stuff wot I'm working on
Oct. 9th, 2010 06:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lotessehere's some fics wot I'm currently writing - maybe seeing them plastered up here will get me to finish something!
She needed to be further away from him; withdrawing back into the workroom, she set her hands to mindlessly shuffling the bound parchments and loose papers and bits of odd detritus into slightly tidier piles, waiting to calm down enough to speak to him without shouting. “That's not true,” she managed eventually. “If you would just be sensible about things, and let the King and Alanna know when you get tired, you'd still be able to do all the things that no one else can do without risking your life in the bargain! Somehow I doubt that they want to use you up. You're the most powerful mage in the country – so they've got every good reason to manage and protect you. It's you who's at fault here, and it's not all right.” Her level, reasonable tone lasted her for about a minute, and then she was back to shouting at him again.
Daniel suspects, when he hears Teal'c say this, that Teal'c conviction is not as firm as Teal'c might wish it, and he wonders in an abstract sort of way what it must be like, to know your god personally and then to reject him to his face. Daniel has never either had or rejected a god; gods have drifted in and out of his life like the rising perfumed smoke from a swaying censer, sweet and musty and transitory. Daniel thinks about Teal'c, and certainty, and freedom, but Daniel has never been a slave, and so he never quite knows.
The last sectar, Starbuck reflected in the privacy of his own mind, had been like glass ground down: a long slow inexorable dulling caused by infinite sharp irritants rubbing together. The Galactica hadn't made landfall for far too long; there wasn't enough food, there wasn't enough fuel, and everyone had been starting to get restless. They'd been on constant alert, vigilant against a multitude of continual threats, but the battle never seemed to come, and the warriors found themselves jumping at shadows, nervous and crackling with unused energy.
Each time Sarah called for him unknowing, each time she ran his labyrinth with the same infuriating combination of self-assurance and mindless emotionality – each time, though the mechanism of the dream sometimes changed, he followed her into the fey ballroom, watched her spin about in her pretty dress like a butterfly on a string. He never kissed her, although he never failed to want to. Sometimes she was lost there, falling down into a deep and inescapable fantasy that slowly stilled the beating of her heart. Usually she broke through the great glass mirror and fled him, and was freed to do it all over again.
She needed to be further away from him; withdrawing back into the workroom, she set her hands to mindlessly shuffling the bound parchments and loose papers and bits of odd detritus into slightly tidier piles, waiting to calm down enough to speak to him without shouting. “That's not true,” she managed eventually. “If you would just be sensible about things, and let the King and Alanna know when you get tired, you'd still be able to do all the things that no one else can do without risking your life in the bargain! Somehow I doubt that they want to use you up. You're the most powerful mage in the country – so they've got every good reason to manage and protect you. It's you who's at fault here, and it's not all right.” Her level, reasonable tone lasted her for about a minute, and then she was back to shouting at him again.
Daniel suspects, when he hears Teal'c say this, that Teal'c conviction is not as firm as Teal'c might wish it, and he wonders in an abstract sort of way what it must be like, to know your god personally and then to reject him to his face. Daniel has never either had or rejected a god; gods have drifted in and out of his life like the rising perfumed smoke from a swaying censer, sweet and musty and transitory. Daniel thinks about Teal'c, and certainty, and freedom, but Daniel has never been a slave, and so he never quite knows.
The last sectar, Starbuck reflected in the privacy of his own mind, had been like glass ground down: a long slow inexorable dulling caused by infinite sharp irritants rubbing together. The Galactica hadn't made landfall for far too long; there wasn't enough food, there wasn't enough fuel, and everyone had been starting to get restless. They'd been on constant alert, vigilant against a multitude of continual threats, but the battle never seemed to come, and the warriors found themselves jumping at shadows, nervous and crackling with unused energy.
Each time Sarah called for him unknowing, each time she ran his labyrinth with the same infuriating combination of self-assurance and mindless emotionality – each time, though the mechanism of the dream sometimes changed, he followed her into the fey ballroom, watched her spin about in her pretty dress like a butterfly on a string. He never kissed her, although he never failed to want to. Sometimes she was lost there, falling down into a deep and inescapable fantasy that slowly stilled the beating of her heart. Usually she broke through the great glass mirror and fled him, and was freed to do it all over again.