I must be hardwired to be difficult. Nothing like my attempts to work my way through a coldfusion text book the size of a telephone book to get me writing and writing and writing. Ditto all sorts of people hustling and bustling about. It's like, the more inappropriate it is to write, the more my muse is one my case. It's always been like this. One of the stories I'm most proud of, the story that represented a huge leap forward in my own personal ease and skill of getting ideas down onto the page, that was written during my HSC exams. The more I can't the more I want to. Which is why the muse flees on long, boring, empty weekends. Ain't it always the way. So sad, to be so hardwired for contrariness.
Still, it's fun. It's like looking at where I got stuck months before and saying, 'ha! child's play', and getting on with it. I'm up to the point where it's all starting to come together and fall into place, from a to b to c to d, which is fun. Okay, so it's an Ezra story, but at least I'm getting this one done. It's about 50 pages but will probably end up about 40 because there's a subplot I'm going to cut because it goes nowhere in this particular plot. It's more of a sidebar. It does, however, set up the next fic as a hint of what might really, really upset Ezra, so I might throw it in the beginning there. I can do that, have a teaser before the action starts, maybe.
Nothing much last night. Came home. Eschewed housework to curl up and catch up on last night's telly. 24: amazing how tv plane crashes have a way of killing off only minor characters. I figured it was like the Titanic where only the first class passengers got off until Bro pointed out that plane crashes are much more egalitarian and it's usually only the people having sex in the loos or the trolly dolly in the galley who walk away from them. Nevertheless I was impressed at how full on 24 was. Gun battles, graphic torture and Palmer shedding a tear for Jack. Kudos to the 24 team for having it all happen. With a full series this time the plot is really tighter and they're just throwing everything in the soup. I kind of like it.
Buffy: It was the Buffy's gonna kill Anya because she killed a few people, and don't get us started on why some characters on Buffy can get off scott free and others are punished, for pretty much the same level of offences. Like it's okay for Gunn to murder that Prof but not okay for Wes to try and save Connor. It's okay for Oz to eat people, albeit mostly zombies, but not okay for Anya to kill frat boys (the comment about it looking like she'd massacred an Abercrombie and Finch catalogue had me howling), it's okay for Willow and Buffy to kill, it's okay for Xander to cause mayhem through that love spell, etc. Don't even get me started on Angel vs Spike, or Angel vs anyone. Just like real life, some people are made examples of and other people get away with it. As much as I don't like Anya, I do like Olaf the troll (the line about the troll doing Olaf impersonations and the whole bad foreign film thing had me rolling) and there was no Dawn, so I'll give the episode a thumbs up, for once.
Roswell: the episode where everyone in Roswell vanishes, except some of the more annoying characters but we all know now that Tess really, really is an evil bitch and it's not just my prejudice against blondes. Actually, this had a few good moments. Fer starters, I can't believe they got the alien road sign past the censors, and there was some really nice Kyle stuff here. I love my gay Buddhist son. I mean, Kyle has become so the gay best friend, I don't know why they just didn't bite the bullet and write him overtly that way. The other highlight was evil pip squeak Nicholas. Too amusing.
Relic Hunter: I'm very fond of Nigel these days, but oh dear, this is such a bad, bad show. Still, some nice Paris scenery, including Pere Lachaise Cemetary (where Oscar Wilde is buried), which I've been too, so that was worth watching. After that it was the get Crichton away from Scorpius at the depository episode of Farscape. Poor, poor insane Crichton. Some really nice stuff here, but you've all seen it so you know what I'm talking about (see songvids below).
Dont ever prank order from Amazon, or you'll end up like me:
Killer Tomatoes Eat France VHS
Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death DVD ~ Shannon Tweed
Killer Tomatoes Strike Back VHS
Killer Klowns from Outer Space DVD
Attack of the Killer Tomatoes! VHS
Oh, the shame, the shame of it all...
The following fic bit is rated PG for implied violence and implied Buck/Ezra. From my sixth Magnificent Seven fic. The story so far: Buck has carelessly cuckcolded one of the Nichols clan, who caught up with Buck and horse whipped him. During the rescue of Buck by Chris, Vin and Ezra, the cuckcolded Nichols was killed and now the remaining Nichols brothers are out for blood and hunting our boys.
Ezra woke nearly choked by Buck, the long limbed man not merely wrapped around him, but apparently hanging onto him for dear life, trying to snatch every bit of warmth he could from Ezra's body, causing tremors to run through Ezra with his chills.
Chris caught Ezra trying to rub some warmth back into Buck's skin, and he dearly wished he could light a fire, but there was no chance, not with a posse of blood feuding brothers on their tail.
"Here," Chris tossed Ezra his spare canteen, more whisky than water, and Buck didn't need to be told twice to drink deep. Buck needed the warmth of the whisky in his belly and he needed the liquor to dull the pain. If Buck thought he'd been hurt bad last night, it was nothing compared to waking up half frozen in this still dark morning, his back fairly cracking with dried blood, every kick and punch burning under his skin.
"Can you ride?" Chris wanted to know, enough of a 'serves you right' tone in his voice to make Buck bristle and get up on his feet.
Buck wasn't in any condition to take a swing at Chris, but he wasn't about to let anyone see how bad it was, either, least of all Chris. They might be good friends, good enough to get real nasty with each other on occasion, but that didn't mean the old rivalry had in anyway vanished. If anything, it was worse, because Buck could still see Chris and Vin sniffing around Ezra like dogs. Nothing like Buck taking up with the young scoundrel to make everyone wonder what they'd missed seeing in the preening little peacock. All because Buck had fallen hard and Buck didn't fall hard like that for just anyone. It piqued their curiosity. It made them wonder what Ezra had to hide, and what Ezra only showed to Buck.
Ezra met Chris' appraising stare with his standard 'wouldn't you like to know' half smile and tossed back the canteen to him. Ezra was too much of a natural tease not to goad Chris, just a little, enjoying his sport before the soft hiss of breath from Buck brought him horribly back to reality.
Buck didn't need to say anything. The haggard greyness of his face, the impossibly stiff way he moved, like you'd expect a scarecrow made out of an old rake to walk, and the way he just leant against his saddle, rather than actually adjusting it, told Ezra everything he needed to know. Buck was in bad shape, bad enough that he might not make the ride back to town, Nichols or no Nichols. That thought sent ice corkscrewing through Ezra's gut and he banished all such thoughts, superstitiously believing that just to think it might bring it into being. It was foolish but he wasn't about to argue with his fears now. Now he had to stand and watch Buck very painfully try and swing himself into the saddle, knowing any attempt to offer assistance would be savagely rebuffed.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught Chris and Vin wincing in sympathy for Buck, too, and he knew the tightness in their faces meant they were both calculating just how much Buck was going to slow them down. There was no way they could outrun the Nichols gang with Buck in the shape he was in. Buck was a liability and like as not he was going to get them all killed, but they weren't about to leave him to die alone out here so they just saddled up in silence, checked their ammunition and made sure their pieces were ready one last time.
"Ezra," Buck spoke at last, still leaning against his saddle, sweating and bleeding in equal measure.
"No," Ezra cut him off sharply.
"Damn you boy," Buck hissed, "You pay me mind now."
"I think in your delirium you've confused me with that waif of yours. I am not a child and I will not be told what to do, not by you or anybody."
"No. I will not leave you." Ezra's vehemence startled them all.