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"Sisters" - a preview.
Just because I'm incredibly proud of having written so much today, here's the entire result of today's mad writing rush. This is what Olivia and Susan did in my brain today.
And to celebrate this special occasion, I've decided to learn, or rather relearn, how to make an LJ cut, because the length of this would otherwise really be a bit excessive. ;-)
Keep in mind: my fics change a lot while I'm still writing. Chances are the final result will be nothing like what you're going to read here now. So, read at your own risk:
*Sisters* - A Farscape fic by Hmpf MacSlow (rather MacFast today!)
(A phone rings. The receiver is picked up.)
“I said no! *No.* No interviews. Is that concept so difficult to grasp? Do you need translator microbes? You know, you really should see a doctor about that forgetfulness. Or maybe you should just write it down, this time. Should I spell it out for you, so you can write it down? I'll spell it out for you: N-O I-N-T-E-R --”
“Liv. It's me.”
(Sudden, sullen silence. Long; unwelcoming.)
“Susan.”
“. . . Yeah. No reporter here; just me. The press really that bad?”
“What do *you* think? . . . It's time to get a new number. Again. Everybody seems to want a piece of us today.”
“Yeah, they've been calling here as well. Not as many as you get, probably. Still, the ones we get are annoying enough. Mind you, it's understandable, today.”
“ . . . . . . ”
“Liv?”
“Yes.”
“Listen, I'm --”
“How was the conference?”
“Oh, never mind the conference --”
“No, I want to know. It was obviously really important. So, how was it? Tell me all about it. I want to know every boring little detail.”
“Oh, Liv. Livvy, please.”
“How was the conference?”
“Liv, I didn't call about the conference, you know that.”
“How was the fucking conference?”
“Liv, please! Stop it! I feel guilty enough already! Will you please stop rubbing it in!”
“ . . . . . . “
“Listen, I'm sorry I couldn't be there today. I really am. I feel like . . . I feel like crap, actually.”
“Good.”
“You know it wasn't the conference, don't you?”
“ . . . . . . “
“Oh come on, Livvy, this isn't fair! You cut him all the slack in the world. Why don't you cut *me* some?”
“I don't cut him any slack. I never *needed* to cut him any slack.”
“Oh come on, girl, now you're being ridiculous, and we both know it. You've been oh so careful not to hurt his feelings every *minute* since he arrived.”
“How would *you* know? You were hardly ever here.”
“I know because you're like Mom that way. And I know . . . no, I don't know him. . . . That's why I didn't come.”
“ . . . “
“You know exactly what I'm talking about, don't you?”
“ . . . “
“Listen, I called because I felt we should talk about this situation --”
“There is no situation. He's gone. You weren't there. End of story.”
“You're really determined to make this difficult, are you?”
“ . . . “
“Maybe I should just call later. Yeah, I really think I should call later. When you've calmed down. . . ”
“At least I *need* to calm down. You know, Susan, I find it telling that you attended his funeral but couldn't be bothered to take a day off to bid him farewell now.”
“ . . . . ”
“Well, bye.”
“Liv!”
“ . . . “
“Wait.”
“I *am* waiting.”
“Let's talk.”
“About what?”
“About him. What else could there be to talk about right now?”
“All right. Talk.”
“Do you think I found it easy to attend that memorial service? We were never that close, but he was my little brother, for heaven's sake!”
“Don't talk about him in past tense.”
“All right. So, we never were as close as the two of you, and I envied him with a vengeance, but I *still* loved him. When he disappeared, it hurt. It hurt like hell, Olivia. God, I felt so guilty for every time that I'd envied him, every time that I'd wished he weren't such a goddamn genius. And I missed him. For all these years I'd liked to think of him as. . . as the bane of my existence, and then, when he disappeared from my life, I discovered that I missed him! . . . Don't ever believe it was easy for me to think him dead. My grief may not be as. . . pure as yours, but I *am* grieving.”
“He's not dead.”
“No. He isn't. That's what makes it so difficult.”
“ . . . Would you prefer it if he were?”
“Liv, don't be silly.”
“You know, you may get your wish.”
“Just what . . . what are you talking about here? Liv?
“When he left, I got that feeling. . . . A strange feeling. Like he's not coming back. . . . I think he's going to get himself killed out there.”
“ . . . “
“Aren't you going to tell me not to be silly again?”
“Oh, Liv.”
“We should have held him back. We should have found a way. We should have. . . locked him in the cellar, called the men in white coats, knocked him out and sat on him until he saw sense, I dunno. . . . We should have thought of something.”
“Liv . . .”
“He's going to get himself killed. He's going to get himself fucking killed.”
“Pumpkin, you're crying. I'm sorry.”
(Long, sniffling silence.)
“. . . . . . . . . . . . . 'S okay. . . . . . . Not your fault. Not your fault.”
“He did the right thing, Liv.”
“What would you know about that?”
“I know you don't want to face this right now, but. . . he had to go.”
“To do what a man must do? To get himself killed heroically to save us all from the big bad space monsters?”
“To live his life.”
“His life should be here. With us.”
“Allright. Allright, let me tell you a story. A story about my little brother who went away almost four years ago.....
Yes! I'm leaving you in the lurch just as it's getting interesting! I'm such a sadist!
No, actually it's just because I really need to catch a few hours of sleep. Not many left before morning.
Just for your information. That snippet was roughly *860* words long. I'm incredibly impressed with myself!
And to celebrate this special occasion, I've decided to learn, or rather relearn, how to make an LJ cut, because the length of this would otherwise really be a bit excessive. ;-)
Keep in mind: my fics change a lot while I'm still writing. Chances are the final result will be nothing like what you're going to read here now. So, read at your own risk:
*Sisters* - A Farscape fic by Hmpf MacSlow (rather MacFast today!)
(A phone rings. The receiver is picked up.)
“I said no! *No.* No interviews. Is that concept so difficult to grasp? Do you need translator microbes? You know, you really should see a doctor about that forgetfulness. Or maybe you should just write it down, this time. Should I spell it out for you, so you can write it down? I'll spell it out for you: N-O I-N-T-E-R --”
“Liv. It's me.”
(Sudden, sullen silence. Long; unwelcoming.)
“Susan.”
“. . . Yeah. No reporter here; just me. The press really that bad?”
“What do *you* think? . . . It's time to get a new number. Again. Everybody seems to want a piece of us today.”
“Yeah, they've been calling here as well. Not as many as you get, probably. Still, the ones we get are annoying enough. Mind you, it's understandable, today.”
“ . . . . . . ”
“Liv?”
“Yes.”
“Listen, I'm --”
“How was the conference?”
“Oh, never mind the conference --”
“No, I want to know. It was obviously really important. So, how was it? Tell me all about it. I want to know every boring little detail.”
“Oh, Liv. Livvy, please.”
“How was the conference?”
“Liv, I didn't call about the conference, you know that.”
“How was the fucking conference?”
“Liv, please! Stop it! I feel guilty enough already! Will you please stop rubbing it in!”
“ . . . . . . “
“Listen, I'm sorry I couldn't be there today. I really am. I feel like . . . I feel like crap, actually.”
“Good.”
“You know it wasn't the conference, don't you?”
“ . . . . . . “
“Oh come on, Livvy, this isn't fair! You cut him all the slack in the world. Why don't you cut *me* some?”
“I don't cut him any slack. I never *needed* to cut him any slack.”
“Oh come on, girl, now you're being ridiculous, and we both know it. You've been oh so careful not to hurt his feelings every *minute* since he arrived.”
“How would *you* know? You were hardly ever here.”
“I know because you're like Mom that way. And I know . . . no, I don't know him. . . . That's why I didn't come.”
“ . . . “
“You know exactly what I'm talking about, don't you?”
“ . . . “
“Listen, I called because I felt we should talk about this situation --”
“There is no situation. He's gone. You weren't there. End of story.”
“You're really determined to make this difficult, are you?”
“ . . . “
“Maybe I should just call later. Yeah, I really think I should call later. When you've calmed down. . . ”
“At least I *need* to calm down. You know, Susan, I find it telling that you attended his funeral but couldn't be bothered to take a day off to bid him farewell now.”
“ . . . . ”
“Well, bye.”
“Liv!”
“ . . . “
“Wait.”
“I *am* waiting.”
“Let's talk.”
“About what?”
“About him. What else could there be to talk about right now?”
“All right. Talk.”
“Do you think I found it easy to attend that memorial service? We were never that close, but he was my little brother, for heaven's sake!”
“Don't talk about him in past tense.”
“All right. So, we never were as close as the two of you, and I envied him with a vengeance, but I *still* loved him. When he disappeared, it hurt. It hurt like hell, Olivia. God, I felt so guilty for every time that I'd envied him, every time that I'd wished he weren't such a goddamn genius. And I missed him. For all these years I'd liked to think of him as. . . as the bane of my existence, and then, when he disappeared from my life, I discovered that I missed him! . . . Don't ever believe it was easy for me to think him dead. My grief may not be as. . . pure as yours, but I *am* grieving.”
“He's not dead.”
“No. He isn't. That's what makes it so difficult.”
“ . . . Would you prefer it if he were?”
“Liv, don't be silly.”
“You know, you may get your wish.”
“Just what . . . what are you talking about here? Liv?
“When he left, I got that feeling. . . . A strange feeling. Like he's not coming back. . . . I think he's going to get himself killed out there.”
“ . . . “
“Aren't you going to tell me not to be silly again?”
“Oh, Liv.”
“We should have held him back. We should have found a way. We should have. . . locked him in the cellar, called the men in white coats, knocked him out and sat on him until he saw sense, I dunno. . . . We should have thought of something.”
“Liv . . .”
“He's going to get himself killed. He's going to get himself fucking killed.”
“Pumpkin, you're crying. I'm sorry.”
(Long, sniffling silence.)
“. . . . . . . . . . . . . 'S okay. . . . . . . Not your fault. Not your fault.”
“He did the right thing, Liv.”
“What would you know about that?”
“I know you don't want to face this right now, but. . . he had to go.”
“To do what a man must do? To get himself killed heroically to save us all from the big bad space monsters?”
“To live his life.”
“His life should be here. With us.”
“Allright. Allright, let me tell you a story. A story about my little brother who went away almost four years ago.....
Yes! I'm leaving you in the lurch just as it's getting interesting! I'm such a sadist!
No, actually it's just because I really need to catch a few hours of sleep. Not many left before morning.
Just for your information. That snippet was roughly *860* words long. I'm incredibly impressed with myself!