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crack_van2010-01-11 01:49 pm
eccentrikita.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2010-01-11 01:49 pm
With Feet Glass Slippers Wouldn't Fit by Sefkhet (Teen)
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: Kate-centric gen
Length: 2547
Author on LJ: Sefkhet (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sefkhet)
Author website: As far as I can tell, Sefkhet's fic is not centrally collected.
Why this must be read:
This is the second of a pair of character studies I'm reccing. This one's about Kate, a result of the femgen ficathon. It, like my previous rec, is about the bittersweetness of living -- coming to terms with how the choices you have made define you. The prose style here borders on stream-of-consciousness, with lots of commas and too-long sentences, but I think it feels right for a fic set at the moment of death. Kate's life doesn't flash before her eyes; instead, one single memory does. Although it seems mundane at first, this memory sums up the way she lived -- and the way she died...
She remembers that the ballroom had been vaulted.
There had been muted laughter, and the quiet clink of forks on china, soft music and polite conversation and impractical shoes pinching her toes, and a promise elicited from Gibbs that he would call her if and only if the entire US Navy absconded for the weekend without leave. She hadn't been to a wedding in years, the predictability of her hours being what it isn't and never has been, and the last formal event she had attended had been over a year earlier at a dinner given in honor of the President of the Republic of the Philippines, when she had been wired and hadn't taken her eyes off the president the whole time. She wasn't supposed to be a Secret Service agent when she went to seen an old college friend get married, though; wasn't supposed to be a Secret Service agent at all anymore and hadn't been in months. She had tensed automatically at the sound of a champagne glass shattering, and had blushed and smiled when she'd noticed her dinner companions watching her curiously, deflecting questions and hoping that the smile was charming and flirtatious rather than the one she'd honed playing the good cop to Tony's bad cop and Gibbs's scary cop, the automatic and professional 'please get the hell out of my way because I'd hate to have to shoot you' smile. Had reminded herself after that that she wasn't being paid to scan the room for threats and wouldn't have found any even if she had been.
Had reminded herself, too, that she had earned a weekend off and stopped checking her phone after the fifth time.
Go. Read. Enjoy. Review.
With Feet Glass Slippers Wouldn't Fit
Pairing: Kate-centric gen
Length: 2547
Author on LJ: Sefkhet (
sefkhet)Author website: As far as I can tell, Sefkhet's fic is not centrally collected.
Why this must be read:
This is the second of a pair of character studies I'm reccing. This one's about Kate, a result of the femgen ficathon. It, like my previous rec, is about the bittersweetness of living -- coming to terms with how the choices you have made define you. The prose style here borders on stream-of-consciousness, with lots of commas and too-long sentences, but I think it feels right for a fic set at the moment of death. Kate's life doesn't flash before her eyes; instead, one single memory does. Although it seems mundane at first, this memory sums up the way she lived -- and the way she died...
She remembers that the ballroom had been vaulted.
There had been muted laughter, and the quiet clink of forks on china, soft music and polite conversation and impractical shoes pinching her toes, and a promise elicited from Gibbs that he would call her if and only if the entire US Navy absconded for the weekend without leave. She hadn't been to a wedding in years, the predictability of her hours being what it isn't and never has been, and the last formal event she had attended had been over a year earlier at a dinner given in honor of the President of the Republic of the Philippines, when she had been wired and hadn't taken her eyes off the president the whole time. She wasn't supposed to be a Secret Service agent when she went to seen an old college friend get married, though; wasn't supposed to be a Secret Service agent at all anymore and hadn't been in months. She had tensed automatically at the sound of a champagne glass shattering, and had blushed and smiled when she'd noticed her dinner companions watching her curiously, deflecting questions and hoping that the smile was charming and flirtatious rather than the one she'd honed playing the good cop to Tony's bad cop and Gibbs's scary cop, the automatic and professional 'please get the hell out of my way because I'd hate to have to shoot you' smile. Had reminded herself after that that she wasn't being paid to scan the room for threats and wouldn't have found any even if she had been.
Had reminded herself, too, that she had earned a weekend off and stopped checking her phone after the fifth time.
Go. Read. Enjoy. Review.
With Feet Glass Slippers Wouldn't Fit