greetings from the left coast

"It's snoring, River. Snoring isn't dangerous."

"It gives me an uncomfortableness."

"Please don't quote Jayne. I don't think I can take it on top of the snoring."

The horrible noise was ten times louder now that River had opened the door, and louder still when Simon, Kaylee, and River stepped out into the corridor. Inara was there, in a silk dressing gown, looking as if composure had never been more of an effort. "Can you hear it in your shuttle, 'Nara?" Kaylee asked.

"People in other galaxies can hear it," Inara said. "Who is it? It must be Mal. Only Mal could snore so annoyingly."

"What's the matter, Inara? Don't tell me none of your clients snore. Or is it different when you're getting paid to listen to it?"

"Difficulty," River said, as Inara turned to glare and Mal stepped, fully dressed, into the corridor.

"You don't know the half of it, little one," he said. "What? No bets on whether it's Jayne or the preacher?"

"It's not the preacher," Book said. "I was just getting my hair under control before I came out here."

"Thank goodness," River said.

"Yes, well," Book said. "Perhaps Jayne would be willing to get up in exchange for someone doing his chores, so the rest of us can get some sleep."

But at that moment the barrel of a gun appeared, followed by the rest of Jayne. "What the good gorram... Oh, hi, Mal."

"Planning on shooting someone for snoring?" Mal asked, but before he could answer, Inara spoke.

"Wash?" she said. "I never would have thought Wash could snore like that."

"People are surprising," Mal said. "I reckon I'd better do something so we can get some sleep."

The snoring had, if anything, gotten louder, to the point that the deck plates almost seemed to be vibrating. They followed the sound to Wash and Zoe's cabin.

"How can Zoe sleep through it?" Kaylee shouted, bending close to Simon's ear. "Did you give her sleeping pills or something?"

"She can't be asleep," Simon shouted back. "Those decibels are approaching hearing damage."

"Mal, please," Inara said.

"I'll take care of it," Jayne said. "Let me at the little curly-haired..."

But at that moment, the door opened and Wash stepped outside. The rest of them watched Jayne come to the realization that the snoring was still going on.

"Wash?" Inara said.

"Right, I can't take it any more," he said. "Mal?"

"Right," Mal said. "ALLYNE! UP AND AT 'EM! WE GOT TWENTY MILES TO MARCH TODAY!"

There was one last snore, which cut off quickly. Simon rubbed his ears.

"Just so you know," Wash said, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the silence, "this would be the time to run away."

To a man, or woman, they bolted.

"Don't wait around to thank me or anything," Mal said to the empty corridor. "Honestly, the things I do for this crew."

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prplhez8.livejournal.com

a;lsfjdalk;sfjdalsfjalskfjasl;fjk

That is a gut giggling story! I miss those on mums for mal, so it was nice to see one here. Great job, you!!!

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Aw, thank you! I'll cross-post it. You are so cool! ♥

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Heh, Kit. I only know the characters through RP (and trust me, people, I'm fine with that) but this is a sweet little riot. Thanks for sharing!

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Aw, I'm very glad you like it!

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sff-corgi.livejournal.com

ROFL!

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I'm so glad you like it!

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wheee!! if nothing ever made me find that show and watch it, this-oen will. yay!

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A/n: I was actually going to ask for a writing prompt too!

As far as I know this is the same character as in my other original shorts. Please excuse what I am sure is horrendous grammar. I keep having coughing fits.

Rim—A Spring/Summer Interlude

And why the hell was he here anyway?

He leaned out the lone window in his apartment—over the street and tried to catch the nonexistent breeze. It was one of those days between winter and summer—unbearably warm after the frigid rainy season, but really nothing compared to the heat to come. Inside his tiny apartment, it was stifling though as he waited for the heater to kick off.

He turned back to the table and frowned at the stack of papers. Third term report cards were due. Not that his students cared—not many of them anyway. Sighing he put the stack neatly in his bag and returned to his post at the window. He strained to hear any sound that was familiar: crickets, an owl, a cicada.

He was Stanford educated with two degrees in classical literature and music, yet here he was in this god forsaken city with harsh winters, brutal summers and so it seemed little spring—teaching high school English to the kids who didn’t give a damn, whose priorities were staying alive and walking the line between gangs, police, and the expectations that everyone but themselves seemed to have for them.

His thoughts drifted as he stared into the black night and without realizing it his fingers began to move to the sounds he did hear. To the opening wail of the baby in the apartment next door, the low bass riffs of the cars speeding past, the decrescendo as a car stopped at the light on the corner, the low melody of voices of the people out for a stroll, a high cymbal roll of laughter, the accent of a slamming door.

The words came back to him slowly, softly, Music, isn’t your life son, your life is music.

Maybe there was a purpose.

He just had to start listening more carefully.

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I like that! Especially the ending, it's very nice. Like a still photograph, almost.

(Glad to oblige in advance on the writing challenge!)

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sff-corgi.livejournal.com

Nicely done - a concise snapshot of a moment.

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I'm very glad you wrote another little snippet! I'm intrigued by this story, and I always like to hear more!

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wow, that is jsut great! :)

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Fandom: Milliways: Beth/Spike/Junior
Word Count: 500
Location: Before New York

It's so... quiet and he's almost afraid to breathe: the last fucking thing he wants is to wake up the baby. While he's had plenty of moments of solitude, moments of solitude with Beth have been so much more precious because they're so damn hard to come by.

Especially at night: someone's always on watch, always making the rounds. It's good and smart and he doesn't see a single damn thing wrong with it but it means he has to be really careful around the camp at night. When Junior cries he wants to hold her so bad, but... he can't. He can only steal moments, seconds at a time and only when he's sure everyone else is asleep. Wouldn't do at all for Hero or Natalya or Ciba to see Beth Junior suspended in mid-air by a pair of invisible arms.

Tonight, though, Junior's sound asleep, smacking her lips softly like the most contented baby in the whole damn world and Natalya, who's on duty, has just set off on a two-mile perimeter hike and Ciba and Vlad are asleep and Hero... well, Hero always sleeps with one eye open but she's way the hell on the other side of the camp, her compromise for letting Natalya go that far out of sight. Sometimes he catches her talking to herself, but she doesn't know he's there and so he can't say anything. Every now and then, she mentions someone named Victoria.

It's none of his damn business. What is his damn business is the way Beth looks around furtively, mostly at the last place she saw him. He's moved, but not too far because he can't risk scaring her now that everyone's settled down. So he lets that cloak fall away from his head, catches Beth's eye, smiles, and winks.

When she crooks her finger and gestures him over, he doesn't waste any time. Time with Beth is the most precious time of all these days and sometimes he regrets not taking Hero into their confidence, but it's Beth's decision and this is her world, and if she says it's unnecessary, hell, he's not going to tell her differently.

Not yet, and in a moment he's by her side so quietly. He never used to be able to move so silently but months under this cloak have sure as hell taught him how to get by without making a single damn sound. There are things he'd love to do, but it's night and sounds travel and they can't risk waking Junior, never mind Ciba or Hero and so he does what he can: sits behind Beth, wraps his arms around her, and rocks her silently in the night somewhere near... wherever the hell they are: Pennsylvania or New Jersey, somewhere around there.

Having Beth in his arms is the best damn feeling he can imagine. And a few inches away in her makeshift cradle, Beth Junior sighs happily into the night air.

It sounds like family.

Like love.

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sff-corgi.livejournal.com

Ah, nice. :) He would learn how to move under that cloak ever so well.

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Thanks. I love these guys. I can't believe I'm writing backstory for my own RP now, but... what the hell, right?

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I don't know these characters except very vaguely, but I love the invisibilty cloak and the baby sounds and the whole atmosphere of the night. It's great!

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Aww, thanks. After playing this version of Spike for... three and a half years now, he's very easy to lapse into. Sometimes I forget that other people don't know the story: how he got Tom Riddle's invisibility cloak, or why he has to hide, or why they're camping out or any of those things, but... I'm glad you enjoyed it regardless.

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Dude that plot just sounds...amazing

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Heh! Thanks, Ally. It's been a lot of fun to put him in the Y: The Last Man universe with Beth and the others. It's just more organic evolution of his storyline at Milliways, and something that's only possible in a panfandom setting.

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{Hugs}}} yo uare sucha great author, keep being amazed atthose snippets.

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*beams* Thank you!

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govcampbell.livejournal.com

He awoke without knowing why, at first. Then gradually, he came aware. Far away, the sound of rolling thunder. It wasn’t quite light out, but there was a softening pink visible at the edge of the horizon he could see through the tent flap.

He rose, from the camp bed, went to the tent flap. To the north and west, it was still dark, skies filled with stars.

He loved this time of night, just before dawn. His senses were alive; his skin almost tingled at the sensation of being alive. He’d only been asleep a few short hours, but he felt wide away and exhilarated. It was always like this.

It was already warm. It would be another scorching hot day, just like the last. Underneath the rolling thunder, other sounds: the sound of horses, caissons and cannon rattling over the road at the base of the hill below his tent. Men marching, the clank of canteens against ammunition pouches, against rifles. They’d been marching all night again. Ahead, up the road to the north, the thunder continued, the distant deadly sound of cannon.

The thrill went through him again. Like it had so many times before. Strange, how the proximity to death made him feel more and more alive.

The thunder to the north grew more insistent, calling him. He turned, beginning to button his jacket again. He’d slept in it. He half turned; his personal shadows were never far away. He felt a twinge of guilt. They got less sleep than he did. “Captain?”

“Sir?”

“Saddle the horse; let’s get back on the road.”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

He took another deep breath, fresh grass, fragrant flowers, gun powder, sweat and horses filling his nostrils. Below him, at the base of the hill, the column marched on. An aide handed him his sword, and he buckled it on. The horse was there, and he patted the mare’s nose, fishing half a saved carrot out of his greatcoat pocket. He swung into the saddle. The aides came up, already mounted, the flag bearer nearby.

Still the cannon thundered to the north. “Let’s go see what stirs, gentlemen.”

He spurred the horse, and rode down the hill, up the road to the north and west. Behind him, the sun began to rise over the Pennsylvania countryside.

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Heh, Bernie. Do you do reenactments? Because if you don't, I can certainly see you getting involved with that. This is very visual for a sound-based piece. It's great. Thanks for writing!

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govcampbell.livejournal.com

I wish! That's a really, really expensive hobby, to do it right. Someday, perhaps.

Thanks! Sara and I just got back from vacation in Virginia, and we were listening to Micheal Shaara's Killer Angels in the car, so it just kind of came to me

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My first guess was Gettysburg. Nicely done.

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wow, intrigued. is this original stuff? it shouldn't matter perhaps because it's jsut great.

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govcampbell.livejournal.com

It is orginial. Historic, but orginal. Thanks!

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Wow! I love the way you incorporate all the sounds. And the smells, too, which people usually forget to write about. It's really well done!

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miriammoules.livejournal.com

Thanks to the women's groups at so many different churches. I hope I've done you justice

"I forget how big the sky is, sometimes, when you consider I live my life between hospital buildings and the alleys between blocks of flats. At its worst, the light is present for a couple of hours at most in the worst corners.

"It takes a trip home to remind me, even a walk up Primrose hill isn't enough. To see the heavens from horizon to horizon without interruption is a blessing of the sort that you don't get when you live in a city tower block, somewhere near the bottom of Hampstead and the top of a railway line.

"I even have a little balcony here. Have you seen it yet? As good a garden as I can get on it. The night-scented stocks and honey-suckles make for a good scent on a summer's evening.

"I can see everything from here. It's why I'm the Neighbourhood Watch. I can watch the shelter, too, provide an extra pair of eyes that most people don't know are there.

"It's how I knew what was going on. You see, I can tell what's going on. Very little in that building is truly hidden. The voices carry on the breeze, caught on the wind and amplified by my balcony. A whisperer's gallery, helping the air bare tales.

"At night, every sound is magnified, from the dropping of an ash tray in anger, to the rustling of foil by dealers in their cars. I can see them passing packets in their four by fours and hear the crunch of bones as someone feels the business end of a baseball bat. Or a crowbar. If I'm lucky, I get the number plate, I pass it to the police. I've learnt to keep notes. Sometimes it takes time to be believed.

"Sometimes I think that when I am old I shall retun to Africa - sit under an African sky watching the feathered vultures. Different vultures. They kid themselves that such problems are not African problems. Of course they are African problems. It isn't even always the white man's fault - we sold our brothers to them. That they bought them, took them, brutalised them - that is another debt.

"It is a favourite saying at the women's group that "When I am old I shall go back to Africa... but I am not old yet.I do not feel old..." thought she is her oldest relative. This island has given us much - love and hate, a new appreciation fo sunshine and a distinctive loathing for rain.

"I remember as a child how we would run out and dance in the monsson rains. When we came here I couldn't undersatnd why people didn't enjoy it... I still miss the proper appreciation for rain...

"I don't know which Africa I shall go back to. The Nigeria of my father, the Ghana of my mother, the Zimbabwe of my birth or the Botswana, Swaziland, Lesotho of my present family. I hear there are good things for a good manager and I am nothing if not a good manager.

"I settle down with Jesus, and ask them if, in His own time, He could point my way from my tower block. He smiles on me and calls me "Sister, you still have work to do."

Jabulile smiled at the Deacon, who wasn't paying her the least attention. "Sister, take a seat and have some tea. Have you been to Africa?"

It seemed to do the trick. She snapped out of her dream. "Yes. I know what you mean about the sky. If you came home to Ireland, you would see a big sky, watch the sun setting over the edge of the world."

"So there are other places I could find an African sky? you'll have to tell me more..."

From the Deacon-verse

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♥

That's kind of gorgeous.

From:

miriammoules.livejournal.com

Thanks. Hope I did the challenge justice.

I still need to write something in the LH verse.

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I am very intriuged

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It's totally gorgeous! What is the Deacon-verse?

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an it's 623 words. i hope it makes sense...
He didn't need to open his eyes. He knew what was happening, what he should listen to even

if it was still silent. There was a pile of leaves underneath his head, it was better than

any pillow he'd ever used. It felt strange to be in this forest for the first time, and even

stranger that everything seemed so familiar, as if he had been here before, as if he was

born here. There had been times when he didn't want to hear the legends, days in his nursery

room when he played with snippets of paper while his sisters listened to the old stories and

asked all the questions. He knew better now. Within a few minutes he'd hear the rustling of

leaves in the distance. Something or someone would float into the small clearing, and even

the night owls would wait with their usual hooting until it was over, until time moved on

again.

Ah, there it was, just as he'd stopped paying attention. He'd missed the first cracking of

twigs. Now was the best time to look up before he would go unnoticed. He was still startled.

He was convinced someone should first call his name. Instead he heard music, and it seemed

as if the trees heard it too. It was a soft melody and he'd never heard it before, but it

made the wind blow softly and the trees seemed to whisper. Finally he sat upright, slightly

afraid that it had been a dream, but no, the music was still there. At last he opened his

eyes. The only new thing was a harp, but it seemd to float in the air and play on its own.

what was happening here? Why didn't he see a woman, or aforest spirit, or another boy like

him? Why was he sudnenly so scared that someone else had found a better spot and was hoping

to take his place?

Then he had an idea. He turned around and picked up hsi own instrument. With one hand above

th e strings he waited for the first pause that was long enough for him to play some notes

in reply. And when that finally happened the wind calmed down. The music on the other side

went on and oddly enough he couldn't help joining in. His playing was nothing compared to

the melodies from the other harp. He looked up, and saw how things materialized around him.

There were more trees, there were birds he'd never seen beore, and the harp wasn't drifting

in the air. It's player moved closer now and he forgot what he was doing. Only his ears

noticed that he was still making music. but did this beautiful girl seee where she was

going? If he didn't say something soon she would stumble over him ndd they would both fall.

It was the last thought he noticed before something soft and warm fell oer him and the

ground beneath him fell away. Only then did the night birds wake up and give their first

calls. There were far more than he ever remembered, and they hooted, screetched and

fluttered around him and he wanted them to leave because they seemed to wake up the whole

forest. Where was the music? Where was the girl? All he found was air and light and far too

many wings flapping too close to his ears. Was this what it eelt like? was he really a part

of the night sky now? Would he stay like this for ever? When the birds flew down and aw for

him at last, he suddenly felt he didn't want the answer to any of those questions. He was

looking forward to meet the other stars.

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Aww.

That's both sweet and gloomy, isn't it? It's very moody and poetic too, and it reminds me a little of some of the things out of Neil Gaiman's Stardust but it also hints at fairy tales from childhood. It's very nicely done.

From:

yay, it worked!!! i didn't know it was moody though. it awasn't supposed to be more dark tha nlight. i wanted something a bit melancholy and dream yat the same time.
there'ssome music you might wantto look up to see where i got ispired. it's a classical piece from debussy (sp?) called danse sacre et profane. i heard t on radio station and then i got this. the ni downloaded it somewhere and used it to write by.
You've said before that my stuff reminds y uof stardust. i have to read that book now to make sure my universe isn't like his lol. i'm thinking this is a kind of ritual i made up though. i need to do more research on stars and souls. :)

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Wow, I really like this! It has the feel of an old fairy tale - that sense of destiny, or maybe just that the things that are happening are really important. I love the description and the way it makes us get caught up in what's happening the way the boy is. Hooray!

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