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ramblin_rosieRules are, post a snippet from three of your WIPs.
1. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spn_cinema:
Bobby blearily looked up at him. “Wha’th’ell are you doin’ here?”
“I’m looking at a tin star with a drunk pinned on it,” John growled.
“John Winchester.” Bobby laughed drunkenly. “How ’bout that? Good ol’ John. Help me up outta here, John,” he continued, holding up his left hand.
Warily, John did so—and barely managed to dodge when Bobby took a swing at his head. Bobby followed up with a punch to John’s gut, but John’s hand landed on a metal basin and brought it down on Bobby’s skull with a resounding clang. John then dropped the basin, grabbed the front of Bobby’s sodden union suit, and pulled his left fist back for a knockdown blow.
“John!” Rufus called from behind him. “He won’t feel it.”
John suddenly realized that Bobby’s eyes were crossed and vacant. “Well, I owe him one,” he stated and let go of Bobby, who collapsed backward onto the cot like a rag doll.
2. Dinéchesters:
Once Lisa caught her breath, she quipped, “Never thought I’d be worrying about a god bleeding out on my living room couch!”
Samandiriel returned then with Gabriel and Kali in tow. “What have my idiot brothers done now?” Gabriel asked.
Dean was too busy stitching to talk, so Lisa answered. “We don’t know. All he said was that it was an ambush, that it didn’t happen here, and that it had something to do with two rivers.”
“Two rivers. That’s nice and vague.”
3. Gwaith i Innas Lain (I know I've posted the first line of this before):
Sometime in the last yén of the Sixth Age, Rúmil of Lothlórien developed the ridiculous habit of adopting pet mortals. Not literally, of course, but he did start spotting children he liked and appointing himself their guardian and fretting over their misfortunes and so on. Thranduil Oropherion tried for a good decade to dissuade him, but when even World War II failed to break him of it, Thranduil threw up his hands and settled for reminding Rúmil every so often not to try to contact his favorites. Doing so could only end badly, especially if it ended up attracting the attention of a hunter and doubly so if that hunter refused to distinguish between the faded Eldar and all the other supernatural creatures that were out there. But for the most part, Rúmil was content to watch and occasionally sing a song of comfort outside a window.
That lasted until he nearly killed a would-be rapist in Massachusetts in Seventh Age 19.
Rather than waiting around to find out whether a hunter would even take notice of the incident, Thranduil ordered his band to pack up and move. Eventually they settled in a park outside Lawrence, Kansas. Rúmil meekly confined himself to the campsite for several weeks until Thranduil admitted that he would probably have done the same thing, and after that Rúmil wandered no further than the boundaries of the park, trying very hard to keep himself from going looking for someone else to protect.
Instead, his next pet very nearly ran straight into him when his mind was elsewhere. A golden-haired girl, no more than nine years old, ran screeching down the trail at top speed, pursued by a slightly older dark-haired boy holding a garter snake, and Rúmil only just managed to dodge to the shade of a tree in time to avoid a collision. Once he’d regained his composure, Rúmil watched the children run and realized that both bore traces of Dúnedain heritage, the girl more so than the boy. But there was something else about both of them, something both beautiful and tragic, some high doom that lay upon their houses... the girl, in particular, seemed marked for an early death. Rúmil’s foresight was not particularly strong by Elven standards, but if even he could sense something like that about that girl....
He didn’t realize he was brooding until he got back to camp and Thranduil elbowed him in the ribs.
“OW!” he yelped, completely forgetting his station for a moment. “What was that for?!”
“You’ve got that look again, Marchwarden,” replied Celebmaethor. “Who is it?”
1. For
spn_cinema:Bobby blearily looked up at him. “Wha’th’ell are you doin’ here?”
“I’m looking at a tin star with a drunk pinned on it,” John growled.
“John Winchester.” Bobby laughed drunkenly. “How ’bout that? Good ol’ John. Help me up outta here, John,” he continued, holding up his left hand.
Warily, John did so—and barely managed to dodge when Bobby took a swing at his head. Bobby followed up with a punch to John’s gut, but John’s hand landed on a metal basin and brought it down on Bobby’s skull with a resounding clang. John then dropped the basin, grabbed the front of Bobby’s sodden union suit, and pulled his left fist back for a knockdown blow.
“John!” Rufus called from behind him. “He won’t feel it.”
John suddenly realized that Bobby’s eyes were crossed and vacant. “Well, I owe him one,” he stated and let go of Bobby, who collapsed backward onto the cot like a rag doll.
2. Dinéchesters:
Once Lisa caught her breath, she quipped, “Never thought I’d be worrying about a god bleeding out on my living room couch!”
Samandiriel returned then with Gabriel and Kali in tow. “What have my idiot brothers done now?” Gabriel asked.
Dean was too busy stitching to talk, so Lisa answered. “We don’t know. All he said was that it was an ambush, that it didn’t happen here, and that it had something to do with two rivers.”
“Two rivers. That’s nice and vague.”
3. Gwaith i Innas Lain (I know I've posted the first line of this before):
Sometime in the last yén of the Sixth Age, Rúmil of Lothlórien developed the ridiculous habit of adopting pet mortals. Not literally, of course, but he did start spotting children he liked and appointing himself their guardian and fretting over their misfortunes and so on. Thranduil Oropherion tried for a good decade to dissuade him, but when even World War II failed to break him of it, Thranduil threw up his hands and settled for reminding Rúmil every so often not to try to contact his favorites. Doing so could only end badly, especially if it ended up attracting the attention of a hunter and doubly so if that hunter refused to distinguish between the faded Eldar and all the other supernatural creatures that were out there. But for the most part, Rúmil was content to watch and occasionally sing a song of comfort outside a window.
That lasted until he nearly killed a would-be rapist in Massachusetts in Seventh Age 19.
Rather than waiting around to find out whether a hunter would even take notice of the incident, Thranduil ordered his band to pack up and move. Eventually they settled in a park outside Lawrence, Kansas. Rúmil meekly confined himself to the campsite for several weeks until Thranduil admitted that he would probably have done the same thing, and after that Rúmil wandered no further than the boundaries of the park, trying very hard to keep himself from going looking for someone else to protect.
Instead, his next pet very nearly ran straight into him when his mind was elsewhere. A golden-haired girl, no more than nine years old, ran screeching down the trail at top speed, pursued by a slightly older dark-haired boy holding a garter snake, and Rúmil only just managed to dodge to the shade of a tree in time to avoid a collision. Once he’d regained his composure, Rúmil watched the children run and realized that both bore traces of Dúnedain heritage, the girl more so than the boy. But there was something else about both of them, something both beautiful and tragic, some high doom that lay upon their houses... the girl, in particular, seemed marked for an early death. Rúmil’s foresight was not particularly strong by Elven standards, but if even he could sense something like that about that girl....
He didn’t realize he was brooding until he got back to camp and Thranduil elbowed him in the ribs.
“OW!” he yelped, completely forgetting his station for a moment. “What was that for?!”
“You’ve got that look again, Marchwarden,” replied Celebmaethor. “Who is it?”
