Invaders from Canada
Dec. 27th, 2010 06:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
icepixieSo in the course of writing this dS/S&A crossover, Geoffrey Tennant has kind of moved into my head. This has, if nothing else, done some very interesting things to my vocabulary. If I had a sainted aunt, I would be apologizing right now.
At any rate, I am very much enjoying writing him (cf. 4,500+ words in under 48 hours, which is huge for me, OMG), and kind of sad that I'm nearing the end of the first draft of the fic. I have about four, maybe six paragraphs to go, because Ellen decided she wanted to be involved in this one as well.
Because I am narcissistic enough to think others will find said fic as hilarious as I do, a snippet:
-----
To kill time at the start of the workshop, he had everyone go around and introduce themselves. Instead of twenty people from one company, today's group was made up of several pairs, threesomes, and quartets from various places. In addition to the usual project managers and sales representatives and marketing drones, there were a few engineers, a flock of nurses, and two Mounties.
He gave those two, an Inspector Meg Thatcher and Constable Benton Fraser—who was like looking at a fucking mirror into ten years ago, except his hair had never looked that neat, and his face had probably never been that clean-shaven—a genuinely surprised look. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked. "Shouldn't your teamwork exercises involve shooting things? Riding horses, maybe?"
The woman, Thatcher (he had a feeling she went by her last name) grimaced. "Another of my junior officers at the consulate decided that this would be an appropriate use of discretionary funds. I've ensured that he's never going to be allowed access to them again."
"But we're very interested to learn how the works of William Shakespeare can be studied to improve our teamwork and interpersonal communication skills," the other one, Fraser, piped up. Geoffrey looked at his desk. He had a pad of lined notebook paper and two freshly-sharpened pencils laid ruler-straight on the surface.
He'd been working on not sounding like a crazy person when he laughed. From the worried looks on most of the participants' faces, he had not succeeded this time. "All right, let's cut to the chase. This whole idea of analyzing, say, the teamwork of Titus Andronicus's Chiron and Demetrius, who I might remind you raped a woman and then cut off her hands and tongue so she couldn't give them away—you know it's bullshit, right?"
Several cautious nods. Thatcher, he noticed, looked more bored than concerned about the fact that he was telling them the whole workshop was pointless, while Fraser quickly raised his hand. "But Mr. Tennant," he said when Geoffrey, stupidly, nodded at him, "don't you think that, for example, the scene in Much Ado About Nothing where Claudio, Leonato, and Don Pedro trick Benedick into believing Beatrice loves him, while admittedly not the most moral way of going about things, shows a remarkable facility for working together to make and carry out a plan of action?"
Geoffrey stared at him for a long moment. The man had probably spent the past week reading every word of the Riverside Complete Works. And possibly taking notes. "Are you for real?" he asked.
Fraser's brow knit in confusion. "I'm not sure I understand the question. If you're asking whether I exist in any kind of objective sense, then I—"
"Never mind," he said, just as Thatcher snapped, "Constable!"
Fraser looked back and forth between them. "Understood," he finally said.
At any rate, I am very much enjoying writing him (cf. 4,500+ words in under 48 hours, which is huge for me, OMG), and kind of sad that I'm nearing the end of the first draft of the fic. I have about four, maybe six paragraphs to go, because Ellen decided she wanted to be involved in this one as well.
Because I am narcissistic enough to think others will find said fic as hilarious as I do, a snippet:
-----
To kill time at the start of the workshop, he had everyone go around and introduce themselves. Instead of twenty people from one company, today's group was made up of several pairs, threesomes, and quartets from various places. In addition to the usual project managers and sales representatives and marketing drones, there were a few engineers, a flock of nurses, and two Mounties.
He gave those two, an Inspector Meg Thatcher and Constable Benton Fraser—who was like looking at a fucking mirror into ten years ago, except his hair had never looked that neat, and his face had probably never been that clean-shaven—a genuinely surprised look. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked. "Shouldn't your teamwork exercises involve shooting things? Riding horses, maybe?"
The woman, Thatcher (he had a feeling she went by her last name) grimaced. "Another of my junior officers at the consulate decided that this would be an appropriate use of discretionary funds. I've ensured that he's never going to be allowed access to them again."
"But we're very interested to learn how the works of William Shakespeare can be studied to improve our teamwork and interpersonal communication skills," the other one, Fraser, piped up. Geoffrey looked at his desk. He had a pad of lined notebook paper and two freshly-sharpened pencils laid ruler-straight on the surface.
He'd been working on not sounding like a crazy person when he laughed. From the worried looks on most of the participants' faces, he had not succeeded this time. "All right, let's cut to the chase. This whole idea of analyzing, say, the teamwork of Titus Andronicus's Chiron and Demetrius, who I might remind you raped a woman and then cut off her hands and tongue so she couldn't give them away—you know it's bullshit, right?"
Several cautious nods. Thatcher, he noticed, looked more bored than concerned about the fact that he was telling them the whole workshop was pointless, while Fraser quickly raised his hand. "But Mr. Tennant," he said when Geoffrey, stupidly, nodded at him, "don't you think that, for example, the scene in Much Ado About Nothing where Claudio, Leonato, and Don Pedro trick Benedick into believing Beatrice loves him, while admittedly not the most moral way of going about things, shows a remarkable facility for working together to make and carry out a plan of action?"
Geoffrey stared at him for a long moment. The man had probably spent the past week reading every word of the Riverside Complete Works. And possibly taking notes. "Are you for real?" he asked.
Fraser's brow knit in confusion. "I'm not sure I understand the question. If you're asking whether I exist in any kind of objective sense, then I—"
"Never mind," he said, just as Thatcher snapped, "Constable!"
Fraser looked back and forth between them. "Understood," he finally said.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-12-28 02:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-28 02:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-28 06:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-28 08:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-28 11:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-29 12:27 am (UTC)It's actually only about 5,000 words, which, translated into my usual output, is really more Ulysses than War and Peace. ;)
no subject
Date: 2010-12-29 01:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-28 02:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-28 02:30 am (UTC)