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Feb. 13th, 2004 09:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
helsinkibabyI can now screencap from DVD on my computer. Do I have the rockingest friends in the world or what???
Photos from the con - got a number of very nice ones, and in particular the holy grail, one of David Palffy smiling. Life is good.
Though there was a problem with one of the films - one print came out like someone got a big black marker and drew two lines on it, and it's a nice one of Steve Bacic - the negative is fine though, so that's going to the one hour tomorrow. As are the pics from around the same place, where there are two shots on the negatives that didn't get printed, while the next two shots on the negatives came out double... it's only on that roll that it's screwed up, and I know because I checked every frame of every negative against every print for six rolls of film yesterday... and I wonder why my eyesight is so bad.
There was other stuff I wanted to say and can remember none of it.
Except I don't think I gushed about the season premiere of 24. For those of you who don't care, I'll keep it brief. Dennis Haysbert. DB Woodside. ON THE SAME SCREEN That is all.
And on with the fic, both for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
csreports Oingo Boingo title challenge. One is Warrick/Sara called
I own what seems like a million pictures of you, some printed on paper, some of them existing only in memory. Some are funny, some are happy, some are frustrating, even now. But they’re all you.
The first is from the day we met, you all furrowed brow and attitude, interrogating me while wearing the ugliest green cardigan in history. It was a recipe for fireworks, and I remember thinking that we’d never get along.
But we did, although not for a while. The first mental snapshot of the two of us as friends that I have is us playing chess while a pig smoulders nearby, trading jokes and tossing a coin to see who would get to go for coffee. We could see our breath in front of us, but you were warmer to me than you’d ever been, and later, at home, all I could think of was your smile.
Your smile is more frequent in the pictures that follow. Teasing you about Grissom as we searched a car for head lice. Dipping chainsaws in paint to examine the splatter pattern. Teasing you about your date with Hank as we walked through a sewer. Hearing you teasing me about boxing experiments and mercury gloves. The first time I ever played the piano for you, the first time that I kissed you. And I don’t even have to close my eyes to picture you walking down the aisle towards me, that beaming Sara-smile that I love so much splitting your face.
For a long time, that was my favourite picture of you, but that changed the day I took the photograph that’s framed on the mantel at home, the one that I carry in my wallet. It’s one where you’re not even looking at the camera, instead smiling down at our two-day-old daughter in your arms, and you’re the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.
I own a million pictures of you, but I never wanted to see ones like the ones I’m looking at now, the ones that were taken a month ago, the ones that were taken after a suspect came back to a scene, the ones where your left eye is blackened, your lip split and bleeding, an ugly bruise on your cheek where he hit you. There are pictures of your ribs, your back and side, with what are unmistakeably boot prints visible.
It’s been a month, and my stomach twists as I look at them.
“Warrick.” I turn at the sound of your voice, my stomach twisting again when I see the look in your eyes, hurt and remembered fear. I flip the folder closed, drop it on the table and take your hand in mine, squeezing it tightly. “Come on,” you say. “Let’s go home.”
Arm in arm, we make our way into the morning sunlight, and when you turn to me, raising your lips to mine, I take a picture of you that makes the others fade away. and another fits into the Fool for Lesser Things universe - wasn't going to, but the title knocked me over and I had to- and it's kinda angsty and retrospective. It's called
The first time Cyrus kissed her, Sara’s head spun, and she was never really sure if it was the Teacups or just him, though her money is on the latter. She’d known it was coming, even if she wasn’t sure she wanted it, but when his lips touched hers, it felt as if it was meant to be.
They fell into an easy rhythm together, because they were already friends, and neither of them wanted to rush into things, chance ruining what they already had. They were content with long talks and long kisses, with curling up on the couch in front of a Hitchcock film, with just being with one another.
That lasted until the lab blew up.
He found her, shaken, bloodied and bandaged, and he took her home, held her tight, and when she kissed him hard, when she threw herself at him, he pushed her away, told her that then mightn’t be the right time for them to take the next step. But she convinced him, and when she lay in his arms, his fingers dancing lightly over her skin, she knew that she didn’t want to be without him ever again.
The days immediately afterwards were idyllic, with him keeping a close eye on her, worried that the explosion might have hidden after-effects. He didn’t know that the only thing he had to do to make her feel better was just look at her with those eyes of his, take her hand for her to feel better, for her to feel more grounded, more secure. He didn’t know how much he meant to her, and really, neither did she.
She just knew that she enjoyed being with him, that she had fun with him. That she didn’t mind kissing him in broad daylight, didn’t mind Nick teasing them, didn’t even turn a hair when they encountered Grissom at the grocery store. She enjoyed cooking with him, because he was a great cook, she not so much, although the one time she cooked for him, he cleaned his plate. He helped her with the cleanup, and they had an early night, and she thought that they’d have many more evenings like that, that they had all the time in the world together.
Then, five days after the lab exploded, she woke up to find him leaving to run errands. She offered to go with him, but she was tired and he was a gentleman, so he kissed her, telling her to stay in bed. For once in her life, she did as she was told, and she fell asleep with a smile on her face and her dreams were blood-free and peaceful, and she woke up smiling.
That lasted until her doorbell rang, and Nick held her hands and Warrick touched her back and her paradise fell apart.
She knew she was a fool to think that it could last, but then again, she’d been a fool for lesser things, and she has no regrets. -- see what I mean about that title?
Photos from the con - got a number of very nice ones, and in particular the holy grail, one of David Palffy smiling. Life is good.
Though there was a problem with one of the films - one print came out like someone got a big black marker and drew two lines on it, and it's a nice one of Steve Bacic - the negative is fine though, so that's going to the one hour tomorrow. As are the pics from around the same place, where there are two shots on the negatives that didn't get printed, while the next two shots on the negatives came out double... it's only on that roll that it's screwed up, and I know because I checked every frame of every negative against every print for six rolls of film yesterday... and I wonder why my eyesight is so bad.
There was other stuff I wanted to say and can remember none of it.
Except I don't think I gushed about the season premiere of 24. For those of you who don't care, I'll keep it brief. Dennis Haysbert. DB Woodside. ON THE SAME SCREEN That is all.
And on with the fic, both for the
csreports Oingo Boingo title challenge. One is Warrick/Sara called I own what seems like a million pictures of you, some printed on paper, some of them existing only in memory. Some are funny, some are happy, some are frustrating, even now. But they’re all you.
The first is from the day we met, you all furrowed brow and attitude, interrogating me while wearing the ugliest green cardigan in history. It was a recipe for fireworks, and I remember thinking that we’d never get along.
But we did, although not for a while. The first mental snapshot of the two of us as friends that I have is us playing chess while a pig smoulders nearby, trading jokes and tossing a coin to see who would get to go for coffee. We could see our breath in front of us, but you were warmer to me than you’d ever been, and later, at home, all I could think of was your smile.
Your smile is more frequent in the pictures that follow. Teasing you about Grissom as we searched a car for head lice. Dipping chainsaws in paint to examine the splatter pattern. Teasing you about your date with Hank as we walked through a sewer. Hearing you teasing me about boxing experiments and mercury gloves. The first time I ever played the piano for you, the first time that I kissed you. And I don’t even have to close my eyes to picture you walking down the aisle towards me, that beaming Sara-smile that I love so much splitting your face.
For a long time, that was my favourite picture of you, but that changed the day I took the photograph that’s framed on the mantel at home, the one that I carry in my wallet. It’s one where you’re not even looking at the camera, instead smiling down at our two-day-old daughter in your arms, and you’re the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.
I own a million pictures of you, but I never wanted to see ones like the ones I’m looking at now, the ones that were taken a month ago, the ones that were taken after a suspect came back to a scene, the ones where your left eye is blackened, your lip split and bleeding, an ugly bruise on your cheek where he hit you. There are pictures of your ribs, your back and side, with what are unmistakeably boot prints visible.
It’s been a month, and my stomach twists as I look at them.
“Warrick.” I turn at the sound of your voice, my stomach twisting again when I see the look in your eyes, hurt and remembered fear. I flip the folder closed, drop it on the table and take your hand in mine, squeezing it tightly. “Come on,” you say. “Let’s go home.”
Arm in arm, we make our way into the morning sunlight, and when you turn to me, raising your lips to mine, I take a picture of you that makes the others fade away. and another fits into the Fool for Lesser Things universe - wasn't going to, but the title knocked me over and I had to- and it's kinda angsty and retrospective. It's called
The first time Cyrus kissed her, Sara’s head spun, and she was never really sure if it was the Teacups or just him, though her money is on the latter. She’d known it was coming, even if she wasn’t sure she wanted it, but when his lips touched hers, it felt as if it was meant to be.
They fell into an easy rhythm together, because they were already friends, and neither of them wanted to rush into things, chance ruining what they already had. They were content with long talks and long kisses, with curling up on the couch in front of a Hitchcock film, with just being with one another.
That lasted until the lab blew up.
He found her, shaken, bloodied and bandaged, and he took her home, held her tight, and when she kissed him hard, when she threw herself at him, he pushed her away, told her that then mightn’t be the right time for them to take the next step. But she convinced him, and when she lay in his arms, his fingers dancing lightly over her skin, she knew that she didn’t want to be without him ever again.
The days immediately afterwards were idyllic, with him keeping a close eye on her, worried that the explosion might have hidden after-effects. He didn’t know that the only thing he had to do to make her feel better was just look at her with those eyes of his, take her hand for her to feel better, for her to feel more grounded, more secure. He didn’t know how much he meant to her, and really, neither did she.
She just knew that she enjoyed being with him, that she had fun with him. That she didn’t mind kissing him in broad daylight, didn’t mind Nick teasing them, didn’t even turn a hair when they encountered Grissom at the grocery store. She enjoyed cooking with him, because he was a great cook, she not so much, although the one time she cooked for him, he cleaned his plate. He helped her with the cleanup, and they had an early night, and she thought that they’d have many more evenings like that, that they had all the time in the world together.
Then, five days after the lab exploded, she woke up to find him leaving to run errands. She offered to go with him, but she was tired and he was a gentleman, so he kissed her, telling her to stay in bed. For once in her life, she did as she was told, and she fell asleep with a smile on her face and her dreams were blood-free and peaceful, and she woke up smiling.
That lasted until her doorbell rang, and Nick held her hands and Warrick touched her back and her paradise fell apart.
She knew she was a fool to think that it could last, but then again, she’d been a fool for lesser things, and she has no regrets. -- see what I mean about that title?
