I'm so vain. But I just wrote the most perfect Munch drabble evah,with the possible exception of the Spector one, which, personal best.For the "In the Name of The Father" challenge, thurs100
The Responsibility of Me
He came close once. Gwennie was late by almost a week. He found out later that that happens sometimes, that the women that really have 28-day cycles are a rare breed. He was a kid himself. She was his first requited love What did he know? Enough to be scared witless at some *creature* half-him, half-Gwen, roaming the streets of Baltimore.They’d be lucky if they had a human baby at all, instead of a giant mouth. Some part of him knew they would end when he actually said it. When the cramps came, he rubbed her back all night, guiltily.
Damn, erika. Yes, indeed.
For those that might not know, Gwen was Carol Kane. I think shy and retiring might have been out of that sprog's playbook.
The title comes from this exchange.Rookie cop Cassidy asks Munch "Why didn't you have kids?"
Munch says "Why do I need to? I have you."
Cassidy says "No, really. Too much responsibility?"
Munch says "I wouldn't want to give a kid the responsibility of me."
Anyone who wanted to, could theoretically read a new section of my Homicide "Gingerbread" at [link]
But you don't have to, of course.
erika, I commented in lj.
This week's Open on Sunday theme is Weapons.
All The Ordinance You Need
The room is bare.
She stares around, at the empty pegs that usually hold the armoury, at the empty table that normally holds sharpened stakes, at the lack of anything, except...
"Giles? Where's my stuff? And why are there three vampires chained to the wall?"
"Your stuff, as you call it, is next door. We're trying something different tonight."
One vampire lunges, snarling, baring incisors three inches long. Buffy stares at her Watcher. "Like what? Fighting without any weapons?"
"No." Giles reaches for the remote that will unchain the first vampire. "Getting you to realise that you are the weapon."
And, another one:
Night
The knife, a kissing edge of steel four inches long, rests in her hand. She's forgotten it.
The vampires circle, crouching, feral. The night is a blur of movement, yellow eyes with uncanny slitted pupils, curving fangs the colour of old bone, yellowed fingernails, the smell of mould and gravedirt.
For Faith, alive and insanely happy with the joy of impending killing, the knife is suddenly weighing her down. She throws it high and hard, burying it in a treetrunk. A vampire jumps, her foot connects. The vampire gurgles, goes down screaming.
You need no weapons when you are one.
I sort of wanted to do one that took a more indepth look at Faith, as a weapon without a conscience (for that short nasty period when that was where she lived, emotionally). But that would need rather more than 100 words.
Maybe not if they were Faith's words...Faith not being Metaphor Gal.
For some reason, first person POV isn't talking to me on that one; there's something about the subject that seems to want examination from an impartial eye.
