(no subject)
Oct. 6th, 2004 04:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zarahemlaI've been having lots of fun writing drabbles for the first lines of other peoples' fics, so I present here some of mine in the hopes of getting drabble-age out of it.
I won't tell you the fandoms (though some are obvious) so you can just riff on it.
It's not a dark alley they meet in, but a vast, brightly lit ballroom in Los Angeles.
A ranchers son ought to be used to hardship.
They cut the rope from the saddle and let him fall.
Two days after Archie Kennedy died of his gut wound, and all the other officers of the Renown were cleared of charges of mutiny most foul, and one day before Captain Hornblower will sail the Retribution back to England, Horatio takes William out into Kingston Harbour and teaches him how to swim.
She looks at him with eyes that are, strangely, not blank, but electric.
Riley has only ten minutes with the nameless dead girl.
The leaves sigh around Alain, as if they're trying to tell him something, something so low and delicate that he will never hear it.
Bright is not stupid.
Freed from the stifling heat of the tavern, Jack stumbles into darkness.
The moonship's black corridors echo under Uther Doul's heels.
The train goes by every day, but it only goes one way.
We're watching the moonlight bounce off the New York City skyline.
I think I had him there, for just one minute.
In the arena of Krycek's head, he's playing chess.
I won't tell you the fandoms (though some are obvious) so you can just riff on it.
It's not a dark alley they meet in, but a vast, brightly lit ballroom in Los Angeles.
A ranchers son ought to be used to hardship.
They cut the rope from the saddle and let him fall.
Two days after Archie Kennedy died of his gut wound, and all the other officers of the Renown were cleared of charges of mutiny most foul, and one day before Captain Hornblower will sail the Retribution back to England, Horatio takes William out into Kingston Harbour and teaches him how to swim.
She looks at him with eyes that are, strangely, not blank, but electric.
Riley has only ten minutes with the nameless dead girl.
The leaves sigh around Alain, as if they're trying to tell him something, something so low and delicate that he will never hear it.
Bright is not stupid.
Freed from the stifling heat of the tavern, Jack stumbles into darkness.
The moonship's black corridors echo under Uther Doul's heels.
The train goes by every day, but it only goes one way.
We're watching the moonlight bounce off the New York City skyline.
I think I had him there, for just one minute.
In the arena of Krycek's head, he's playing chess.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-07 04:08 am (UTC)-----
It's not a dark alley they meet in, but a vast, brightly lit ballroom in Los Angeles. Some corporation's annual event: cheap booze and awkward junior management types in formal clothing they don't know how to wear. There's enough Wyndham-Pryce in Wesley to want to sneer at it all, but in truth all he wants is to be able to go home. Instead, here he is, the face of Wolfram and Hart (and there's an irony to that which he can't quite pin down), a cup of oily whiskey in one hand and boredom in his eyes. Gunn has been carried off to trade stories with the other corporate lawyers; Wesley hasn't seen him for an hour.
"Dull, isn't it?"
No one speaks like that from birth: it's the kind of accent people assume when they want to hide their origins. Wesley turns to look and finds pretty blue eyes and short blond hair and a face that might have been from anywhere. Certainly the most interesting thing he's seen this evening, not that that's much of a statement. The dinner jacket looks bespoke; Oxford, he suspects, or he'd like to have been, and probably Lincoln or Trinity. He offers a noncommittal shrug.
"You're not with Figline Enterprises, I take it."
"Wolfram and Hart. You?"
"Credit Suisse, at the moment."
There's rumored to be substantial collection of mystical objects hidden in one of the basement levels of Credit Suisse, although no one from Wolfram and Hart has managed to get a look at them; his predecessor had a substantial file on the problem. He gives the man next to him a second look. His good tailoring is hiding more than muscle, he suddenly realizes. There's a gun, at least one, under there as well. Definitely the most interesting thing he's seen this evening. He holds out one hand. "Wesley Wyndam Pryce."
"Julian Sark."
(tbc. Really.)
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-07 04:07 pm (UTC)