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writethisfanficI hope you're all having a more productive day than I am :)
That time of the week again. Feel free to share a wee snippet from your fic or ask for a beta if you need one. Tell us about what has worked and what hasn’t worked.
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That time of the week again. Feel free to share a wee snippet from your fic or ask for a beta if you need one. Tell us about what has worked and what hasn’t worked.
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Date: Saturday, February 23rd, 2013 15:30 (UTC)no subject
Date: Saturday, February 23rd, 2013 19:13 (UTC)Placing the plastic wrapped item near the entrance of the garage for one of his team to catalogue, Duncan picked up an unprofessionally shortened scaffold pole and partially cracked mallet hammer on his way back to the centre of the room. noting the pattern of the blood spatter and small fragments of bone and tissue that had stuck to the weapons, he said, “I'm certain they'll have cracked his skull and possibly broken his kneecaps and elbows with these.”
“Christ almighty,” Matt uttered, wincing at the severity of the victims injuries caused by the various tools. “Those two really wanted him to suffer.”
“Why? What did he do?” Duncan asked, taking in the anguished demeanour of the man who often made him feel nervous.
“Revenge son, one of the oldest motives in the book,” Matt replied, “They found out that he had been abusing his grandson.”
Shaking his head at the new information, “The bastard!” Duncan admonished, quickly rebounding he enquired more calmly, “How old is the boy?”
“He's only five,” Matt sighed gloomily. “His grandmother gave him a bath one night and seeing the belt mark bruises on his back she asked him what happened and he told her that granddad did it.”
Fighting back the threatening tears Duncan enquired, “What will happen to him?”
“It's for the Children's Panel to decide, although he'll more than likely be placed with his grandmother and be appointed a social worker, but on saying that the panel may rule that he has to go in to care for a time.”
“Care may be the best place for him. I know he only recently found out that he has a sister but does Robbie know that he also has a nephew?”
Clapping the young man on the shoulder Matt said, “No son, not yet, but I'll introduce them when he and Jackie get back from Aberdeen.”
“When is that?”
“Why are you missing them?”
“No,” Duncan chuckled. “I'm just used to them also been at crime scenes.”
“Tomorrow, they're getting the train back tonight.”
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Date: Sunday, February 24th, 2013 01:07 (UTC)Snippet from "Body Language" (Tony Stark/KITT, R for language)...
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Tony was lounging on the largest couch in the Stark Towers common room late one Thursday night, clad in a Grateful Dead t-shirt and comfortable jeans, sneakered feet up on the leather cushions while he enjoyed a glass of Scotch and the latest episode of Duck Dynasty on TiVo — the spectacle of other people's stupidity always filled him with profound and gleeful schadenfreude — when a soft sharp snort from the other end of the couch made him prick up both ears and go on high alert. A soft sharp snort from Kitt, to be precise, who was looking at something on the StarkPad in his lap and frowning like he'd just spotted a glitched line in his own code.
From both desire and necessity, Tony had learned to read all the sounds that his A.I. made — although when KITT was embodied in the Knight 2000 robotic automobile, it was the silences Tony had to watch out for. If he was sitting in the car's driver's seat and the car wasn't talking to him, that was Very Bad, because KITT's pissed-off silences were the kind of deep freeze that generally accompanied ice ages and he was not the kind of person who could be jollied back into a good mood by the cheerful offer of a full wash and wax. No, when KITT-as-car went silent all Tony could really do was keep talking himself as if nothing had happened, until KITT's annoyance reached a sufficiently high level to prompt him to interrupt, usually explosively.
When he was embodied in the Obsidian android KITT kept talking no matter how aggravated he was, often in a voice even softer and silkier than normal, but there was a certain tilt to his sleek gleaming skull and a way he had of folding his arms that constituted a clear warning — and God help you if he cocked his left hip ever so slightly, because oh fuck, that meant he was beyond pissed. When that point was reached Tony often just apologized as a matter of course: it saved time, and KITT would usually be happy to tell him exactly what the hell he'd done wrong. In exquisite detail. With 3D diagrams, courtesy of JARVIS.
But when he was Kitt Silver, it was a snort through his humanoid nose — small, refined, fussy and utterly exasperated — that alerted Tony to the fact that something was on his last nerve. This particular snort, issued while the business suit clad robot sat neatly cross-legged and frowned at his screen, wasn't particularly loud: it signalled DEFCON 4, if that, and Tony dared to relax a tiny bit. Maybe it was a temporary annoyance. Maybe Kitt was just having one of his patented Moments of Snippy that seemed to come out of nowhere and vanish just as suddenly. Maybe it was —
"Have you looked at this guest list?" Kitt groused, and Tony sighed internally and braced for impact, covering both reactions with a sip of his drink and his attention seemingly fixed on the widescreen TV.
"'Course not. That's Pepper's job — and yours, apparently."