2004-12-25 09:22 pm (UTC)
I do hope you're familiar with Penny Arcade (http://www.penny-arcade.com).
Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy
Gabe was twiddling his fingers nervously as he stood there in the snow of the dirty abandoned lot. It was coming down hard and sticking on his earflap hat. He peered around in an extremely paranoid manner.
"Are you sure no-one will find it?"
"Look," shot Tycho, as he tried to force open the warehouse door with his well-built (snicker) gamer physique. He was fortunate that he was wearing a jacket or he might have bruised himself. "When there is a body, you hide it in a warehouse. You always hide bodies in warehouses. Or in the back yard. Believe me, no-one finds them that way. And if they do, you kill them and hide them, too."
"Are you sure?"
"Do I look sure?" Tycho asked, his eyes wide. They seemed to have a reddish glint to them.
"Yeah." Gabe nervously went back to twiddling his fingers. The mittens didn’t seem to faze him at all.
Tycho finally got the door open, and reached over and grabbed the garbage bag. He dragged it towards it. It looked surprisingly light for a bag containing a dead body. Tycho peered in through the door and whistled, and Gabe came over and looked in over his shoulder. His eyes went wide.
The sight of wooden stools and tables and a bar top greeted them, and there were shelves and shelves of strange liquor behind the bar. This made Tycho look very happy.
There were strange people all over, some with wings, some with strange colored skin, some didn’t even look like people at all--there was a floating skull being served by the angelic bartender. There were also some very familiar faces.
One of them was pointy-eared and its owner was wearing green tights.
"What the fuck?" Tycho muttered.
"Is that...Samus?" Gabe said, his eyes wide and glazed over with joy. "And Link! Truly this is the season of miracles!"
He launched himself at Link’s feet and clung to them.
Link looked startled and then looked down confusedly at the man clinging to his ankles. Holding onto his wine (red potion, he still thought) as if it were his sanity, he said to the man, "You do realize that I am not female, correct?" There had been some confusion.
"You know a good place to hide something very small, like a tiny body?" Tycho asked Link, peering around the room with narrowed eyes.
The sound of smooching noises were heard coming up from the floor.
"Is he kissing my feet?" Link asked nervously, and then he looked up at Tycho, trying to ignore the uncomfortable emotion he was feeling. It sort of felt like his manhood was being stolen away. "How tiny?"
A look of confusion, and then, slowly, comprehension, and then, finally, horror passed over Link’s face and he launched himself at the trash bag and peered inside.
"NAAAAVIIIII!" he cried out.
Tycho kicked Gabe and he got up off the floor. "You left the engine of the getaway car running, right?"
"Yeah." Gabe looked at Link, who was crying. "I guess this isn’t a good time to tell him you actually veered towards the fairy when you saw it flying in the middle of the road..."
A woman with dark hair walked up to them with a smile on her face and said, "Hi! Welcome to Milliways!"
...As Link sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.
Happy Christmas, Snow-mun! (A comic will follow, hence the fic being so short).
*waves; puts on Santa hat*
2004-12-26 06:31 am (UTC)
Your gift will be a bit on the belated side. But coming it is!
2004-12-26 08:33 pm (UTC)
Ficcage is coming. Promise.
Happy (belated) Christmas!
2004-12-30 02:44 pm (UTC)
...hope you're okay with a New Year's present. :D It's on its way, promise.
I love you. You were the one that brought me the cookies and the lolly basket when Mummy said I couldn't have any. I remember you dropped it on my bed and said 'Shoosh!' when I was very little. And from then on I've always wanted to stay up and wait for you to drop baskets on my lap. It doesn't matter what kind of baskets, just baskets. Though lollies would be nice too. Because you're Santa and I know you care and you're not mean to your animals, or they wouldn't have lived so long. But I think making them work for so long is mean.
We never put out cookies and milk for you. We had a barbecue in your honour instead and gave you some on a plate, because all the sausages up there would be frozen, wouldn't they? And there's nothing like a sausage to make your heart stop, Mummy always says. And we put out salad, too, since we'd like to keep fitting your suit. I think it would get very cold if you only had underwear on. The sausages always had cat hair afterwards, though. Did you eat Katie and replace her with a new Kitty? Because if you did, I must say that you are very nice and she has only bitten me three times today.
You never gave me anything I wanted until last year, though! I'd ask for books and books and books and books and stuff but I always got other books and CDs and stuff. So I'm not very happy with you, Santa. But I want you to always know that i love you very much, Daddy.
Now, gimme my presents!
2004-12-19 07:41 pm (UTC)
In the great tradition of Milli-crack fic, we have:
The Great Forest Adventure
Val's reading again. How surprising. She's leaning back by the tree with The Hegemon in her lap. She's not really -reading- it, more like staring at it and looking out over the lake. As she blanks out, she notices Alanna walking over to her. Sitting up, she smiles at the knight cheerily.
"Hey, Alanna. What's up?"
The red-haired knight plopped down beside the other girl, shrugging and grinning a bit. "Reading Peter's book again? Seriously, Val, I would think that in all of the books you have, there'd have to be something more interesting than something you helped to write."
Val grins, a twinkle in her eyes. "Yes, well, you would think that anything and everything about my brother is interesting, wouldn't you?”
Alanna only looks slightly sheepish, as she leans back cockily against the tree. “Well, you might be right, Miss Wiggin. I’m not here to argue about a certain other Wiggin. I’m here with a proposal.”
The other girl blinks, taking in Alanna’s entire manner, as she sits, leaning on the tree. “And what would that be, Lady Knight? I hope that you are not propositioning me, as that would be quite indecent.” There’s a playful twinkle in the girl’s eyes.
“Well, I was thinking. The bar has a tree, it has wreaths and garlands, but it needs a few more decorations, don’t you think? We should make some more decorations. Perhaps decorate the staff hallway, or the upstairs or something.”
“That’s a wonderful idea, Alanna. I’m surprised that someone didn’t think of it before.” She stands, putting the book gently on the ground. “Unless you need anything inside first.” Once and idea has been presented to Val, she’s the first one to jump on it and make certain that it has been carried through.
The lady knight jumps up, shaking her head. “Well, you’re an impatient one. We need some sort of axe, though, if we’re going to be cutting down tree branches, and something to bring it home in.”
Without a word, the girl shuffles off into the tent, returning with an axe in a red wagon. “I think these’ll do, don’t you? It’s what I used before.” In the wagon also is a couple of thermoses of water, and a basket. “Thought we might use some lunch, too.”
Alanna smiled, and the pair were on their way. It wasn’t long before Val was completely lost in thought. The tall red-headed knight beside her was, well, a perfect match for Peter, both in wit and in manner. Val stole a glance at her, and smiled a bit shyly. She was an awesome friend to have around, Peter aside. For a moment, a fleetingly odd moment, something flickered in Val’s emotions, something that the empath for some reason couldn’t put her finger on. Mentally, she brushed the feeling aside, for more important and interesting things to think about.
I have no special requests, because I am boringly easygoing. Merry Hogswatch!
Okay, scratch that, I do have an addendum. One of my requests was for an Ophelia story. If anyone ends up getting that one, I'd be happy with anything that gives a window into her view of the world, really, but if you want a prompt I'll say Ophelia in the bar, people-watching.
*is distracted by shiny tinsel*
Oooh. Shiny. Merry Christmas to all. :)
2004-12-23 02:41 pm (UTC)
Happy advent/upcoming Christmas!
2005-01-03 09:49 pm (UTC)
Your gift is en route. It's a New Year's present now, I know, but it'll be done and here soon. I promise. I wanted to post a note here so you wouldn't think that you'd been forgotten, though!
I prefer art over fic. No pr0n or slash please. Or pointless angst (angst must have a point). I'm allergic to fluff (I know I asked for a Ron/Hermione fic, but I hate fluff. I like awkward, realistic romance) and melodrama that's not used for comedic purposes.
Other than that, it'll be just spiffing receiving a gift. Absolutely corking!
2004-12-14 07:59 pm (UTC)
And this will eventually be revised. With colour! And background!
But just so I've given something before I go home for the holidays :)
(also, I shall shoot Netscape now for posting it unanonymously)
Merry Christmas! Woohoo, free stuff!
Umm... I pity whoever chooses me, I do. I asked for random pairings, I know. But, I shall keep any requests for style to a bare minimum.
I like slash/yaoi/shonen-ai... whatever. If it's two mildly attractive men, I want them together. Also, I like things dark. Psychologically dark, preferably. The more angst and pain, the happier I am.
As this is christmas, however, I will forgive those who do not wish to be depressing.
Also, I like art. Pretty pictures make me smile!
ummm... that is all.
2004-12-30 06:36 pm (UTC)
*eeps the eep of the belated fic-writer*
On the way, I promise! And I'm attempting to make it depressing as possible. *grins*
2005-01-19 04:33 pm (UTC)
Um. Ficcage will be late, though you may have guessed this by now. It's coming, I promise!
Umm . . . *leaves out intarweb milk and cookies, and some carrots for the reindeer*
2004-12-27 01:21 am (UTC)
Your present will be coming, I swear! I losted the fiiile, tragedy.
2004-12-11 02:07 am (UTC)
2004-12-11 02:10 am (UTC)
This Is My Fic
by Note That I Am Anonymous At Present
AMORY BLAINE inherited from his mother every trait, except the stray inexpressible few, that made him worth while. His father, an ineffectual, inarticulate man with a taste for Byron and a habit of drowsing over the Encyclopædia Britannica, grew wealthy at thirty through the death of two elder brothers, successful Chicago brokers, and in the first flush of feeling that the world was his, went to Bar Harbor and met Beatrice O'Hara. In consequence, Stephen Blaine handed down to posterity his height of just under six feet and his tendency to waver at crucial moments, these two abstractions appearing in his son Amory. For many years he hovered in the background of his family's life, an unassertive figure with a face half-obliterated by lifeless, silky hair, continually occupied in "taking care" of his wife, continually harassed by the idea that he didn't and couldn't understand her.
But Beatrice Blaine! There was a woman! Early pictures taken on her father's estate at Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, or in Rome at the Sacred Heart Convent—an educational extravagance that in her youth was only for the daughters of the exceptionally wealthy—showed the exquisite delicacy of her features, the consummate art and simplicity of her clothes. A brilliant education she had—her youth passed in renaissance glory, she was versed in the latest gossip of the Older Roman Families; known by name as a fabulously wealthy American girl to Cardinal Vitori and Queen Margherita and more subtle celebrities that one must have had some culture even to have heard of. She learned in England to prefer whiskey and soda to wine, and her small talk was broadened in two senses during a winter in Vienna. All in all Beatrice O'Hara absorbed the sort of education that will be quite impossible ever again; a tutelage measured by the number of things and people one could be contemptuous of and charming about; a culture rich in all arts and traditions, barren of all ideas, in the last of those days when the great gardener clipped the inferior roses to produce one perfect bud.
In her less important moments she returned to America, met Stephen Blaine and married him—this almost entirely because she was a little bit weary, a little bit sad. Her only child was carried through a tiresome season and brought into the world on a spring day in ninety-six.
When Amory was five he was already a delightful companion for her. He was an auburn-haired boy, with great, handsome eyes which he would grow up to in time, a facile imaginative mind and a taste for fancy dress. From his fourth to his tenth year he did the country with his mother in her father's private car, from Coronado, where his mother became so bored that she had a nervous breakdown in a fashionable hotel, down to Mexico City, where she took a mild, almost epidemic consumption. This trouble pleased her, and later she made use of it as an intrinsic part of her atmosphere—especially after several astounding bracers.
So, while more or less fortunate little rich boys were defying governesses on the beach at Newport, or being spanked or tutored or read to from "Do and Dare," or "Frank on the Mississippi," Amory was biting acquiescent bell-boys in the Waldorf, outgrowing a natural repugnance to chamber music and symphonies, and deriving a highly specialized education from his mother. 5
"Yes, Beatrice." (Such a quaint name for his mother; she encouraged it.)
"Dear, don't think of getting out of bed yet. I've always suspected that early rising in early life makes one nervous. Clothilde is having your breakfast brought up."
"I am feeling very old to-day, Amory," she would sigh, her face a rare cameo of pathos, her voice exquisitely modulated, her hands as facile as Bernhardt's. "My nerves are on edge—on edge. We must leave this terrifying place to-morrow and go searching for sunshine." 10
Amory's penetrating green eyes would look out through tangled hair at his mother. Even at this age he had no illusions about her.
"I want you to take a red-hot bath—as hot as you can bear it, and just relax your nerves. You can read in the tub if you wish."
I love you because you will fulfill one of my requests and make me very very happy. I love fic. It makes me smile.
2005-01-06 05:15 am (UTC)
Santa wanders into the room slowly. His coat is torn and sooty, and there is a briar bramble hanging from the end of his ragged little hat. He has a black eye, and looks very bashful.
He shuffles towards Vivien.
"I'm very sorry the fic is so late. I have had a very troubling Holiday. Please give me a bit more time. I promise, next year I'll send Blitzen with a special gift, personally."
He wanders back into the shadows, grumbling about stupid American anti-terrorist measures. Aand what, exactly, was that child doing with a flair gun in the first place?
*for a change:*
*beams and is Different.*
2004-12-24 10:44 pm (UTC)
Your present will be a wee bit late. Actually very late, for a Chanukah present. Also late for Christmas present too. Apologies!
Plz to be giving me a present even though my dear santa letter is late.
2004-12-29 06:38 am (UTC)
Well, since you finally posted a letter, your present is on its way. Or, should I say, your three presents.
Um. They'll be here eventually.