5 things meme

[kangeiko]

I'm back! Didja miss me?

Real life = TEH SUCK, except that it's over now and I am not worrying about it NO NOT AT ALL. monanotlisa is here and we are having the bestest time, my dissertation is finished and handed in, and I am back at work tomorrow and very relieved to be there, to be honest.

SO! catching up on the memes:

For likeadeuce:

1. His birthday fell right smack in the middle of the civil war blockade. They couldn't get replacement parts through, never mind fresh fruit. So it was a source of constant amazement to John how Delenn managed to procure an entire half-kilo of fresh, ripe, ready-to-eat plums.

Although perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned that he preferred the black ones to the red.

2. He seems surprised every time she exhibits any interest in him whatsoever. She's not sure whether he has her on a pedestal, or has yet to think of her as a female. Either way, she wonders if she's going to have to do something about it.

3. He feeds David sweets whenever Delenn isn't looking, and then hands him over for her to deal with when he starts running around.

4. He fusses over her like a nursemaid when she hits her fifth month, and doesn't stop until she gives birth. The hormones make it that much more difficult to not hit him over the head with something solid.

5. Minbari beds are for one person only, and theirs is not. Instead, it is large, and flat, and entirely human, and she is understandly surprised when he slides an arm across her belly and pulls her close as he drifts off to sleep.

The first few months, she'd wait until she was sure he was asleep then carefully wriggle free.

The next few, she'd sometimes forget to move.

The last few, she held him as tightly as she possibly could and wondered how she'd ever be able to sleep alone again.

*


1. He's back in England, and there are no witchbreed here, just witches and their familiars - long, sleek beasts of many colours, with names carved into their sides: Ford, Mercedes, Jaguar.

2. There's a girl with blonde hair running towards him, and a man running after her, clad in unlikely clothes.

"What is happening?" he gasps, only half-aware of his surroundings. In the corner, a blue box is starting to glow.

"We're being chased by a Thlingor!" The man enthuses, grabbing him and dragging him towards the blue box. He smells odd; comforting, and Nicholas is abruptly reassured. "Fancy coming along?"

3. There is a room, built and furnished too sparsely to be anything other than a cell. One wall is a different colour than the rest, and he does not recognise the material, only that it is smooth like glass. He tries striking it occasionally, just to listen to the sound it makes. Meals appear; meals disappear. The room continues.

At last, a man arrives with thinning hair and empty eyes. "Hello," he says in a brittle voice. "Welcome to the Ministry of Love. My name is Winston."

4. He almost runs into her, not paying attention. Shows he's getting old, maybe; it never would have happened before. She's beautiful, at any rate, and clad in one of those outfits that seem so popular here: tight skirt, tight jacket, silk shirt, and she might as well have been wearing a sign saying 'Witchbreed' for all the subtlety of it all. "Oh, I'm sorry," she says, and grabs his hand as he's reaching for his fallen papers. "No, please, let me."

He lets her. He listens to her introduce herself, thinking what an apt name for a liar she had. Lie-lah, as if she'd been born Witchbreed and had not chosen it. He nods, and he smiles, and then he leans in a little and whispers in her ear, "tell your employers to stay away from me, or they will greatly regret ever crawling out of their pit."

He's walking along the beach and thinking that maybe he should visit home once in a while, and he smells and air and thinks, well, this isn't so bad, is it?

5. It all looks familiar, dark wood and tangled vines and even the distant birdsong, like he had never left at all. He stumbled through the trees, pushing the foliage out of his way, for what felt like hours, searching and calling for - for anyone, really, for anyone at all.

It takes him a rather long time to realise that there is no one here. It takes him even longer - not until after the first pains come, and he could barely stand up - for him to realise why.



For leyenn:

1. Michael knows all about the rerouting of the power lines in DownBelow. If he was any good as a Security Chief, he thinks, he'd know how to stop it: how to re-cut the power, and install safeguards, and not have the station's power and water leeched away in Gray sector.

(When he figured it out, it was midway through his sleep-cycle and he stared at the ceiling for a whole minute before turning over and going back to sleep.)

2.  There's a store on the station that imports illegal Centauri alcohol, twice as strong as any Earth brew and with half the side effects.

Michael makes Zack do the inventory inspection by somehow neglecting to notice that it ever existed.

It's not that he doesn't trust himself.

It's not.

3. Ivanova has a truly obscene amount of silk underwear, and Michael doesn't know this because he doesn't know everything about Ivanova, and Jeff, and John, and Stephen. Not in the least. Also, he always calls her 'iVanova' and not 'Susan', and knowing that she has that much silk underwear is just asking for trouble.

4. This doesn't happen, because of course if it happened Michael would know about it and would be obligated to put a stop to it. It's what good security chiefs do, and this definitely ranks way up there on the conspiracy meter. Still. They could all do with a break, and he's certain (almost) that Zack can handle it by himself.

(The 'almost' makes him get some cover for his shift and go and check on the damn thing himself.)

There just isn't a real reason to risk life and limb to find it, of all things, especially with everyone from Nightwatch to Psi Corps breathing down their necks. It's an even worse idea to do so without Sheridan finding out. It's asking for trouble and Michael is not real fond of asking for trouble, despite what anyone says.

Still. What's an engagement party without champagne, anyway?

And he's a good Chief of Security, and makes sure that he doesn't find out about any smuggling operation Ivanova is heading up that he might have to put a stop to.

5. Michael knows that something is wrong. It's the instinct that has managed to drag him all the way from Syria Planetium to the station and all the empty spaces in between, and he knows that something is wrong. He can feel it in his bones. Ever since he got back, it's been, "Michael, what do you remember?" and "Michael, how are you?" and Sheridan came back from the dead and no one is inquiring about his health, are they?

Something's very wrong. He can feel it.


*

1. There are things you discuss with your friends, and things you do not. There are also things that no military officer should be forced to explain to anyone else, ever, and they include: taxes, religion, and the proper technique for successful masturbation.

('Successful'? That was the bit what made Ivanova contemplate sticking her head in the reactor core. 'Successful masturbation' implies several bouts of unsuccessful masturbation and no no no she does not want to be having this thought.)

2. Up until about ten minutes ago, Ivanova knew nothing about her commanding officer's sex drive, and was really very happy with this state of affairs.

Of course, ten minutes ago precisely Delenn arrived at her door, vaguely confused and wanting an explanation regarding biological differences.

It turns out that Minbari males? Are very different.

Ivanova is seriously contemplating just locking herself in a garbage disposal chute. Maybe then there would be no way for anyone to find her.

3. You'd think that if you ended up having a slight accident with your chosen method of birth control, you'd either go to your doctor or to your bedpartner. Well, you'd be wrong.

"I am not sure, but I may have... put it in wrong."

Ivanova pressed the palms of her hands against her face, digging the heels into her eyesockets in an effort to drive away the impending migraine. "And - it's not coming out?"

Delenn made an "I'm such a terrible person to do this to you, and I will whip myself raw immediately after you fix this latest disaster and REMOVE THIS BIT OF PLASTIC FROM MY INNARDS IMMEDIATELY" face.

Sighing, Susan went to wash her hands, cursing all instruction leaflet writers everywhere.


4. She ended up spitting out half of her Stolichnaya across the table.

Delenn frowned. "I believe that this means it is not a good idea."

Coughing, Susan hurriedly poured herself another drink and gulped it down, sighing at the burn of it. "It's fine!" She squeaked, in a voice several octaves higher than normal. "I mean - Delenn, honestly, perhaps this is something to discuss with John -"

"He blushes whenever I attempt to bring up the subject, and hurriedly leaves the room," Delenn said. For someone who was mortified by many human customs and biological oddities, she was taking this rather well, Susan thought. She sat, perfect and serene, occasionally sipping her green tea. "What is it about analingus that embarrasses him so?"

By contrast, Susan had turned several shades of red and was rapidly approaching purple.

5. She was never going to get married. That was the plan, at least: career military, maybe a kid when she could find the time for it. But marriage? It was never on the cards. Kids are easier to manage when you can take them with you or leave them with someone; husbands or wives don't take too kindly to being shipped around in the same way. So, it's not like she's having her nose rubbed in it: she was never going to do this. She was never planning on the ring, or the dress, or even the aisle, really; and who would give her away even if she were to plan such stupid things?

It's not like Delenn was doing this to spite her, and she feels ashamed of herself for even thinking it, but she can't help wondering if it wouldn't be easier to just read about human marriage ceremonies, instead of having your very single female friend explain it all to you.

*

1. There's the obvious one, and he's not apologising for that one, or for anything he might have said. He does wish that Lennier - or any of the others - could have somehow excused themselves and not been there, but - well.

2. There's the not-so-obvious one, where Delenn washed his feet. He's not too sure what that one represented, only that it felt rather nice. Apparently, they're not supposed to do that again, though; at least, that was the impression he gathered from Delenn's scandalised look when he suggested it.

3. There's the first-anniversary one, that involved some red cherry fruits that didn't taste of anything but Delenn.

4. There's the one with the baby, and he wasn't overly fond of this one, but he was presented with a squirming, squealing tiny little creature that he'd helped make at the end of it. The midwife seemed a little unsure about handing the baby over, as his Andronato was probably a little off, but he'd simply taken the child from her and settled it in the crook of his arm.

David blinked up at him and managed a little yawn in between squeals.

5. There's the final one, and Delenn is there, and the light is there, and it's beautiful. "Well, look at that," and it is little more than a sigh. "The sun's coming up."


For bluerosefairy:
1. When Alexi was little, maybe four or five, she tied a piece of cloth around his eyes as they played blind man's bluff. It didn't occur to her until later that climbing on top of the dining room table was maybe asking for trouble, but she did it and Alexi walked straight into the corner of it and split his lip open.

Their mama had raised her hand to Irina that day, and it had been painful for all its rarity. Irina had bawled almost as loudly as Alexi, and they'd clutched at each pitifully as their mama had reached for them to smack Irina, and to pour iodine on Alexi's split lip. Irina gathered her brother in her arms and refused to let go, not even when the iodine rubbed across her own lips and stung all the way down.

2. When Alexi became Justin, and she was just a little too old to be helping him with his baths, she told Norman that she was going to join the church and give her life to God.

It was a lie, but it meant she could help with Justin's baths again.  It's her place, after all. If she doesn't look after him, who will?

3. She wonders if there is a way to stop Justin from becoming a man. It's not that she has something against men in general - Norman is a man, albeit a Man of God, and he's as a father to her. But something tells her that when Justin becomes a man he will do what all men do, and leave for a new home, and a wife, and children. Men do not keep their sister with them; much less sisters intending to give themselves to God.

So Iris wonders if it's not too late, at age 12, to stop Justin from becoming a man. She's heard the thinly veiled threats among the altar boys, but she doesn't quite understand what 'castrato' means and Norman only looks at her oddly when she asks. It doesn't occur to her to ask Justin what it means, because why would Justin listen to boys' tales?

It takes Iris maybe two weeks of careful reasoning to realise the solution. Justin doesn't take much persuasion.

Norman is a little surprised to hear that both of his wards will be entering the Church.

4. Iris always closes the door when bathing. Of course she does.

Except when she forgets.

5. Iris was once Irina and sat on her father's knee while her aunt presented her with a wriggling bundle that she was supposed to call 'brother'. Irina glared down at the pink, wrinkled face, and decided that the new toy wasn't as much fun as she had been led to believe. In fact, she was quite adamant that they'd simply have to put him back into mama's tummy until he came out ready to play.

Iris can remember her father's hands covering hers, slowly guiding her childish fingers to Alexi's face. She remembers tracing the curve of his cheek and poking a finger at the meaty babyish dimples, grinning when Alexi's face crumbled and he started to howl. She doesn't regret testing him out before sending him back, because it turns out that poking and prodding the new baby was always as much fun as having a new dolly.

When Justin pulls her hard against him, his hands rough on her shoulders and waist, Iris is not the least bit surprised and not the least bit sorry. It's only playing house, all over again.


For eye_of_a_cat:

1. He does most of his talking while drunk to no one in particular. The curtains are drawn and there are enough flowers and heavy perfumes in the air that he can close his eyes and pretend that he can't smell the burning drifting in from outside; soot and bodies intermingled in the air.

He asked for the drapes to be pulled open, once, when particularly inebriated. His attendants had tried to talk him out of it, but he had been adamant.

Now, he's more careful. He does not stir from his throne.

2. He thinks that maybe he was a little more drunk than he had originally thought, because G'Kar was dragging him along the corridor with as much disdain as he could muster. He murmured instructions about how he was to be undressed and put to bed, meant only for G'Kar's ears and in a purely innocent business fashion - he could hardly be adequately guarded if G'Kar entrusted him to an attendant in this vulnerable state!

Still. Perhaps he had spoken more loudly than he meant to; certainly the courtiers they met along the way hastily averted their eyes and tittered into their gloved hands, scandalised to see such familiarity.

3. He's a little ashamed of himself about this, but he's not particularly sorry. After all, everything is fair in love and cards, and if a simple exclamation of "Green!" distracts his insane Drazi opponent... Well. The Gods were evidently smiling upon him.

Although perhaps the riot that followed was a trifle unexpected.

4. "A Drazi, a Pak'ma'ra and a Narn walk into a bar -"

No, he doesn't understand why they hated that one, either.

5. He wasn't drunk for this one. He wasn't. One drink does not 'drunk' make, despite what Timov might think; despite what even his dear friend Mr Garibaldi might think. It's somehow worse that way, that maybe he went into it with his eyes open. It would have been easier if he had been drunk.

"I want it all back, the way it was."

One drink, though. He later has it with G'Kar; with Refa; even with Cartagia. Why does it matter so much more those many years later?

*

1. One day, when Sawyer was maybe ten or twelve - he doesn't really remember, only that he wasn't quite as tall as he'd have liked - he hunkered down behind a fence in his foster home's yard, carefully uncovering his stash of baseball cards from beneath a large mossy rock. He'd learned to wrap them in cellophane after the first few died from mildew, and he'd carried them faithfully from one foster home to another, always carefully burying them.

The first baseball card he actually remembers was probably one that he'd had for years and didn't actually buy himself. The soft-spoken lady from Social Services had tucked it into his pocket along with a toy car the day they'd come to take him away from his grandparent's house, so he thinks that maybe it was something that his dad had bought for him. He doesn't even remember the player on it now, only that it had been a Donruss card and not Topps, and that it had somehow been significant because of it.

Of course, it disappeared within a day of him arriving at his new foster home, so that was that.

Sawyer learned from that, though, and never let it be said that he didn't learn fast. The next card he got with the scant allowance he was given for mowing the lawn and taking out the rubbish he hid beneath a loose brick in the back garden. That one he remembered: Donruss, and glossy, and it still smelled of the bubblegum it came with. That card was the one he lost to mildew, and the bubblegum with it. All right; he did it another way.

By the time age ten - or maybe it was twelve, he supposes that it doesn't really matter that much - came rolling 'round, he'd gathered a piece of cellophane and wrapped his cards carefully, tucking them beneath the loose dirt under a large stone by the unpainted fence. His task next week would be to paint the fence, and he'd maybe be given some money for that, although he wouldn't be holding his breath. For now, though, he just wanted to look at the cards a little; to maybe touch the glossy coating to his skin for a minute and inhale the smell of bubblegum. He really, really misses bubblegum. It's bad for his teeth, or somesuch, and so this foster mother doesn't like him spending his money on it or on the cards that come with it. He doesn't see what the big deal is; it's not like he's going to be around for long enough for her ban to actually make a difference in his life.

He wonders later if he maybe heard the boy scream, or if he just heard the dull 'thunk' of a fist landing on soft flesh. Either way, he remembers that he wasn't tall enough to peer over the fence, and maybe it was for the best. Instead, he peered in between the cracks, squinting 'til he could make out the two large boys beating on the smaller kid. 'Smaller' being relative to Sawyer, of course, 'cause they all looked much older; maybe all the way up to Junior High age. He remembers that he must have still been holding the cards in his hand, because he managed to bend one as he leaned against the fence, his mouth puckered into an expression of surprise. The two larger boys were beating on the smaller one pretty bad, and they kept on screaming insults at him - fag, and queer, and other ones he didn't understand. He didn't really understand 'fag' or 'queer' either, but he knew that they must be bad, and that if the smaller boy was indeed any of those things, he must have deserved it. Except that - well - the larger boys didn't seem to be like they were doing God's work, or any of the other stuff his foster father had talked about when he'd talked about fags and queers and homi-se-ssuals. They just looked like great big bullies.

Sawyer tucked his cards back beneath the rock, and went inside. He didn't tell anyone about the boy being beat on in next door's yard, and didn't do anything about the crease in his baseball card.

It's frickin' weird, and Sawyer'd never admit it to anyone who asked, but he's kinda glad that he doesn't have to worry about anything like that here. Not that he'd be targeted himself because, hey, not gay, or even any of those many names he'd actually made an effort to not use. But, still. Hypothetical-like. It's nice to know. The island's driving everyone all kinds of batshit crazy, but no one's thrown a punch at anyone over anything like that. The Red Beret wouldn't, and Dr Feelgood wouldn't, and Locke - well, who the hell knows what that motherfucker would do, but somehow beating on someone over preference doesn't strike Sawyer as likely.

So, yeah. He could, and no one would make an issue of it.

You know. If he was into that.

2. Come to think of it, sawyer doesn't miss houses or next door's yard or fences or any of that shit, either. Usually 'cause it belonged to the mark's stupid husband, and he'd only be in the house for long enough to get the mortgage payment fund right out from under them, or maybe 'cause he's never quite shaken off the feeling that next door's yard is a bad place to be.

Whatever. A tent on the beach suits him just fine.


3. Sob stories. He doesn't do sob stories, or long, intricate tales of woe, but that's part and parcel of the job, sometimes. More than once he's had to sit through the long spiel of "why my husband is a dick and it's not cheating, it's saving our marriage."

Yeah. Right.

At least on the island when Freckles finally gives in and crawls into his tent, she ain't likely to wanna cry on his shoulder first.


4. Christmas. Thanksgiving. The 4th of frickin' July, for fuck's sake. It's not like anyone is keeping accurate count of the days on the island, but even if they were, there isn't anything much they can do to make it into a festive season of who the fuck cares.


5. This one's a mite complicated, but he doesn't really miss the con - long or otherwise - all that much, despite what anyone thinks.

Or maybe not so complicated. He knows that it'll be right there, waiting for him when he gets back.



*

Anyone else want anything (they're being written in the manner of ficlets), request one here.