I managed to put a crack in the writer’s block and this is what slipped out.
Aka: KATIE LOOK I FINALLY WROTE SOMETHING ABOUT WHAT WE’VE DISCUSSED IN THE PAST.
- - -
The radio pirate looks up. “You got tall, boy.”
“And you, my friend, got old.” He flashes a good-natured smile shortly before they hug. “Listen, I like the beard, though. Very tough-looking. Very—very beardy and whatnot. That’s new, innit?”
“I’ve had it for years.”
“Has it been that long already?”
“Quite a handful.”
“Well, I meant to be by sooner, but I had this nasty run-in with some giant sentient mole rats on a sewer planet and you can imagine about how well that went—which is to say, not very, on account of their idol being stolen by the sentient cats that lived on the surface—”
“D-Doctor? Who is this man?” Amy asks. “How do you know him?”
“Oh, it’s a fascinating story!” answers the Doctor. “Lots of action and intrigue and danger—lots of danger—”
“He saved my ass back during the war,” Dr. Death Defying cuts in.
“Or you could just skip right to the end.”
“War? Which war? What kind? We’ve seen several,” Rory admits.
“Second American Civil War,” explains Dr. Death Defying. “Better known in more politically correct circles as the Great Fires.”
“And you are?” asks Amy.
“Dr. Death Defying, and pleased to make your acquaintances. If you’re with the Doc you must be shiny people. You’re all safe here, though I’m gonna guess that old blue box is safer still.”
“Would be. Don’t have it. The TARDIS was stolen,” says the Doctor.
“Stolen?” Dr. Death Defying looks surprised. “By who?”
“Don’t know. Hoping you could say. Large group of men in white clothes with funny masks on, some with happy faces. Certainly weren’t going to a costume party and didn’t like it that I asked…”
Fic Doodle: Whims of the Hostess
Courtney got me thinking about GA and the Dangerverse last night, and I found this on my phone, and it’s part of a slightly longer doodle I started last year but haven’t quite finished yet like all my other fic doodles but here, have some readings.
Also, Tenny got me thinking on ways I can make everyone cry or at least sad over Party Poison just a little bit more, so I’ll see about poking at that when I’m done working on my challenge story.
- - -
“Take me out,” she says. “You promised me last time that the next time you visited, we’d go out.”
Party Poison sighs heavily as he collapses onto her couch. “Can’t we go out tomorrow night? I’m running on fumes. Driving out between here and the Org-Set is exhausting…”
“It’s closer than most good places in the Zones.”
“It’s a four-hour drive, round trip. It’s fucking hot—a different kind of hot than California.” He slides a hand under his head. “It’s humid. Life-sucking. Actually, with the clouds hanging around in the distance, I kept half-expecting a storm.”
“Huh. Soon, maybe. Day or two.”
“Maybe. But we’ll go tomorrow night, GA, I promise. I’ll go out early and bring Ghoul tomorrow, too. See if I can pull him away from his machine-building for a few hours.”
“Fine.” Girl Automatic throws her arms over the top of the sofa and looks down at him, chin resting on her arms. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m just tired.” Poison shuts his eyes. He brushes the tips of her dangling fingers with his own. “I think I need a nap.”
“Oh, I know what that means…” She rounds the corner just to prod him in the shoulder. “Come on. Up, up, up, up! Go sleep in the guest room.”
“I’m comfortable here!” he whines.
“Guest room, cherry head. Go on. I’ll send for takeout. Chinese sound good?”
“Order Mexican. Get some of those…what is it, taquitos?” Relenting, he gets up slowly, making a pained sound. “Stiff…”
“See? It’s ‘cause you’re old—”
“I’m only—”
“—and that’s all the more reason to go sleep in the guest room,” Girl Automatic finishes. “Nice, comfortable bed to lay on, hm? Go. There’s even some pajamas in the dresser you can change into—in fact, do. Change into them. Gimmie your clothes to wash.”
“What?” He looks back at her and his stiff back reprimands him for it.
“I’m serious.” She watches him from the doorway, arms folded. “You smell like you rolled around in the dust with some lovebot at high noon on a summer day.”
Party Poison scoffs. “That’s oddly specific.”
“Don’t change the channel on me, boy. Strip. Shower. Nap. I’ll get your clothes clean and put food on the table.”
He grins tiredly at her. “Well, aren’t you like the sweetest little housewife? And I thought you only liked me for my body.”
Girl Automatic’s mouth twists into a frown. “Don’t push your luck, cherry head.”
Party Poison pulls something out of his wallet and shows it to her. “You remember this?”
Girl Automatic looks up. Her eyes narrow when she does. A weathered photograph dangles from his Party Poison’s fingers, one that has seen much better days. The edges are torn, the picture itself covered in scratch-like marks from repeated folds and unfolds. It is a photo of her, caught in the midst of a bored moment when she once let him fiddle with an old camera he found.
“Why do you still have that?” she asks. “You know I hate that picture.”
“Because I like this picture!” Party Poison insists.
“It’s a terrible picture.”
“It’s only a little worn out…”
“Not that,” Girl Automatic says. “You took a picture of me without my wig, you ass. You know I hate that.”
“It was one of the few times you weren’t wearing one while you were awake,” he answers, turning it over to look at it. “Have you ever thought about abandoning wigs altogether?”
The Voice of the South Region scoffs. “You might as well ask me if I want to get sent back to the Institute!”
“Point made.” The desert bandit draws a breath in, lets it out. He frowns a little. “It’s falling apart.”
“Obvious observation is obvious,” Girl Automatic answers.
He chuckles. “You should let me take another one.”
“No!”
“No?”
“Not if it means I have to take my wig off.” She touches her teal hair. “You’re lucky I didn’t beat you senseless for taking that one! Do you realize what could’ve happened if someone found that on you?”
“Ah, you worry too much!”
“It’s called self-preservation, asshole. It would do you a thing or two to learn how to have some.”
“Tch. Where’s the fun in that, if it means hiding in an apartment all day, never doing anything fun?” Party Poison folds the photo, returns it to his wallet. “Why don’t you come with us to California for a while, rollergirl? Get out of this place. Take a break.”
“Because,” Girl Automatic answers, “I like living.”
crisontumblr asked: Fun Ghoul turning some of the Little Girl’s dolls into robots—while teaching her how to do it.
“Lemme see.”
She draws in a tight breath and lets it loose, holds up their pet project for display. Peels back the stuffing on the doll to show her wiring. Ghoul nods, but he doesn’t smile. That makes her nervous, so she bounces on the balls of her feet and sets the thing down. “It walks.”
“I should hope so.”
He was just trying to make her crazy. The girl sighs, glancing back at him once before crouching and wheedling her fingers into the stuffing to turn it on. The doll lurches forward with a high whir, one leg chunking out to catch it. Back, another foot. Forward, another. It’s walking. It’s walking. “It’s walking!” She looks back at Fun Ghoul.
He nods, eyebrows up. He’s impressed. “Guess you’re right.”
Anonymous asked: Oooh! A three sentence fic about Gracie from the Killjoys!
The dollhouse was lovely to look at from the outside and its appropriately spacious with its three floors and its wide unfurnished spaces, but something about it was keeping it from being…mm…perfect. Maybe not so much perfect as right; something was missing, something that was keeping it from being right.
It occurred to her a couple days later that, perhaps with some of Fun Ghoul’s tools and Party Poison’s paint, she knew exactly how to remedy that problem.
Fic Doodle: Po and Dee and the Tykebomb Make Three
Related Readings: A Reinterpretation of the Gospel of John | This Scene Fails the Bechdel Test, but It’s Totally Worth It
Featuring Dr. Death Defying, Show Pony, and the little girl.
Oh, and mentions of Konpun and Popin’ Cookin’. What’s not to like?
- - -
“Okay, okay. Rewind and play it back for me at half-speed this time, girl. What happened?”
“It was like seeing a ghost—only it was much more real! Vivid. Much more vivid. That’s the word. It was like he was alive—”
“But he wasn’t at the same time.”
“Exactly. Like he was but he wasn’t.”
In his little bungalow in Zone 3, Dr. Death Defying lets out a little sigh. He rubs his brow, adjusts his sunglasses. The coffee in his cup tastes like burnt tar because Show Pony left early on an emergency errand and forgot to set the pot like he usually does. Still, it reminds him a bit of his time in the military, when the field coffee tasted bad no matter how it was brewed, so he sucks it down all the same. Waste not, want not.
“Should I tell you the part again about how I shot him twice?”
Anonymous asked: Three sentence fics: Party/Doctor, Girl Automatic/Party, and platonic! Grace/Whoever you want.
Party/Doctor:
“This ain’t my first time at the demo derby, boy. Can I trust you or not?”
“I thought I’ve proven myself—and them some—to you by now.”
Girl Automatic/Party Poison:
[A/N: An Automatic Poison prompt from someone who is not Courtney? I am much surprised! XD]
“When will I get to see you again?”
The tone of the question makes Party Poison laugh a little—at least until the glare sneaking into the broadcaster’s eyes informs him that she means it. He quiets, leans over and, after a short kiss to her cheek, offers the word “soon” as an estimate.
Platonic!Grace/Fun Ghoul:
“Now the best way to build a bomb is while you’re close to naked in order to reduce the amount of static electricity, but your dads would probably beat me into leather if they found out—assuming they won’t already for teaching you to build bombs.”
The pint-sized tykebomb only laughs a little, her curls shaking. “Why do you think they let me travel with you guys?”
Anonymous asked: I'm always late! But please, Korse and Ghoul?
[A/N: And then after El flatters me on them, a wild TSF prompt appears! XD]
“You should tell them, you know, before they get the right idea and shoot you on principle.”
But how could Fun Ghoul possibly even begin to explain this situation to his friends? They wouldn’t understand that this affair with the Exterminator is nothing in the realm of mind-control or being held hostage, nothing to do with espionage; that this is something real, something unexpected but—perhaps in the long run—something that could save them all.
Anonymous asked: Ghoul and Kobra
It was the way he laughed, even in the worst danger. That’s what Kobra liked best about him. That laugh would turn into an evil boyish giggle anytime Ghoul succeeded in turning Dracs into gory rain, and it never failed to send chills down the stuntman’s spine.
Fic Doodle: This Scene Fails the Bechdel Test, but It’s Totally Worth It
Related Readings: A Reinterpretation of the Gospel of John
For Context: The Bechdel Test | “Boyfriend” PV (aiko) | “Jankenpyon” PV (Minimoni) | “Bus Guide” PV (Minimoni)
If I have the Japanese lyrics spelled wrong, please let me know. I triple checked it against several sites just to make sure, but there’s always still the chance that I’m wrong and I’d rather not be.
Also, if you liked the way I wrote News A Go Go the last time she appeared, this might be relevant to your interests.
- - -
Girl Automatic doesn’t call the Doctor. Rather, she tries, repeatedly, but cannot reach him. Each attempt results in a disconnected signal. It makes her worry. True, Dr. Death Defying is known for taking the New Cycle days off, but taking couple of days off from the air shouldn’t impact landlines! Unless one of them engaged in a manual disconnection to ensure total privacy.
Then again, what if P came by because the Doctor’s been permanently disconnected?
The thought is a scary one. Dr. D and Show Pony have had some close scares in the past, some NDE’s care of the White Court? And why else would Party Poison come to her first? Assuming he did come to her first. Assuming he’s even real…
The broadcaster rolls over on her bed, letting out a frustrated huff. She clicks open her watch. Ten in the morning. Usually by now, she’s nursing a hangover or ushering some pretty reveler or two out the door barely dressed. Having a hangover to nurse would be a welcome distraction right about now, honestly! Anything to take her mind away from the strangeness of last night.
Climbing out of bed takes more effort than she likes. She takes only as long as she has to in the bathroom and only does a cursory fix of the braid wrapped completely around her head. Maybe this year is the year for hair dye instead of wigs. Natural colors. Something sensible. Simple.
It would probably only last about two weeks before she bought a wig, but it would be an interesting two weeks.
