exit, pursued by a bear

Happy New Year!

Thu, 01 Jan 2009 20:26:01 GMT

yuletide author identities have been revealed! Which I guess means that it's okay for me to post the fic I wrote. Luckily, my prompt was Justice (i.e. the only fandom I've actually attempted to seriously write for - also, a virtually nonexistent one, but ahaha it's the thought that counts?), gen interaction between Luther and Ron.

Title: Every Good Boy Does Fine
Fandom: Justice
Pairing/Characters: Luther Graves, Ron Trott, brief mentions of Tom and Alden.
Rating: PG
Summary: Luther Graves in past, present, and future.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Written for the yuletide 2008 fic exchange, for joylee56. Originally posted here.

Once upon a time, Luther was supposed to become a corporate lawyer.

His family isn’t a wealthy one, but it’s rigidly respectable all the same, and his parents harbored certain expectations of their only child. Words like studious, filial, responsible, and all the other adjectives in the dictionary of his father’s expectations of a son were branded across Luther’s character from the very moment he understood what it meant to be daddy’s good boy.

Luther wore (still wears) his intelligence like armor, or in his flashier moods, like a cape. Through high school and college, new words followed in his wake, murmured in passing by peers and instructors alike: clever, precise, articulate. He wasn’t the star of the debate team, but without him, they’d have fallen apart; like stone, he’s a support base, calm and dependable and infinitely formidable.

Law school seemed a matter of course, after all that, and corporate law the obvious choice. Criminal law makes his family nervous, for what business should a Graves have, consorting with thieves and murderers?

Luther didn’t really give a damn one way or another, at least not at first. He’s a good man, and a smart man, but he’s too practical to be some idealistic crusader. He abandoned the wiles of big businesses for his modest district attorney’s office because he finds the subject matter fascinating, not because he thought he’d be playing the role of the glorious hero. That he became a prosecutor and not a defense attorney is a last ditch attempt at placating his mother, who’s been convinced ever since the OJ Simpson trial that criminal defense lawyers are the Devil’s children, or as good as. His work at the D.A.’s office was interesting, and meaningful, and he’d been content, for a time, to keep playing the good boy.

Of course, then he meets Ron Trott, and the whole damn thing blows to hell.

It’s entirely happenstance, practically accidental. It’s an act of serendipity or poor luck, depending on whom you’d ask. Ron’s a friend of a friend of a friend, and somehow, they end up at this exceedingly stuffy, exceedingly awkward luncheon. Together.

“So,” Ron says, his mouth curled into a subtle sort of smirk that practically screams of a stereotype.

Luther pauses, forkful of pasta salad halfway to his mouth, and raises an eyebrow. “So.”

“Your office has bumped heads with my firm a couple times in court.” The smirk shifts ever so slightly; Luther can’t tell if that’s for better or for worse. “Tom Nicholson says you’re pretty good.”

Tom Nicholson. The name conjures up a hazy image in Luther’s memory: boyish looks that made the man seem too young to be a lawyer, an impression hardly aided by his earnest manner. A white knight, if Luther ever knew one, the starry eyed crusader that Luther will never be. A dangerous opponent, nonetheless; Tom’s probably as bright as Luther, in his own way, and might very well have won the case, if the circumstances hadn’t forced them to enter the plea bargain.

This must be the elder partner, then.

Luther chuckles deeply, crossing his arms. “It’s not my office, Mr. Trott. I’m not in charge – I’m just an assistant D.A., doing my job.”

Ron Trott leans forward ever so slightly, but Luther notices the movement all the same; it’s what he does, after all. “But you’re much more than that, aren’t you?”

Luther frowns. “Sir?”

“I hear you’re considering a career change,” Ron says, offhand, examining a little tray of appetizers before selecting a pig in a blanket with a bit of distaste. “Reevaluating your choices, as it were.” A casually elegant shrug of the shoulders. “At least, those are the words Jennifer used.”

It takes an impressive amount of effort to refrain from rolling his eyes. Never let it be said, Luther thinks wryly to himself, that prosecutors don’t have big mouths. His coworkers include some of the best, brightest people Luther’s ever known, but they’re also the most notorious gossips. “Is that a job offer?” he asks now, uncrossing his arms, tone just shy of teasing. “No offense, Mr. Trott, but you’re a defense attorney. I’m…”

“A prosecutor?” That shark smile again. “Why ever should that make a difference? We both specialize in criminal law. Don’t we?”

At that, Luther laughs in earnest, flashing teeth. “That we do. But you’re on your side for a reason,” his grin widens into his own shark smile, “and I’m on mine.”

“Oh God,” Ron says, looking heavenward, “don’t tell me you’re one of those prosecutors who’s convinced the D.A. can do no wrong. Tom said you were sensible, at least.”

“That the word he used?” Luther quips, but there’s no malice in his voice.

“For an assistant district attorney,” Ron says lightly, before becoming serious. “We’re every bit as vital to this system as you are, you know. People forget that, because we’re better compensated.”

“Right.”

“You faced Tom in open court. You’ve seen how he is. He thinks we do what we do to protect the innocent. It’s okay for him to keep thinking that; he does his best work that way. But he’s wrong.”

Luther leans back in his chair, lips pursed. “Aren’t you being a little harsh? The man is your partner.”

“And a good one,” Ron says dismissively. “That doesn’t mean he isn’t wrong. We aren’t here to protect people, Luther,” and he spits out the word ‘people’ like it’s a particularly amusing joke. “We’re here to protect their rights. The rights guaranteed them by the law of this nation.”

Luther’s shaking his head and chuckling again. He can’t quite help himself. “And here I thought you were a cynic.”

“Oh, I’m a cynic all right,” Ron says, entirely too cheerfully. “But like you, I’m a sensible one. I expect you’re growing bored,” he adds, as they both get up to leave, clapping Luther on the shoulder in a manner that, disturbingly enough, reminds Luther of his father. “The work we do at my firm is quite interesting. I expect we’ll meet again, a year or two down the road – and not as opponents.”

“I doubt that,” Luther calls, half-jokingly, after Ron’s retreating back. The latter ignores him.

Six months later, Luther will turn up on the doorstep of Trott, Nicholson, & Tuller to be greeted by a pretty woman who’ll introduce herself as Alden.

“Please inform Mr. Trott that he was wrong,” Luther will ask of her, matter-of-factly. “It wasn’t a year. It was half.” He’ll grin at the thinly veiled confusion on her face. “I was right, to doubt.”

This is the future he forges himself.

Still in Hawaii.

Thu, 31 Jul 2008 21:22:39 GMT

It's official!

I'll be rooming with svz_insanity in Merion 322. Along with the Merion ghost, I suppose. The photos in the Merion Hall section of the online res life guide look nice enough. Hooray for really old buildings with fireplaces and window seats and stained glass! ♥

HIATUS

Thu, 24 Jul 2008 22:13:05 GMT

I'm going to be in Maui and Honolulu with my parents on a family vacation until August 1st. Volcano tours and windsurfing will, if all goes as planned, be involved. It's supposed to be something like a combination graduation/eighteenth birthday gift. They say to expect something more modest for my nineteenth, and hey, it's not like I'm about to complain about this year's haul.

And after Hawaii, it's almost time for:

- Rooming assignments from Bryn Mawr (dude, Stacy, we really need to end up as roommates, and we totally want one of the suites in Pembroke West; trust me.)
- QUITTING MY JOB.
- Visiting Margaret in Baltimore for shopping, movie marathons, and Otakon. ♥
- Tri-College Summer Institute! (Thank you, Bryn Mawr, for finally sending some form of acknowledgment that you actually know I'm showing up for this thing.)
- Finalizing my bloody college classes and actually starting school.

August is going to be quite a month.

Wed, 23 Jul 2008 19:59:29 GMT

Okay, it's raining and thundering like it's the Apocalypse Come To Princeton right now. Holy shit, that thunder is loud. I mean, it's awesome! I just keep on jumping and nearly having heart attacks.

... and in the meantime, ironically enough, I'm reading Stormbenders, which is fabulous, and reads like canon. ♥

Meme time! Was tagged by epicrauko for Flogging Molly, so! Favorites, not necessarily in order, but perhaps roughly so. I tend to change my mind a lot, but the songs near the top are definitely ones I listen to most often.

1. Devil's Dance Floor
2. If I Ever Leave This World Alive
3. The Rare Ould Times
4. Laura
5. Within A Mile of Home
6. Don't Let Me Die Still Wonderin'
7. Queen Anne's Revenge
8. Never Met A Girl Like You Before
9. Drunken Lullabies
10. With A Wonder and a Wild Desire

SPAM (a.k.a. still more Avatar whoring)

Tue, 22 Jul 2008 20:18:02 GMT

Okay, I just watched the series finale.

1) It was kickass.

2) OKAY, I ADMIT IT. I have officially been converted to OTP'ing Katara/Zuko. It's not just one of my multiships anymore; it is my O-T-fucking-P of this series, silly as that may be. Certain bits of the fandom may make me wince, but hey, that's every ship's fandom. Fandom in general, even.

My heart was pounding towards the end of this thing. Order of the White Lotus = SO MUCH WIN, and oh my god, I cried during Zuko's reunion with Iroh. Iroh, I ♥ you forever and ever. The scene with Azula at the mirror and the image of her mother twisted my heartstrings so hard, though - because for all that she's crazy and bloodthirsty and really fucking scary, Azula is such a fundamentally tragic character.

Which brings us to the her showdown with Zuko. I admit I didn't really give a shit about Aang's fight with the Fire Lord (besides, I pretty much predicted the ending from a mile away), because I was so fixated on the sibling showdown. It was just gorgeously done, with all that dramatic music in the background; it wasn't so much about showing how this is another Epic Kickass Avatar Battle Sequence, but a final battle between siblings, and that broke my heart.

And, oh, Zuko. The way he asked Katara to come with him, and when he realized that Azula was going to aim the lightning at her, and how he FUCKING TOOK THE LIGHTNING FOR HER. And the scene when she heals him - right there. That is where they became my OTP, and oh good god, how I wanted an on-screen kiss right then and there. SHIPSHIPSHIPSHIP.

And then the Mai/Zuko kiss happened. And in perfect honesty, I wouldn't have minded several episodes ago, because I actually sort of liked that ship, but the show just never really did the relationship any justice, so the pairing just felt... tacked on. *headdesk* They could have done without it. And really, after that scene with Zuko and Katara, I couldn't find it in me to seriously enjoy any other pairing involving those two. I liked the Katara/Aang scene slightly more - it was sort of sweet, in a way - but as I've said before, I am incapable of shipping Aang with anyone. Well, at least we got Sokka/Suki in all their glorious canon adorable-ness. Though I have to ask - WHERE THE HELL WAS URSA? We see Zuko asking where she is, but we never actually see her. YAAAAARGH.

Still, save the iffy pairings and occasional plot hole, it ended well. I'm glad I watched it, even though now my head is spinning a little, and my heart still feels sort of broken. (Azula. Azula. And oh my god, why did I not realize how much I wanted canon!Zutara - however futile that was - until now. *deskdeskdesk*)

And now I'm even more desperately in need of fic. Specifically really well-written Katara/Zuko. Guhhhh.

More Avatar whoring.

Tue, 22 Jul 2008 17:09:04 GMT

RE: BOILING ROCK

"My first girlfriend turned into the moon."
"... That's rough, buddy."

Oh my God, I love Sokka and Zuko's awkward male bonding. I love this season in general. ♥

- Zuko on top of Katara! And the fans go wild. (Okay, I admit it, I liked that too.)

- Sokka with his hair down is startlingly attractive. And also looks sort of like my cousin, which is slightly disturbing.

- Azula with her hair down is also really pretty. Still as batshit as ever. But aesthetically pleasing.

- Wow, Katara's kind of bitchy. Like, understandably so, but still.

- HAHAHA, ZUKO INADVERTENTLY DISTURBING SOKKA AND SUKI'S ROMANTIC RENDEZVOUS = BIGGEST WIN EVER.

- Oh God, Zuko asks Sokka for advice about the guy's sister. This is me grinning like a crazy person.

- ... shipshipshipshipshipkatarazukoship. I feel like such a fanbrat for falling for this pairing, but I don't even care anymore.

- Wow, Zuko. Offering to help her wreak vengeance upon the men who killed her mother is... quite a unique form of wooing, I must admit.

- "Is it your turn to take a little field trip with Zuko?" ... Heeeeee.

- ZOMG KATARA AND ZUKO IN NINJA OUTFITS. ♥

- Okay, this is why I ship them. They would totally have the sexiest, most badass children ever. AND SOKKA AND ZUKO WOULD BE BROTHER-IN-LAWS. It would be win all around, come on.

- Awwwww, flashback. Though this reminds me - did we ever actually find out what precisely happened to Zuko's mother? I remember there being implications through flashbacks in 'Zuko Alone,' and I think the Fire Lord said something in 'Crossroads of Destiny,' but I can't remember exactly.

- ... so the Ebil Firebending Dude who killed Katara's mom is now... a gardener. WHO LIVES WITH HIS MOM. Wow, closure sure is a bitch.

- BADASS VENGEANCE-DRIVEN WATERBENDING MASTER KATARA OF RAGE IS BADASS. ♥

- ... d'awwwww, happy Zutara hug. A bit sudden, and I wish it had been a bit more... lingering. But still, HAPPY ZUTARA HUG.

- And that, Zuko, is an excellent question.

In conclusion, I need Avatar fic rec. Preferably with Zutara. Or Mai and Ty Lee. Or Sokka and Zuko being Clueless Teenage Boys together. Or all of the above; I don't care as long as it's good. I've stumbled across some in the past (a good deal of it written by jakia, if I remember correctly), but I've lost track of most of the stories. I should probably watch the show up through the series finale first, but... fic rec. Waaaaaaant.

I'm sort of tempted to write for this fandom now. Even though the show's over (per usual for my track record, wryyyy). BUT STILL. I am so getting into this fandom, even though it's a little late. I've dipped my toes and skimmed the surface in the past, but now I sort of want more. (wry, timing, wryyyyy, I tell you.)

DAY OFF, DAY OFF.

Tue, 15 Jul 2008 18:12:05 GMT

I slept till noon today, then threw a kimono over my tank top and pajama bottoms, dragged myself downstairs to make a cup of Earl Grey tea and some eggs/bacon/toast, lazed around at the kitchen table eating ~~breakfast~~ ~~lunch~~ brunch really slowly, then went back upstairs and stared at my Macbook. I need to drag myself over to the Princeton Public Library at some point today, so I can return A War of Gifts (and maybe pick up an LSAT book, because I'm lame like that), but for the most part, I'm probably going to laze around the house all day. I'm feeling decidedly and pleasantly lethargic. ♥

And I still haven't changed out of the robe and pajamas. They're comfy.

buhhhh 8-hour shift tomorrow DO NOT WANT, but meanwhile, have sparkly vampires.

Mon, 14 Jul 2008 03:30:46 GMT

cleolinda on the whole Bella/Edward sex (or lack thereof and ensuing angst) thing:

"Oh Lord, Bella's decided that she wants to lose her virginity before she becomes a vampire. But he won't do that if they're not married! But she won't marry him if he won't let her become a vampire! But she won't let him make her a vampire unless he takes her cherry first! Dude, it's like that riddle about the fox and the goose and the bag of wheat trying to cross the river on a boat made for two."

I LAUGHED SO HARD. SO HARD.

And oh, Stephenie Meyer, you're funny:

Interviewer: "There's been some speculation on the internet..... about Edward being an abusive boyfriend..... ?"

Meyer: "Yeah, yeah, OK. There's a lot of stuff online that has, honestly, broken my heart recently. It is difficult to read things that take such a negative spin on something that is very personal and also makes a lot of sense inside your head [...] I think that people sometimes will go out looking for the negative when really if they gave them the right intentions, I think they are understanding characters better. But it is hard to read."

I wish I were kidding.

And in conclusion, this icon wins forever and ever:

MORE SPAM, a.k.a. no one cares about this except Margaret, Kate, and maybe Indra, but THAT'S OKAY.

Fri, 04 Jul 2008 03:37:18 GMT

To follow along with Margaret's idea, I retook this test. My results went like this:

Cognitive Process Level of Development (Preference, Skill and Frequency of Use)

extraverted Sensing (Se) ********** (11)
unused

introverted Sensing (Si) ******************************* (31.1)
good use

extraverted Intuiting (Ne) ********************************* (33.4)
good use

introverted Intuiting (Ni) ***************************************** (41.2)
excellent use

extraverted Thinking (Te) *********************** (23)
limited use

introverted Thinking (Ti) *********************************** (35.1)
good use

extraverted Feeling (Fe) ***************************** (29.3)
average use

introverted Feeling (Fi) ************************************ (36.3)
excellent use

tl;dr version: I'm an INFJ, I really suck balls at "enjoying the physical thrill of action in the present moment" (I didn't think I was that bad, honestly, I didn't!), and I'm probably too fixated on the future for my own good. :D (I also didn't expect the Fi to be all that high - I hate moralizing, for the most part. Honestly, I thought the stats for Fe and Fi should've been flipped, but there you have it.)

In which hell freezes over.

Fri, 04 Jul 2008 00:49:12 GMT

So, I think I may be a little bit in love with Burberry.

This is quite unexpected, because (a) I've never particularly liked shopping (though this is probably mostly due to being forced to shop with my mother), and (b) I don't really pay much attention to fashion beyond looking nice, presentable, and when the occasion warrants it, dressy. I'm inclined to think that spending copious amounts of money on designer labels is a bit silly, when you can get perfectly functional (even attractive!) clothing for less money. Yes, I own a number of designer items (mostly small things - handbags, wallets, watches, etc. - maybe the occasional shirt, skirt, or pair of slacks), but most of them are either gifts from relatives and family friends, or things that my mother insisted that I get. Don't get me wrong, I think they're quite nice (I do get some pretty good use out of my Coach and Guess wallets/handbags), and I like them, I'm just not really the sort to save up my pocket money to splurge on them.

Still, I can't help but want a Burberry coat really freaking badly. Any of them. All of them. And the outfits in these ads and these! It's my sort of thing. Hell, I even love their menswear; it's the sort of clothing I'd find attractive on a guy. If I were to say that I have a personal "style" (and good lord, I never thought I would, but then, I never thought I'd spend an entire livejournal entry babbling about fashion of all things), or a preference for a certain "look," it's... very Burberry. I even like their damn website.

Never mind that Burberry is horrendously expensive.

Okay, you can stop laughing at me now. ;__;

I has a new laptop! Moments like these are when I feel ridiculously spoiled.

Wed, 02 Jul 2008 16:57:57 GMT

It arrived a couple days ago; it's a MacBook, and it's a lot like my old computer, but sleeker, and more compact, and it's so pretty. My dad got one of the computer scientists from the university to come over this morning and help me set it up. (Said computer scientist also lectured me on how I should take "real hard sciences" to fulfill my Division II requirements at Bryn Mawr and steer clear of "physics for poets," and I was like alksjdfaj nooooooo.)

And my new iPod works on it too! And have I mentioned that it's pretty? ♥

I saw Across the Universe last night. It was a fun movie in a... drug trip sort of way, but a bit too long, and it probably could have done without some of the more elaborate sequences. Still, fairly enjoyable. I was amused at the beginning, when Jude meets Max at Princeton of all places. Though oddly enough, the Princeton of the movie looks a hell of a lot more like Bryn Mawr than actual Princeton University. (The two schools have very similar architecture, but there are some subtle differences that are a bit difficult to pinpoint.)

Tue, 01 Jul 2008 01:00:05 GMT

So, you know what's really fabulous? When the managers forget to give you one of your breaks during an eight-hour shift due to being short-handed. Well, that, and customers who insist on bringing more than ten items to a ten item express checkout line. *headwall* In other words, MY DAY WAS SUPER SPECIAL AWESOME.

A Cellphone Conversation With Cecilia During The Break My Boss Actually Remembered To Give Me:

ANDREA: So, I hate my life. Also, I'm halfway through the first episode of Macross Frontier. Alto is pretty.
CECILIA: Yes, he is.
ANDREA: Michael would also be pretty. If his hair wasn't absolutely horrible.
CECILIA: I love Michael! I hate his hair. And his ears are pointy.
ANDREA: Maybe he's a leprechaun? Didn't we come to the conclusion that he was fandom!Lockon, except also a gigantic douche?
CECILIA: A French leprechaun.
ANDREA: Okay, so maybe he's half French, half leprechaun.
CECILIA: Ranka is half alien!
ANDREA: The little girl is half alien? Wait, there are aliens?
CECILIA: Yes. There are two kinds. One kind is humanoid, but can take two forms. One kind looks like gigantic bugs that kill people. And Alto has to kill them.
ANDREA: One kind has two horns?
CECILIA: No. *explains aliens*
ANDREA: So, the little girl is half gigantic bug?
CECILIA: No, the little girl is half gigantic humanoid.
ANDREA: That kills stuff?

Also, I sort of want to watch Gunslinger Girl. And The Rose of Versailles. And various American TV shows and movies. (I have way, way too many things I want to watch.)

re: toshokan sensou 11

Sat, 28 Jun 2008 17:36:57 GMT

HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT.

NEED 12 NOW. NOW. WHY IS THIS SERIES SO SHORT.

lksjadf;klsjdf;jl *bites fingernails*

In which Andrea spends too much time watching random crap.

Fri, 27 Jun 2008 18:11:12 GMT

Okay, I have to walk to work in fifteen minutes, but I definitely just marathoned Toshokan Sensou up through the seventh episode. alskdjfasfjk GUN-TOTING LIBRARIANS, more please. I am loving this show, and I ship Doujou/Kasahara so very hard. They're adorable. I will be forever amused that there is a character named Tezuka. Who's mildly boring, but not unlikable. And oh, I adore Komaki so, so much. He's just that sort of character. And Shibasaki! I love everyone, okay. I am so watching the rest of this (what's been subbed so far, anyway) when I get back from McCaffrey's today. ♥

I also got through the fifth episode of Torchwood. I like Gwen well enough, but don't find her that interesting, except when she's interacting with Jack, in which case I start shipping Jack/Gwen. (I love their little moments at the ends of episodes 3 and 4. And the scene where he teaches her how to shoot things, mmmmm, firearms.) I know, I ship too much het. But I do see the appeal of Jack/Ianto! (And oh, oh, episode 4.) I'm an incurable multishipper. And I think the tidbit of Jack backstory in episode 5 broke my heart a little. I saw it coming from a mile away, but still. And oh god, creepy little girl. I sort of hated her from the start. (Sorry, it's a thing. Hate creepy children. Haaaate.) The entire episode was a bit chilling in general, but enjoyable.

And now work, gahhhhhh, GROCERIES, HERE I COME.

Wed, 25 Jun 2008 23:55:31 GMT

- I can't find the receipt for the new iPod; ergo, I can't return it. WHOOO.
- However, apparently, I don't need a new computer; I just need to... somehow upgrade the system? (it's a Mac OS X 10.3.9 right now; it needs to be a Mac OS X 10.4.5, I believe.) I have no idea how to go about doing this, but my father seems to think it can be done. Somehow.
- Though I might be getting a new computer for college anyway. My parents are fuzzy on these details.
- Dear Bitchy Customer: I am a student with a summer job as a cashier; I am not your personal servant. Pointing out that you'd like something done differently is perfectly all right. Being so shockingly rude about it is not. Oh, and by the way, talking to the next customer in line about me as if I don't exist, and making snide remarks about the nature of this job? So classy, lady. So very classy.
- Reread bits and pieces of the Shadow arc today. Suddenly remember how boring Bean was. Sigh. Oh well, Peter-as-a-main-character sort of makes up for it. The politics are a bit difficult to follow, but there are some great pieces of dialogue. ~~But I still don't like Petra/Bean~~.

Am now trying to decide whether to (a) read more Enderverse, (b) futilely search for Enderverse fic, (c) watch more Torchwood, (d) watch more Supernatural, (e) watch more Alias, (f) start and/or continue some random anime, or (g) attempt to force myself to write. Guh.

I DON'T DO SADNESS (except when I totally do).

Wed, 25 Jun 2008 01:52:32 GMT

THE GOOD: I got the new 8 GB iPod nano, and it's all sleek and silver.

THE BAD: My iBook G4 isn't advanced enough to let it actually work.

THE UGLY: I am unsure of whether or not Best Buy still actually sells the old iPods.

I hate technology.

And on an unrelated note, I seriously need good Enderverse fic, orz. There's a facebook group called "Ender Wiggin can own Harry Potter any day," and I am way more amused by this than I probably should be.

Damn you, War of Gifts, for dragging me back into my old (seriously old) fandom.

Mon, 23 Jun 2008 22:31:36 GMT

Now that I actually know what a Welsh accent sounds like (yes, thank you, Torchwood), I really like it. It's sort of the like the lovechild of an Irish accent and an English one, and the result is startlingly pleasant.

In other news, epicrauko left a very long message on my cellphone. For the record, she sounds like Freakazoid on crack.

And I say that with the utmost affection, Margaret, I do, I do.

guhhh, so hot outside, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, NORTHEAST.

Sun, 08 Jun 2008 02:07:09 GMT

You'd think it would be a relief to work in a grocery store on a day as hot as today. Except for the part where they didn't turn the air conditioning on at the checkout counters.

LOLOLOLOLOL, MCCAFFREY'S.

And then I walked home, because my parents were out and couldn't give me a ride. My neighborhood is on a giant hill. GOOD TIMES.

Also, does anyone have Supernatural fic rec that... isn't Winchestercest? Much as I love Sam and Dean and their dynamic, I'll admit to being sort of squicked by incest, particularly between siblings. I'll read it very occasionally, but only if I really like the writing, and if it's meant as either crack or serious mindfuck - and even then, it just isn't really my cup of tea. In general, I hate sexualizing familial dynamics, and I honestly enjoy interesting platonic relationships.

And I mean, I sort of fail at slashing. Except when it's, like, Tenipuri (because how can you not slash Tenipuri, and even then, there are some het ships I like, okay, stfu). And Harry Potter, sometimes. I do occasionally wish I were more of a slasher at heart; largely preferring het and gen is so not a useful trait to have in fandom, orz. ;_;

Angry British Lady story, as promised.

Thu, 05 Jun 2008 02:30:55 GMT

So, Angry British Lady (who shall, from this point onward, be referred to as ABL) was waiting in line, when all the cash registers in the grocery store oh-so-conveniently crashed. Thankfully, I was just bagging groceries at this point, so I didn't have the responsibility of explaining to the very large crowd of impatient Princetonians that no, their credit cards were not going to work on our very dead machines.

"Excuse me," ABL says, in her very clipped accent, "you mean to tell me that I've been waiting in the queu for twenty minutes, and my credit card won't work?"

The poor boy who's manning the cashier looks utterly terrified. "Uh," he manages, "well, the cash registers aren't working. It's not my fault!" he adds hurriedly.

"You could have told me," she snarls, looking positively ferocious.

"I-It's really not my fault," he stammers.

"You've been so slow," she continues.

"Uh," he says, eloquently.

Five minutes later, my boss shows up, and ABL starts in on her.

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it right now," Boss says firmly. "We'll just have to make do."

ABL responds by stalking back into line in a huff.

"Gee," mutters Boss.

ABL whips around again. "Don't say gee," she hisses, "I can hear you. I'm a paying customer."

They argue briefly, and Boss goes on her way. Meanwhile, I am left to the less-than-enviable task of bagging ABL's groceries. "Pardon me," I murmur, maneuvering around her and doing my best to pretend that I don't exist, while praying that she isn't going to yell at me for bagging her food in a manner that isn't utterly perfect. Thankfully, she doesn't seem to notice me, and just stands around huffing and looking put out.

I finally hand her the groceries, and smile a little ruefully. "I'm sorry about all this trouble."

Suddenly, she smiles. "Oh, you're the only person in this place who's said that to me!" she exclaims, and warmly clasps my shoulder (I swear I am not making this up). "Thank you for that."

Of course, in her gratitude, she forgets her receipt, and my boss has to chase after her. ABL spins around just as Boss catches up with her. "That young lady over there," she says, stabbing a finger in my direction, "the most junior person here, is the only one who personally apologized to me." I didn't hear the rest of the conversation, as I was busy bagging the next customer's groceries, and attempting to become invisible again.

So, apparently, my habit of apologizing all the time (and of becoming really polite/demure/formal when in doubt) is actually good for something. Namely, sparing me the wrath of Angry British People.

Imagine that.

EUUUGH, STACY, LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO.

Wed, 04 Jun 2008 02:53:05 GMT

So, I was going to post about the Angry British Lady I met at work today, but then my Internet got all ornery, and I ended up reading random novels and writing things instead. The result was this:

Title: Collide
Fandom: Twilight, Hana Yori Dango
Pairing/Characters: Edward Cullen, Hanazawa Rui, mentions of Edward/Bella, hints of (one-sided) Edward/Rui.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Three encounters between Edward Cullen and Hanazawa Rui.
Warnings: Um. Crossover crack?
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: THIS IS ENTIRELY STACY'S FAULT, ORZ. Also, it’s ridiculous (you can’t write Twilight/HYD without being ridiculous, I imagine), but also turned out to be a lot more serious then I’d initially imagined. Uh. ~~Also, I now have a hankering to write something involving Rosalie, Shizuka, and maybe Bella and/or Tsubaki. What the hell, brain.~~

The first time they meet, it’s entirely by chance.

He’s in the hotel lobby, waiting for Alice and Bella to return from their impromptu shopping trip, and there’s this boy sitting next to him – all long limbs and elegance and unreadable eyes – and for a split second, Edward thinks, oh, it must be one of his own kind.

Except that’s impossible, because no vampire has ever smelled so human. Edward sets his jaw, waiting for the inevitably petty stream of foreign thoughts to wash over him, but when the only sound in his head is silence, he can’t help but stare (like that day, oh, that fateful day when she arrived).

A nameless dread steals through his veins like ice water, and when he tries to read the boy’s mind, he slams against a horrible wall of nothing at all.

*

The second time they meet, it isn’t an accident at all. Hanazawa is a name that everyone knows, and for someone like Edward, it’s almost too easy to track down Rui.

Where the impenetrability of Bella’s mind always felt somehow discreet to him, an object of curiosity, this bewitching, necessary component of the mystery that is Isabella Swan – Rui’s mind feels like ice, like a barrier deliberately and elegantly crafted. Edward Cullen, in all his impossible beauty and allure and accomplishment, has never experienced rejection before, and finds that he dislikes the sensation.

He’s inexplicably desperate with confusion, and black-eyed with need (for he has become careless with the regularity of his meals, as of late), when he finally finds Rui in a glitzy little corner of Tokyo.

The boy tilts his head curiously. “Ah,” he says simply, “it’s you again. Was there something you needed?”

A million and a half retorts swarm through Edward’s mind, yet he cannot bring himself to utter a single word.

*

The third time they meet, it’s like a trainwreck in slow motion, and Edward, for all his inhuman strength, can’t help but get caught in the terrible glory of collision.

He’s got Rui pressed against a wall, his hands on the other boy’s shoulders infinitely less gentle than they ever were on Bella. “This is wrong,” he snarls in Japanese, and the final word echoes in his mind like a child’s taunt, wrong, wrong, wrong. He tries to think of Bella, the strawberry scent of her hair, the intricate delicacy of her bones, and the translucency of her skin, but it’s Hanazawa Rui he has clenched between his hands.

Rui regards him with listless eyes. “If you say so.” Caught in a vampire’s grasp, cold marble hands stamping bruises on his shoulders, he’s as passive as the spectator of a particularly boring opera, and Edward hates him for it.

“How can you be so calm?” hisses Edward. ”What the hell are you thinking?”

“Oh,” says Rui, with a strange little smile, “nothing at all.”

Fin.

reason #0934509 why I have earned myself a one-way ticket to hell.

Thu, 22 May 2008 01:51:35 GMT

A conversation with Stacy after reading this article:

chaos_harmony: Okay, you know that being a former editor of the school paper has officially warped your mind when your first thought upon reading that is, "*scowly face* This is the incorrect format for a News-style article."

chaos_harmony: ... also, am I a bad person for laughing at "Evil Happy Smiley Face Man"?
chaos_harmony: Because come on, that's just FUNNY.
svz_insanity: XD
svz_insanity: It sounds like a Jpop song
chaos_harmony: For a vicious ingenious serial killer, that's a PRETTY LAME NICKNAME.
chaos_harmony: SO TACKY.
chaos_harmony: When your super special awesome serial killer nickname can be mistaken for a Jpop title, YOU KNOW YOU FAIL AT LIFE.
chaos_harmony: <-- going to hell.
svz_insanity: XD
svz_insanity: They should have kept it short and simple
svz_insanity: Like Kira

Mild introspection.

Mon, 19 May 2008 00:16:26 GMT

Almost finished with the Medieval Europe paper; econ reading is pretty much done, and the actual assignment doesn't look too horribly long. I've had to adjust my original schedule, but everything looks doable enough for me to take a break and think things over a bit.

A lot of this is coming from the conversation I've been having with Margaret, and now I'm just sort of mulling it over. There are certain things, I think, that I'm a little oversensitive about. One of them is attacks on my general intelligence/common sense/ways of dealing with people. I don't mind being teased occasionally, but after a while, it gets to me, and just... stops being funny. I tend to pride myself on being a very... sensible, together sort of person. I hate implications that I'm somehow not. Being a sensible, together sort of person is just a part of my identity, and how I deal with the world. This is why I usually get a bit moody and annoyed with myself after doing something stupid and/or spontaneous.

Take, for instance, what happened after the Princeton High prom. Admittedly, it was kind of fun, and exciting in the moment, but afterwards I sort of freaked out (albeit silently and in private), and overanalyzed everything. True, it was relatively harmless, but it was just so completely contrary to who I think of myself as, and I found that jarring. Out-of-character, if you will. In general, I hate surprises. They screw up my planning, and honestly, I find that I thrive on predicting things - I'm a lot better at planning ahead than most would think. I don't like not being able to. I'm good at staying theoretically open-minded and putting up a laid-back front, but I become irritable if I'm thrown off my stride. I'm perfectly capable of re-planning things, but chances are that I'll be a tad resentful over having to do so, at least initially.

I give off the impression of having my head in the clouds sometimes (which I suppose I do), but when I do, it's usually because I'm considering the future, and what I ought to do with it - in fact, one of my biggest problems is that I just don't live in the present enough. I smiled and said I'd enter college as an undeclared major for the longest time, but it was secretly driving me a bit crazy. I just wanted to say that I knew what I was going to do with myself. In the back of my mind, I was irritated over not being able to.

Don't get me wrong. I don't like inflexibility much either, which is why my planning is usually at least somewhat open-ended. I like having a general idea, but I'm not always all that into the nitty gritty details. Still, I'd probably be horrible at improv. I could do very well with a given script, but I'd probably feel awkward and undignified, having to make up absolutely everything on the spot. Even if it's in a relatively mild, flexible manner, I chart the course, and I organize. It's what I do, how I am. I dislike it when I (or anyone else, for that matter) somehow contradicts that.

Just putting that out there.

ETA.

After chatting with Charlotte, I just want to emphasize that this little ramble isn't directed towards anyone in particular. I'm not upset with anyone; I was just thinking a few things over after getting into a (very long, very distracting) conversation with Margaret about the way different people function.

I have no idea where this came from.

Fri, 02 May 2008 01:51:46 GMT

Title: Ours Is Not A Fairytale
Fandom: Justice
Pairing/Characters: Tom Nicholson/Susan Hale
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Tom, Susan, and the night before a verdict.
Warnings: Spoilers through 1x12.
Disclaimer: Not mine.

“I only smoke when I’m waiting for a verdict.”
“You and Tom should wait together, then. He only gets engaged when he’s waiting for a verdict.”
-- Susan Hale and Luther Graves, “Shotgun”

Only three times, Hale has lost a case. Once, when she was fresh from law school, new and naïve and too young for the rigors of the District Attorney’s office. Twice, against Tom Nicholson. A coin toss is all that stands between Hale and a third loss to Nicholson: a juror that likes Nicholson’s bright eyes and earnest smile, a mediocre cross during the second day of trial, one wrong word in her closing.

A coin toss. Enough to drive her to the bar, where she sips her customary White Russian, the quarter spinning brightly on the screen of her mind’s eye. She’s as careful with her alcohol as she is with her cigarettes, only ever drinking enough for a buzz, never enough to be properly drunk. There’s no one but herself to drive the car home, after all.

Hale has grown intimately familiar with what high stakes trials do to lawyers; she barely lifts an eyebrow when Nicholson arrives. He stares at her for a moment, hair a mess, shadows under his eyes. She stares back unblinkingly, the thin line of her mouth an unspoken challenge. Finally, he sighs, slipping into the seat beside her. Her hand tightens minutely around her glass, but she doesn’t protest.

She knows Nicholson’s type like the back of her hand. They’re almost a cliché in the legal world: painfully sweet-natured kids barely out of law school, their heads full of grand ideas of justice, falling asleep to fantasies of doing right by their fancy degrees, flitting from one sob story case to another. The sort everyone loves, the sort that always knows the right thing to say, until the day they don’t. Until the day they wake up and realize that a break runs through the world that’s a million feet deep which no one will ever repair. Until they learn that some problems cannot be solved with even the most beautifully wrought legalese. The weaker types break; the stronger ones retreat within themselves, growing a protective shell of cynicism and experience, and in their hands, the law transforms from a surgeon’s delicate scalpel to the wickedly curved knife of a hired mercenary.

Nicholson’s no different. He may be smarter than the others, more clever with people, more confident in his abilities and ideals, but even he will find a limit one day. After all, Hale did, and she refuses to believe that an overpriced defense lawyer will outdo her in the long run. She’s fared better than most, remaining a prosecutor to the core, meting out what justice she can with language and logic and well-used evidence. For every murderer she puts away, there will be ten more, but she’s grown to accept it. Nicholson would never be able to.

“You know,” he says suddenly, his tone thoughtful, “when I was a kid, I never could imagine what I’d end up doing with myself. Adulthood seems like it’s a hundred years away when you’re that young.”

Hale looks at Nicholson sharply, startled. She’d forgotten how close he was sitting, but remembers his client’s face in a flash: big doe eyes, an eighteen-year-old who looks closer to fourteen, pouty lips, a poster child’s not-guilty face to match her lawyer’s. Sarah Vaughn.

“We’re not supposed to talk about the case,” she says primly, and takes another sip of her drink.

His chuckle startles her again; she wishes she would stop letting him surprise her. It doesn’t improve her chances against him, should they meet in court again. “Nah, I’m not talking about Sarah. It just seems weird to sit here without saying anything.” When she doesn’t answer, he continues, a little ruefully, “Sometimes, I think that there’s a rule no one taught me in law school that says prosecutors and defense attorneys are supposed to hate each other, even outside of the courtroom. Keller was Luther’s friend, once. Or something like a friend, anyway. Now they can’t stand each other.”

Hale finds herself turning towards him despite herself, her face a little hot from the alcohol. “There doesn’t have to be a rule,” she spits out now. “I just don’t understand the sort of man who willingly chooses to protect criminals. Just because you have a soft spot for kids and illegal immigrants doesn’t make what you do any more admirable. You still think you can play the hero. There aren’t any heroes in the justice system, Tom. And certainly not on the side of the lawbreakers.”

The faint grin slips off his face, and she can see his jaw working. For a moment, she thinks he’s going to leave, or yell. She wishes he would. She doesn’t like having him so close on the eve of a verdict, but if he has to stay, she’s spoiling for a fight. He’s too charming, too subconsciously used to people who bend like paper dolls to that charm. Hale would rather make him hate her, than let him insult her by using her as the one token prosecutor who’ll befriend him. He already has Luther on his side.

“I went into law because I wanted to protect innocent people,” he says finally. “Alden tells me I’m a romantic.” He laughs a little. “Maybe she’s right. But then, so are you.”

“I’m nothing like you.”

“No,” he concedes, “you could never be a defense lawyer. But if I went into law to protect the innocent, you did it to put bad people in prison. Am I right?”

She stares at him, and he wears a knowing smile.

“Like it does any good when there are people like you out there,” she snaps, too shaken to say anything else, and stands up to leave.

“Wait.” Suddenly, his hand is on her wrist. It’s cool against her alcohol-heated skin, his grasp firm but not painful. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For upsetting you. It’s not what I meant to do. Look, I know how things get before a verdict. Believe me, some of the things I’ve done while waiting around…”

“Like getting engaged,” she says, the words slipping out of her mouth before she can stop them. His fingers go slack on her wrist, his eyes widening a little, and she uses the opportunity to pull away. But she doesn’t go. Not yet.

His gaze is hard on her. “How do you know about that?”

“It’s something Luther mentioned once. Forget it.” She sits down, hard, takes a healthy swig from her glass, no longer thinking of her car or the drive home, then orders another.

He’s smiling ruefully in the corner of her eye. “I’m not that great with the dating thing,” he admits. “Or at least, I haven’t been, not since I joined Ron’s firm.”

He shares too many personal details, she thinks, but doesn’t bring it up. “Funny thing. I had you pegged as a ladies’ man.”

“What?”

“It’s the smile. And the way you handle juries.” She looks long and hard at him, the taste of alcohol and bitter laughter on her tongue. “All about the charm.”

He colors faintly, and it occurs to her that he hasn’t ordered anything to drink. Her mind remains sharp, her words unslurred, but her cheeks burn, and a hum is building in her ears. “This was stupid of me,” she mutters. “I don’t think I can drive.”

Wordlessly, he stretches out a hand to her. When she stares at him uncomphrehendingly, he gives her that rueful smile again. “I’ll take you.”

“You don’t know where I live,” she retorts. “And my car is here.”

“You can get it in the morning. Come on.”

To hell with it, she thinks, and lets him pull her to her feet. They walk out to the parking lot together, and drive in silence. When they pull up to her apartment, she stumbles out the passenger door hurriedly, walks around the length of the car, then waits, eyes closed, night air cool against her skin. She hears rather than sees him open his own door, mumbling something like, “Here, I’ll walk you up…”

She isn't entirely sure what she's thinking, but he isn’t even halfway out before she has him backed up against his car, her hands planted on either side of his shoulders in an attempt to steady herself. He looks at her with wide eyes. “Susan,” he starts, but the rest of his words die away. They stand for a moment, their faces close enough for her to feel his breath, free of alcohol, against her face.

Then she laughs. It’s a small, bittersweet, defeated sound, and her lips touch his, chaste and butterfly light. “I want to hate you,” she whispers against his mouth.

One of his hands cups the side of her face with boyish experience, the other trembling hesitantly over the thin cotton of her shirt. “Susan,” he says again. “Susan, I don’t know if this is right.”

“For once in your life,” she says, “would you stop being such a self-righteous jerk?”

Tomorrow, she may regret this. Tomorrow, she will wake up with a dry mouth, her heart pounding with every step she takes to the courthouse. Their eyes will meet across the room, and it’ll be this moment she remembers as the verdict is read.

Tonight, though, there’s only the breeze and the darkness of the night. A silver coin spinning into infinity. Cool hands, and the warmth waiting in their mouths.

She isn’t sure who initiates the second kiss, but by the time they stumble into her apartment, it doesn’t matter anymore.

“In this matter, we the jury find the defendant…”

A/N: I miss this series. ;___;

re: driver's ed, post attainment of permit

Tue, 29 Apr 2008 19:23:06 GMT

I AM UNFIT TO BE A MOTORIST.

Mostly because I can't stop weaving for my life, suck at turning, nearly smashed into the curb several times, and panic whenever I see other cars nearby.

Also, I'm starving. Why exactly do my on-the-road hours have to be scheduled during lunch period? ;___;

WHAT. NOT FUNNY.

Mon, 21 Apr 2008 01:14:21 GMT

ME: *logs into accept/decline section of Virtual Bryn Mawr site*

ME: *clicks accept*

WEBSITE: Thank you! Click to submit your deposit!

ME: *clicks*

WEBSITE: *DOES NOTHING*

ME: ... *clicks again*

WEBSITE: *CONTINUES TO DO NOTHING*

ME: ... Fuck you.

WEBSITE: LULZ. :D

ME: *exits*

ME: *logs in again*

WEBSITE: Our records indicate that your decision has been made! No further action is required~!

ME: ... wait, what does that mean.

WEBSITE: :D

ME: ... butbut. I HAVEN'T SUBMITTED MY DEPOSIT.

WEBSITE: :D

ME: NOW WHAT.

WEBSITE: :D

ME: I AM GOING TO KICK YOUR FACE IN.

WEBSITE: :D

ME: ... I hate you.

I shot off a slightly panicked e-mail to the admissions office explaining what happened. I might need to just send in the deposit manually. Here's hoping that I didn't, like, accidentally reject the offer of admission or something. >.>