Filling time before interview.

[nny]

From a WIP:

He emerged from the kitchen with a plate of those singularly insipid biscuits that come in boxes labelled 'rich tea assortment' and the like. Crowley had invented them many years ago - he'd been particularly pleased with the idea that you would only get chocolate if you went with 'luxury' - and had been mildly put out when the British had taken to them like the proverbial duck to the proverbial pond. It was a challenge, at times, working in a place where a lot of aspirations amounted to nothing more than getting one of those pink wafery ones before Stevens, of accounts, cadged the lot.

On the upside, it was amazing the boost to your reputation Below when you persuaded someone to sell their soul for a custard cream.


***


Anyone got any bits from WIPs to amuse me with?

*looks hopeful*

Comments

[rimestock.livejournal.com]

Something I'm supposed to be working on for Fahye:

"Adam?"

"Oh, he's still up at Cardiff."

"What about Wensleydale?"

"Didn't you hear? He's gone off to Spain on a two-year thing."

"... no, I hadn't heard."

"Funny. Thought that you lot were always running around together."

"Yeah, I did too."

"Brian's off down at that old place five miles west of town, though. As a caretaker, of all things."

"... what?"

"Some bloke as had some sort of head injury, I don't know. Trying to live on his own."

"And Brian's taking care of him?"

"... well, he's trying to, at least. Fellow seems to think he doesn't need any help."

"I... suppose at least it isn't Adam."

---

Godric's Hollow used to be a wizarding village. These days, with one cottage all by itself in the countryside (except, of course, for the muggle town a mile over)... the only reason he still calls it that is that his parents died here, and Voldemort died here, and someone needs to remember it.

There's a boy who's taken to stopping by from the town. He's perhaps a year older, but... but he didn't face a war, now did he? A boy, name of Brian. Cheerful, if maybe a bit like a puppy who'd been kicked a few times, or maybe a house elf.

Cheerful, though. Definitely that. Even if he seems to think Harry's a bit mental, maybe, and couldn't possibly manage on his own.

Nevermind that he can't manage on his own. 's not the point. If it were, well, there's Dobby.

Brian talks him into going into town, a mile off, for lunch at the pub. He doesn't know why he says yes. And he doesn't know why he says yes again, a few days later.

[nepheliad.livejournal.com]

Unfortunately for Julia, there hadn't been the time. They continued to get letters from her -- actually, Julia wrote every day, lonely for their company and wanting to at least see the writing of at least one of her two friends on paper. Even a phone call would do, wrote Julia. It's been a long time since I've heard from you, wrote Julia. How can you spend a whole month in a place no more beautiful than home?, wrote Julia.

You've got to write back to me sometime, wrote Julia. Julia's suspicions were that her friends had little to do besides relax in their room, but that they just didn't care. Cantrip and Ragwort loved reading Julia's letters, curled up together on the couch. The different stains led them to their favourite game, "Where Has Julia Been Today?" Ash stains, retsina, brandy, tomato sauce, ice cream ... the possibilities were endless.

-- in other words, yes.

[chains-of-irony.livejournal.com]

Foiled by us English. XD I love it.

Well, you're not killing time anymore, but: (original)

[tammaiya.livejournal.com]

“Come on, pick up the phone,” Lucifer muttered, fingers drumming irritably on the counter. He was about to give up on the sixth ring when someone finally picked up and a voice said something that sounded rather like, “Mmrgle?”

There was a short bewildered silence. “Excuse me?” Lucifer said blankly.

“Sorry,” the person on the other line said sheepishly. “My mouth was full. That is Lucifer, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s the tooth faerie,” Lucifer said sarcastically. “What are you eating now?”

“Ice cream,” the other responded, tone mildly embarrassed. “Ack, hang on, I’m having a crisis with the fridge.”

“You’re a pig, Jez,” Lucifer said, but waited patiently as Jez tried valiantly to balance the phone on his shoulder, the bowl of ice cream in one hand, the carton in the other, while attempting to open the fridge door with his foot. There was muffled thumping noises and swearing, a pause, and then Jez spoke again.

“Rrht, f’rry abv va’.”

“Take the spoon out of your mouth, I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

~~

Uh, yeah. *scuttle*

[schiarire.livejournal.com]

I'm home!

* * *

“Good morning, Paul,” came Dr. Lawrence’s soft voice. Paul blinked; Lawrence’s back was to him; how had the doctor known? Still, he wasn’t surprised. It was always like that.

“Good morning,” said Paul, pulling out a kitchen chair and sitting down.

“Are you hungry?”

Paul thought about it. “Not very.”

“Oh well,” said Dr. Lawrence cheerfully. “Here’s your usual.” He turned and set out a plate and a glass of orange juice.

Paul looked at his dry toast. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Dr. Lawrence moved away, already lost in thought again. He could be very bad company when he got like this, which was often. Paul crunched his toast, watching the doctor wander aimlessly around the kitchen and feeling just a little bit lonely.

* * *

You think: So this is what it is to fly.

But: you have no wings.

So: you spread your thoughts out flat against the sky and soar.