nouveau_monday (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nouveau_monday) wrote2008-11-23 08:27 am
nouveau_monday) wrote2008-11-23 08:27 am
Drabbles
Ithilien pimped out remixthedrabble and several of us jumped on the bandwagon. Myself included.
I did two drabbles. One for Luke/Noah and one for NCIS. I've never written in NCIS and I'm not so good with the drabbling, so this was a big big big challenge for me. I think they came out pretty well.
First ...
A remixing of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sweetiejelly's Right.
Painful. Jarring. Isolation. Luke doesn't know what to do without Noah. He clutches the bottle, ignores his kidney, gulps down. The world shifts on its axis. For one perfect moment he is lost in one of their soul-searching kisses that tips everything bad upside down, and everything good right side up. The second drink burns going down, counterpoint to the bile in his throat. Words ring in his ear, "I don't think we can be together." He scrubs at his mouth, banishing the memory of Noah's kisses until something, anything, makes sense again, until everything is right with the world.
and another ...
A remixing ofdonutsweeper's The Fine Art of Appeasement.
Abby runs a hand over one of her babies. "Good job. Gibbs will love us." She frowns. "But Gibbs can only love us if we produce results. So let's get to that." She claps her hands.
Her boots squeak as she paces. The music isn't right. Abby fusses, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.. "It's not just ours answers that Gibbs ... It's not just what we can give him."
"Got those results for me yet?"
"Gibbs!" She whirls around, arms out stretched. She bites her tongue to stop the words on it, not sure if she is more disappointed in his lack of a gift, or her expectation. "Not exactly."
Gibbs coughs. "The caf-pow machine isn't exactly producing what I wanted either. Can we trade results within the hour?" He pats his breast pocket. "This will have to do."
"Within the hour, Bossman," she sings out. The rich scent of wafts through the air. As with evidence, she opens the white wrapper and the gold foil precisely. The first bittersweet bite melts across her tongue.
All is right again in her world. Abby turns to coo over the computers. "Maybe we're both more result oriented than I thought."
I did two drabbles. One for Luke/Noah and one for NCIS. I've never written in NCIS and I'm not so good with the drabbling, so this was a big big big challenge for me. I think they came out pretty well.
First ...
A remixing of
sweetiejelly's Right.Painful. Jarring. Isolation. Luke doesn't know what to do without Noah. He clutches the bottle, ignores his kidney, gulps down. The world shifts on its axis. For one perfect moment he is lost in one of their soul-searching kisses that tips everything bad upside down, and everything good right side up. The second drink burns going down, counterpoint to the bile in his throat. Words ring in his ear, "I don't think we can be together." He scrubs at his mouth, banishing the memory of Noah's kisses until something, anything, makes sense again, until everything is right with the world.
and another ...
A remixing of
donutsweeper's The Fine Art of Appeasement.Abby runs a hand over one of her babies. "Good job. Gibbs will love us." She frowns. "But Gibbs can only love us if we produce results. So let's get to that." She claps her hands.
Her boots squeak as she paces. The music isn't right. Abby fusses, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.. "It's not just ours answers that Gibbs ... It's not just what we can give him."
"Got those results for me yet?"
"Gibbs!" She whirls around, arms out stretched. She bites her tongue to stop the words on it, not sure if she is more disappointed in his lack of a gift, or her expectation. "Not exactly."
Gibbs coughs. "The caf-pow machine isn't exactly producing what I wanted either. Can we trade results within the hour?" He pats his breast pocket. "This will have to do."
"Within the hour, Bossman," she sings out. The rich scent of wafts through the air. As with evidence, she opens the white wrapper and the gold foil precisely. The first bittersweet bite melts across her tongue.
All is right again in her world. Abby turns to coo over the computers. "Maybe we're both more result oriented than I thought."