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crack_van2013-01-28 11:36 am
stars-inthe-sky.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2013-01-28 11:36 am
Entry tags:
"Doll Parts" by Shaitanah (T)
Fandom: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles / Being Human (UK)
Pairing: None
Length: 1138 words
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
istne_pieklo
Author Website: Fiction Press
Why this must be read: When I watched Series 4 of Being Human, my first reaction to Eve Sands was, "Jeez, she sounds like a merger of John Connor and Connor from Angel..." This short but one-of-a-kind crossover fic doesn't include everyone's least favorite resident of the Hyperion Hotel, but it does feature an ongoing exchange between two would-be saviors who are, as the author calls them, yesterday's teenagers. "Doll Parts" is surreal as anything in either fandom--it's actually tagged "mindfuck"--but well worth a read.
The voice on the other end of the line is eight hours behind and over five thousand miles away. It speaks of metal, nuclear plants and how to operate a machine gun. She tells him about whittling stakes, the siege of Buckingham Palace and how to make an incendiary bomb fueled with werewolf blood.
“What did they do to the queen?” he asks.
They ate her, she tells him. Like they ate everyone else.
It’s not the end yet, for either of them, but sometimes she wishes it were. It would be nice to die talking to someone.
“Are there any palm-trees left?” she wants to know.
There’s nothing left, he says. Only rubble.
He sounds young, for all that he says he was born in the 1980s. “Skipped ahead a couple of times,” he tells her. She isn’t sure what exactly that means, but he chuckles, a soft sound at the backdrop of gunfire, and that’s that.
He tells her about barcodes and serial numbers; she counters with red-hot iron and the smell of burnt flesh around letters “H” and “W”. Work camps, resettlement camps, research facilities, prisons, cargo holders, furnaces. At night, she dreams of vampires breaking their fangs on metal.
You can’t reason with them, he says, meaning the tin cans.
You can’t reprogram the undead, she counters.
They’ve been jokingly playing the your Apocalypse is better than mine game for a long time now.
“How do you save the world?” she asks, holding the scroll in her hand. They say New York has just fallen. That’s in her world; in his, New York has been a nuclear wasteland for years.
I fight for it, he says. Naturally.
“I die for it,” she says, matter-of-factly.
I win.
Doll Parts
Pairing: None
Length: 1138 words
Author on LJ:
istne_piekloAuthor Website: Fiction Press
Why this must be read: When I watched Series 4 of Being Human, my first reaction to Eve Sands was, "Jeez, she sounds like a merger of John Connor and Connor from Angel..." This short but one-of-a-kind crossover fic doesn't include everyone's least favorite resident of the Hyperion Hotel, but it does feature an ongoing exchange between two would-be saviors who are, as the author calls them, yesterday's teenagers. "Doll Parts" is surreal as anything in either fandom--it's actually tagged "mindfuck"--but well worth a read.
The voice on the other end of the line is eight hours behind and over five thousand miles away. It speaks of metal, nuclear plants and how to operate a machine gun. She tells him about whittling stakes, the siege of Buckingham Palace and how to make an incendiary bomb fueled with werewolf blood.
“What did they do to the queen?” he asks.
They ate her, she tells him. Like they ate everyone else.
It’s not the end yet, for either of them, but sometimes she wishes it were. It would be nice to die talking to someone.
“Are there any palm-trees left?” she wants to know.
There’s nothing left, he says. Only rubble.
He sounds young, for all that he says he was born in the 1980s. “Skipped ahead a couple of times,” he tells her. She isn’t sure what exactly that means, but he chuckles, a soft sound at the backdrop of gunfire, and that’s that.
He tells her about barcodes and serial numbers; she counters with red-hot iron and the smell of burnt flesh around letters “H” and “W”. Work camps, resettlement camps, research facilities, prisons, cargo holders, furnaces. At night, she dreams of vampires breaking their fangs on metal.
You can’t reason with them, he says, meaning the tin cans.
You can’t reprogram the undead, she counters.
They’ve been jokingly playing the your Apocalypse is better than mine game for a long time now.
“How do you save the world?” she asks, holding the scroll in her hand. They say New York has just fallen. That’s in her world; in his, New York has been a nuclear wasteland for years.
I fight for it, he says. Naturally.
“I die for it,” she says, matter-of-factly.
I win.
Doll Parts