Beverly -- when you get a chance, I asked you questions in response to the feedback you left in my LJ on the fic (a few days ago).

Now why on earth didn't I get an email ping about that? I haven't checked back on former LJ posts, so I wouldn't have seen it unless I'd had email breadcrumbs. I thought LJ did that automatically. I'll have to be more careful about checking back. Sorry. Off in a minute to read.

Daniel, that was lovely. I like that version much better than the clawing, yes.

erika, I still don't like the food touching each other on my plate. I like my shows-universes-worlds uncollided, for the most part. And also, most people can't make it work (for me, at least) as well as you have with these particular 'verses.

And while I'm at it, I think I've dug down, and your question, erika, helped me discover why I'm not an auto-slasher. I'm not agin it, you understand. I just don't automatically put anybody together. I like reading about relationships, but ancillary to an actual story, rather than story as a means to a pairing. I like my fiction to reflect life. And life as I know it goes on in glorious and grimy grinding detail whether or not there is sex.

This is why I love Buffistas. You help make my head a much less confusing place to be.

"glorious and grinding grimy detail" is sort of "Homicide"-sounding, itself, Beverly. I could picture a number of the squad saying it. I like crossovers ok, but sometimes they have too many gimmicks...freaky portals, dimensional folds, too many "ah hah!" connections. I was afraid I overdid that, myself. Especially in the first one.

Nope. It was lovely. As the present one promises to be.

Cindy, I answered a question. Was it the lie/laid thing? Was there anything else I missed? If so, point me more, um, pointedly. And 'scuse the dense.

All set, Beverly. Thanks for the lay. ;)

Bwah!

Hee. You're welcome. Anytime!

Um, do you guys need a room or something?

Not any more, erika. Sheesh, talk about slow on the uptake. I've got Live Journal creases on my butt, and everything.

(heheheheh. Bev and Cindy getting a room. heheheheh.)

Today's Sunday 100.

Moonlight

The young man, called Oz most nights, is on the prowl.

He's not Oz tonight, not a guitarist, not a laconic over-achiever who uses words so sparsely that each is a freight car for many meanings. Tonight is full moon, and he's not Oz. He's a predator, padding through the bushes, scenting blood on the wind. He's not supposed to be running free.

Something rustles behind him, and a man falls down, tranquilised. The redhaired witch, meaning the dart for Oz, changes her aim to take down the bounty hunter, chasing her lover with a silver bullet in his rifle.

a laconic over-achiever who uses words so sparsely that each is a freight car for many meanings

Oh, deb. I love it when you drabble, you know? It's beautiful-- the way you use language.