that was damned close to perfection

Cut and paste. And mostly from Allyson's words. If it's in any way a drabble, it's hers, even though it was fateful to me.

One of the problems for me, inherent in writing about my fateful encounters, is that I've now written about most of them, in other drabbles.

I genuinely love the idea of "fateful farewells", although I've written about them as well, for other topics. Screw it, I'l write about them again. Muhahahahah!

Song titles. Oh, lordy, yes.

t makes note to read that book

Fate drabble #2

It's Jim Roush's fault. He said the next Buffy, he said, created by Tim Minear. Less than two months till Angel ends, and I am looking.

Smush-face lion! Andy Partridge! Google leads me to a board rising from the ashes and a group of strangers deep in discussion with...the real Tim? This is a scam, right? An imposter?

Nice is better than funny. Next thing I know, I'm sending money to Israel.

As a fan of both Belzer and Denis Leary, I feel compelled to say that nice isn't always better than funny...I can't explain it, I just felt obligated. ;) But other than that, great drabble!

Hey, Teppy, (and Deb, actually) if it's not stepping on toes, maybe a future drabble could be inspired by a song title? Or just a song?

Sounds good to me. Have bookmarked.

He said the next Buffy, he said, created by Tim Minear.

Did he really? How erroneous is his information? I'll bet he thinks Tim created Buffy, in addition to writing all those episodes.

Nice is better than funny. Next thing I know, I'm sending money to Israel.

Heh.

Oh, I had a revelation. I just realized that the reason I can't think of any RL fateful encounters is that I don't believe in fate. But, here's an attempt at an encounter that gained significance in hindsight.

Baseball on the brain, sorry.

They pace one another, growling, up the line toward first. Arroyo on the mound shrugs, sorry, slim shoulders and scrawny ribs. His massive catcher stalks, mask hiding his curses from view, inside of the line and always between A-Rod and the mound. His trick works, and A-Rod soon forgets the new bruise on his elbow. His neck cords up; you can read his lips; he invites Varitek to bring it, and is obliged.

When the pandelirium is over, they're ejected, of course. Arroyo on the mound stands aside, and finishes the inning quickly. He tries not to hit another batter.

Months later, in the playoffs, Arroyo leaves the mound to tag on the line to first. Before home crowd, God, and camera, A-Rod slaps away the tag and speeds to second, feigning innocence. The umpires confer, Arroyo crouching in the green, mouth open. Varitek stands up at home and waits, eyes everywhere. When the interference call comes, the crowd howls denial and heaves beer bottles. Arroyo retreats to the mound. He stands there, ignoring second base and the flying debris, waiting for Varitek to throw him the ball.

NUTTY! I saw that on the sports news last night and wanted to beat the umpire with a rock. BAD call. (edit - wait, did they fix it? It was clearly interference.)

Very excellent drabble, too.

My fate, or belief therein, is in the fate I actualise (this is clarification purposes only, mind you - neither lecturing or preaching, just explaining where it comes from for me). So all those meetings were ones that I created, set up, arranged in advance basically, for specific purposes.

This was his closest yet. He watched her buy Boy Scout popcorn, and join the line in the dry cleaner across the street.

Pulling his brim lower, he watched her blend in with her mundane surroundings.

Suddenly he was shoved from behind, knocking his hat askew and jolting the bag out of his grip.

"Sorry, sir," said the boy, picking it up.

"Give that here," he growled, barging forward to reclaim his tools.

He looked up, quickly, at the security camera he now stood under, face exposed. Then over, at her, smiling coldly from the back of a departing cab.