Shannon (kungfuwaynewho) wrote,

Odds and Ends

Yay!  It's finally fall!  Actually fall, and not just teasing fall that lasts for a few days before it warms up again.  My sisters and I are planning our epic Halloween dinner, to be eaten as we watch the most triumphant premiere of The Walking Dead.  I would be excited about a zombie show anyway, but it's Frank Darabont, and Bear McCreary is doing the music, so you know it's going to be amazing.  As far as meal planning goes, so far all we have are barbeque meatballs and green chile bacon cheddar croissant things.  Maybe some sherbet punch?  And I think ghost sugar cookies.  We're still working on it.

scifiland had a fic challenge that I actually did, but then I missed the deadline.  I'm still kind of pissed about it, heh.  Anyway, since I didn't get to submit in time, I'm just going to post it here, since it's ineligible for voting.  We had to pick one of three sentences and build the fic around it, which was a really fun exercise. 

Title: Untitled Drabble (IDK, dudes)
Specs: Battlestar Galactica, Laura, no spoilers, 250 words
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I did not bother getting out my DVDs to check these numbers, so they're probably off.  Eh.
Prompt: "She's been dreaming and not sleeping, on a road not meant for traveling."

72 days.  46,326 survivors.  68 ships.  Laura wakes, and the numbers are already waiting, there in her mind before anything else.  A narrow couch, not meant for sleeping.  She could acquire something better, this job does have its perks after all, but she prefers this skinny bed, this rough blanket, the thin curtain an inadequate partition.

Laura's been thinking about the coldness of space.  She's been imagining white-hot flashes, blasts of wind, the sound skulls make when they click together.  She's been dreaming and not sleeping, on a road not meant for traveling.  She's been listening to her body, the quiet whispers of malignant sneaks hiding in dark corners.

Laura's fingers shake this morning.  Brushing her hair.  A stranger brushes her hair in the mirror in front of her.  She only packed three suits, and she pulls one on now; slick satin shirt rough against her skin, jacket buttoning too loose and she'll need to cut a new buttonhole, this jacket used to fit.  A president should look presidential.

Laura takes a pill with water, and she prays today there are no visions.  She coughs.  She's heard this cough before, at a lunch at that bistro in Thebes.  Her mother didn't tell her for another two months, but she knew hearing that cough, that dry little cough, and her meal grew cold.

Laura hopes today is boring.  She hopes the Dradis stays clear.  She hopes the Raptors find something, anything.  She hopes this fragile calm knitting them all together holds for one more day.

She hopes.
Tags: bear mccreary, bsg, fic, real life
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