That WIP excerpt meme
Jan. 23rd, 2015 09:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
luzulaMaybe digging into WIP folders that have not been touched for a long time will make me want to write? It's worth a try.
due South science fiction AU:
The first raindrops fell, stinging his cheeks as they were driven sideways by the wind. Working quickly, he strung the boat between the two buoys, stretching the lines tight, then took the mast down and sealed the cabin so that the boat was nothing but a streamlined black hull of strong carbon nanofiber. He slung his pack over his shoulder, stepped over the side into the shallow muddy water, and waded to shore in the driving rain.
The shelter had no airlock, only a door, and he closed it behind himself with some relief. Half the space was taken up with the oxygen tank storage; in the other small room was a couple of bunk beds with blankets, a heater, a cooking plate, a first-aid pack, and a storage space with dry food packets. The room was as cold as the outside air.
Well, this would be his home while the storm blew out; best make himself comfortable. Fraser swung his pack off his back and switched the heater on, then stripped off his wet clothes. Goosebumps rose on his skin as he rifled through his pack for dry ones. He hung the wet clothes to dry over the heater, listening to the wind outside rise to a shriek and then fall and rise again.
Exploring the compact room further, he found a worn set of playing cards and a few books someone had left: an Agatha Christie mystery, a technical manual for trouble-shooting gas imbalance in closed atmospheric systems, and what looked to be a locally printed swashbuckling romance manhua written by someone in Shen Fjord. Excellent; he could save up the books he'd brought with him.
***
Fraser/Thatcher genderswap fic:
"Who is this?" The door opens, and she stares at me. I am no longer taller than her, I realize--I'd instinctively looked down, but her eyes meet mine at the same height. She's impeccably dressed, as always. "Who are you?"
I straighten my spine. "I'm Constable Fraser, sir. I'm afraid I woke up like this. Or, not exactly like this, but, well. As a woman, sir. I apologize for being out of uniform."
Her eyes widen. I don't think I've seen her lost for words before. Finally she pinches her hand, presumably to see if she's dreaming, and then shakes her head. "In my office, Constable."
Behind her desk, she regains her considerable poise. "How did this happen?"
"I'm afraid I don't know, sir. But I intend to find out."
"I certainly hope so. In the meantime, I expect you to do your duties."
"Of course, sir. Although I'm afraid my uniform doesn't fit."
She taps a pen against her lips. "Perhaps you could borrow one of mine. We do seem to be much the same size. Although--Constable, you do realize that you need a, well..." She gestures helplessly toward my chest.
"The proper sort of underwear, sir?" My cheeks are hot.
"Yes, that." I hear the front door opening, and she turns away with visible relief. "Turnbull!"
"Sir? Yes, sir?" He appears at the door, saluting. "What can I do for you this fine day?"
"Turnbull, this is Constable Fraser. Except he's--she's a woman now."
"Sir! I wasn't aware that you were planning on changing your sex. May I extend my congratulations, if that is appropriate? Although...your uniform, sir?" He looks scandalized at the state of my clothes.
"It's not intentional, Turnbull. And I hope it's only temporary, although it's too early to tell at this juncture."
"Very well, sir."
Inspector Thatcher takes over. "I have a task for you, Turnbull. Go out and buy proper underwear and some other clothes for Constable Fraser. I certainly can't have him, I mean her, be seen in this state."
"Yes, sir. What size should I buy?"
She sighs impatiently, handing me a measuring tape from one of her drawers. "Go and take your measurements, Constable."
Her gaze flickers down to my chest, where the jacket hangs open. "And I believe those need cup size C. Or possibly D."
In my office, I measure my height and my circumference at waist, hips, and chest. I write them down on a piece of paper for Turnbull, who seems awed at the importance of his mission. "Sir? What style would you prefer?"
"Something plain and practical, please. And if you could keep the reason for your purchases quiet, I'd be much obliged."
He straightens. "Mum's the word! I certainly won't let them know I'm buying it for a woman, sir. Or a man."
due South science fiction AU:
The first raindrops fell, stinging his cheeks as they were driven sideways by the wind. Working quickly, he strung the boat between the two buoys, stretching the lines tight, then took the mast down and sealed the cabin so that the boat was nothing but a streamlined black hull of strong carbon nanofiber. He slung his pack over his shoulder, stepped over the side into the shallow muddy water, and waded to shore in the driving rain.
The shelter had no airlock, only a door, and he closed it behind himself with some relief. Half the space was taken up with the oxygen tank storage; in the other small room was a couple of bunk beds with blankets, a heater, a cooking plate, a first-aid pack, and a storage space with dry food packets. The room was as cold as the outside air.
Well, this would be his home while the storm blew out; best make himself comfortable. Fraser swung his pack off his back and switched the heater on, then stripped off his wet clothes. Goosebumps rose on his skin as he rifled through his pack for dry ones. He hung the wet clothes to dry over the heater, listening to the wind outside rise to a shriek and then fall and rise again.
Exploring the compact room further, he found a worn set of playing cards and a few books someone had left: an Agatha Christie mystery, a technical manual for trouble-shooting gas imbalance in closed atmospheric systems, and what looked to be a locally printed swashbuckling romance manhua written by someone in Shen Fjord. Excellent; he could save up the books he'd brought with him.
***
Fraser/Thatcher genderswap fic:
"Who is this?" The door opens, and she stares at me. I am no longer taller than her, I realize--I'd instinctively looked down, but her eyes meet mine at the same height. She's impeccably dressed, as always. "Who are you?"
I straighten my spine. "I'm Constable Fraser, sir. I'm afraid I woke up like this. Or, not exactly like this, but, well. As a woman, sir. I apologize for being out of uniform."
Her eyes widen. I don't think I've seen her lost for words before. Finally she pinches her hand, presumably to see if she's dreaming, and then shakes her head. "In my office, Constable."
Behind her desk, she regains her considerable poise. "How did this happen?"
"I'm afraid I don't know, sir. But I intend to find out."
"I certainly hope so. In the meantime, I expect you to do your duties."
"Of course, sir. Although I'm afraid my uniform doesn't fit."
She taps a pen against her lips. "Perhaps you could borrow one of mine. We do seem to be much the same size. Although--Constable, you do realize that you need a, well..." She gestures helplessly toward my chest.
"The proper sort of underwear, sir?" My cheeks are hot.
"Yes, that." I hear the front door opening, and she turns away with visible relief. "Turnbull!"
"Sir? Yes, sir?" He appears at the door, saluting. "What can I do for you this fine day?"
"Turnbull, this is Constable Fraser. Except he's--she's a woman now."
"Sir! I wasn't aware that you were planning on changing your sex. May I extend my congratulations, if that is appropriate? Although...your uniform, sir?" He looks scandalized at the state of my clothes.
"It's not intentional, Turnbull. And I hope it's only temporary, although it's too early to tell at this juncture."
"Very well, sir."
Inspector Thatcher takes over. "I have a task for you, Turnbull. Go out and buy proper underwear and some other clothes for Constable Fraser. I certainly can't have him, I mean her, be seen in this state."
"Yes, sir. What size should I buy?"
She sighs impatiently, handing me a measuring tape from one of her drawers. "Go and take your measurements, Constable."
Her gaze flickers down to my chest, where the jacket hangs open. "And I believe those need cup size C. Or possibly D."
In my office, I measure my height and my circumference at waist, hips, and chest. I write them down on a piece of paper for Turnbull, who seems awed at the importance of his mission. "Sir? What style would you prefer?"
"Something plain and practical, please. And if you could keep the reason for your purchases quiet, I'd be much obliged."
He straightens. "Mum's the word! I certainly won't let them know I'm buying it for a woman, sir. Or a man."
(no subject)
Date: 2015-01-23 10:34 pm (UTC)