Jan. 14th, 2011 12:35 pm
spooky_nine: (LG - Poker Face)

“Great artists must sacrifice for their JESUS OW,” says Iphigenia, jerking her hand away.

“I told you it would sting,” says Nicole. “And this is just disinfectant–you need a rabies shot.”

“They didn’t have rabies,” Iphigenia scowls. “They were just startled by the damn paparazzi.”

“You wore a gown made of live minks to an awards show. You didn’t anticipate some flash photography?”

“I’m sure we all take comfort in your perfect hindsight, Nicole.”

She sighs. “I said the same thing beforehand, so it’s foresight, actually. I also told you to wear panties.”

“What is this,” says Iphigenia, “a nunnery?”
spooky_nine: (Misc. - Eyeball Kitty)

The annual meeting of the Presidents of Things attracts no protests; it’s held in a Days Inn and anyway, no one understands its importance. The President of Grownups makes sure of that.

“We have new business to get through, people, pay attention!” The President of Whether You’re Paying Attention raps her gavel and frowns. ”Can we just do a quick vote? Those in favor?” A chorus. “Those opposed?”

“Nay,” says the President of Internet, without raising her voice.

Everybody gets quiet at that. The President of Internet is a nice lady and all, but never forget: she knows what you did.


May. 19th, 2010 06:18 pm
spooky_nine: (Dia de los Muertos)

The tenpenny presses against her lips, not hard, just enough to keep it in place. Andrea smells the fresh tang of metal. She wants so badly to take a taste.

“Good, Andrea,” says Dr. Baum. “Thirty more seconds and you’ll get a treat!” Her hand is on the spray bottle, humiliating, a punishment for cats.

“Pica” derives from the Latin for “magpie.” Birds, cats, hunting. If they did this to a starving man it’d be torture, or at the least interrogation, but Andrea has no answers to give. She’s just hungry. Ten seconds. Without iron inside her, she knows she’ll break.


Apr. 15th, 2010 01:20 pm
spooky_nine: (Dia de los Muertos)

Tyler whips around and reaches over, pulling himself along an invisible line; he’s up on his toes and his body moves like a slide rule. Behind him, the ninjas have caught some kind of synchronized seizure, arms curled up and jerking from side to side.

Tyler freezes. Ninjas arch in sudden paralysis. With a piercing cry, he reaches skyward, and lightning smashes down into him: the shockwave scatters their phalanx to the wind.

The Chosen Ones stare as he walks back toward them.

“What was that?” asks Toe.

“The Thriller dance what the HELL did it look like,” Tyler says.


Apr. 2nd, 2010 03:06 am
spooky_nine: (Dia de los Muertos)

At the bottom of the stair is a dome with a dozen corridors leading out. Of course.

“I can’t see very far down any of them,” says Yael, who’s too busy glancing at the candle to really look.

“This is the first test.”

“Oh,” says Yael, “right, the tests.”

“Graverobber prevention,” says Silhouine, with an odd confidence. “The gods would have known which path is the true one, you see?”

“So we just have outsmart the gods.”

“And that can’t be too hard,” Silhouine smirks, and leans on a giveaway piece of masonry, which embeds an obliging dart in her head.


Jan. 5th, 2010 01:24 am
spooky_nine: (Dia de los Muertos)

Wooden bridges, it transpires, have a pretty short lifespan when you try to march the world’s largest army across them in a storm. A thousand Persian soldiers all try to invent armored swimming. They fail.

“Christ,” says Xerxes. “Surely my invasion of Greece can suffer no more humiliating setback!”

“A floating bridge–” begins Harpalus.

“Fine, whatever!” says Xerxes. “I’m going to whip this stupid strait with a hot iron while my generals call it names!”

Then they do that. I’m serious, look it up.

The Hellespont is largely unaffected by the whipping, but some of the name-calling cuts pretty deep.


May. 5th, 2009 09:24 pm
spooky_nine: (the prince)
They look at the table askance.

“I sort of want to read the flap copy,” says Tananarive.

“Aren’t you afraid that would unleash it?” says Rawley. “Or possibly instill it?”

There are eight stacks of the same book on clearance, entitled The Riker Within. Somebody has arranged them at different heights to make it look as if they’re going fast. The effect is unconvincing.

“Maybe it introduces him,” says Tananarive. “Via penetration?”

“Or it’s a guide to rooting him out–”

“I don’t like what that implies about me!”

From the lower right quadrant of eight glossy covers, Jonathan Frakes beams up.


Apr. 11th, 2009 03:44 pm
spooky_nine: (he had wasted enough)
Lie isn’t easy for a coboy.

Cly Lonley rides into tow with the tumblewee, hat low over his yes. He ties his hose to the itching pot and jingles into the Ack of Heats Salon; when he pushes through the winging doos, the pinist hits an ugly chod.

“What can I get you, miter?”

Lonley drops ten Moran ollars in a puddle of bee. “Just keep it coming,” he runts.

His togue losens soon enough. “When I’m away from her,” he mumbles, “there’s something missing from the worl.”

The batender just glares, and sucks the finges he burned on a hotglass.


Mar. 21st, 2009 01:36 am
spooky_nine: (blind silence)
The little bat clings to the booster tank until just before they crack atmosphere, then pries its claws free and drops. It’s too thin up here for wings, and his joints barely respond anyway; he just falls, with a startling terminal velocity, until his half-frozen elbows can open enough to send him into the corkscrew of a broken dive.

Buzz breaks the link and pulls off his helmet. “That was so better than skydiving,” he gasps.

“What is it like to be a bat?” asks his operator, shutting down.

“Kickass!” says Buzz, as a wobbly vespertilionid bonks into the window.


Jan. 31st, 2009 07:15 pm
spooky_nine: (Default)

“It’s not just the pilot and the copilot,” cries the flight attendant. “The federal air marshall is bleeding to death, and the only doctor on the plane is on fire!”

Cath rises to her feet.

“The wings are coming off!” shrieks the pregnant mother. “And the F-14s behind us are still firing!”

Cath strides to the cockpit door.

“It’s too much,” cries a priest, tearing off his collar. “I can’t even bring myself to pray!”

“Everyone calm down!” Cath declares. “It’s going to be okay. I’m a sysadmin.”

That turns out to be very, very little help.

(But a little!)
spooky_nine: (longcattacgnol)

“And anyway,” she says, “I’m only fourteen, and more anyway, I already have a–a suitor, if you must know.”

It would be different if he were threatening her somehow: she’d know how to deal with that. But instinct tells her that fists are not the proper tools for this situation. Proserpina, exasperated, wishes she knew how to counterpunch a grin that makes her back tingle.

“So which is it,” Elijah says, “you’re too young to pursue, or already caught?”

“Neither,” she finds herself whispering.

Her overall impression of kissing is that it is sort of wet, and rather defuses everything.


spooky_nine: (Default)

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