eye_of_a_cat (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
eye_of_a_cat) wrote2004-01-06 02:52 am
eye_of_a_cat) wrote2004-01-06 02:52 am
Right, then.
I still don't dare post this to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
thefiringline just yet, because although I think it's fine now, I'm bound to find some nitpicky problem with it soon which stops me wanting to show it to anyone. But what better opportunity to get used to the idea of actually posting something?
It's unlike anything else I've ever written. It's 491 words, it's not shippy or angsty or epic in any way, and it's a character that I've never written before. So, currently, I'm justifying my uncharacteristic actions (finishing fic! Posting fic!) by pretending it wasn't me who wrote it.
The story itself is very reluctant to leave the nest, though.
Title: Reflections Over Dinner
Rating: G.
Disclaimer: JMS owns all. Only borrowing. Will put back soon, honest.
Want to kill it. Want to tear it apart, drink its life, feed on its spirit...
Lyta Alexander shivered, and tried to block out the thoughts she was picking up. Nearly an hour now since the meeting started, and she’d been dealing with this for most of that time. Worse, it was focused in her direction. They could say what they liked back home about the downside of working commercial, but nothing would have prepared her for alien vampires.
Especially on the second day of the job.
...want to consume it, bit by bit, shred by shred, bite by bite...
Neither of the other two people present had noticed her discomfort. They were too involved in the deal that was taking place, lost in a world of sales taxes and documentation. The human, the balding middle-aged man with the nervous smile who’d hired her for this job in the first place, was growing close to frantic as he scribbled down notes. The alien across the table watched impassively, some sort of opaque membrane flicking constantly over its eyes.
She hadn’t been asked to confirm any statements for a while now, and she was beginning to doubt whether they even needed a commercial telepath. More for appearance than anything, she suspected. All the big players wanted a teep to sit in on their negotiations, and the galaxy was full of traders who’d spend a lot of money to look like those big players. Like holding business deals here, an expensive restaurant with real flowers and a menu she could barely pronounce.
Not that her companions were interested in the dishes in front of them, anyway. The human was too busy, and the alien...
The alien had noticed her staring. She looked away, but not before it caught her eye across the leafy display in the centre of the table, and she caught an even stronger burst of thought.
...want to devour it, here, now, suck the life from its cells...
What were you supposed to do in a situation like this? Require that all aliens sign a waiver forbidding them from eating the telepath after negotiations? Hell, maybe that was normal on its world.
The alien didn’t look away, and she could feel its thoughts getting louder and louder inside her head, kill, feed, now, NOW...
Before she could react, by backing away from the table or calling up Psi-Corps and telling them her assignment here was over as of right now, the alien moved. In a blur almost too fast to see, a long tongue shot out, wrapped itself around several stalks of the floral display, and pulled them free.
“My apologies,” said the alien in perfect Standard through a mouthful of petals and leaves. “These meetings... one can grow hungry.”
Lyta slumped back into her seat, relieved and amazed and ecstatic all at once. Psi-Corps were right. This was going to be one hell of an interesting place to work.
thefiringline just yet, because although I think it's fine now, I'm bound to find some nitpicky problem with it soon which stops me wanting to show it to anyone. But what better opportunity to get used to the idea of actually posting something?It's unlike anything else I've ever written. It's 491 words, it's not shippy or angsty or epic in any way, and it's a character that I've never written before. So, currently, I'm justifying my uncharacteristic actions (finishing fic! Posting fic!) by pretending it wasn't me who wrote it.
The story itself is very reluctant to leave the nest, though.
Title: Reflections Over Dinner
Rating: G.
Disclaimer: JMS owns all. Only borrowing. Will put back soon, honest.
Want to kill it. Want to tear it apart, drink its life, feed on its spirit...
Lyta Alexander shivered, and tried to block out the thoughts she was picking up. Nearly an hour now since the meeting started, and she’d been dealing with this for most of that time. Worse, it was focused in her direction. They could say what they liked back home about the downside of working commercial, but nothing would have prepared her for alien vampires.
Especially on the second day of the job.
...want to consume it, bit by bit, shred by shred, bite by bite...
Neither of the other two people present had noticed her discomfort. They were too involved in the deal that was taking place, lost in a world of sales taxes and documentation. The human, the balding middle-aged man with the nervous smile who’d hired her for this job in the first place, was growing close to frantic as he scribbled down notes. The alien across the table watched impassively, some sort of opaque membrane flicking constantly over its eyes.
She hadn’t been asked to confirm any statements for a while now, and she was beginning to doubt whether they even needed a commercial telepath. More for appearance than anything, she suspected. All the big players wanted a teep to sit in on their negotiations, and the galaxy was full of traders who’d spend a lot of money to look like those big players. Like holding business deals here, an expensive restaurant with real flowers and a menu she could barely pronounce.
Not that her companions were interested in the dishes in front of them, anyway. The human was too busy, and the alien...
The alien had noticed her staring. She looked away, but not before it caught her eye across the leafy display in the centre of the table, and she caught an even stronger burst of thought.
...want to devour it, here, now, suck the life from its cells...
What were you supposed to do in a situation like this? Require that all aliens sign a waiver forbidding them from eating the telepath after negotiations? Hell, maybe that was normal on its world.
The alien didn’t look away, and she could feel its thoughts getting louder and louder inside her head, kill, feed, now, NOW...
Before she could react, by backing away from the table or calling up Psi-Corps and telling them her assignment here was over as of right now, the alien moved. In a blur almost too fast to see, a long tongue shot out, wrapped itself around several stalks of the floral display, and pulled them free.
“My apologies,” said the alien in perfect Standard through a mouthful of petals and leaves. “These meetings... one can grow hungry.”
Lyta slumped back into her seat, relieved and amazed and ecstatic all at once. Psi-Corps were right. This was going to be one hell of an interesting place to work.
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