying fist and smirked. “Not likely, luv.”
Buffy glanced at the door. She could make a break for it. Spike could too – if he wanted—but then there was Xander.
Xander lay sprawled on the floor, limp and motionless like seaweed baking on a late summer beach. Not even super strength would make carrying him a viable option. She’d struggled to carry Dawn away from Glory because, while weight posed no problem, balance and maneuvering issues were involved.
A deadweight Xander could be problematic.
***
The first pink tones of dawn silhouetted LA’s skyline beyond Lilah’s apartment windows. She rolled over, causing the wine-colored chenille throw too fall off her shoulders and onto the floor as she rubbed sleep from her eyes. She dragged her hand through her hair and glanced around the room. Wesley wasn’t there.
Of course, he wasn’t there. Lilah hadn’t expected him to be, but she was surprised to see her PDA laying in the middle of her coffee table.
There was no second guessing herself, Lilah knew that she hadn’t left it there. But if Wesley had been snooping, he would have been smart enough to put it back where it belonged . . . unless he had wanted her to know what he had done.
Lilah stood, tugging her skirt down before picking up the PDA and asking herself why she had left easy access to such a valuable source of information. . .unless she had wanted him to know.
Story fragment that I have no idea what it belongs to. Title of file was 'D'Este':
From somewhere behind and slightly above him, Angel said, “I thought I would find you here.”
Spike said, “Can’t imagine why, I’m bloody well shocked to find me here.”
“You liked this place.”
“Liked. Past tense…as in a long time ago. Before you ruined it.”
“Ruined, how?”
“As if you don’t know.”
From Angel’s blank expression it was clear that he didn’t know. Spike laughed bitterly. “Figures. Slips your mind." He had to ask, "Did it matter to you at all?”
“Did what matter?”
“Nothing. Obviously nothing.” Spike started to walk away as the surge of resentment gave way to a sense of resignation. “It’s always nothing, isn’t it?”
Another story fragment on my hard drive. This one titled: "A Personal Hell"
“There’s this theory that the universe is made out of strings.”
Spike tore his attention away from “Passions” to gaze at Fred as she alternately chewed a pencil and mused aloud. Spike arched a brow. “Strings? Like everything is made out of twine?”
Fred didn’t appear to hear Spike, but, struck by sudden inspiration, she took the pencil from between her teeth to quickly scratch a string of mathematical symbols on her yellow legal pad. Spike suppressed a smile, thinking that at any moment she would look up, her glasses cutely perched on the end of her nose and ask him for another word that meant ‘glowing’...or, at least, the mathematical equivalent of the question.
Fred looked up distractedly. “What?”
“Didn’t say anything, pet.” Not recently, anyway. He gestured towards the television. “Sheridan did.” The blonde on screen was, as always, dithering between two brothers never openly choosing between them. Had been going on for years. Spike had once thought that the story would reach a conclusion. He wasn’t as hopeful now. He’d died and come back, and the story remained unchanged.
When you see this, post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
Arriving Somewhere Not Here
“It’s too late,” Spike said, watching as an irritated vampire hurled the cackling monkey-demon through a plate-glass window while the awning-support-wielding bouncer rammed his metal stake through a Fyarl demon, releasing a spray of acid yellow blood that fizzed when it hit the concrete.
Perfect Vengeance
Spike panted beside her. And, in lieu of the words she couldn’t form or think, Buffy sought his hand and threaded her fingers with his. Spike gave a squeeze of his hand, and she did the same before turning onto her side, curling into him, and drifting to sleep.
(Just to clarify regarding the panting bit, Spike is human at that point in the story.)
When Darkness Falls
For a microsecond confusion flashed across Spike’s face, then comprehension. She knew. And now he knew that she knew…or…um…any combination of she’s, he’s, and knews that made clear that his secret was out and that they were in this mess together.
Spike glanced at the Master.
She rolled her eyes. Like I could forget bat-face.
Recklessly waving his pistol, Dexter asked The Master, “Sure you don’t want me to shoot ‘em?”
Buffy shoved Spike and they continued the floor show. Buffy hit. Spike blocked. They were experts at fruitless fighting. Faking a deadlocked battle was easy, what was hard was finding a way out of this mess.
Buffy glared at Spike. “Coward like you planning to make a break for it?“ Was it an option worth considering?
Spike ducked her flying fist and smirked. “Not likely, luv.”
Buffy glanced at the door. She could make a break for it. Spike could too – if he wanted—but then there was Xander.
Xander lay sprawled on the floor, limp and motionless like seaweed baking on a late summer beach. Not even super strength would make carrying him a viable option. She’d struggled to carry Dawn away from Glory because, while weight posed no problem, balance and maneuvering issues were involved.
A deadweight Xander could be problematic.
***
The first pink tones of dawn silhouetted LA’s skyline beyond Lilah’s apartment windows. She rolled over, causing the wine-colored chenille throw too fall off her shoulders and onto the floor as she rubbed sleep from her eyes. She dragged her hand through her hair and glanced around the room. Wesley wasn’t there.
Of course, he wasn’t there. Lilah hadn’t expected him to be, but she was surprised to see her PDA laying in the middle of her coffee table.
There was no second guessing herself, Lilah knew that she hadn’t left it there. But if Wesley had been snooping, he would have been smart enough to put it back where it belonged . . . unless he had wanted her to know what he had done.
Lilah stood, tugging her skirt down before picking up the PDA and asking herself why she had left easy access to such a valuable source of information. . .unless she had wanted him to know.
Story fragment that I have no idea what it belongs to. Title of file was 'D'Este':
From somewhere behind and slightly above him, Angel said, “I thought I would find you here.”
Spike said, “Can’t imagine why, I’m bloody well shocked to find me here.”
“You liked this place.”
“Liked. Past tense…as in a long time ago. Before you ruined it.”
“Ruined, how?”
“As if you don’t know.”
From Angel’s blank expression it was clear that he didn’t know. Spike laughed bitterly. “Figures. Slips your mind." He had to ask, "Did it matter to you at all?”
“Did what matter?”
“Nothing. Obviously nothing.” Spike started to walk away as the surge of resentment gave way to a sense of resignation. “It’s always nothing, isn’t it?”
Another story fragment on my hard drive. This one titled: "A Personal Hell"
“There’s this theory that the universe is made out of strings.”
Spike tore his attention away from “Passions” to gaze at Fred as she alternately chewed a pencil and mused aloud. Spike arched a brow. “Strings? Like everything is made out of twine?”
Fred didn’t appear to hear Spike, but, struck by sudden inspiration, she took the pencil from between her teeth to quickly scratch a string of mathematical symbols on her yellow legal pad. Spike suppressed a smile, thinking that at any moment she would look up, her glasses cutely perched on the end of her nose and ask him for another word that meant ‘glowing’...or, at least, the mathematical equivalent of the question.
Fred looked up distractedly. “What?”
“Didn’t say anything, pet.” Not recently, anyway. He gestured towards the television. “Sheridan did.” The blonde on screen was, as always, dithering between two brothers never openly choosing between them. Had been going on for years. Spike had once thought that the story would reach a conclusion. He wasn’t as hopeful now. He’d died and come back, and the story remained unchanged.
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no subject
Date: 2008-09-25 05:52 am (UTC)I sure like your last one there...a little nod to JM's fascination with string theory? :)
no subject
Date: 2008-09-30 02:49 am (UTC)And the ones with actual titles are all already multi-chapters long. The shorter snippets, however, were just file names. I guess I had to save them under something.