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campylobacterTITLE - Crucified Toad (5/5 Chapters)
AUTHOR -![[info]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
campylobacter
EMAIL - campyspornshack at gmail d o t com
RATING - PG-13 (language)
GOSSAMER CATEGORY - T (Adventure)
SPOILERS - Little Green Men
KEYWORDS - Pre-XF
SUMMARY - 10-year-old Scully shows a 12-year-old boy her secret hideout. Who is he, and why is he so mysterious? I challenged myself to write Mulder & Sully meeting as kids, yet preserve future canon.
TIMELINE - set on Sunday, June 16, 1974; Father's Day
EPISODES - Space, Little Green Men, One Breath, Piper Maru, Christmas Carol
SEQUEL - The Pilot episode of The X-Files is the sequel.
DISCLAIMER - My cat eats lawyers.
FINISHED SIZE - 38k / 6397 words
After much squeezing, squishing, and scraping through the opening, Dana and the boy crouched in the center of the upper chamber and gaped at the display.
The words PANJANDRUM BOB'S TIME CAPSULE OF CURIOSITIES, rendered in an unsettling circus typeface, were painted on a panel of glowing blue glass mounted on one wall. In the chilly, other-worldly light it cast about the chamber, various strange gadgets and grotesqueries rested in a leisurely coating of glittery dust.
From the overwhelming jumble of antiques, Dana proudly identified a bottle of German wine, an 1886 calendar from England, a rickety zoetrope, and a broken Newton's Cradle.
The boy exclaimed over a crumbling Fiji mermaid, a Comte de Fortsas catalogue, and…
"A crucified toad. Look."
In clearish liquid contained within a large glass jar floated a large toad, belly forward, fore limbs open and extended, hind limbs stretched downward in a crude parody of Roman crucifixion. Upon further examination, Dana ascertained that the toad had been tied in its unnatural position to two glass rods lashed into a T armature.
"I don't believe it—the Hartlepool toad," said the boy, who began to read aloud from text. "'April 7, 1865. During excavations for the Hartlepool waterworks in Durham, England, workmen inadvertently freed a living toad from a block of magnesium limestone 25 feet below ground level.'"
"It doesn't look living to me," said Dana.
"Duh, Einstein. Jeremiah was a bullfrog, but he's long dead and formaldehyded now. Here's the newspaper article, and there's the rock that entombed it for 6,000 years." He pointed to the framed newspaper clipping titled LIVE TOAD FOUND IN SOLID ROCK, and a pale, crumbly chunk of limestone that bore a smooth, partial, reversed relief of a huddled toad. "It's a toad geode," he snickered.
Dana rolled her eyes, a gesture lost in the dark. "You are such a dork."
"You are such a nerd."
"Me? You're the nerd who memorized every Ripley's Believe It of Not book."
"You're the nerd who wants to be a porno-girl-science-teacher. You should be curious about this kind of stuff."
"I don't waste my time on fake crap. For all we know, they could've dunked the stupid thing in Ringer's solution."
"What's that, Little Miss Einstein?"
"It's sterile saline mixed with some other chemicals that keeps a heart beating outside the body. Duh."
"And why would guys breaking rocks have that stuff? Duh."
"OK, then. Maybe similar chemicals in the rock kept the toad alive until it could breathe oxygen again."
"So you do believe that a toad can survive being locked in stone for millennia?"
"No, Mr. Believe-It-or-Not Junior; this whole room is filled with fake junk. It looks like some traveling rip-off show. It's cool and all, but Spam-jam-dumb Bob seems like he wanted to gyp people with freaky weirdness."
"You're no fun, you know that? You think everything's gotta fit into your—dammit." The flashlight beam dimmed to a bead of dull orange, illumining nothing but its own bulb and reflector. The boy slapped it to no avail.
Dana observed how, without her flashlight to throw incandescence, the strange blue light from the glass panel washed the chamber in a clear, cold sheen that muted, but did not shift, the colors of the objects around them. The collective shadows were anything but blue; they puddled around the leathery half-monkey-half-fish "mermaid" and the dilapidated carousel of the zoetrope in russet shades. "I should've brought one of the candles," she mused.
"You could ignite one of your farts instead," said the boy.
"I never—I didn't fart."
"Something smelly sure scared away that Thing in the tunnel. Tunnel Your Anus."
"While you're here beating the same stupid joke to death, I'm going to jump down and get a candle."
Despite the force of her declaration, Dana hesitated at the opening to the lower chamber. Previously her fortress and refuge, the chamber's sudden absorbent darkness obscured vision, swallowed sound, and threatened to deaden the sense of touch if she dare reach inside to grope for her bag.
"Pluto is the god of Underpants," he prompted.
"UnderWORLD, doofus," she retorted, and jumped down.
The initial scramble to orient herself with the remembered direction of the tunnel exit caused her to scrape her elbow. She winced, but crouched and splayed her arms low, fingertips hovering mere inches over the cold, foreign stone of the chamber floor. Nothing but blackness could she see in every corner; her rationed gasps supplied the only sound.
Her palm grazed something smooth and unmoving and clammy on the floor; she succumbed to a shudder before recalling that she had spilled wax some weeks before.
Her bag remained elusively out of her immediate grasp. She reluctantly lurched from her place beneath the trap door opening and its inadequate blue glow into further darkness, hoping that the next thing she touched were her bag, and that the next thing she saw were matchlight.
"Hurry up," called the boy.
"Chickenshit," she muttered. After endless seconds, her groping hands met nothing but stone. She shifted again, moving from the comfort of an investigated area into more unknown. The fingers of her left hand touched a sticky, cold, yielding surface, causing her to pull away reflexively.
Nuclear Mutant Toad was the first thought to spring to her mind; impossible was the second.
She convinced herself that she had discovered her bag, and reached again in the same direction.
Her fingers encountered nothing but stone. Dana did not know whether to feel relieved or exasperated, but continued to probe the unseen chamber floor, inch by inch.
"What's taking you so long?" the boy called impatiently.
"You and that mermaid need some private time together."
"Laugh it up, but the Fiji Mermaid is an outstanding example of the art of taxidermy."
"Sewing a dead monkey to a dead fish butt and calling it a mermaid is an outstanding example of the art of dorkitude. Crap. I can't find the bag."
"You're kidding."
"I can't see anything. It was just here."
"Never send a girl to do a man's job," he said, adroitly jumping into the lower chamber.
After a few minutes of bumping heads or shoes, Dana and the boy found nothing but four empty corners.
"Someone's playing tricks on us," concluded the boy.
Charlie, thought Dana angrily. No, Bill Junior, that turd bucket. "Then it's time for me to kick his ass," Dana huffed, and started to exit the chamber. "You and Fish Butt can stay here."
At the juncture to Tunnel Neptune, Dana paused and listened. The weight of earth pressing on all sides of the buried concrete pipe created a sound-proof solidity broken only by the faint, distant hiss of cold, flowing air. The complete darkness fooled her eyes into seeing shades of gray where she knew no light existed.
Dana felt a tug at her ankle.
"Get a move on. If I don't get out of these tunnels soon, I'm gonna be a hunchback forever."
"Do you have the flashlight?" she asked.
"Why? It's dead."
"It belongs to Ahab—my dad. I can't leave it here."
"Screw it."
"Screw you. Get out of my way and let me get it." Dana crawled ungracefully backwards as the boy retreated into the chamber. The chamber was pitch black. The blue glow was gone. The trap door was closed. Dana blamed the boy, who denied the accusation.
"You remember how heavy and noisy that stone tile is. How the hell could I have sealed it tight in less than a minute?"
"You're the one who's been playing all the tricks. You and my brother must be in on this whole thing."
"I don't even know your brother, besides that he beat off with your favorite porno mag and you wrote that he's gay."
Dana held her tongue, and felt for the edges of the trap door in the ceiling; as far as she could tell, the stone was one solid piece.
"I'm splitting now," announced the boy. "It's been nice meeting you and your crucified toad."
Dana reluctantly followed him out of the chamber and into Tunnel Neptune. She began to wish that she were in front of him as they crawled through the monotonous dark; the growing sense of menace behind her goaded her to move faster than proximity allowed.
At the juncture to the last tunnel, the boy stopped suddenly. "There's something up Uranus," he whispered. "I think it's your bag."
Dana almost smacked him on the rump, but discovered that his pun was not entirely gratuitous. In the dim light of the main tunnel, her book bag lay as though someone had carefully placed it there.
As soon as she touched the bag, a strange croak or bark sounded from within the tunnel they had recently vacated. In a remarkable feat of agility and speed, both of them exited Tunnel Uranus before another croak could menace them.
The late afternoon had become early twilight; the gully was awash with long, lavender shadows as the sky overhead flaunted the golden pinks of sunset.
"Ever wonder why there are no snakes or spiders or other vermin in those tunnels?" joked the boy. In the ephemeral light, Dana could finally see how tall and prepossessing he was.
She became suddenly shy, and looked at her shoes. "Are you gonna be here tomorrow?" she asked. "Maybe we can open the trap door again."
"Nah. My mom and I leave tomorrow morning. We're looking for my—um, a relative."
"Who? Your deadbeat dad, for Father's Day?"
"No." His face, which had been open and amiable, suddenly became blank and closed.
Dana immediately regretted her jibe. "I hope you find him. Or her. Guess I better get home before my mom gives my dinner to my brother." She punctuated her joke with an nervous, apologetic laugh.
"Yeah. Well, uh, bye." The boy remained detached and uncharmed. "It's been interesting." He started off in a direction opposite her way home.
"Wait a second," she called to him. "I want you to have this." From the bag she had drug dexterously through the tunnel, she pulled out the Italian porno magazine.
He scoffed. "What would I do with your annotated lesbo porn?"
"It's not lesbo porn," she said angrily.
"If it's not lesbo porn, then why did you draw smiley faces on pictures of naked boobs?"
Dana ducked her head, trying to hide the flush of embarrassment that reddened her face.
"I think you should sneak it back under your brother's bed." The tone of his voice had changed from a condescending monotone to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Give it back to him? If he doesn't kill me, he'll break my fingers."
"He won't hurt you; you're his sister." The boy reached out and cupped Dana's shoulder in a comforting but unexpectedly intimate manner. In the transition from afternoon sun to twilight, his eyes gleamed with a surprisingly gentle hazel color. She had assumed his eyes were blue, like her brother Charlie's eyes. Away from the darkness, he was decidedly not her brother, and more than a random boy who had blundered into an exciting adventure with her.
She trembled under his hand, flustered for reasons that she had no experience to identify. "How do you know he won't hurt me?" she whispered, her mouth suddenly dry. "Do you even have a sister?"
The boy withdrew his hand and caught a short breath, trying to form an answer. A brief welling of loss blurred the hazel eyes; he trailed a fingertip across her cheek in a fleeting, tentative motion, then blanked his face again, turned, and walked away.
Dana watched him leave until he was out of sight—his tall, lanky frame becoming smaller with distance, blue shirt, rumpled jeans, dirty sneakers finally vanishing behind the scrub brush. She realized too late that she had not said goodbye. She hoped that not saying it meant a jillion chances more.
"I wonder if I'll ever see him again," she asked aloud.
As she passed the tunnel opening on her way out of the gully, she saw her scuffed but intact Magic 8 Ball lying in the grit and weeds. In the circular window of the toy, the words on the icosahedron floating in dark blue liquid read WITHOUT A DOUBT.
[the end]
BONUS and thanks so much for reading!
Download a fanmix of .MP3s of all the 1960-70s songs referenced in my LJ entries for this story:
1 Cat Stevens: "Oh Very Young"
2 Elvis Presley: "Little Sister"
3 Atlanta Rhythm Section: "Spooky"
4 Bachman-Turner Overdrive: "You Ain't Seen Nothin' Yet"
5 Three Dog Night: "Joy To The World"
6 The Platters: "Twilight Time" (Bonus Track!)
If you hate this story, please let me know where I failed. This LiveJournal allows anonymous comments. Go ahead and nitpick! I assure you, my ego's bigger and more resilient than yours. ;-)
AUTHOR -
campylobacter EMAIL - campyspornshack at gmail d o t com
RATING - PG-13 (language)
GOSSAMER CATEGORY - T (Adventure)
SPOILERS - Little Green Men
KEYWORDS - Pre-XF
SUMMARY - 10-year-old Scully shows a 12-year-old boy her secret hideout. Who is he, and why is he so mysterious? I challenged myself to write Mulder & Sully meeting as kids, yet preserve future canon.
TIMELINE - set on Sunday, June 16, 1974; Father's Day
EPISODES - Space, Little Green Men, One Breath, Piper Maru, Christmas Carol
SEQUEL - The Pilot episode of The X-Files is the sequel.
DISCLAIMER - My cat eats lawyers.
FINISHED SIZE - 38k / 6397 words
CHAPTER 5: Be Here Tomorrow
Journal entry (excerpt) of Stuart Horner, April 24, 1865:Although loth to admit myself naif, I here confess that I have been swindled by a charlatan posing as a 'Robertrand Nutbutter, Professor of Cryptozoology'. The ridiculousness of the name, upon which politeness had prevented me from remarking, should have alerted me to the likelihood that my volunteering—nay, insisting, that he take on loan the remains of the dis-entombed toad for further study would be the result of my misplaced confidence in his artful ruse.
After much squeezing, squishing, and scraping through the opening, Dana and the boy crouched in the center of the upper chamber and gaped at the display.
The words PANJANDRUM BOB'S TIME CAPSULE OF CURIOSITIES, rendered in an unsettling circus typeface, were painted on a panel of glowing blue glass mounted on one wall. In the chilly, other-worldly light it cast about the chamber, various strange gadgets and grotesqueries rested in a leisurely coating of glittery dust.
From the overwhelming jumble of antiques, Dana proudly identified a bottle of German wine, an 1886 calendar from England, a rickety zoetrope, and a broken Newton's Cradle.
The boy exclaimed over a crumbling Fiji mermaid, a Comte de Fortsas catalogue, and…
"A crucified toad. Look."
In clearish liquid contained within a large glass jar floated a large toad, belly forward, fore limbs open and extended, hind limbs stretched downward in a crude parody of Roman crucifixion. Upon further examination, Dana ascertained that the toad had been tied in its unnatural position to two glass rods lashed into a T armature.
"I don't believe it—the Hartlepool toad," said the boy, who began to read aloud from text. "'April 7, 1865. During excavations for the Hartlepool waterworks in Durham, England, workmen inadvertently freed a living toad from a block of magnesium limestone 25 feet below ground level.'"
"It doesn't look living to me," said Dana.
"Duh, Einstein. Jeremiah was a bullfrog, but he's long dead and formaldehyded now. Here's the newspaper article, and there's the rock that entombed it for 6,000 years." He pointed to the framed newspaper clipping titled LIVE TOAD FOUND IN SOLID ROCK, and a pale, crumbly chunk of limestone that bore a smooth, partial, reversed relief of a huddled toad. "It's a toad geode," he snickered.
Dana rolled her eyes, a gesture lost in the dark. "You are such a dork."
"You are such a nerd."
"Me? You're the nerd who memorized every Ripley's Believe It of Not book."
"You're the nerd who wants to be a porno-girl-science-teacher. You should be curious about this kind of stuff."
"I don't waste my time on fake crap. For all we know, they could've dunked the stupid thing in Ringer's solution."
"What's that, Little Miss Einstein?"
"It's sterile saline mixed with some other chemicals that keeps a heart beating outside the body. Duh."
"And why would guys breaking rocks have that stuff? Duh."
"OK, then. Maybe similar chemicals in the rock kept the toad alive until it could breathe oxygen again."
"So you do believe that a toad can survive being locked in stone for millennia?"
"No, Mr. Believe-It-or-Not Junior; this whole room is filled with fake junk. It looks like some traveling rip-off show. It's cool and all, but Spam-jam-dumb Bob seems like he wanted to gyp people with freaky weirdness."
"You're no fun, you know that? You think everything's gotta fit into your—dammit." The flashlight beam dimmed to a bead of dull orange, illumining nothing but its own bulb and reflector. The boy slapped it to no avail.
Dana observed how, without her flashlight to throw incandescence, the strange blue light from the glass panel washed the chamber in a clear, cold sheen that muted, but did not shift, the colors of the objects around them. The collective shadows were anything but blue; they puddled around the leathery half-monkey-half-fish "mermaid" and the dilapidated carousel of the zoetrope in russet shades. "I should've brought one of the candles," she mused.
"You could ignite one of your farts instead," said the boy.
"I never—I didn't fart."
"Something smelly sure scared away that Thing in the tunnel. Tunnel Your Anus."
"While you're here beating the same stupid joke to death, I'm going to jump down and get a candle."
Despite the force of her declaration, Dana hesitated at the opening to the lower chamber. Previously her fortress and refuge, the chamber's sudden absorbent darkness obscured vision, swallowed sound, and threatened to deaden the sense of touch if she dare reach inside to grope for her bag.
"Pluto is the god of Underpants," he prompted.
"UnderWORLD, doofus," she retorted, and jumped down.
The initial scramble to orient herself with the remembered direction of the tunnel exit caused her to scrape her elbow. She winced, but crouched and splayed her arms low, fingertips hovering mere inches over the cold, foreign stone of the chamber floor. Nothing but blackness could she see in every corner; her rationed gasps supplied the only sound.
Her palm grazed something smooth and unmoving and clammy on the floor; she succumbed to a shudder before recalling that she had spilled wax some weeks before.
Her bag remained elusively out of her immediate grasp. She reluctantly lurched from her place beneath the trap door opening and its inadequate blue glow into further darkness, hoping that the next thing she touched were her bag, and that the next thing she saw were matchlight.
"Hurry up," called the boy.
"Chickenshit," she muttered. After endless seconds, her groping hands met nothing but stone. She shifted again, moving from the comfort of an investigated area into more unknown. The fingers of her left hand touched a sticky, cold, yielding surface, causing her to pull away reflexively.
Nuclear Mutant Toad was the first thought to spring to her mind; impossible was the second.
She convinced herself that she had discovered her bag, and reached again in the same direction.
Her fingers encountered nothing but stone. Dana did not know whether to feel relieved or exasperated, but continued to probe the unseen chamber floor, inch by inch.
"What's taking you so long?" the boy called impatiently.
"You and that mermaid need some private time together."
"Laugh it up, but the Fiji Mermaid is an outstanding example of the art of taxidermy."
"Sewing a dead monkey to a dead fish butt and calling it a mermaid is an outstanding example of the art of dorkitude. Crap. I can't find the bag."
"You're kidding."
"I can't see anything. It was just here."
"Never send a girl to do a man's job," he said, adroitly jumping into the lower chamber.
After a few minutes of bumping heads or shoes, Dana and the boy found nothing but four empty corners.
"Someone's playing tricks on us," concluded the boy.
Charlie, thought Dana angrily. No, Bill Junior, that turd bucket. "Then it's time for me to kick his ass," Dana huffed, and started to exit the chamber. "You and Fish Butt can stay here."
At the juncture to Tunnel Neptune, Dana paused and listened. The weight of earth pressing on all sides of the buried concrete pipe created a sound-proof solidity broken only by the faint, distant hiss of cold, flowing air. The complete darkness fooled her eyes into seeing shades of gray where she knew no light existed.
Dana felt a tug at her ankle.
"Get a move on. If I don't get out of these tunnels soon, I'm gonna be a hunchback forever."
"Do you have the flashlight?" she asked.
"Why? It's dead."
"It belongs to Ahab—my dad. I can't leave it here."
"Screw it."
"Screw you. Get out of my way and let me get it." Dana crawled ungracefully backwards as the boy retreated into the chamber. The chamber was pitch black. The blue glow was gone. The trap door was closed. Dana blamed the boy, who denied the accusation.
"You remember how heavy and noisy that stone tile is. How the hell could I have sealed it tight in less than a minute?"
"You're the one who's been playing all the tricks. You and my brother must be in on this whole thing."
"I don't even know your brother, besides that he beat off with your favorite porno mag and you wrote that he's gay."
Dana held her tongue, and felt for the edges of the trap door in the ceiling; as far as she could tell, the stone was one solid piece.
"I'm splitting now," announced the boy. "It's been nice meeting you and your crucified toad."
Dana reluctantly followed him out of the chamber and into Tunnel Neptune. She began to wish that she were in front of him as they crawled through the monotonous dark; the growing sense of menace behind her goaded her to move faster than proximity allowed.
At the juncture to the last tunnel, the boy stopped suddenly. "There's something up Uranus," he whispered. "I think it's your bag."
Dana almost smacked him on the rump, but discovered that his pun was not entirely gratuitous. In the dim light of the main tunnel, her book bag lay as though someone had carefully placed it there.
As soon as she touched the bag, a strange croak or bark sounded from within the tunnel they had recently vacated. In a remarkable feat of agility and speed, both of them exited Tunnel Uranus before another croak could menace them.
The late afternoon had become early twilight; the gully was awash with long, lavender shadows as the sky overhead flaunted the golden pinks of sunset.
"Ever wonder why there are no snakes or spiders or other vermin in those tunnels?" joked the boy. In the ephemeral light, Dana could finally see how tall and prepossessing he was.
She became suddenly shy, and looked at her shoes. "Are you gonna be here tomorrow?" she asked. "Maybe we can open the trap door again."
"Nah. My mom and I leave tomorrow morning. We're looking for my—um, a relative."
"Who? Your deadbeat dad, for Father's Day?"
"No." His face, which had been open and amiable, suddenly became blank and closed.
Dana immediately regretted her jibe. "I hope you find him. Or her. Guess I better get home before my mom gives my dinner to my brother." She punctuated her joke with an nervous, apologetic laugh.
"Yeah. Well, uh, bye." The boy remained detached and uncharmed. "It's been interesting." He started off in a direction opposite her way home.
"Wait a second," she called to him. "I want you to have this." From the bag she had drug dexterously through the tunnel, she pulled out the Italian porno magazine.
He scoffed. "What would I do with your annotated lesbo porn?"
"It's not lesbo porn," she said angrily.
"If it's not lesbo porn, then why did you draw smiley faces on pictures of naked boobs?"
Dana ducked her head, trying to hide the flush of embarrassment that reddened her face.
"I think you should sneak it back under your brother's bed." The tone of his voice had changed from a condescending monotone to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Give it back to him? If he doesn't kill me, he'll break my fingers."
"He won't hurt you; you're his sister." The boy reached out and cupped Dana's shoulder in a comforting but unexpectedly intimate manner. In the transition from afternoon sun to twilight, his eyes gleamed with a surprisingly gentle hazel color. She had assumed his eyes were blue, like her brother Charlie's eyes. Away from the darkness, he was decidedly not her brother, and more than a random boy who had blundered into an exciting adventure with her.
She trembled under his hand, flustered for reasons that she had no experience to identify. "How do you know he won't hurt me?" she whispered, her mouth suddenly dry. "Do you even have a sister?"
The boy withdrew his hand and caught a short breath, trying to form an answer. A brief welling of loss blurred the hazel eyes; he trailed a fingertip across her cheek in a fleeting, tentative motion, then blanked his face again, turned, and walked away.
Dana watched him leave until he was out of sight—his tall, lanky frame becoming smaller with distance, blue shirt, rumpled jeans, dirty sneakers finally vanishing behind the scrub brush. She realized too late that she had not said goodbye. She hoped that not saying it meant a jillion chances more.
"I wonder if I'll ever see him again," she asked aloud.
As she passed the tunnel opening on her way out of the gully, she saw her scuffed but intact Magic 8 Ball lying in the grit and weeds. In the circular window of the toy, the words on the icosahedron floating in dark blue liquid read WITHOUT A DOUBT.
[the end]
BONUS and thanks so much for reading!
Download a fanmix of .MP3s of all the 1960-70s songs referenced in my LJ entries for this story:
1 Cat Stevens: "Oh Very Young"
2 Elvis Presley: "Little Sister"
3 Atlanta Rhythm Section: "Spooky"
4 Bachman-Turner Overdrive: "You Ain't Seen Nothin' Yet"
5 Three Dog Night: "Joy To The World"
6 The Platters: "Twilight Time" (Bonus Track!)
If you hate this story, please let me know where I failed. This LiveJournal allows anonymous comments. Go ahead and nitpick! I assure you, my ego's bigger and more resilient than yours. ;-)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2010-06-23 02:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-06-23 02:36 pm (UTC)Ok, later.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-06-23 06:02 pm (UTC)Have a great time camping! Hope you enjoy the story and that the insects don't eat you alive. :-D
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-06 01:57 am (UTC)Did you see this?
http://ana-grrl.livejournal.com/39191.html
Nice little Vala piece.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-06 02:20 am (UTC)"Incredible Luck, Annoying Charm" is a great story! Although it's 5 years old, I think it ranks as a classic, and fits beautifully into SG-1 Missing Scene canon.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-06 02:26 am (UTC)Funny. Very funny. I laughed.
Ok, so it's FIVE years old? My sgfic reading is all over the map. Plus, I only started a little while ago. I'm glad someone rec'd the piece, I really enjoyed it.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-06 02:32 am (UTC)If Henry James were still alive, I'd pepper him with comments and questions about "The Turn of the Screw".
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-07 03:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-06-24 06:31 pm (UTC)1. gripping, scary story with ominous vivisepulture reference
2. XF canon friendly
3. deliciously zany Humbug props
3. Scully's character development and young Mulder's character revealed
4. Bill Scully is an ass ;-)
5. you're back to writing so hopefully you'll post more in the XF world!
(no subject)
Date: 2010-06-24 06:42 pm (UTC)6. Both the oblique music references AND their bonus downloads. I snagged several.
Twilight Time and Spooky: classics. Elvis's version was obligatory, I know, but Ry Cooder's is so much better. *g*
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-05 01:27 am (UTC)But I did listen to it on your recommendation, and was surprised at how he took out the Funk guitar licks to switch it from rockabilly to a country-inflected doo-wop.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-04 08:09 pm (UTC)I was actually thinking of doing a post-IWTB adventure or movie tag, with PORN! I really need to re-watch the series, but I've grown addicted to DVDs and dealing with my homemade VHS tapes seems so tedious.
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Date: 2013-03-13 12:19 am (UTC)