three drabbles
Mar. 8th, 2011 10:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kindkitHere are the first three drabbles from the "request a drabble" thing I posted earlier. (There's still room for one more request, by the way!)
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
brewsternorth, who asked for Top Gear, James and Richard, Routemasters:
Obsolescence
James likes the old Routemaster buses. They may whiff a bit of Heritage and tourism, but they're good engineering and they deserve to last.
It's not a Top Gear-compatible opinion, so one boozy evening when Hammond says, "You're narked at Jezza for blowing up that Routemaster, aren't you?" James denies it.
Clarkson's not the problem; obsolescence is. Everything melts into air: technology, fashion, ideas. In his attic, James has a musical graveyard of vinyl albums, eight-track tapes, and cassettes that'll never be mp3s.
He looks at Hammond, seeing new laugh lines and grey hairs, and says, "It's only a bus."
Forvandonovan, who asked for a positive portrayal of atheism: "The Nothing That Is," Star Trek TOS, McCoy gen.
The Nothing That Is
When Leonard was a boy, God was in the sky and the devil was under his feet. Everything solid and real carried the devil's taint, and holiness was too far away to touch.
He's been escaping his parents' church ever since. First the Atheist Club at Ole Miss, then medical school and Starfleet Academy, where believers were so few that they formed clubs. And finally, space.
There's no divine particle, no God force. Just a big universe and every imaginable and unimaginable kind of people.
Some folks hate the emptiness. Leonard looks out into vacuum and feels, at last, joy.
Forstunt_muppet, who asked for X-Men (I made it movieverse), Charles/Erik, backgrounds:
Prince and Pauper
Charles owns a Westchester mansion with silk wallpaper. His cook is French. His suits are tailor-made, and so are Erik's, now.
Five years ago Erik hoarded stale bread. He had lice and his hands were filthy from digging graves.
He hates himself for wanting to forget.
Some days he could smash every pretty thing. Break the windows and let the winter in, pour the wine down the sink.
Charles always knows. Charles comes to him, holds his hands but stays mercifully out of his mind. Hinges creak, loose screws rattle, and Erik crawls back up from history one more time.
For
brewsternorth, who asked for Top Gear, James and Richard, Routemasters: James likes the old Routemaster buses. They may whiff a bit of Heritage and tourism, but they're good engineering and they deserve to last.
It's not a Top Gear-compatible opinion, so one boozy evening when Hammond says, "You're narked at Jezza for blowing up that Routemaster, aren't you?" James denies it.
Clarkson's not the problem; obsolescence is. Everything melts into air: technology, fashion, ideas. In his attic, James has a musical graveyard of vinyl albums, eight-track tapes, and cassettes that'll never be mp3s.
He looks at Hammond, seeing new laugh lines and grey hairs, and says, "It's only a bus."
For
vandonovan, who asked for a positive portrayal of atheism: "The Nothing That Is," Star Trek TOS, McCoy gen.When Leonard was a boy, God was in the sky and the devil was under his feet. Everything solid and real carried the devil's taint, and holiness was too far away to touch.
He's been escaping his parents' church ever since. First the Atheist Club at Ole Miss, then medical school and Starfleet Academy, where believers were so few that they formed clubs. And finally, space.
There's no divine particle, no God force. Just a big universe and every imaginable and unimaginable kind of people.
Some folks hate the emptiness. Leonard looks out into vacuum and feels, at last, joy.
For
stunt_muppet, who asked for X-Men (I made it movieverse), Charles/Erik, backgrounds: Charles owns a Westchester mansion with silk wallpaper. His cook is French. His suits are tailor-made, and so are Erik's, now.
Five years ago Erik hoarded stale bread. He had lice and his hands were filthy from digging graves.
He hates himself for wanting to forget.
Some days he could smash every pretty thing. Break the windows and let the winter in, pour the wine down the sink.
Charles always knows. Charles comes to him, holds his hands but stays mercifully out of his mind. Hinges creak, loose screws rattle, and Erik crawls back up from history one more time.
