Right. An old-money woman may be wearing thirty-year-old shoes, but they'll be hand-made. Stuff may be incredibly scruffy, but it started out its life expensive.
Lorne: Once the word spreads you beat up an innocent old man, well, the truly terrible will think twice before going toe-to-toe with our Avenging Angel. Spike: Yes. The geriatric community will be soiling their nappies when they hear you're on the case. Bravo.
'The Cautionary Tale of Numero Cinco'
The Great Write Way
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
Betsy HP - Nov 16, 2004 12:31:33 pm PST #8104 of 10001
If I only had a brain...
Connie Neil - Nov 16, 2004 12:40:02 pm PST #8105 of 10001
brillig
Terry Pratchett has something on this re: Captain Vimes marrying the richest woman in the city. Vimes is thinking that the rich are the only ones who can afford to be poor. The rich buy their shoes every five years or so because they can afford to buy stuff that will last, while the poor can only afford crap.
Anne W. - Nov 16, 2004 1:31:27 pm PST #8106 of 10001
The lost sheep grow teeth, forsake their lambs, and lie with the lions.
Deb, is the CS section different than what you sent out earlier? If so, I'd be happy to look at it as well.
Anne W. - Nov 16, 2004 1:43:23 pm PST #8107 of 10001
The lost sheep grow teeth, forsake their lambs, and lie with the lions.
Deb, insent
Amy - Nov 16, 2004 2:31:35 pm PST #8108 of 10001
Because books.
erika, that was gorgeous. I love the way you write.
Thanks for the praise, Joe and Deb!
erikaj - Nov 16, 2004 3:20:34 pm PST #8109 of 10001
Always Anti-fascist!
Thank you, Amy Liz.
§ ita § - Nov 16, 2004 3:29:11 pm PST #8110 of 10001
Well not canonically, no, but this is transformative fiction.
It's not the pain, it's the shame.
Pain alone is...not okay, but bearable. Pain in public is weakness, shame, incapability witnessed. They may not be looking, but they know, and no one should ever know.
She sucks in air again, clutching her knees to her chest, despite the darting pains. Shame makes crying, crying makes shame.
"In for a penny, in for a pound," says the hopeless and cruel part of her brain.
No. Her eyes are aflame and she has two choices - she can douse it with tears, or she can damp it with calm.
So she breathes again.
Theodosia - Nov 16, 2004 3:30:49 pm PST #8111 of 10001
'we all walk this earth feeling we are frauds. The trick is to be grateful and hope the caper doesn't end any time soon"
Anne, I thought of that Pratchett bit too.
Beverly - Nov 16, 2004 8:06:58 pm PST #8112 of 10001
Days shrink and grow cold, sunlight through leaves is my song. Winter is long.
This is basically unedited, unworkshopped, and scribbled while I watched the sunset this evening.
Breath
And then the sun slips down
below the cloak of grey the sky
has worn this day.
There's wonder in this gilded world
of promise, and the hope
gone missing, recent days.
This golden city, set in shining hills,
is mere illusion; in a single
exhalation the sun is gone
the world consigned to dullness
and the grey of everyday, dusk
and quickly, dark.
We huddle close to ground
for meagre warmth, the memory
of sun, and hope for dawn.
JoeCrow - Nov 16, 2004 9:10:36 pm PST #8113 of 10001
"what's left when you take biology and sociology out of the picture?" "An autistic hermaphodite." -Allyson
I like that one.
This golden city, set in shining hills,
is mere illusion; in a single
exhalation the sun is gone
the world consigned to dullness
and the grey of everyday, dusk
and quickly, dark.
Especially that bit. I think I'ma show that one to my lurvly wife.