Fact. Bears eat beets. Bears. Beets. Battlestar Galactica.

[ahpookishere]

 A wild meme appears!

1. Leave a comment with characters and a prompt
2. Get a drabbleish thing
3. Repost the meme in your own LJ

But, oh god, you must give me time. I cannot promise anything quickly. 

Comments

[voksen]

I want Schwarz porn. With cocks, and voyeurism. At least two cocks.

[lauand]

Hey! Funny that you mention it, because I can't see it either! No idea why.

[lauand]

Crawford/Schuldig: "You don't know what you want".

Or if you think that's too boring and feel like a bit of a dare: "Potatoes".

Or both prompts in the same drabble.

[ahpookishere]

The rain fashions the city into innumerable values of grey and violet and Schuldig feels a strange fiction, electricity against concrete, in his molars. They have stayed at the Relais-Hôtel du Vieux, Paris, for exactly one-hundred-twenty days. Schuldig hasn’t seen the bill himself, but he knows it would fill him with a vague sense of pride. This is meant to be the season of their reinvention, but Schuldig falls asleep everywhere; with his knees against his chest in an armchair, cockatiel and palm tree upholstery, at the lounge in reception with a folded newspaper as a pillow, cigarettes crushed in the pocket of his jeans. A somnambulant narrator has taken up residence inside of him, commenting on the pattern of Crawford’s tie, the comforting smell of rust from the building’s ancient heating system. Crawford keeps all his paperwork in a suitcase, dry and densely packed, like these old buildings, these old hotels, liable to erupt in flames at any moment

[lauand]

Damned potatoes!! They're fickle tubers, we all know.

Your Schuldig is always wonderfully off. I mean, I like how he's not normal, he's got something that makes him different, no matter what. It fits his gift so well...

Your metaphores are always made of win.