wytchcroft

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Watching a flag get trampled in the dirt always brought a tear to Jerry’s eye, it was the romantic in him; Even if the flag was the United Colours of Benetton.

Squinting through the astringent smoke and with his ears ringing to the piped strains of Anarchy in the UK, the last of the musician assassins watched as the stubborn defenders of the accessories department finally gave up the ghost and arranged themselves in an artful display of splashes, drips and smears; Abstract expressionism at its very best, look good on a billboard too, one day.

Maybe in the past.

He squeezed off a photo just in case.
( Read more... )

[Error: unknown template qotd]"My user-name? Why do you need to know?"

It was a direct question - I'm not used to direct questions. I'm not used to direct answers either.
"Well your tag can tell us a lot about you - your personality, how you see yourself."
"Isn't that just semantics?"
"Words, yes - but..."
"Like the way you said tag..."
"Huh?"
"You don't like 'user-name'? You don't want to be seen as a user? Or - did you think that it was a kindness to me, Mr Deckard?"


( Read more... )

[Error: unknown template qotd]Diane, it’s 9.30 a.m. a clear day, over-cast however. Yes, probably a south westerly, low pressure judging from the extra exertion it took to complete my exercises this morning. Yes, Diane you will be pleased to hear that I am a man of my word and that word is ‘routine’.


( Read more... )

There’s a lot of things we don’t admit to ourselves, thoughts, truths, memories, dreams. We hang them on a far peg in the battered closet we never use. You know the kind, every home has one; Guess that old thing needs a little repair and didn’t the handle use to be a different colour?
Well next spring cleaning, we always promise, and it’ll get fixed.
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"Come child, you're supposed to walk in the dress - not through it!"
The tutor  waved a hand.
"It is supposed to flow around you - like music, neh?"
Not the best analogy, thought Nandi, her face creasing to match the fabric.
She shifted her body awkwardly inside the material. It's not just the dress that doesn't fit.
Some girls maybe, some girls they could... like music. Some girls, she thought, like Inara. 

.......................
sound plausible?

sorry for the delay - lost the net for 24hrs again.

Independently Blue:

this fic is inspired by characters and situations created by joss whedon, tim minear and brett matthews, i have no claim or copyright on this material. PG-13 - final part( conclusion )

this fic is inspired by characters and situations created by joss whedon, tim minear and brett matthews, i have no claim or copyright on this material.
PG-13 - part one.
this story is set quite some time after Serenity the movie but flashes back to episodes from the firefly series.

( look out below... )

They were ghosts at the waters edge, the two children, barely disturbing the surface tension of the air.
The sun was rising and the lake was beginning to gleam red.
The mist, coming up to meet the morning, was clotted and thick - but it was burning away fast.
One child was looking at the other - and that child was looking into nothing.
( below the surface... )

She loved Vancouver and she loved to dance...
under the moody rusted fire escapes, along the wide alleys behind the back of tenements and with the chill wind catching her skirts. The sun like another flashbulb popping on and off between shutters of cloud. The music around her and the underlying traffic drone just another murmur of appreciation as she balanced her body backwards, as she flung out an arm, as she rippled and twisted with liquid grace. There was always freedom in dancing, in movement, in her body.
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The Adventure of the Holy Terrors:

 

Over the years some few cases brought to conclusion by Mr Sherlock Holmes whilst still in the callow blush of his early manhood have become a matter of public record, both through my efforts as biographer and by various journalists and members of the literary press; such cases as the Gloria Scott and The Musgrave Ritual.

 

However, such scattered anecdotes aside, the background and personal history of my esteemed companion have remained as much a mystery, as abstruse a puzzle, as any of his famous cases. It was indeed fortunate therefore that having been driven into the attic by a mixture of boredom and the frustrations of the early March gales, I once again obtained some insight into the early career and personality of my friend.

( More under the microscope... )