awanderingbard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
awanderingbard) wrote2009-12-11 01:45 pm
awanderingbard) wrote2009-12-11 01:45 pm
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More Memeage
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featherjean:
Please comment with one word. (Scrabble rules do not apply - the word can be a person, place, or slang.)
I will write a drabble-ish length reply. It might be fic, it might be original, it might be memory, might be, I don't know, a definition? A recipe? A made-up word origin?
featherjean:Please comment with one word. (Scrabble rules do not apply - the word can be a person, place, or slang.)
I will write a drabble-ish length reply. It might be fic, it might be original, it might be memory, might be, I don't know, a definition? A recipe? A made-up word origin?
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"I beg to differ, sir," Jarvis' snooty tone replied. "In fact, it was not clear at all. My scanning function approximated the illegible writing to the most likely word. I have corrected the order."
"Yes, that's great," Tony said. "But there's still one problem." He pointed to a large stack of boxes behind him. "What the Hell am I supposed to do with 300 lbs of brie?"
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"Daddy," she said, suddenly.
Harry winced. "Yes?"
"I want mice," she said.
"Mice," Harry repeatedly. "As in...mice?"
"Pet mice. I want them, like Cinderella has," she explained.
"You know real mice don't talk or turn into horses, right?" Harry asked.
"Of course, Daddy," she said, with a giggle. "I just want them 'cause they're cute and we don't have any pets."
"I'll think about it," Harry said.
Fay sighed. "That always means no."
For the next few days, Fay was very persistent about mice. Harry repeatedly, politely, gently, said no. Mice were not practical, they didn't live very long and they weren't much fun to play with. Fay disagreed.
About a week after the subject was first brought up, Harry had a case. He was helping out a monk who had several temple dog puppies stolen from him. Harry returned them, but one of the puppies stowed away in Harry's pocket and he couldn't get to the monk before he'd returned to Tibet.
"Can we keep him?" Fay asked, as soon as Harry returned home with the puppy.
Harry explained that they needed to try and find the owner before he could promise anything. By the time he'd managed to get a hold of the monk, Fay and Mal were thoroughly attached to the dog. Fortunately, the monk allowed Harry to keep him as thanks.
"So," Harry said, after all was settled. "What are you going to name him?"
Fay lifted her chin defiantly. "Mouse."
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Love it! Hee! :D Mouse!
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The first few times Martha went wandering through the TARDIS, she got the distinct impression she was not wanted. It might have been the fact that no matter where she went, a door with 'Rose's Room' printed prominently on it seemed to follow her. Or that when she opened doors, they were to rooms full of dead fish, angry monkeys and the North Pole.
One day, she returned to the TARDIS console room covered head to toe in chocolate goo.
"Why didn't you tell me about the pudding room?" she asked The Doctor.
"You found the pudding room?" he said, excitedly. "Brilliant! I haven't been able to find that for ages. Well, since last Tuesday at least. Which was...well, a long time ago. You didn't happen to see my Fabergé egg, did you? Alexandra Fedorovna gave it to me in 1898 and I put it in my pocket and-"
Martha didn't hear the end, as she went off in search of a shower room. Which, as it turned out, was next door the honey room.
Over time, the room incidents eased up, until, one day, after she'd saved the Doctor's life, she came across a room with a door that read 'Martha's Room'. She took this as a sign that she'd finally made friends with the TARDIS.
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After Wash’s death, the ship seemed very quiet. It wasn’t that Wash made so much noise, it was just that everyone was grieving in his or her own way. Mal didn’t mind the quiet so much, except at meal time. Instead of raucous, joyful occasions, they were sombre and serious. No one seemed to know what the protocol was – if they should go on like normal or take some time to mourn.
Mal knew his crew were coping well enough. Kaylee and Simon had each other and Inara was there if Zoe wanted to talk. She rarely did. Jayne never showed much complex emotion, but he seemed to be punching things a lot more. And River...well, who knew what River was feeling or thinking. Mal preferred to be alone and that’s how he was left.
They were all gathered in the mess, making dinner in the same stoic way that had been the norm lately. Mal set the table and Inara and Kaylee were working on the food. Jayne and Zoe were both cleaning guns at the table, while Simon read a book and River sat crossed-legged on the counter, observing the scene quietly.
Suddenly, there was a loud crash as Kaylee dropped a dish on the way to the table. The food went everywhere and Inara, following closely behind, slipped with a shriek and went down on her backside. The plate of bao she had been holding flew up in the air, and the buns came down pell-mell, one hitting Mal in the head and another deflected off the butt of Zoe’s gun, landing in Jayne’s lap. Another bounced off Simon’s plate into his nose and still another was caught neatly in River’s hand.
There was silence as everyone stared at the mess. Then River started to giggle. Not in a manic, crazy way. Like a normal human being amused at a situation. Mal wasn’t sure he’d ever heard that from her before.
Kaylee joined in and Inara let out a loud snort, which set Mal off. Simon looked bewildered for a moment, which only made Kaylee laugh harder. Then Jayne started to chuckle and Simon joined him. Then, finally, Zoe cracked up and laughed the loudest of all.
Once started, none of them could seem to stop. Anytime someone came close, he or she would just be set off again by the others. Mal’s attempt to get Inara on her feet ended with him on the floor and that made the situation ten times worse.
Mal’s sides were aching and he could barely breathe. He couldn’t help but think that this was something Wash would love. But it didn’t make him sad.
The laughter eventually died down and the food was cleaned up, but the heavy feeling from before seemed to have vanished.
As Mal sat down in the pilot’s seat after a salvaged, very light dinner, for the first time he felt like he wasn’t an impostor stealing someone else’s job. River joined him, curling up in the opposite chair.
“More room now,” she said.
Mal knew what she meant.
He knew that things weren’t suddenly going to be all better. But down the hall, he could hear the rest of the crew chatting with one another – without the hushed tones they’d been using before. Every once in awhile, the sound of laughter reached his ears and he smiled to himself. Maybe things weren’t all better. Maybe they never would be. For the moment, though, they were all right. And he could be content with that.
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