kittydesade: (flaily kermit is flaily!)
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHHAHHAHAHAHAH VICTORY IS MINE!

*passes out again*
kittydesade: (bale is like fries)
Русский язык )

Damn, I slept later than I meant to. I know I set the alarm. Weird.

So, I'm walking in the English northern countryside with some people. Someone is... I don't know who he is, he's tall and kind of lean and light brown/dark blond haired and he's played by some actor who kind of wants to be the bastard child of Cillian Murphy and Garrett Hedlund (go on, picture it all you Tron: Legacy fans) and we're talking about the people with us. One of the people with us is Nope. Another is the bastard child of Jason Statham and Ron Perlman, so, clearly, we're in a cheap action movie. Probably with lots of monster effects. We're here to pick up a guy.

The guy turns out to be Christian Bale.

Suddenly I'm a very happy dreamer.

We're also there to do something for The Military. Whose military? I don't know, it looks like the end scene of 28 Days Later. With a chickenwire fence we're walking alongside. I'm talking with Cillian Hedlund about cute guys, I don't know if he's putting up with me or joining in. We're walking, we go through this residential stock shot of a San Francisco neighborhood but we're still in England, I don't know why. Bale gets us all into this fairly large clearly jury rigged industrial equipment type contraption, with huge tires and armor. I organize us before we get in so we can all get in efficiently because there are Bad Things on the way. Of course there are. The only line from this I remember is someone, possibly Bale or Jason Perlman, saying something about these guys shoot, these guys lookout, and "Girlfriends stay quiet." I look at the only other woman in this scene and we both shrug and I say "No girlfriends here." Because a) it's true and b) we can hold our own weight, fuck you very much.

So we start down the hill/countryside/I don't even know anymore, and we're jolting and riding along, and then someone says "Here they come." And I don't see anything at first, but then we're riding down into an army enclave, fortified, and the requisite horde of zombie/shambling evil masses comes shambling down. They're not quite as fast as 28 Days Later/Resident Evil: endofworldnounhere, but close. Faster than shamblers, anyway. We start firing. We take out some soldiers, too, I think Bale did it because he looks very Bruce Wayne but acts very Reign of Fire. We all get into the enclave, and seal the doors shut behind us.

And now it all becomes apparent what this is about because Bale is opening up some kind of serum container and tossing it to me to toss to the authorities while he organizes our defenses. It's a yellow liquid in a Hollywood "safe storage this is toxic/important/dangerous/radioactive" container. It's also kind of glowing. Clearly this is a Paul Verhoeven or someone or other movie. If it were Michael Bay, shit would have blown up already. I pass it along, and the shamblers are at our door, and there's chaos and for some reason instead of being dressed how I was now I'm dressed for post-apocalyptic success, in a rough cotton shirt and cargo pants and some kind of hand-woven big brown poncho thing that's probably only brown because it's covered in post-apocalypse dust. And I go to the back door which is now crawling in shamblers, I don't know why or what happened to our defenses, and they stop. They just stop.

And, and this is the weird part. Behind me, Bale and a bunch of other humans (including, I think, Ron Statham, I don't know where Garrett Murphy went to) are watching me wondering why the hell they stopped when they saw me and if there's a way they can get out of this without being either infected or lunch. And now I know, I didn't learn I just sort of know now, that they picked me up in some sort of between-zone, between our territory and theirs. My mind makes this distinction, but still.

Oh, and the shamblers have turned to roughly human shaped people in fluffy neon-colored stuffed-toy puppetish dog suit things. I shit you not. The one I'm talking to is neon pink. As stuffed toy dogs sometimes are.

And they're all crowding together and asking if the [unintelligible word meaning human] people are going to kill them all, and I say I don't think so, they just want to be left alone, and then they ask me what kinds of weapons they have, and a few more questions besides, and over the course of this conversation it becomes clear that if the human side of this doesn't have enough weapons of mass zombie annihilation they're going to get these weapons taken away from them and then... dominated? Probably killed. And I don't know how I feel about this because I was only half-heartedly trying to convince the Puppy People not to, while Bale is standing behind me looking, oh! Terminator: Salvation, that's what he looked and acted like. And I'm standing there in the finest in post-apocalypse chic negotiating for humanity's right to survive and not be bitten by a stuffed toy.

Hey, Supernatural writers. I found your next episode script. Want it back?
kittydesade: (beautiful day)
It's two thirty in the morning. I'm not coherent. But I was working on some writing and some world-building and some marriage-building of characters, and I wanted to put this down before I forgot it.

Sometimes, it's the little things that tell more about a relationship and how comfortable or solid it is than the big things. Sometimes. I heard this referred to once as the pass-the-broccoli test; since I should be going to bed rather than journaling I'm not going to look it up right now. But, here you go. Three characters at breakfast in the morning. For background, these three characters in a space opera type story have been married off to each other to seal a truce between their three nations. Yes, three people in one marriage.

Andreas has washed and shaved and combed his hair before he sits down to breakfast; blame the habits of his many-year-long military career. He takes his breakfast with juice and slowly, savoring the variety of foods available to him. Even though he sits to eat with his tablet in one hand so he can scan the newsfeeds, he pays attention to his wife and husband and how their moods seem. Mornings are his favorite time of day, for the most part. Everything is new, full of possibilities, and no one's yet brought him any problems he has to address, or at least he can pretend it at the breakfast table. Their breakfasts are sacrosanct, and it's largely his influence. He wears his pajamas and house robe, even if he didn't spend the night in them. Ahem. He's very calm and relaxed in his movements and in his posture as he sits at the breakfast table.

Aleksandr is not a morning person. He always approached mornings as something to be dealt with and gotten through, usually waking up when the sun was higher in the sky. This might or might not have something to do with him coming from a closer to the sun planet, as Beata claims when she rubs his shoulders and kisses his cheek on a particularly slow morning. He doesn't always wash before coming to the table, if it's been a late night beforehand he'll sit for a bit and drink coffee and take a sugared pastry before he goes and showers and comes back for something more healthy, by which time at least Andreas has usually gone. Other times, if he's actually awake that morning, he'll ask Andreas what's happening in the news, give Beata her kiss and hug before she claims it, and hog a certain type of pastry. He does his best to keep up with the other two, though. It's just that some mornings his best is more surly than others.

Beata just somehow seems to need less sleep than the other two. It might be a factor of age or it might simply be how she is. She huddles in on herself more when there's less sunlight, sits up straighter and brighter and smiles more when there's more sunlight. It's because of her that their breakfast nook has windows at all, in any place where they live. She goes back and forth with Andreas in a tug of war over the juice, organizes all their social calendars according to what may have happened since the appointments were made (and what mood Aleksandr is in, how much sleep he got) and reminds them of the little details if she knows them. Which usually also results in them reminding her, especially if these are familiar people or cultures, that they know. And then she smiles and apologizes or says she knows, she's just making sure they're paying attention, or whatever seems to fit the situation. She's always touching and giving out kisses, too, stroking hair, rubbing shoulders, stealing kisses, little touches to start her day pleasantly and take her touchstoning while she can because they might not see each other all day.

(And now you've all been thoroughly confused. *falls asleep*)
kittydesade: (lolcurry)
"I have a creativity pustule on my back, would you express it for me?"
kittydesade: (boots not finery)
Thought for the day: I may be dragging myself up by my bootstraps, but my boots are fucking AWESOME.
kittydesade: (never again is what you swore)
See Jag.

See Jag with a baseball bat.

See Jag with a baseball bat beating certain political and religious figures in the head, shouting "THIS! IS NOT! THE WAY! YOU RUN! A COUNTRY!"

Dumbshits.
kittydesade: (every night i burn)
So it turns out the story I wrote for the anthology that's being re-printed is unusually apt to my life, currently. Oh, universe. Why do you mock me so.

Out of my head. Back in five minutes.
kittydesade: (randomity (nopejr))
When you are king, dilly dilly, I will be queen

You can be me when I'm gone
kittydesade: (chicks dig scars)
All that said, why am I having dreams about running into two old friends from this area (one of whom doesn't even live here anymore), going on a bike ride with one, winding up in the mud with him shirtless making out and all...

And then Sam Fucking Elliott turns up with two others I don't know who they are to "ahem" politely and be amused at us. WTF, brain.
kittydesade: (fucking sorcerers)
Is there anyone out there cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe.
kittydesade: (lol)
Fun with inventory:

Kitty: "I claim this yarn for Spain!"
The Beej: "Do you have a flag?"
kittydesade: (lol)
Aunt: "[Elf Lord], people of truly royal descent do not stick their tongues out at others."
kittydesade: (lol)
Said to me at work. By my aunt.

"Would you like to take all your clothes off and pose on top of the boxes?"
kittydesade: (eh?)
"Oh, yeah, that's the Girl from Ipanema polka!"
kittydesade: (eh?)
"This is a Japanese song! You'll recognize it from Japanese elevators."
kittydesade: (lol)
"What's that other thing you do that's like sneezing, but in?"
"Breathing."
kittydesade: (lol)
"I just figured out: dimes are smaller, people are skinnier, and the half-gallon of milk in the fridge is taller than it used to be." -- Elf Lord.
kittydesade: (Default)
Happiness is the cute guy at the desk at the bookstore checking to make sure all the House DVDs are there and then proclaiming that none of them have lupus.

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Jaguar

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