Oh, really, as if Peter could ever be the slightest bit intimidating, especially to Neal, in any shape or form. If there was ever a time, that bolted horse has long since sailed. Peter is Neal's cuddly wuddly obedient slipper fetching pet, and everyone knows it.
But then again, maybe that was one of the points The Prisoner was trying to make (if any, I mean, gawd, those last few eps, wtf?), you know, the whole who are the guards and who are the prisoners deal. But that's way too complicated for this bear of little brain. I'm just here for the pretty pretty.
And I seem to have drifted onto White Collar again. Sorry. Was typing up some. I only do fic for shows that antagonise me (I have to 'fix' them). Shows that give me everything I need, I just wallow in.
In other words, was supposed to be doing stuff on Sunday afternoon but somehow just ended up re-watching the Dr Who finale (yay, Matt!) and wallowing in Plastic Rory and the rest of it, even and including the fez. I love that show so much, and I think Rory is making scary inroads into Jamie's place in my heart - and I never thought that would ever, ever in my life be possible.
I am also beside myself with fangirl squee over my favourite writer (one Neil Gaiman, no less) writing for my fave show and referencing one of my very fave stories (War Games, cf Jamie). It's like squee to the power of three. Whee!!!
Sorry. Minding the fort and firewalled equals horribly bored. Typed up some but they've moved in a wall of filing cabinets right behind me, which crimps the style, somewhat.
I got soaked right through to the skin today, caught in one of those sudden dump seventeen swimming pools on you in seventeen seconds tropical downpours while walking to work, so now I'm shivering and wet at work, or would be had not my mate downstairs handed over tissues and I have a special woolly cardy stowed away for emergencies such as these. I realise now I need a towel in the emergency desk drawer as well.
Of course it came out completely sunny, didn't it, so no one can understand why I'm all damp and dripping. It's always the way.
Not that weird and out of place isn't my modus operandi here. I do wish I got on with someone, hell, anyone would do, but, alas, it's not to be. They're either all from postcodes that don't talk to the likes of me and/or they're arseholes. No, actually, I think the latter category pretty much covers it, mainly because almost all of them fal into the former. Egalitarian society my big Hanovarian butt. Harumph.
And it's not like I don't try, but when they call you a 'peasant' and 'the worst kind of hillbilly' to your face, one gives up trying to be polite and sits heavily upon the thrashing urge to thump them one instead. And so it goes.
At least they're all away today. Wheeee!!! Running through the corridors with streamers in my hair. Or something like that. Or I would be, if I wasn't coming to the dread conclusion that the pms from hell, the one that had Himself no less hanging out the clothes and watering the back garden, such did he fear for his life, was not the puttering end of it but rather the prelude to something very, very nasty. By the grumbling of my tum, something bad tempered this way comes.
Pity, because I was having fun doodling away absently with Peter and Neal on a road trip. How on earth they ended up on said road trip is about four notebooks of poorly executed explanation, but trust me, there is a reason, sort of, either that or I've really got to ease up on the Supernatural dvds. I can almost smell the back seat of the Impala - snerk.
Oh dear, I was going to watch some White Collar tonight (as it seems the typing is going to be, ahem, rained out), but nope, I think I hear Supernatural calling. Does anyone know of any slightly sane lj Supernatural comms, if such creatures exist? Just somewhere I could pic up photos and stuff. I'm feeling...deprived, depraved? Something with a 'D'.
Neanderthals could show compassion
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