So I wrote five drabbles, inspired by first lines by Shrift. I leave it as an exercise for the reader to determine which stories these are from.
Drabbles - inspired by first lines by shrift
January 24, 2005
Spoilers for MI-5/Spooks episode 302, and BtVS season 5.
1. "All right! All right! Keep your pants on, I'm coming,"
Mal ran up the hallway, pausing to pull his suspenders up. When he reached the bridge, Kaylee flung up a hand triumphantly. "Sixteen! I win!"
"No way!" said Wash. "That was closer to twenty, and you're just guesstimating anyway."
"But you cheated," argued Kaylee. "Cap'n woulda been here faster if you'd told him it was a 'mergency."
"But it wasn't," said Mal, looking at them both. "Was it?"
"Oh, no." Kaylee's smile was bright. "Just a -- a preparedness exercise. You done good, Cap'n!"
She patted his leg reassuringly. Mal wondered if he could space Wash before Zoe stopped him.
2. "Did you know that it's illegal to chew gum in Singapore?"
"What do you mean, I have to--"
"Crichton, do not start anything. We need supplies."
"D, I get that, I'm starved, but c'mon, this doesn't bother you?"
"On the Royal Planet we kissed many women, did we not?"
"And on the planet with the purple trees we wore their sacred hats."
"Crichton. Stop being so stubborn and take off your pants. Nobody cares how small your mivonks are. They're just afraid we'll hide weapons in our clothes."
"Oh, right, Aeryn, like you'd strip down if they said ... Oh. ... Oh, okay, this could work..."
3. The black road undulates in front of him, yellow and white reflective stripes arching and snaking into the infinity symbols on his unfinished math homework.
Three hundred seventy-two miles.
Oz loves how Willow's hair smells, of grass and sun. He's never told her he followed the smell of her shampoo to the factory that day.
Three hundred seventy.
There's a freckle on her back, just left of her spine. When Oz kisses it, Willow hisses, and one toe curls against the bedspread.
Three hundred sixty-six.
She's probably still rooming with Buffy. Maybe he can get into a house off-campus, cleaner than last time. Brighten it up with some plants, sit in on some classes. Start playing again.
Three hundred fifty-seven.
He can't wait to see her.
4. The sun was shining, which was unusual for this time of year, there had been fresh scones and cream for breakfast, and nobody had tried to kill him for weeks.
Someone on the bus had stared at Tom a little too long this morning. Tom wasn't worried; but he'd watched the man get off, buy a paper, go up the street. That awareness would never leave him.
So he worked as a sysadmin for the literacy centre. Went down to the pub twice a week, because everyone did. Chatted up the girl at the reference desk, because that was expected, too.
Tom forgot, sometimes, that this wasn't a legend. He'd walked away from that.
He wasn't going to wake some morning to Zoe's voice in his ear, calling him in.
5. Perhaps it will be today.
Maybe today it ends. They've had a good run, fought the good fight for years now. As he watches, the sun slips lower against the broken teeth of the mountains.
Xander slides a bolt into the crossbow, shivers in the cold. A hand trails down his neck, ragged nails scratching his skin, and he meets Willow's blind eyes in the rose light.
"They're coming," she whispers. She knows things now, things she shouldn't.
It was Xander and Willow first, and then came Buffy and the others. He forgets their names, sometimes.
It's just Xander and Willow, now, forever.