16th June check-in

[lilly_c]

How's it going toady?

Poll #10840

Open to: Registered Users, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 8

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Today was

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great
3 (37.5%)

average
3 (37.5%)

horrible
2 (25.0%)

And I

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wrote
5 (62.5%)

edited
1 (12.5%)

posted
1 (12.5%)

researched
1 (12.5%)

sent to beta
0 (0.0%)

did something else
3 (37.5%)

As it's Saturday, feel free to share a snippet, ask for a beta or advice.

Comments

[lea_hazel]

No fic, but apparently I needed to write a poem. *shrug*

[crowdog66]

Late yesterday I actually wrote and posted the first chapter (~2050 words) of a ReBoot canon!verse fic, "Incompatible" (Bob/Megabyte, R thus far), which is the first writing I've done in over a week. So, yay! :)

I'll take a snippet from that then, shall I? (Well, it's rather a long snippet, but it hangs together well and gives a feeling for the tone of the story, so...) "Incompatible" is set shortly after the Season One episode "The Tearing", which contained some of the most blatant same-sex flirting I've ever seen in a Saturday morning cartoon. The story is based on the notion of what might have happened if the seductive subtext between Megabyte and Bob had actually been serious.

***********************************************

The couch, with a small floating table in front of it, sat alone in the middle of the large room; Bob had to cross a long stretch of bytes to get to it, and he concentrated on keeping his approach cool and casual. Megabyte didn't even glance up when he came to a halt several bytes away… and waited… and frowned… and waited some more.. and finally cleared his throat, loudly.

"Ah, Bob!" Megabyte sounded perfectly jovial, which immediately put Bob on even higher alert. Banishing the vidwindow, the virus turned his intense and unblinking gaze on his guest, and smiled an apology that Bob didn't buy for a single nanosecond. "Please, do forgive me — I was concentrating on…" A dismissive wave of his free hand. "… some rather tedious business matters, and didn't hear you come in."

"I would've thought you'd be expecting me," Bob retorted, "considering that you sent me an engraved invitation." He held up the chip that he'd found on the bed in his small apartment not a millisecond ago, a thin slice of circuit-embossed gold emblazoned with the green symbol he was coming to know too well.

Megabyte managed to look down his nose, even from a seated position. "I'm afraid your reputation for taking your time responding to correspondence has preceded you. I wasn't expecting you for —"

"Cut the crap, Megabyte!" Scowling, he came two daring steps closer — well within close striking distance now, for a Class Three virus — and tossed the chip onto the table, where it spun to a lazy stop between a clear carafe full of more red liquid and an empty glass similar to the one Megabyte was currently holding. "I don't have time for games —"

"Strange, I thought that was rather the point of being a Guardian…"

Bob resisted the urge to raise Glitch and blast his opponent across the room. "You wanted to see me. I'm here. And it better not be to ask me for another 'favour'."

For a long moment Megabyte said nothing — just studied his guest, his right hand resting lightly on his upper knee and his glass of wine almost raised to his enigmatically curved lips. Meeting his gaze squarely, Bob had to admit something else: that the program in front of him was nothing if not impressive. His powerful build certainly advertised the speed and strength Bob knew he was capable of, but Megabyte no mere hulking monster: he was quick-witted and decisive, poised and cultured, devastatingly intelligent and relentlessly eloquent, all of which would have been admirable qualities if they hadn't been wedded to the amoral deviousness and lethal ruthlessness of a whip-snake. As charming as the virus was trying to be, Bob knew better than to trust an iota of what he was seeing.

Still, he did have an amazing voice on top of everything else, even if his next words feinted in a surprising direction: "I do hope you haven't taken that nasty business with the tear personally, Bob."

Bob shrugged nonchalantly and folded his arms. "Not really. Screwing people over is what viruses do, right?"

Megabyte smiled pleasantly, revealing a dangerous flash of silver teeth, and chuckled low in his throat. "Indeed… I'm so pleased you see it that way. But of course I'd expect you to take the long view: after all, you've had the benefit of an education beyond anything the parochial sprites of this backwater system could even begin to aspire to" He gestured elegantly toward the floating table. "May I offer you some wine?"

[roane]

Ahahaha. Well. What a week this has been. My laptop died. Fortunately, I was able to get a replacement and get the files off my old one, but MAN, it threw a wrench into my writing plans. I am so far behind on my major WIP. But, that didn't stop me from noodling around and posting a short little prompt fic this afternoon, "Satellites". This snippet is not from that, but the Chapter That Will Not Die in Pull the Stars from the Sky. Seriously. I've been working on it for nearly two weeks now, and I've only managed to pull together 3,800 words, and I'm not sure I like any of them. :P

But: so, some money has gone missing, thanks to our resident villain and lunatic, who has been busily stalking our hero across the United States. Here, they've met and are discussing next steps.

************************

"What if the money turns up—while the police are looking for it—in someone's luggage?" He tilted his head towards Sherlock and smiled. "That would be difficult to explain, wouldn't it? That wouldn't mean a trip back home, oh no. Possibly not for a very, very long time."

"You couldn't do that."

"Couldn't I? Sherlock, I've already demonstrated that getting into a hotel room is the easiest thing in the world; what makes you think I couldn't? The only question is..." He trailed off, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Whose luggage? There's John, of course. Obvious target. But Johnny's a big boy. He'd tough it out. Now Greg..." He shook his head and hissed out a breath. "He's awfully pretty to go to prison, don't you think? Bet he'd be popular, though... Or that little girlfriend of his. She was sweet. Very helpful, you know. Little Molly. I can't imagine what it would be like for her—"

"What do you want?" Sherlock cut him off, losing the facade altogether.

"You, of course." He said it with a smile.

[insignia]

I haven't really been writing lately, but I did choose a project to focus on last week. My great and infallible plan to finish the draft this week failed completely, but I think I've solved a coherency problem that was bothering me. So now I'm all set to stop procrastinating and write this thing! Really! I mean it this time! >_<;

[linaewen]

I wrote, but it wasn't anything fun. I worked on a newsletter for my RL job, and it took all afternoon. However, I am happy to say that it is done, except for one wee paragraph that I need more info on before I can finish up. Now to present it to others who have to have to edit and have their say about the content and mess with my article titles and want to change perfectly good wording for no apparent reason. ;-)