Many Notes (And A Ficlet)
Have just taken ten cubic metres or so of paper to the recycling bin, first at home, then in the office -- been going through my old study notes taken during years and years of lectures, university courses, and repetition classes, basically. Kept only very, very few of them. Je ne regrette rien (with regards to the throwing away spree, anyway).
Anyway, the part at home was done while letting Veronica Mars -- thanks, ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
kskitten! -- run in the background. And whoo, boy, I have a few questions re: VM 2x09 & VM 2x10:
- On my way from the shelves to the paper basket, I kept slipping and sliding -- where did all the soap come from? A(n) (ex-)girlfriend in a coma, suddenly pregnant, dying and leaving the child in the arms of our intrepid heroes: What? How? WHAT?
- Can Duncan please stop making me bite my nails by being honest about, say, everything, and put his cards depicting Kendall on the table, too?
- Can Logan and Weevil be any more slashy in their manly-man ways of hating each other yet fighting crime together?
- Does Sheriff Lamb re-define the term "vanity", or what? (And -- does he really work on a six-pack there?)
- Isn't geek love where both parties are lusting after money and personal success just the cutest?
- Why does Rob Thomas foil my plans to write Veronica/Meg like that? *sniff*
- Where did that Leo-As-The-Tearjerking-Saviour-Of-His-Little-Sister thing come from?
- Could Logan have been any stranger and stupider with the videos there?
- Did you miss Wallace as much as I did? (Did Veronica?)
Also, eretria -- yesterday night, I managed to watch SGA 1x14, Grace Under Pressure -- and already spammed at least one friend's LJ with my instant reactions. Real quick, for I must run:
- OMG, John is SO saving his boyfriend! I loved that there was not the shadow of a doubt in him that they would do it -- I remember reading the word "denial" somewhere, but seriously, I think Sheppard's just the definition of determined here: He doesn't let himself imagine that the mission to save his boyfriend Rodney could fail.
- Speaking of love, Elizabeth? Feels something for our Dr. McKay herself. That amount of energy, manpower, sheer force of will -- whoa. I mean, she is an emphatic leader, but this effort, both the quality and quantity? Plus, excellent leadership here; her scene in the control room, convincing Radek? Fantastic.
- Obviously, David Hewlett as Rodney McKay wins the gold medal in this episode, but I really, really loved the Zelenka moments -- that he's not a born hero but so very human, that he wants to help his colleague and friend but has doubts, is uncertain, wishes desperately to avoid danger, and lethal one at that. Just brilliant.
- As for plot, if certainly not characterisation, I wasn't thrilled, though. Not to harsh anyone's buzz, but hallucinations that take the form of a love interest and keep chatting with you, lucidly so, saving your butt in the process? Thanks, but no thanks. Just to be clear: I liked Sam-the-person, actually; hadn't ever seen her on-screen before, so if she comes to Atlantis in person -- yes, I'd love to watch her and Rodney. Still, the storyline and its execution just bothered me -- a twin!Rodney, a shadow half, a mirror self I could've done with, barely, but this just reeked of overly fantastic sci-fi to me, a cheap attempt to shove in a guest star, an artificial way of bringing about introspection (which, in and by itself, was v. cool again).
Edited to add:
BtVS and AtS folks? If you're interested, I wrote a three-minute birthday gift for viciouswishes -- one of her favourite couples starring in a tiny post-NFA ficlet
When he opens his eyes, there's numb, silky darkness, and a lance of fear shoots through him, bright and sharp and piercing --
"Hey, you're awake. Excuse me…" A click, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut again against the sudden influx of light; for a moment, that's all he sees. For a heartbeat.
"I'm not --" He swallows. "I'm still alive."
The voice next to his head is young, but the tint of weariness belongs to a much older person.
"Yeah. It was touch and go for a while, but the doctors pulled through." He can hear her soft exhalation of relief. "Must've had something to do with Spike growling at them whenever they stopped working on you, and with Anne coaxing the ICU nurses to check on you, like, every other minute."
"She here?"
"No, she took an earlier turn, as did Spike. Stayed with you throughout surgery, though." A deep breath. "Angel sent her home when you were stable by reminding her of the kids; after the riots, they'd need her help, too."
Riots, of course. Gotta love the L.A. administration that way; never gets old as a cover-up excuse. He opens his eyes, blinks slowly, focuses on the girl in the cheap plastic chair next to his bedside. Petite and pretty, eyes too large and the shadows under them too deep.
"Buffy."
She looks at him questioningly. "Yes?"
"No, I mean --" His head is still fuzzy, traces of the anaesthetic, which also explains the numbness. "I mean, you're Buffy. Angel's ex."
He sees the expression in her face and hears himself asking, "Or, not-so-ex now that you've gone all cavalry on our asses and returned?"
At that, she actually smiles, a bright smile that crinkles her nose. "No, but that's a long story." A tiny frown. "One that involves really, really bad metaphors."
He grins back at her. "Not like I don't have time now."
Another answering smile, surprised, full of sparks that chase the numbness away. "Guess that's true. So you want to hear --"
"Everything that happened -- with the dragon, in the alley, about the Black Thorn, about the riots -- yes."
And Buffy nods, puts her hand on the bedside -- close enough that she could touch his if she only shifted an inch -- and begins to talk.
