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Feb. 10th, 2011
(Lost) Freaky Friday - Rose/Lucie
Feb. 10th, 2011 12:33 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
akonken.livejournal.comThe customer had been muttering something she hadn't understood, and when Lucie had served him, he'd clutched her hand - the one with the small scar. Lucie had stiffened warningly, and Rose went over to avert danger (just in case). She'd asked Lucie to go in the back for a little while, to wash up or something, and then had gently touched the man's shoulder to make sure he was okay. He left not long after that, and Rose cleaned up after him, taking his dishes into the kitchen.
There things got a little hazy.
Maybe she touched Lucie too? She wasn't sure, but she must have. A chill crept up her spine.
The chill stayed there. Still, she washed the dishes and went on about her evening. It wasn't even until she almost tripped on her long skirt that she realised she was wearing a skirt at all.
She hadn't been wearing one before.
Then she realised, now that she was paying attention, that her hand itched where the scar was. She didn't have a scar on her hand. She was always careful to-
Her eyes drifted to her skin. It was as pale as usual, but more sparkly, less...papery.
She heard a small screech and looked up to find herself staring at...herself. (Was that really what she looked like to other people?) Her face was flushed and she loomed more than Rose hoped she usually did. Was this why people sometimes didn't talk to her? Was this why Tor said he was intimidated by her?
"What have you done?" came coldly from her lips. It was surreal - yes, that was exactly the word, she thought clinically (and then wondered why she was thinking clinically; she never did that).
Still, that could be dealt with later. For now...
"...Sorry..." she said contritely in Lucie's voice.
Perhaps Rex Black would be able to help them find the man. If not, what would they do?
There things got a little hazy.
Maybe she touched Lucie too? She wasn't sure, but she must have. A chill crept up her spine.
The chill stayed there. Still, she washed the dishes and went on about her evening. It wasn't even until she almost tripped on her long skirt that she realised she was wearing a skirt at all.
She hadn't been wearing one before.
Then she realised, now that she was paying attention, that her hand itched where the scar was. She didn't have a scar on her hand. She was always careful to-
Her eyes drifted to her skin. It was as pale as usual, but more sparkly, less...papery.
She heard a small screech and looked up to find herself staring at...herself. (Was that really what she looked like to other people?) Her face was flushed and she loomed more than Rose hoped she usually did. Was this why people sometimes didn't talk to her? Was this why Tor said he was intimidated by her?
"What have you done?" came coldly from her lips. It was surreal - yes, that was exactly the word, she thought clinically (and then wondered why she was thinking clinically; she never did that).
Still, that could be dealt with later. For now...
"...Sorry..." she said contritely in Lucie's voice.
Perhaps Rex Black would be able to help them find the man. If not, what would they do?
(Mortals) Freaky Friday - Emma/Mike
Feb. 10th, 2011 01:27 pmakonken.livejournal.comIt was meant to be an experiment about brainwave patterns. You know the kind of thing; "what card am I holding up?" Only, of course, this was done in the secret lab, with fitted electrode caps on our heads.
Have I mentioned I love working here? This will become relevant.
So, we were sitting there and I was failing the test. (I think I got two right out of thirty.)
Then lightning struck.
No, I mean it literally struck.
You know how in Bugs Bunny cartoons, when characters get struck by lightening, they go all shaky and you can see their skeletons through their skin and then they walk around all jittery for a bit? That's not what happens in real life.
First of all, it hurts like hell. Like electricity running through all your nerve endings, let's say. And then there's a sort of aftershock (pun not intended), as your synapses try to recover.
I realised after a moment that I was having an out-of-body experience. I watched myself blink and look around. I listened to myself say "Emma, test the machines and-"
I giggled to myself, although it came out as a good-natured, deep-voiced chortle.
"Oh, sh-" I realised I was, indeed, in Mike's body. "-ugar."
More experiments, we decided, were in order. And quickly.
Have I mentioned I love working here? This will become relevant.
So, we were sitting there and I was failing the test. (I think I got two right out of thirty.)
Then lightning struck.
No, I mean it literally struck.
You know how in Bugs Bunny cartoons, when characters get struck by lightening, they go all shaky and you can see their skeletons through their skin and then they walk around all jittery for a bit? That's not what happens in real life.
First of all, it hurts like hell. Like electricity running through all your nerve endings, let's say. And then there's a sort of aftershock (pun not intended), as your synapses try to recover.
I realised after a moment that I was having an out-of-body experience. I watched myself blink and look around. I listened to myself say "Emma, test the machines and-"
I giggled to myself, although it came out as a good-natured, deep-voiced chortle.
"Oh, sh-" I realised I was, indeed, in Mike's body. "-ugar."
More experiments, we decided, were in order. And quickly.
(Lost) Freaky Friday - Betty/Amara
Feb. 10th, 2011 04:27 pmakonken.livejournal.comThe loveliest scent tickled at her consciousness. It was like...tiger lily, maybe? Jasmine? Then she came to her senses and leapt up. A man-eating Venus flytrap was nearby!
"Ooh..." she said woozily, clutching her head. It had already stung her and the poison was running through her veins. She was doomed.
Darn it, and she thought she'd been so careful.
She prised an eye open to look her fate in the face.
Then she opened the other eye. She was in...She was in some sort of boudoir!
She'd been captured!
She dropped her hands from her head (that hurt too - she must have been poisoned quite seriously) and sat on the floor. In turn, as she could manage (she was nauseated - maybe she would be able to purge it from her system...maybe there was hope for her yet), she looked up at the ceiling (nothing), under the bed (nothing), and in the closet (nothing). That left the bathroom. She crawled for it.
Aha! The shower was running.
With effort, she dragged herself to her feet and even picked up the bedside lamp. Then, ever cautious, she moved to the bathroom door once more. She pushed it open and leapt to one side. That was a mistake; the nausea burbled in her guts again.
Still, nothing leaped out at her. Cautiously she craned her head around the corner.
Amara stared back at her. That was unexpected. Perhaps she'd been wrong all along, and Amara was not a leading lady, but a villainess. Perhaps that was why she'd been so friendly. It made sense; the doe-like eyes, the kissable lips, the perfect body, the waves of lustrous hair...She was exactly the sort of person to make any hero weak in the knees. Betty felt a pang of jealousy, and then a pang of headache.
She was getting distracted. But Amara was watching her just as cautiously. Perhaps they had both been lured here by whatever was behind the shower curtain for some nefarious deed. They needed to work together, that was her only chance at survival. Amara looked gravely back at her with her soulful eyes and nodded along with her.
"One...two...three!" she said, jerking the curtain back. Amara went with her, but disappeared at the edge of the mirror, as reflections do. Dagnabbit, she thought.
"Morning, georgeous," Phoenix said, smiling (nudely!) at her.
She screamed. She screamed and screamed, in Amara's voice (which was even more suited for it than hers, naturally).
And then, finally, she was very ill.
She did, she thought belatedly, feel sorry for Phoenix today.
"Ooh..." she said woozily, clutching her head. It had already stung her and the poison was running through her veins. She was doomed.
Darn it, and she thought she'd been so careful.
She prised an eye open to look her fate in the face.
Then she opened the other eye. She was in...She was in some sort of boudoir!
She'd been captured!
She dropped her hands from her head (that hurt too - she must have been poisoned quite seriously) and sat on the floor. In turn, as she could manage (she was nauseated - maybe she would be able to purge it from her system...maybe there was hope for her yet), she looked up at the ceiling (nothing), under the bed (nothing), and in the closet (nothing). That left the bathroom. She crawled for it.
Aha! The shower was running.
With effort, she dragged herself to her feet and even picked up the bedside lamp. Then, ever cautious, she moved to the bathroom door once more. She pushed it open and leapt to one side. That was a mistake; the nausea burbled in her guts again.
Still, nothing leaped out at her. Cautiously she craned her head around the corner.
Amara stared back at her. That was unexpected. Perhaps she'd been wrong all along, and Amara was not a leading lady, but a villainess. Perhaps that was why she'd been so friendly. It made sense; the doe-like eyes, the kissable lips, the perfect body, the waves of lustrous hair...She was exactly the sort of person to make any hero weak in the knees. Betty felt a pang of jealousy, and then a pang of headache.
She was getting distracted. But Amara was watching her just as cautiously. Perhaps they had both been lured here by whatever was behind the shower curtain for some nefarious deed. They needed to work together, that was her only chance at survival. Amara looked gravely back at her with her soulful eyes and nodded along with her.
"One...two...three!" she said, jerking the curtain back. Amara went with her, but disappeared at the edge of the mirror, as reflections do. Dagnabbit, she thought.
"Morning, georgeous," Phoenix said, smiling (nudely!) at her.
She screamed. She screamed and screamed, in Amara's voice (which was even more suited for it than hers, naturally).
And then, finally, she was very ill.
She did, she thought belatedly, feel sorry for Phoenix today.
elizathemekhet.livejournal.comhttp://elizathemekhet.livejournal.com/6272.html
Not had the best of afternoons so I reckoned Saffron would help. And she did.
Not had the best of afternoons so I reckoned Saffron would help. And she did.
akonken.livejournal.com1995
It's the day after, or the week after, or the month, or hell, maybe the year after I lost it. It, I mean. Wasn't a big deal, turned out. My mistake. (That was my mistake, but I wouldn't find that out for nearly 15 years.)
I sleepwalked a lot of the time. Not actually, figuratively. Life was on auto-pilot, pretty much. This is during that.
Bas is about 14, and I think Nell is 12. They take care of themselves during this time, for the most part.
Dad's out a lot. Pack stuff.
This, however, is not one of those times. Now he sits me down and looks me over.
"You need a mate," he says. Yeah, all right. Rub it in, thanks.
"Like who?" I ask, as deferentially as I can.
"Raph?" he replies with a smirk. Thanks, Dad. The one time you ever make a noise of approval, even sarcastically... He continues. "There must be someone who will want you. You can keep decent house. Looks aren't important to everyone. There must be some Person out there who can tolerate your cooking."
I shrug and look down. It's nothing new. It's nothing I don't know. "You should take a page from Rio's book," he adds, maybe trying to be helpful. I look up. Rio's baby is gorgeous. Maybe I should.
"Who?" I ask, and wince at my plaintive tone. I didn't mean to sound like that; he's just going to go for the throat now.
He does. "I can't think of a single person." He sounds almost exultant.
Yeah. Me neither.
It's the day after, or the week after, or the month, or hell, maybe the year after I lost it. It, I mean. Wasn't a big deal, turned out. My mistake. (That was my mistake, but I wouldn't find that out for nearly 15 years.)
I sleepwalked a lot of the time. Not actually, figuratively. Life was on auto-pilot, pretty much. This is during that.
Bas is about 14, and I think Nell is 12. They take care of themselves during this time, for the most part.
Dad's out a lot. Pack stuff.
This, however, is not one of those times. Now he sits me down and looks me over.
"You need a mate," he says. Yeah, all right. Rub it in, thanks.
"Like who?" I ask, as deferentially as I can.
"Raph?" he replies with a smirk. Thanks, Dad. The one time you ever make a noise of approval, even sarcastically... He continues. "There must be someone who will want you. You can keep decent house. Looks aren't important to everyone. There must be some Person out there who can tolerate your cooking."
I shrug and look down. It's nothing new. It's nothing I don't know. "You should take a page from Rio's book," he adds, maybe trying to be helpful. I look up. Rio's baby is gorgeous. Maybe I should.
"Who?" I ask, and wince at my plaintive tone. I didn't mean to sound like that; he's just going to go for the throat now.
He does. "I can't think of a single person." He sounds almost exultant.
Yeah. Me neither.
Freaky Friday Nyght/Venice
Feb. 10th, 2011 10:40 pmfrothy-bunny.livejournal.comNyght smiled inwardly as she curled up next to Rex to sleep.
She thought with amusement on the day and sighed with a mildly evil contentedness. Ok it had been weird waking up next to Rex, he'd been confused about her sneaking in comment. But things were suddenly in sharp focus when she realised that she was in that bed, in that house, in a city 600 miles from where she had gone to sleep.
She had called the Fiddler's Rest and heard the sheer panic hidden in the voice, complained about something that would have to be dealt with by a very lost Parrot and smiled that for once she had the day off and no one could find her
So what would Venice have done she had thought. Shop! Plus Venice wouldn't really be angry at her, well she might be when she woke up with the wardrobe in Inverness, she didn't keep her nicest things there and she had recently destroyed that Chanel dress in that sparring session, only fair to replace it.
So that is what she had done, kissing Rex before finding Venice's money and cards. A few hours later and a few thousand pounds less rich she had returned smiling having had everything sent to the Hotel in Hexham. Rex had gone to the club and left her to her own devices. That meant that somewhere was a video she would rather have destroyed than leak out into the general populous. It would just take some searching, now if you were an evil parrot where would you keep it ...
She had found it and destroyed it, and then looked for any copies, and destroyed those too. It had felt really good. She had then sat and eaten cream cakes till Venice's undernourished body felt very sick. After that she had become bored. She had borrowed Rex's Rapier and practiced a little, the body while graceful had a different form of grace and wasn't very well suited to this she had thought.
Then she had waited for Rex to arrive home, after all, being Venice had more than a few perks.....
She thought with amusement on the day and sighed with a mildly evil contentedness. Ok it had been weird waking up next to Rex, he'd been confused about her sneaking in comment. But things were suddenly in sharp focus when she realised that she was in that bed, in that house, in a city 600 miles from where she had gone to sleep.
She had called the Fiddler's Rest and heard the sheer panic hidden in the voice, complained about something that would have to be dealt with by a very lost Parrot and smiled that for once she had the day off and no one could find her
So what would Venice have done she had thought. Shop! Plus Venice wouldn't really be angry at her, well she might be when she woke up with the wardrobe in Inverness, she didn't keep her nicest things there and she had recently destroyed that Chanel dress in that sparring session, only fair to replace it.
So that is what she had done, kissing Rex before finding Venice's money and cards. A few hours later and a few thousand pounds less rich she had returned smiling having had everything sent to the Hotel in Hexham. Rex had gone to the club and left her to her own devices. That meant that somewhere was a video she would rather have destroyed than leak out into the general populous. It would just take some searching, now if you were an evil parrot where would you keep it ...
She had found it and destroyed it, and then looked for any copies, and destroyed those too. It had felt really good. She had then sat and eaten cream cakes till Venice's undernourished body felt very sick. After that she had become bored. She had borrowed Rex's Rapier and practiced a little, the body while graceful had a different form of grace and wasn't very well suited to this she had thought.
Then she had waited for Rex to arrive home, after all, being Venice had more than a few perks.....
[Dark Ages] The Wife of Bath's Tale
Feb. 10th, 2011 11:29 pmsotongeistooc.livejournal.com((I enjoy writing Dark Ages fic, and so asked people for any suggestions, based on the Canterbury Tales. First up, someone has asked for the Wife of Bath!))
( The Wife of Bath's tale )
( The Wife of Bath's tale )
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