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stuff from the old computer
I haven't written anything in a long time, so I'm going to post these very rough pieces. Anyway if you read them comment. I may have posted these, but I can't remember.
Xander is leaning against a brick wall, he knows this because he can feel it, the sharp bricks under his shirt, the scrape of mortar at his fingertips. There is darkness all around him and nothing to see, he could be anywhere: in an alley, behind the Bronze, outside the school, there is nothing to see, and everything to feel. He’s always sixteen in this dream, foot propped against the wall, thumbs hooked in his tight jeans he looks a little like James Dean, a little like a cover boy, and a whole lot like desire. The air is charged, heavy with heat and desire, wrapping around him like a caress, he wants to rub his body against the feeling, arch into it like a cat. He feels hot and flushed, his hips buck involuntarily, and he licks his lips in anticipation, he knows what comes next.
Spike slinks out of the shadows looking like he did when he first strode into Sunnydale: pale and glowing against black clothes, the leather duster (something) like wings, eyes full of wicked intent.
“Xander”, Spike draws his name out like a caress sending shivers of along Xander’s spine. “What are you doing out alone at night? Don’t you know wicked things come out to play?” The dialogue changes, but the words don’t matter, that’s not what this is about, the dream lets Xander have all he denies himself during his waking hours.
Xander ducks his chin and looks up through his bangs, tries to look innocent
Spike stalks closer, the air is charged with want and need, and Xander’s hips buck, he wants to rub against Spike like a cat. Spike is right there, close enough but he doesn’t. There is heat in Spike’s eyes; heat in the air, Xander burning with it. He wants to touch, he wants to feel, he wants to tease. Xander licks his lips and closes his eyes, runs his hand slowly up his stomach to his chest, draws a slow design with his fingertips. When he trails his fingertips back down his shirt is gone, the lightest touch of skin on skin feels so good. Xander opens his eyes to find Spike’s on him like a brand, it’s an erotic charge singing through his veins, his jeans are so tight, his cock is so hard. He bites bottom lip and runs his fingers lightly his erection, his hips thrust against the air as he moans.
“I could hurt you.”
The words sound distant, Xander is dumb with lust,
“ch…chip…” he finally gasps.
Spike’s tongue traces his ear, there’s a quick nip.
Spike’s voice is soft against his ear, “Not here.”
Xander is desperate, there’s not enough pressure or friction, he wants more, he wants harder, he needs
The length of Spike’s body is hard against his, pressing him into the wall, Xander’s moans become more ragged and desperate as he is given over to the sensations and
Xander jerks up, chest heaving, disoriented and sticky, he’s in the dark, but when he looks out there are glowing numbers to orientate him. He falls back on the bed and lies there, his skin is still sensitized from the dream and he mindlessly draws patterns on his chest. From experience Xander knows that tomorrow the sense memory will stay with him, that he’ll feel more aware of his skin, and that he’ll be hyper aware of Spike. He knows that tomorrow it will be with him: the sting of brick, the nip of teeth at his throat, he’ll be aware of his own skin and hyper sensitive to Spike’s presence, but right now he’s not sure if Spike’s in the apartment or out being insane. Xander rolls over, and cleans off and deals with his own bit of insanity.
Ray misses carrying keys. The weight in his pocket, the rattle to shake them loose. He stands on the high-rise floors and looks out over the desert with his hand curled in his pocket, cupping an imaginary set of keys.
Armando doesn’t carry a ring of keys, there’s no need. He has a driver. The penthouse suites he uses for women and deals are opened with key cards. Nero is always at the house to open the doors and lock them and there are security systems for everything. He has an office in Vegas but that uses a key card, which changes every week, and he carries it in his wallet.
Technically he carries keys to the front door, just in case, and a key to his desk, but those are in a key wallet, carried in his inner jacket pocket. Armando wouldn’t use a key ring. It ruins the line of his pants.
Armando likes to spend time alone each night, one more of his weird quirks. Ray uses it to his advantage. Those times are when Ray can creep out from under Armando, if he didn’t have this time he’d go insane. Lose himself. Today is one of those days Ray wants to find the feds and tell them the deal is off, that he’s leaving.
Ray throws a paperweight across the room in frustration. He orders hits, he fucks women, but only at the penthouses, and then he smacks them around if they don’t please him. Every day he lives as Armando he’s more and more the man Pop wanted to be and he hates it. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to leave this behind.
He hates the desert, hates the sunsets he watches every night because Armando did. Hates the lack of humidity, the lack of water. He wants to see a real lake, not these man made things, he wants to see the ocean.
Ray wants to find someone who’s good and kind and won’t look at him with eyes full of betrayal and a heart full of need. All day, every day the first months he was here he heard Benny’s voice in his head, reproachful, telling him about duty and honor. Ray tried to explain, tried to tell him that there wasn’t a choice, in the matter. Going undercover, as the Bookman was never presented as a choice. The best he could do was a pathetic phone call that never told Benny anything and he was lucky Welsh gave him that.
When Ray fucked the first woman, Benny shut up and receded back into some other place in Ray’s mind and he was grateful and afterward Benny was back and Ray was back to trying to explain. Justify. That this was duty even though there wasn’t any honor in it.
His dreams aren’t any better---filled with Ma, and Frannie. Maria and Tony, the kids. Looking at him, hurt and betrayed, not being taken care of, in harm’s way because Fraser can’t take care of them, because Ray isn’t there.
Pop came to him once, mocking but proud. Pop liked Vegas, the gambling, the goons, the violence; Ray was a helpless kid in this dream, just a kid sent down to the corner to bring his Pop back. Pop laughed at something horrible that Ray had to do that day and Ray morphed into Armando, turned it full force onto Pop and that was the end of that.
Ra can’t banish the real devils so easily.
He looks out over the dying light and wants this to end. Tonight one more piece of himself will be carved away.
This isn’t honor Ray, this isn’t duty.
God, Benny, he doesn’t need this now. He has to be Armando.
Ray turns just as the door opens; three men come in dragging a woman in with them. This is what he has to be.
She’s a tiny redhead and hasn’t been in Vegas long, doesn’t know how to recognize Mob and that when they walk into a restaurant the wait staff keeps their head down and their mouths shut. She tried to stick up for her friend, manhandled Ray in the process. Nothing happened in the restaurant, Armando doesn’t cause a scene. The woman thought she got away with it probably, until the men came for her.
She looks scared and defiant and Ray will have to beat that out of her and pretend to enjoy it.
You could show leniency, be merciful. It's not uncommon for...
Benny’s pleading for this girl, like he does all the others. Ray’s just relieved that she doesn’t look like Frannie or Maria, that he can leave his sisters out of this.
I could sit and listen to the characters of Firefly talk for hours. When I watched The Message, I was temporarily derailed by the threatening police officer when he used the word quim. I wanted to get up do a little dance. Instead I squealed a little. If this episode had aired on Fox I would have done a little fangirl dance for the word quim.
For those of you who don't know what "quim" means it's another word for cunt. Hopefully I don't have to explain cunt.
I squealed like a fangirl because the
Joss and Tim and Ben and everyone working on Firefly worked so hard on the show and on all the details big and small. I first watched with bated breath because—Western! In Space! Plus the language the wonderful language. Not just the mix of Chinese and English. Or the addition of their own made up words "gorram", "ruttin" but the way they used real words to make their show. They took these words and molded them to fit, they changed them, added to them, chipped bits away from them---corpsified, 'verse---and they built a their version of English. Firefly English.
Within Firefly English there are different dialects. It's a bit more simplistic than in the real world, but it's also a brilliant tv show that was cancelled. So work with me.
Everyone on Serenity speaks differently. They all use their words in a different manner, some words aren't shared between certain people. It's not just in the words they use, but the ease they use them, the way the wrap their mouths around them, their heads around them. Shortly after I started watching the show I decided I'd rank the characters based on what I thought their education level might be, simply by the way they speak. Not thinking "well Simon is a doctor" but "this is how Simon talks." River's the wild card so I didn't try with her.
And this is how I ranked them and why. First they why.
Jayne was easy. He ranked lowest. I figured that he would have the least amount of formal education., that he'd probably be able to read. Probably not much and not well but enough to know what he was signing on for and not be cheated. Plus the math he needed to get paid and buy and sell what he needed. But he had the very basics in education and a rural upbringing.
Simon and Inara I put at the top. While Inara is the more confident and more formally at times of the two. Simon's speech is that of someone who has been formally educated. Just by listening to them I'd put them at the same education level and same economic background.
Kaylee obviously is the second least educated of the crew. I hate kind of lumping her in with Jayne because…well…but she's mostly young. She's gifted with mechanical know how so I'll assume she's had an informal education. Either rural or small town based on how she talks.
Then I had to place Zoe and Mal. This was actually easier. Zoe is more educated than Mal. I'm not going to go with smarter. Zoe and Mal don't talk a like. They talk similar in many ways but not a like. Zoe is more precise with her words. Mal-rural background. Zoe-grew up in town. Zoe had the more formal education or went longer.
Wash. He goes in with Zoe and Mal. I'm placing him in an urban background. Zoe gets a town background rather than urban, meaning rural but in a town.
Book, for awhile I thought he was a wild card. But he's not. He's very well educated. Either because he's a Shepherd or that came before. I'm slotting him under Simon and Inara.
So it's
Simon, Inara (tied); Book;
I'm not ranking intelligence or even the appearance of intelligence but rather where I would rank their educational background based on how they talk.
If we were talking raw intelligence, not counting education I'm not sure where I would put them.
Differnet characters use different phrases to say the same thing, indicating they come from different places or upbringings.
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Do you still write?
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I haven't written anything recently, I got out of the habit and I need to again, maybe doing drabbles.
Sometimes I have trouble getting words from my head to paper (or on the computer) but I got a recorder to try and help me with that.