Sunday, August 22nd, 2010 04:53 pm
rec: starstruck (wip)
For the record, if the Taming of the Shrewesque fic isn't updated soon, something tragic is going to happen. I have no idea how the people who have been reading this since like, May aren't burning cities or threatening hunger strikes or something. Has no one attempted blackmail or bribery? What are you waiting for?
Wait, there may be people who aren't reading this yet. Oh, you.
Direct links to all four threads in the aianonlovefest:
Starstruck - thread one, thread two, thread three and thread four, AIRPS, Adam/Kris. Yes, you have to follow it through comments. Yes, that would in a sane world be annoying. This is not a sane world. This is an awesome world that trust me, you really won't care until you realize there is no more. Then you know, tragedy.
In which![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aivilo_18 hates me and sent me a link so I, too, could connect with feeling like a heroin addict in withdrawal in a really big way (I sent it to ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
svmadelyn, so this is actually turning into a The Ring-like situation, except a.) giving it to other people doesn't help and b.) no one crawls out of any electronic devices, which is good, because now I'm creeping myself out, let's ignore this segue now, please). I love this story stupidly and I think have memorized key passages and have a Pavlovian response to the parts that involve food (ie I snack) and possibly an interest in wine? I don't--like wine. And yet.
Oh, and I posted In the Land of the Delta, AIRPS, Adam/Kris yesterday to LJ. Forgot about that.
Wait, there may be people who aren't reading this yet. Oh, you.
Direct links to all four threads in the aianonlovefest:
Starstruck - thread one, thread two, thread three and thread four, AIRPS, Adam/Kris. Yes, you have to follow it through comments. Yes, that would in a sane world be annoying. This is not a sane world. This is an awesome world that trust me, you really won't care until you realize there is no more. Then you know, tragedy.
In which
aivilo_18 hates me and sent me a link so I, too, could connect with feeling like a heroin addict in withdrawal in a really big way (I sent it to svmadelyn, so this is actually turning into a The Ring-like situation, except a.) giving it to other people doesn't help and b.) no one crawls out of any electronic devices, which is good, because now I'm creeping myself out, let's ignore this segue now, please). I love this story stupidly and I think have memorized key passages and have a Pavlovian response to the parts that involve food (ie I snack) and possibly an interest in wine? I don't--like wine. And yet. Oh, and I posted In the Land of the Delta, AIRPS, Adam/Kris yesterday to LJ. Forgot about that.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Re: Bring forth the catapults!
From:Er...I have one where Adam is an alien and Kris is the old new kid, and nap is foreign territory?
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Re: Bring forth the catapults!
From:*looks at googledocs* A lot of it.
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Re: Bring forth the catapults!
From:...............you're not a very nice woman.
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Re: Bring forth the catapults!
From:Darn, let me start over.
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Release the hounds! (Wait, no, let me take a Benadryl first...)
From:That said:
Kris is nearly past the seventh floor when the elevator freezes and says, “Oh, you are not drinking that.”
That being a double-shot Arabian mocha espresso. Which Kris is, in fact, drinking and strongly appreciating. Past experience warns he's going to appreciate the caffeine boost a lot more and soon.
“I thought you weren't going to do this anymore,” he says. Carefully, he sets down the cup and slings his messenger bag forward, thumb brushing across the ID lock. “Personal space. We talked about it.”
“You wouldn't return my calls.” The voice is cheery, unapologetic. “Plus elevators are public space—even those mapping the innards of a diseased commercial behemoth. With fugly carpeting.”
Rather than stumbling into (another) capitalism-consumer-apocalypse debate, Kris clicks open his toolkit, ignoring the elevator's sunny taunting. He's worked, slept, and showered through worse. The elevator power-box is predictably annoying to locate; Kris finds it as much by instinctive luck as through the magnet. He doesn't bother trying to have his iTC run a control code to open the panel but goes straight at it with the sonic screwdriver. The 19E offices are high-tech wonderlands, but Kris is old school in all the best ways. He'll own the system in minutes.
The elevator doesn't seem intimidated by his progress. “Why the hell is Simon calling you out, anyway? And why the hell are you listening to him? You hate Simon.”
“I don't hate Simon.” Ok, reroute the secondary base-line to the third level. “Simon is my boss.”
“Employer.” The smugness is palatable. “You're freelance.”
“Also, currently under contract.” Kris pauses, mind split between curiosity and questing for the third bi-cable. “Do you hate Simon?”
“Would that shock you?”
“Do you want to?”
“Maybe. You're very, very cute when goggle-eyed. Wire's an inch to the left.”
“Thanks,” Kris says. “I wasn't ignoring you. Your calls. The Zurich job got tricky.”
“Blaming Switzerland is weak. I question your commitment to our relationship, Kristopher.”
“We don't have a relationship. People have relationships. We have—” The elevator surges up glibly, faux-jade panels folding open to a cluster of bland, curious faces peering in.
“Kris?” Ryan's mouth is a quizzical line. “What are you doing to the lift?”
“You had a virus in the wires,” Kris said blandly, flipping the screwdriver in one hand. “Gone now.”
Coward, he adds.
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