Her version is way creepier, but I don't really bother to listen to it.

I skip a lot of the songs. Esp. Enjoy the Silence, which was just... uninspired. Given the stated "purpose" of the album, to take the male-focused songs about women and examine them through the female gaze, I'm not sure why one of M. Gore's pieces ended up there, as he's Mister Sensitive Feather Boa man.

I skip a lot of the songs.

Yeah, me too.

Given the stated "purpose" of the album, to take the male-focused songs about women and examine them through the female gaze, I'm not sure why one of M. Gore's pieces ended up there, as he's Mister Sensitive Feather Boa man.

One could say the same about 'Real Men,' but I do like it.

I'm listening to the cd right now AIFG.

One could say the same about 'Real Men,' but I do like it.

Real Men's a good cover. I dig it.

Great chapter Victor!

I have no idea what song I'll be playing when I write the last act.

Tool! Schism!

Tool! Schism!

It doesn't quite *fit*, I don't think.

(I know the pieeeeeeeces fit...)

(edit: just realised, I slutted the 5K. Huh.)

Okay, I've got my slashfic assignment done, and I'm going to post it here for comment (it's not due until tomorrow midnight, which gives me some tweaking time). It's 1000 words exactly, needs to be Angel/Wesley, and contain a Monty Python quote. It takes place right before Deep Down (the season 4 opener). There's a certain MP quote that just really fits Wes at that point in his life.

Going Deep Down

Wesley pushes against the side of the cage, testing its give. He frowns, hesitates, then picks up a re-bar and acetylene torch.

Being a touch overcautious, don't you think?

The last time I let my guard down around her I ended up with my throat slit.

Point well taken.

He fires the torch and sets his safety glasses on.

We're certainly going to a lot of trouble for our guest.

She knows where Angel is.

Do you really think that she's going to tell us anything?

She will. Eventually.

Angel huddles against the wall of the cell, shying away from the light. Wes steps in, cautiously edging toward the vampire, telling him that he's safe now. Angel looks up, brown eyes vague, expecting pain; disbelief and joy slowly work across his face as he whispers the name of his rescuer. Flinging himself forward he wraps his arms around Wesley's waist, pressing his face against him, whispering over and over 'WesWesWesWes' as he moves his head, nudging against hardening flesh, pressing and sliding, building and releasing pressure. Wes buries his hands in dark curls, pushing hard and moving his hips rhythmically while teeth nip at his erection through the cloth of his trousers.

That seems unlikely. We have no idea what kind of shape Angel will be in when we locate him.

When, exactly, did my inner monologue become a debating society?

When you had your throat slit and all of your friends deserted you.

I had almost forgotten that.

Liar.

Wes shovels furiously, dirt flies around him in a dusty cloud. Metal rings against wood and he throws himself forward, brushing frantically at the ground until he reveals the lid of a coffin. He can hear faint scratches from within. He redoubles his efforts, carefully breaking open the lid, trying to free its occupant without damaging him. A hand pushes free from the detritus; Wes grabs it, shouting for Angel to hang on, that he's almost free. One tug and a body appears, white, gaunt, starving. Wes takes him in his arms, pulling him out of the grave. Angel clutches Wes, burying his face in the crook of his shoulder, pressing their bodies close, shaking uncontrollably. Wes moans slightly and tries to put some space between them, but Angel won't allow it. He grabs Wes' hips, forcing him close, rubbing their erections together. His lips move over Wes' face, his neck, his throat. They pause against the scar, still red and raised and fragile, a delicate barrier holding in blood and life, and part to allow Angel's tongue to come out and taste the damaged flesh. Wes gasps, gulping air, throat moving in a wordless plea; Angel looks up and smiles with long and dangerous teeth before dipping down to rip at Wes' vulnerable flesh.

That does seem much more likely.

Yes. Perhaps manacles would be in order.

Chaining Angel does seem to be the reasonable thing to do.

Reasonable. It will be interesting to behave reasonably.

We are slightly out of practice.

Wes sets the torch down and pushes the cage into the closet.

Very out of practice.

Angel dangles upright, chained to the stone wall of the sewer. His clothes hang from his emaciated body in ragged tatters, skin gleaming impossibly pale from beneath the rent fabric. He looks up as Wesley enters the room - altered by a sound, a smell, some other preternaturally attuned sense. Hopeless eyes stare at Wes from a gaunt face. Wes walks forward; arm outstretched in greeting or sympathy, and speaks the vampire's name. Angel starts, hope drifting into his face. Wesley cups Angel's cheek, letting him know that he's really there. Angel turns further into the hand, seeking out its warmth and gentleness. Wes reaches for a manacle, but Angel stops him with a shake of his head. He stops, confused, until he realises Angel's desperate hunger; moving back he slowly rolls up his sleeve. Angel shakes his head, denying his need, refusing Wes' offering. Wes draws a blade across his forearm; blood wells up from the shallow cut. Angel's nostrils flare and his pupils dilate as he fights his vampiric instincts. Wes brings his arm to Angel's mouth; he licks his lips, but turns away, eyes down, face shamed. Wes grabs Angel's chin, forcing him to meet his eyes, letting him know with no uncertainty that Angel will accept what is offered. Angel's face is tormented, need and fear raging unchecked. He still refuses to drink, mouth pressed close, eyes determined, but Wes is more than a match for Angel's stubbornness. He runs two fingers along his arm, wetting them with blood, and brings them to Angel's mouth. Angel rears back, but Wes is unstoppable, moving closer and smearing the sticky fluid over his lips. Angel's tongue darts out thoughtlessly, reflexively. He licks at his lips until they are clean of blood and glistening with saliva. Wes pushes his fingers at Angel once more, ignoring the pleading eyes and trembling mouth, intent on getting Angel to feed. Angel holds fast against the sight and smell of blood, against the lingering tang of it on his tongue, but is unable to resist Wes' softly spoken plea. He gives in with a torturous moan, sucking Wes' fingers into his mouth, rolling his tongue around them, swirling saliva cleaning them. Wes closes his eyes against the sensation, every nerve in his body firing, sending spears of pleasure through his body. He pulls away from Angel, the vampire seems reluctant to let him go, sucking and nipping as he slips out. Wesley offers his slashed arm to Angel, smiling when Angel licks away the dripping blood, laughing when he begins to suck hungrily.

It can't happen if we don’t find him.

She'll talk. She has to.

Well, let's show our guest her new home.

Wes grabs a blanket and pillow and tosses them into the cage.

We don't want her too comfortable.

He reaches in and removes the pillow.

Better?

Better get a bucket.

Elena, that is wonderful! Loved it.