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m31andy.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2011-05-31 12:41 pm
m31andy.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2011-05-31 12:41 pm
Entry tags:
Tomorrow's Life by JoJo, PG13
Fandom: THE PROFESSIONALS
Pairing: Bodie/Ray Doyle
Word Count: 7,300 words
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
solosundance
Author Website: JoJo's fic at AO3
Why this must be read:
While I promise that I've not just been trawling the fantastic community![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
discoveredinalj for my recommendations this month, it seems that I'm destined to reccommend several of the challenge responses!
This particular fic was written for the Discovered in A Newspaper and Discovered in Graceland challenges. Doyle's world is turned upside down and doesn't stop spinning in the midst of an IRA campaign.
The narrative is weirdly compelling - a stream of consciousness that doesn't quite make sense in a way that really does make sense. It sets the tone for the whole piece: Bodie is being enigmatic, Cowley is running everyone ragged and both Doyle and the reader is off balance. This is the perfect set-up to get the reveals and the big revelations at the pace of the story.
Excerpt:
The day after the sentencing was also the day after Bodie kissed Doyle in a lift. It was Wednesday, fresh and breezy. Their working partnership had crawled past its first birthday and was almost on its feet.
Everyone woke in their own beds.
"I said there’d be more of the bastards," was George Cowley’s surprisingly un-measured response when the Met Commissioner phoned in the middle of the day with news of a brown holdall left on a luggage trolley in the middle of the concourse at Charing Cross. The bomb had been defused by the time CI5 got anywhere near, and it was a big one, a six-pounder packed with nails.
"Where are they getting this bloody stuff from?" said Bodie. "And more to the point, where was the bloody intell?£
Doyle stood, twiddling his biro, alongside the manager of an empty WH Smith's who had been haranguing him bitterly for several minutes about accents. What with one thing and another, Doyle was finding it hard to process what anyone was saying to him today. It felt like his stuffing had been knocked out and replaced with fast-moving butterflies. And questions that flapped noisily around inside his head like a flock of crows.
George was positively jogging towards them across the deserted concourse, his mac over one arm.
£You can leave this little lot to anti-terror," he said. "I want you two back south of the river."
Bodie’s eyes ranged around the concourse, flicked to Doyle, flicked away again. "As in hang around doing bugger-all for hours on end?"
"No, 3.7. As in get your insubordinate backside down to SE24. Now."
Tomorrow's Life
Pairing: Bodie/Ray Doyle
Word Count: 7,300 words
Author on LJ:
solosundanceAuthor Website: JoJo's fic at AO3
Why this must be read:
While I promise that I've not just been trawling the fantastic community
discoveredinalj for my recommendations this month, it seems that I'm destined to reccommend several of the challenge responses!This particular fic was written for the Discovered in A Newspaper and Discovered in Graceland challenges. Doyle's world is turned upside down and doesn't stop spinning in the midst of an IRA campaign.
The narrative is weirdly compelling - a stream of consciousness that doesn't quite make sense in a way that really does make sense. It sets the tone for the whole piece: Bodie is being enigmatic, Cowley is running everyone ragged and both Doyle and the reader is off balance. This is the perfect set-up to get the reveals and the big revelations at the pace of the story.
Excerpt:
The day after the sentencing was also the day after Bodie kissed Doyle in a lift. It was Wednesday, fresh and breezy. Their working partnership had crawled past its first birthday and was almost on its feet.
Everyone woke in their own beds.
"I said there’d be more of the bastards," was George Cowley’s surprisingly un-measured response when the Met Commissioner phoned in the middle of the day with news of a brown holdall left on a luggage trolley in the middle of the concourse at Charing Cross. The bomb had been defused by the time CI5 got anywhere near, and it was a big one, a six-pounder packed with nails.
"Where are they getting this bloody stuff from?" said Bodie. "And more to the point, where was the bloody intell?£
Doyle stood, twiddling his biro, alongside the manager of an empty WH Smith's who had been haranguing him bitterly for several minutes about accents. What with one thing and another, Doyle was finding it hard to process what anyone was saying to him today. It felt like his stuffing had been knocked out and replaced with fast-moving butterflies. And questions that flapped noisily around inside his head like a flock of crows.
George was positively jogging towards them across the deserted concourse, his mac over one arm.
£You can leave this little lot to anti-terror," he said. "I want you two back south of the river."
Bodie’s eyes ranged around the concourse, flicked to Doyle, flicked away again. "As in hang around doing bugger-all for hours on end?"
"No, 3.7. As in get your insubordinate backside down to SE24. Now."
Tomorrow's Life