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Another Day by northernexposure (K)
Fandom: PRIMEVAL
Pairing: Claudia/Nick
Length: ~2,000
Author on LJ: not known
Author Website: account on ff.net
Why this must be read:
I love Claudia's point of view, and her 'voice', in this story. The story itself is set on the morning of episode 1.05, and it's more a little slice of introspection than it is about chasing monsters. But it's cute and is a lovely little look at the characters, catching the characters' voices, and their interaction, very well.
Pausing at yet another red light, she shook herself. Good grief, what was she doing? Day dreaming about a man she’d likely have to face in the flesh later today! Wake up, woman, she ordered herself brusquely as she slipped the car into gear and sped away from the light a little too quickly. What are you, 15?
The thing was, he wasn’t even her type. He was the dusty academic sort who couldn’t care less if his jeans had been made by Versace or had come from the latest collection at Sainsbury’s. He probably didn’t know what Oloroso was and likely thought that a good Friday evening involved settling down with a microwaved box of noodles and the latest paper on paleo-archaeology from some acclaimed yet obscure research station in deepest, darkest Africa.
Another Day
Pairing: Claudia/Nick
Length: ~2,000
Author on LJ: not known
Author Website: account on ff.net
Why this must be read:
I love Claudia's point of view, and her 'voice', in this story. The story itself is set on the morning of episode 1.05, and it's more a little slice of introspection than it is about chasing monsters. But it's cute and is a lovely little look at the characters, catching the characters' voices, and their interaction, very well.
Pausing at yet another red light, she shook herself. Good grief, what was she doing? Day dreaming about a man she’d likely have to face in the flesh later today! Wake up, woman, she ordered herself brusquely as she slipped the car into gear and sped away from the light a little too quickly. What are you, 15?
The thing was, he wasn’t even her type. He was the dusty academic sort who couldn’t care less if his jeans had been made by Versace or had come from the latest collection at Sainsbury’s. He probably didn’t know what Oloroso was and likely thought that a good Friday evening involved settling down with a microwaved box of noodles and the latest paper on paleo-archaeology from some acclaimed yet obscure research station in deepest, darkest Africa.
Another Day