FAY!
I just rewatched Conversations with Dead People, and I found some truly andrewlicious quotes and had to share them for purposes of further Andrew storying -- not that you'd re-use them, but maybe they'd spark some ideas. They're probably not quite complete. I don't write as fast as I used to, but the gist is definitely there.
Andrew: I hated Mexico. Everybody spoke Mexico.
Jonathan: You could have gotten around that. You learned Klingon in two and a half weeks.
Andrew: That's different. It had much clearer transitive and intransitive verbs.
I missed a lot of it the first time around, so I didn't realize that Andrew was luring Jonathan through the school by telling him they'd impress Buffy, etc. "and maybe we'll get to hang at her house." Then J's so cool line called back to Andrew after they've separated: "You think they'll really let us join their gang?" and A just looks at him for a moment and then shrugs - look and shrug seeming to add up to no, but let's hope anyway.
More Andrew: "I feel like we're in Hellraiser. I hate Pinhead."
After Jonathan talks about how much he misses high school:
A: They don't want to talk to you. None of the people you mentioned, not one of them cares about you.
J: Well I still care about them. That's why I'm here.
Sunday 100 drabble.
"Salt"
He can taste his blood mixed with rain water mixed with sweat. It streams down his face, stinging his eyes and invading his mouth (like her tongue like the glass like betrayal). Hands, stiff and half numb, half raw with pain, tighten around the hilt of the knife.
Cradled. Weeping. Alive.
His ears are still ringing from the blows, buzzing with the rising of his pulse. He cannot hear her sobs over the din in his head, yet he can feel Angel's touch on her hair, on her shoulders, in his gut like a punch.
He lets the knife fall.
Jesus, Plei.
Fabulous. I actually *tasted* salt, reading that.
Sunday 100 on LJ is incredible. There was some good stuff yesterday/today. (The first go-round.)
Is the Sunday100 Buffyverse?
Plei, that was
fabulous.
Fucking fabulous.
Oh, Deena - my boys! They're just adorable, aren't they?
Sunday 100 Drabble:
He arches his back, pressing himself into her. She needs him and she knows it – he can see it behind her eyes, knowledge she can’t put voice to. What he does for her now, pinned underneath her insistent hips, giving himself up to her demanding hands is nothing anyone else can.
She reaches her end now, speeding up, throwing the last of herself at him, and he accepts it, accepts the tears in her eyes, drinks up her anger until she stops.
Helpless, long spent, limp beneath her, he smiles weakly.
“You always hurt ... the one you love, pet.”
