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taxonariffic

Posted on 01.12.2010 at 1813 hours
Tags: ,
OOC taxon permissions memeCollapse )

Red

scent of a woman ... was a movie

Posted on 28.11.2010 at 0141 hours
Paul Smecker stared around his apartment as if daring some dirt to appear. He'd taken a half-day at work, come home, and scoured the place within an inch of its life. It hadn't been that dirty to start with-- only cluttered with paperwork and the odd coffee mug-- but all the same, he'd attacked what clutter there was. He found cleaning therapeutic.

therapyCollapse )

smoking - white - light

[OOC Meme]

Posted on 01.12.2008 at 0329 hours
Tags:
[OOC]

Friendy Meme Characterness Thinger majig:

Press the "Forgot your login?" option next to the Username and Password. Follow the prompts for your login. You will receive a list. Post that list and explain in a few sentences a bit about each of those characters, writing journals, communities, etc, etc. Don’t forget to add if you’re looking for a home for this character or that.

And if you’re so bold and in the Mod community department, or are looking for an RP partner, writing partner, etc, take a chance at commenting that the character looks neat and might fit for this RP or that prompt community. Who knows, right?

For those writing novels without a journal for each, you’re welcome to do a Cast List.


(I have listed these muses in order of their current activity and my current interest in them, which is essentially the same thing.)
(Also, I am not really looking for writing prompt communities for any of these muses. Mostly just RP possibilities/new friends/blah blah blah.)

Read more...Collapse )

Technically I have had many more muses than this, but these are the only ones I would have any interest at all in doing something with right now.

textless- Clock - Wall - All Business

247: Cleaning up messes

Posted on 28.10.2008 at 1704 hours
The sort of day that leaves you: restlessrestless
Tags:
There is a singular frustration in getting pissed off at someone for doing their job, and doing it well, especially when you yourself are largely responsible for ensuring they do their job well.

Case in point, the first:

I have a cleaning service that comes through the apartment once a week, because with my schedule it's problematic to assume I'll have time to clean. Even when the days off happen like they're supposed to I don't necessarily want to spend the time fucking vacuuming anyway, so: cleaning service. They are the second cleaning service I have hired during my time in Boston, and the woman who does my apartment, Rosa by name, is the seventh maid to have the honors, because she's the first one to get it fucking right.

('Fucking right', for the curious, means getting both the baseboards and that area of the counter beneath the knife-block, without being specifically instructed to do so. There are a few other litmus tests I have employed in the past, but a thirteen-point-check became unwieldy and at some point even I realize that pragmatism has to trump neuroses.)

Case in point, the second:

The Boston PD lab techs.

I believe in giving people incentives to work well...Collapse )


fandom: boondock saints
muse: paul smecker
word count: 891

"Hell is empty..."

Survival strategies for today

Posted on 28.10.2008 at 1338 hours
The sort of day that leaves you: moodymoody
Notes to self:

Find way to work double shift today;
Do not answer phone;
Purchase The Bottesini Collection;
--and a good wine;
After double shift, listen, drink, pretend rest of world does not exist.


Gun - shooting

246: Negotiation

Posted on 16.10.2008 at 2337 hours
The sort of day that leaves you: calmforced calm
Tags:
[1987]

This situation is out of fucking control, and Special Agent Paul Smecker has the joy and distinction of being ranking officer on the scene.

'Ranking officer' because of the two city cops with him, one's a goddamn fresh-into-the-blues fucking rookie, and the other one, the officer who's in his fifties and has the beer gut and the two-day stubble and all the other little signs and signifiers Smecker knows how to read that tell him just the nature of this man's history with the force and of the sort of officer he is-- that one's on the floor, bleeding. Knife to the gut. Not lethal, Smecker thinks, but he only had the glance to go on and he sure as hell can't stop and look now.

"Carson," Smecker says, not in the angry snap he wants to use but calm and carefully and quietly. There's no answer from the young man next to him, who is standing, like him, with gun pointed at their perp. Unlike him, Carson's gun is trembling.

"Carson."

"Sir!"

"Carson, Officer Wycjowski is down. Call it in. Get over there and put pressure on his injury."

"But--"

"I've got it, Carson. I'm ordering you to see to your fellow officer. Get him out of here. Call back-up."

This gets the first response...Collapse )

fandom: boondock saints
muse: paul smecker
word count: 2375

...

Har de har har.

Posted on 28.09.2008 at 2240 hours
The sort of day that leaves you: amusedamused
Tags:



NEW TXT FROM
Alan:

KIDNAPPED BY PIRATES - SND HELP






For the record, Shore, I'd leave you to them.

smoking - white - light

245: First thing you remember

Posted on 28.09.2008 at 2138 hours
The sort of day that leaves you: blankblank
Tags:
What's the first thing you remember?

Going to an opera with my father and coming home with my mother. Ha ha.

Seriously, fuck if I know. Probably something at Adams; I'd already spent a lot of time on the school grounds before I actually started school there. The halls and the classrooms and the desks, everything always smelling faintly, contradictorily, of both furniture polish and dust. The music room: the high windows spilling sun across the wooden floor, the piano, the crackle of brittle yellowing sheet music. My mother running classes of sullen boys through rote, mechanical scales, do-re-mi, do-re-mi, A-to-G, I-can't-hear-the-altos-will-they-please-project...

There, that's what I remember. Bach and Beethoven. Black and white keys, and scales, and octaves. Irena singing. Her beautiful voice soaring through Verdi and Monteverdi, resurrecting Mozart and all the goddamn others... Hiding in the piano's legs, as infinitely to be preferred to my mother's skirts, and listening to a chorus of dissatisfaction.


fandom: boondock saints
muse: paul smecker
word count: 150

Day Job

242: Bad news

Posted on 28.09.2008 at 2032 hours
The sort of day that leaves you: coldcold
Tags:
"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but we need you--"

"Sir, I apologize, but if you could step this way--"

"I know this is hard, but I have to ask if you can--"

Rinse; repeat. There's only so many ways you can put it, even when you're as fucking fabulous a wordsmith as I am. There's only so many phrases, only so many combinations of the apology and the request that can be arranged.

Nobody ever fucking likes doing it. That'd be sick, after all, and everybody in law enforcement is a perfect model of mental health. Nobody likes doing it but some are better at it than others, and/or bitch less about doing it, and they're the ones who end up doing it, over and over, because someone fucking has to and when you've got the vic's family members sitting in a stunned haze in plastic lobby chairs just waiting while everyone trades glances and silently argues over whose turn it is to break the shitty fucking news--

So you do it. You do it because it's easier than pulling rank, than insisting on the protocols. Because the parents or the spouse or the children of whoever's lying on the table don't deserve all the goddamn shit; keep it to your fucking selves, keep it in the precinct or wherever. Do your job.

Like everything else, it is easier with practice.

With practice you learn the right voice, the right posture, the right expression. The right mixture of Bureau-sanctioned professionalism and distance, leavened with as much compassion as you can bring yourself to bring on the day in question, which is easier if you've popped three or four aspirin beforehand (I usually have) and gotten at least six hours of sleep sometime in the last twenty-four hours (I usually haven't).

And you shift the words around, try and make it new each time so that you never let it be rote, never let it be a fucking recitation, never let yourself forget that no matter how many times you've said it they're hearing it for the first time.

"--to identify the body."

"--verify your wife's identity."

"--confirm that this is your daughter."

And it still always sounds exactly the same.


fandom: boondock saints
muse: paul smecker
word count: 374

Oh -shit-

240: Someone who has scared you

Posted on 01.09.2008 at 1453 hours
The sort of day that leaves you: coldcold
Tags:
The really fucking aggravating thing was not knowing what to call him.

It's one thing having to deal with the man on a semi-regular basis (though, to give the boys all due credit, they picked up fairly early on that their father and I get along about as well as a wet cat and an electric generator, and they do their best to ensure we don't run into each other more than necessary), one thing to have to talk to him pretending that I don't fucking want to pull out my gun and put half a round into that greying head, one thing to have to talk to him knowing he feels pretty much the same way about me and is the likelier, of the two of us, to go ahead and do it--

--but what I really hated in those first months was not knowing how to address him. Names have power, we fear the unknown, all that jazz.

The boys just called him 'Da', of course (I admit I was tempted a time or two to use it myself, just to see if it would push him over the edge). I'd be fucked six ways Sunday before I'd give him the satisfaction of addressing him as "Il Duce" in face-to-face conversation with him. Son of a bitch wouldn't tell me his first name the two times I asked, just ignored what I'd said like I'd been talking about the weather or some shit, and I certainly couldn't find any record of his real name in any damn files I looked through.

And 'Mr. McManus' sounded altogether too fucking civilized for a man like that.

Mr. McManus is how I would address a suspect...Collapse )

fandom: boondock saints
muse: paul smecker
word count: 927


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