WIP Wednesday [2020-05-06]

[thrillingdetectivetales]

WIP Wednesday!



Load 'em up, kids! Show me whatcha got this week!

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[thrillingdetectivetales]

I was looking back through old docs the other day to see what I have started that I might want to dip my toes back into and figured that since I was already like 4K into a Babe/Julian future fic I might as well just lean in and see where I got. I have to say, I don't hate it!

["The] first thing you oughta know is that John would be the absolute wrong person to ask about any of this.”

Mary-Margaret looked crestfallen by this proclamation, tears welling anew along the dark line of her lower lashes, so Babe hurried on. “Not ‘cause it ain’t a question worth asking, or ‘cause he don’t want to help! Ain’t a thing Johnny likes more in the world than having the opportunity to stick by his pals, but he don’t - ” Babe stopped and shook his head, taking another sip of his coffee as he considered the best method of approach in this highly unusual situation. The whiskey burned at the back of his throat and the sugar was gritty and so sweet it made his teeth ache. “John don’t always...get it.”

“Get it?” Mary-Margaret echoed. Her voice was small and lost.

Babe sighed again and reached up to scrub a hand over the back of his neck. “He just - Johnny’s always known himself. Always known he was - y’know. Since he was little, he says.” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug and couldn’t help grinning a bit. “I gather he didn’t think about it too much back then, not ‘til he was old enough that most of the other boys and girls had been going around holding hands and kissing each other for quite some time while Johnny was still waiting around for someone to punch his dance card, but he knew.”

“Oh,” Mary-Margaret said, a thin, flat little note that hit the air like a wet sock against a slab of concrete and then sank immediately to the floor.

Babe made a face at her, sort of a ‘what can you do?’ grimace, and sipped his coffee. His stomach was flopping this way and that, like a fish hauled up onto the riverbank. He wasn't under any obligation here, he reasoned with himself. Julian might have invited Mary-Margaret into his confidences, but Babe didn't have to air his own dirty laundry to a woman he barely knew in passing if he didn't want to. He swallowed, throat thick and sore, and forced himself to look over at her.

Mary-Margaret was staring down into her mug, cradled between her two elegant and neatly manicured hands, but her gaze was focused on something a hundred miles away. There were fresh tears leaking in slow streams down either side of her face, dragging faint gray trails of mascara with them, and a few rain-drenched ropes of her honey blonde hair had come free of their sleek curls to jut out at odd angles. It made for a pretty pitiful picture.

Babe took a long breath through his nose and sighed it out through his teeth. “It ain’t always like that, though.” He swallowed again, and his voice only quavered a little when he clarified with a soft chip of a laugh, “Wasn’t like that for me, that’s for damn sure.”

[arwen88]

I'm trying to write the fic with saturday as deadline and yet I have no plot. I want kitties to be there, but still... I don't know what the narratives should be. What's the point of the story? I just want Brad holding kitties, idk.

In the meantime I'm here with a little snippet that I don't know if it'll ever get attached to a bigger story or if it will stay on its own, floating in my notes like debris after a wreckage.

Reporter was jotting down as many personal informations about the guys he could, trying to trace a profile or a better image of them, these guys that seemed impatient to go kill people.

But between asking from where they came from, or what school they had attended, he found out about a certain coffee pot accident, which led to him asking Person: “how do you take your coffee? Is there even sugar out here for coffee?”

Person scoffed and leaned against the humvee with one hand, chest puffed out, and he smirked smugly at him. “I take it black, like my soul,” he informed Reporter with a deep voice, probably two octaves under his actual voice.

Colbert didn’t even raise his eyes from the monitor of the computer to interject. “Ray, only time I saw you take your coffee black, it was to impress a girl: you took a mouthful and then proceeded with spitting it back into the mug.” He finally raised his eyes over Person, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I would have never thought one could cry for disgust, but there you were, tears streaming down your face as you poured a whole packet of sugar into your mouth like it could save your soul.”

Reporter could barely stay upright, laughing as he tried desperately to jot it all down, loving the image, and Person shook his head with a huff.

“Did you need to tell him that? Don’t write it down, come on- why are you mean to me?”