MLH entries
I've realized that I haven't ever put these on here. This is mainly for organizational purposes - well, an attempt at organizing.
Please expect spoilers.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
MLH 8:
Title: Fireworks
Rating: K+
Characters/Pairing: Laura (of course); slight AR
Summary: Shining clearly through a haze... Times and moments come and go, and things are enjoyed.
AN: To be completely honest, I had forgotten about MLH, but badly wanted to write because I needed a release (and I missed Laura). Hence, this was rushed/last minute sort of idea that had sparked and though my roommate is probably never ever going to be on LJ, I'd like to thank her anyway for reading through this and allowing me my jumpiness. LOL!
Laura had a perfect view out of the small port window on the Colonial heavy. It was late afternoon, and already, she could see the initial tinges of twilight falling over calm waters as the first of two stars dipped closer to the horizon. Helos - visible as the cloud cover shredded like so many pieces of fabric and industry in Caprica City began to quiet - followed closely on the tail of its smaller brother.
‘They will set the fireworks soon…’
It was Armistice Day, and tonight, the people would celebrate the hard-earned peace that so many had fought for those decades ago. Strange how these things worked. Half a century ago, the Cylons that humans had created brought on a war that solidified the shaky unification among twelve formerly warring colonies. War begetting peace begetting war.
Today’s peace did not touch her. She was already fighting her own personal wars, having long given up the tranquility of the still fountains for the current in her mind. The flash-flood of memories remained dammed for now, but only for so long. She wondered how these people’s peace would work out. The families that would doubtlessly be enjoying the grill and picnics in the parks as the celebrations began at true nightfall.
Later, she would regret thinking any of this at all - tempting the Fates to start the cycle again.
Xxx
Tremors travelled slowly through the deck, crawling in her heels, inching up her spine, and arcing through her fingers until her entire being felt awake with a jolt of electricity. She wonders if these are the culmination of the trembling of every individual aboard Colonial One - of fear, of excitement even.
It wasn’t hard to imagine what sensations they were experiencing - there is no sound in vacuum, but the lights of explosions and artillery fire in battle, the perceived spirit of war outside penetrated even this civilian ship’s thick plating. Rather, Laura wonders how diverse their thoughts are at this very moment when the last of humanity is stuck together like so many sheep in a flock.
A flock. A fleet.
She knows what she is thinking. She thinks of laughter and screams. Of lives expiring in bursts of lights brighter and more dangerous than any firework ever sent into the atmosphere. (Of last breaths expired with the quiet whispers of loved ones and warmth and comfort.) She thinks of the joyous momentum of being part of the speeding rocket that zooms toward its wonted height - to expire through life like a mayfly - a single moment, a single full breath before the purest moment of life - death. And in that moment, one is beautiful. Breath-taking.
Xxx
When she wished for a holiday while dealing with surviving and that frakwit Baltar, this wasn’t exactly what she had in mind. However, she couldn’t complain. It was actually warm today, the alcohol was plentiful (if not particularly good), and the people were positively giddy. Founder’s Day had brought an enthusiasm that she hadn’t seen on New Caprica since the people first moved on land, the initial optimism quickly overwhelmed by the bleak reality.
That, and the weed did wonders for morale. Everything was that much funnier, brighter, and happier (she ignored the fuzziness) when one was buzzed. What had the young ones said? Take a trip on the high road and come back mellow? (Their code didn’t fool her, and she considered it her duty to confiscate the ones being passed around her classroom. If duty offered its own moments of pleasure later, well… that was a bonus.) Certainly, the Admiral seemed to enjoy its merits as well - old man or not.
Later that night, after dancing and falling and dancing and falling, they stumble off to a row a tents that (she’s pretty sure) is near her own. They are on sandbags and talking (and maybe singing) but mostly, they are dreaming. They dream of their hopes for the future (because dreaming for the future isn’t always enough), and maybe in the quiet moments when there is silence, those dreams that they don’t share (out loud) ties them together that much more closely.
And if, the moment before their lips meet (just once softly and certain), her eyes close (because this is most certainly not a dream but reality is a bit hazy with her eyes open) then it is not romantically clichéd to say (since the boundaries between Old Caprica and New Caprica, home and ship, person and person have become so hazy, she may very well still be on the former celebrating Armistice Day on her porch with her eyes to the sky) that she loves the fireworks that lit up on contact.
It was/is/will be an amazing show.
Her smile is free, her breath… gone.
MLH 6:
Title: Iter
Rating: K+
Characters/Pairing: Laura; gen?
Summary: Everything happens again and again. If so - Why not have it be the happy things?
AN: Also, warning of angst despite it being "make Laura happy"? Apparently my conception of this... is odd. Also, the title, 'iter', is a play off of Latin roots. :)
It is a repetitive cycle. She escapes death, she lives, and she mourns. What has her life cost others?
*
It was hard to breathe.
That was a shame since it was the first time in a while that she was breathing non-recycled air. Fresh air.
“Laura, are you alright?” The soft voice is warm. Her name, it was another thing that she has missed, and she smiles wryly at her companion. A priestess, of all people, had become her confidante. Who would have known?
“Yes, Elosha, thank you.”
This was just one moment, one moment of many to remember later when rain soaked through her clothing just as blood soaked through a book of prophecies - words that predicted death, and yet, she was alive (though dying) and her friend was not. She wonders why the rain, so cold everywhere else would be warm on her cheeks.
Faith and a cost in blood. It should have been hers.
*
“Laura you have to take care of them. Stay strong for them.”
“Okay, mom.” A kiss. “Don’t worry anymore.”
“… Love you, honey.”
“Me too.”
Laura wished that she hadn’t promised. Under the fountain that day, she wished that she hadn’t promised her mother anything. All she had done was break them into pieces. Like the drops of water hitting the surface of the pool.
If they were gone, did that mean she still had to be strong?
She wished, a bit, that she had gone into the car with them - had gone home for a visit with them when her father had asked.
She laughs bitterly when she finally notices the people standing and staring - pointing at her. ‘This was the only pool big enough to drown my sorrows in. Sorry for invading your property.’
She hates the cliché.
*
What does it mean?
In her dreams, she remembers leaping, but instead of the hard and painful impact with a lanky body and hard ground, there is only the ground.
What does it mean?
There was the innocent smile, the round face, and the curly hair that made her hand itch for a comb.
What does it mean?
Fallen through only empty air, she realizes that the pain is only from impact and not in her breast, her loss of breath not imminent but just the result of physics and all its lies.
What does it mean?
She remembers eyes: blue or brown? Murdered or murderer? It doesn’t matter, because both are equally dead and gone, and she wept.
“What does it mean?”
“It means that the cancer’s gone Madame President. Hopefully, for good.”
Behind the gruff doctor’s shoulder, she sees Billy’s smiling face, and hopes that the red blood she sees does not mean anything. If she wasn’t the dying leader, then the visions meant nothing. They were simply hallucinations.
Her hopes don’t make the morgue feel any warmer.
*
Sometimes, she hated people.
Mam, is it true that you and Adar are very close? Is it true that you are having an affair? She left only to return minutes later thinking that she’d be glad to be alive in politics after this. No, and I would kindly ask that you, despite all of your rights as members of the press to be respectful, if not for my or the President’s position, then for his wife and children. Thank you.
*
She was tired of surviving. Her new diaries joined the old blood-stained copy of Pythia in her desk drawer. The smaller slips of yellowed paper rest where they fell - trampled into the New Caprican dirt. It conserved much more space to have all her regrets lying in one place.
The candles were warm in the chill that filled the cabin. The candlelight made the light brown skin in the picture glow. The bundle in the woman’s arms remained. Life. Life had no right to make Tory apologize in its place. She was only human after all.
The prayer beads, the gift of an old friend, rolled easily through now practiced fingers.
Once again, she was still alive - while others, thousands - lay dead on the planet left behind.
She questions why she was alive if only to have a well-remembered lost voice answer: “because you have to lead them home first, Laura”.
The cost in blood should have been hers. A leader should bleed for her people, not the other way around.
*
Earth.
She was still alive.
*
Earth.
She found Kara in what used to be the memorial corridor. Most of the memories have been stripped from the walls, but one pair hasn’t.
“It’s a nice picture.” And it was, the picture screamed ‘Starbuck’.
Kara Thrace drew a hand to cover her own trembling ones. Her breath catches at the sereneness in Kara’s eyes. “You have to make your peace with living when you’re supposed to be dead.”
It was almost angelic.
The last thought tells her that she has been hearing too much of Gaius Baltar.
*
Fifty billion. Fifty billion people died the day she received her death sentence, and yet, she lived. She wondered at the cosmic irony of it all, the mathematical absurdity.
“Now, if we are even going to survive as a species, then we need to get the hell out of here and start having babies.”
But now she’s here, and she can feel it all. The grass, the warm soil, the air… She was alive, and for once, it didn’t cost her people, always her people, anything.
Lifting the binoculars back to her face, she sees five men acting like children playing Leonon explorers in the grass. Later, she sees the slow progression of people already separating and migrating - the fleet dividing, and she feels a pang in her heart. They were going to have to learn on their own how to start over.
Turning back to the look at the birds tumbling in the sky, she laughs. Unrestricted, even by death, to enjoy life again.
*
Repeat. Iter. Journey.
Please expect spoilers.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
MLH 8:
Title: Fireworks
Rating: K+
Characters/Pairing: Laura (of course); slight AR
Summary: Shining clearly through a haze... Times and moments come and go, and things are enjoyed.
AN: To be completely honest, I had forgotten about MLH, but badly wanted to write because I needed a release (and I missed Laura). Hence, this was rushed/last minute sort of idea that had sparked and though my roommate is probably never ever going to be on LJ, I'd like to thank her anyway for reading through this and allowing me my jumpiness. LOL!
Laura had a perfect view out of the small port window on the Colonial heavy. It was late afternoon, and already, she could see the initial tinges of twilight falling over calm waters as the first of two stars dipped closer to the horizon. Helos - visible as the cloud cover shredded like so many pieces of fabric and industry in Caprica City began to quiet - followed closely on the tail of its smaller brother.
‘They will set the fireworks soon…’
It was Armistice Day, and tonight, the people would celebrate the hard-earned peace that so many had fought for those decades ago. Strange how these things worked. Half a century ago, the Cylons that humans had created brought on a war that solidified the shaky unification among twelve formerly warring colonies. War begetting peace begetting war.
Today’s peace did not touch her. She was already fighting her own personal wars, having long given up the tranquility of the still fountains for the current in her mind. The flash-flood of memories remained dammed for now, but only for so long. She wondered how these people’s peace would work out. The families that would doubtlessly be enjoying the grill and picnics in the parks as the celebrations began at true nightfall.
Later, she would regret thinking any of this at all - tempting the Fates to start the cycle again.
Xxx
Tremors travelled slowly through the deck, crawling in her heels, inching up her spine, and arcing through her fingers until her entire being felt awake with a jolt of electricity. She wonders if these are the culmination of the trembling of every individual aboard Colonial One - of fear, of excitement even.
It wasn’t hard to imagine what sensations they were experiencing - there is no sound in vacuum, but the lights of explosions and artillery fire in battle, the perceived spirit of war outside penetrated even this civilian ship’s thick plating. Rather, Laura wonders how diverse their thoughts are at this very moment when the last of humanity is stuck together like so many sheep in a flock.
A flock. A fleet.
She knows what she is thinking. She thinks of laughter and screams. Of lives expiring in bursts of lights brighter and more dangerous than any firework ever sent into the atmosphere. (Of last breaths expired with the quiet whispers of loved ones and warmth and comfort.) She thinks of the joyous momentum of being part of the speeding rocket that zooms toward its wonted height - to expire through life like a mayfly - a single moment, a single full breath before the purest moment of life - death. And in that moment, one is beautiful. Breath-taking.
Xxx
When she wished for a holiday while dealing with surviving and that frakwit Baltar, this wasn’t exactly what she had in mind. However, she couldn’t complain. It was actually warm today, the alcohol was plentiful (if not particularly good), and the people were positively giddy. Founder’s Day had brought an enthusiasm that she hadn’t seen on New Caprica since the people first moved on land, the initial optimism quickly overwhelmed by the bleak reality.
That, and the weed did wonders for morale. Everything was that much funnier, brighter, and happier (she ignored the fuzziness) when one was buzzed. What had the young ones said? Take a trip on the high road and come back mellow? (Their code didn’t fool her, and she considered it her duty to confiscate the ones being passed around her classroom. If duty offered its own moments of pleasure later, well… that was a bonus.) Certainly, the Admiral seemed to enjoy its merits as well - old man or not.
Later that night, after dancing and falling and dancing and falling, they stumble off to a row a tents that (she’s pretty sure) is near her own. They are on sandbags and talking (and maybe singing) but mostly, they are dreaming. They dream of their hopes for the future (because dreaming for the future isn’t always enough), and maybe in the quiet moments when there is silence, those dreams that they don’t share (out loud) ties them together that much more closely.
And if, the moment before their lips meet (just once softly and certain), her eyes close (because this is most certainly not a dream but reality is a bit hazy with her eyes open) then it is not romantically clichéd to say (since the boundaries between Old Caprica and New Caprica, home and ship, person and person have become so hazy, she may very well still be on the former celebrating Armistice Day on her porch with her eyes to the sky) that she loves the fireworks that lit up on contact.
It was/is/will be an amazing show.
Her smile is free, her breath… gone.
MLH 6:
Title: Iter
Rating: K+
Characters/Pairing: Laura; gen?
Summary: Everything happens again and again. If so - Why not have it be the happy things?
AN: Also, warning of angst despite it being "make Laura happy"? Apparently my conception of this... is odd. Also, the title, 'iter', is a play off of Latin roots. :)
It is a repetitive cycle. She escapes death, she lives, and she mourns. What has her life cost others?
*
It was hard to breathe.
That was a shame since it was the first time in a while that she was breathing non-recycled air. Fresh air.
“Laura, are you alright?” The soft voice is warm. Her name, it was another thing that she has missed, and she smiles wryly at her companion. A priestess, of all people, had become her confidante. Who would have known?
“Yes, Elosha, thank you.”
This was just one moment, one moment of many to remember later when rain soaked through her clothing just as blood soaked through a book of prophecies - words that predicted death, and yet, she was alive (though dying) and her friend was not. She wonders why the rain, so cold everywhere else would be warm on her cheeks.
Faith and a cost in blood. It should have been hers.
*
“Laura you have to take care of them. Stay strong for them.”
“Okay, mom.” A kiss. “Don’t worry anymore.”
“… Love you, honey.”
“Me too.”
Laura wished that she hadn’t promised. Under the fountain that day, she wished that she hadn’t promised her mother anything. All she had done was break them into pieces. Like the drops of water hitting the surface of the pool.
If they were gone, did that mean she still had to be strong?
She wished, a bit, that she had gone into the car with them - had gone home for a visit with them when her father had asked.
She laughs bitterly when she finally notices the people standing and staring - pointing at her. ‘This was the only pool big enough to drown my sorrows in. Sorry for invading your property.’
She hates the cliché.
*
What does it mean?
In her dreams, she remembers leaping, but instead of the hard and painful impact with a lanky body and hard ground, there is only the ground.
What does it mean?
There was the innocent smile, the round face, and the curly hair that made her hand itch for a comb.
What does it mean?
Fallen through only empty air, she realizes that the pain is only from impact and not in her breast, her loss of breath not imminent but just the result of physics and all its lies.
What does it mean?
She remembers eyes: blue or brown? Murdered or murderer? It doesn’t matter, because both are equally dead and gone, and she wept.
“What does it mean?”
“It means that the cancer’s gone Madame President. Hopefully, for good.”
Behind the gruff doctor’s shoulder, she sees Billy’s smiling face, and hopes that the red blood she sees does not mean anything. If she wasn’t the dying leader, then the visions meant nothing. They were simply hallucinations.
Her hopes don’t make the morgue feel any warmer.
*
Sometimes, she hated people.
Mam, is it true that you and Adar are very close? Is it true that you are having an affair? She left only to return minutes later thinking that she’d be glad to be alive in politics after this. No, and I would kindly ask that you, despite all of your rights as members of the press to be respectful, if not for my or the President’s position, then for his wife and children. Thank you.
*
She was tired of surviving. Her new diaries joined the old blood-stained copy of Pythia in her desk drawer. The smaller slips of yellowed paper rest where they fell - trampled into the New Caprican dirt. It conserved much more space to have all her regrets lying in one place.
The candles were warm in the chill that filled the cabin. The candlelight made the light brown skin in the picture glow. The bundle in the woman’s arms remained. Life. Life had no right to make Tory apologize in its place. She was only human after all.
The prayer beads, the gift of an old friend, rolled easily through now practiced fingers.
Once again, she was still alive - while others, thousands - lay dead on the planet left behind.
She questions why she was alive if only to have a well-remembered lost voice answer: “because you have to lead them home first, Laura”.
The cost in blood should have been hers. A leader should bleed for her people, not the other way around.
*
Earth.
She was still alive.
*
Earth.
She found Kara in what used to be the memorial corridor. Most of the memories have been stripped from the walls, but one pair hasn’t.
“It’s a nice picture.” And it was, the picture screamed ‘Starbuck’.
Kara Thrace drew a hand to cover her own trembling ones. Her breath catches at the sereneness in Kara’s eyes. “You have to make your peace with living when you’re supposed to be dead.”
It was almost angelic.
The last thought tells her that she has been hearing too much of Gaius Baltar.
*
Fifty billion. Fifty billion people died the day she received her death sentence, and yet, she lived. She wondered at the cosmic irony of it all, the mathematical absurdity.
“Now, if we are even going to survive as a species, then we need to get the hell out of here and start having babies.”
But now she’s here, and she can feel it all. The grass, the warm soil, the air… She was alive, and for once, it didn’t cost her people, always her people, anything.
Lifting the binoculars back to her face, she sees five men acting like children playing Leonon explorers in the grass. Later, she sees the slow progression of people already separating and migrating - the fleet dividing, and she feels a pang in her heart. They were going to have to learn on their own how to start over.
Turning back to the look at the birds tumbling in the sky, she laughs. Unrestricted, even by death, to enjoy life again.
*
Repeat. Iter. Journey.