Trick or Treat Meme

[john_amend_all]

Memed from clocketpatch:

In honor of All Hallow's Eve, I'm inviting trick-or-treaters to my 'door.' Comment "trick-or-treat" to this post and...well, you know the drill. Treats can be anything that strikes my fancy (pics of fave actors or pairings, one sentence fics, graphics, a few words why I'm glad to have you on my flist, etc. etc.).

The more "houses" to visit the more fun it'll be, so go ahead, open your journal and help spread the fun!

This entry was originally posted at http://john-amend-all.dreamwidth.org/77040.html. Feel free to comment there or here.

Comments

[liadt]

Trick or treat!:)

[john_amend_all]

Since you seem to have enjoyed my Zoë/Isobel series, here's a deleted scene that didn't make the final cut of Find The Lady:

Isobel looked around. "This looks a nice place. Let's have our picnic here."

"Why not?" Zoë set her end of the hamper down. "We'll probably get chased off by a bull just as we're about to start, but it's the thought that counts."

Isobel gave her a smug look. "The bull's in Collier's Field today, on the other side of that wood. I checked."

"You're getting worryingly competent." Zoë winked. "It's too good to last."

"We'll see about that." Isobel flung the hamper open and started rummaging among its contents. "Sandwiches, apples, drinks... oh." A wheedling note entered her voice. "Zoë?"

"Yes?" Zoë replied, in the same tone. A broad grin was creeping across her face.

"Zoë, you didn't by any chance bring a bottle opener? You know, just in case?"

Triumphantly, Zoë held up a Swiss Army knife. "Funny you should say that," she said.

[liadt]

Is it too late to get ITC to make a series?

<3 sneaky Isobel & for multi-tooled Zoe:)

[john_amend_all]

I'll put it on my list for when I get a zillion pounds and a time machine :-)

[pedanther]

Trick or treat!

[john_amend_all]

Here's a fragment of a TTR story the rest of which remains stubbornly unwritten:

A little way down the winding road that led to the Schloss Dusterenwald, space bulged, swirled, and disgorged a battered-looking white van. The words ACE-TEAM had been crudely spraypainted on both sides, not quite obliterating the previous owner's details. It would not have taken much examination of the faded marks to uncover the van's former identity as the flagship of a small plumbing company.

Sitting in the front passenger seat, with Catbert contentedly dozing on her lap, Nyssa tried to concentrate on the road ahead, rather than the endless jolting and shuddering of the vehicle. She'd caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, looking decidedly green.

Ray, at the wheel, glanced across at her, and seemed to come to the same conclusion. "Sorry about the ride," she said. "I keep meaning to do something about the shock absorbers, but we never get the time."

"I've known worse," Nyssa said. "You've never ridden in Lord Omega, have you?"

"You'll never get me in that thing," Ray retorted, steering with one hand while she wrestled the gear lever with the other, to the accompaniment of a nasty grinding. "Oh, this gearbox is a dreadful pudding. One of these days I'm going to strip it right down. And before you mention it, Ace, I haven't forgotten you want the van painted black, either."

"With a red stripe," Ace's voice said, from the rear compartment of the van.

"What's that smell?" It was one of the other girls; the pale, edgy-looking one with yellow and green highlights in her hair, who rejoiced in the name of Mags. "Is there something wrong with the engine?"

"No, that's probably just my liniment," Ray replied cheerfully. "Garlic and rhubarb. I thought if there were vampires around, it couldn't hurt, could it?" Steering one-handed again, she dug in her pocket and pulled out an earthenware jar. "From my Granny's medicine cabinet — it's got to have been maturing for a hundred and fifty years if it's a day. Does anyone else want some?"

"Sounds like a plan," Ace said. "Hand it over. D'you just rub it on?"

"That's right." Ray passed the bottle back over her shoulder.

"All over you?"

"Wherever you like. My leathers have never gone on so easy."

"Right, then." There was a sound as of a cork being taken out of a bottle, and the air was immediately full of garlic fumes. "Here goes nothing."

"After you with that," Ace's other recruit said. That had to be the Goth girl. Susan Q, she called herself.

Mags made a retching sound. "You lot are going to stink."

Nyssa, feeling her own gorge rising, pulled out a scented handkerchief and held it over her nose and mouth. "Tell me we're going to get there soon," she said.

[pedanther]

Ha!

[clocketpatch]

Trick or treat!

[john_amend_all]

Here's a ficlet set in the Seven-and-Donna verse of A Life At The Opera:

Apart from Donna, the little man sitting beside her, and a handful of teenagers at the far end, the top deck of the bus was nearly empty. It was, Donna decided, as good a place as any to make her feelings known.

"Got a question for you," she said.

Her self-appointed spiritual advisor pushed the straw hat back on his head, and toyed with his question-mark umbrella, not meeting her gaze. "Yes?"

"You're always on about time and stuff, right?" Donna raised her voice a touch. "So how come whenever you show up, it's always at the most inconvenient time?"

His expression was one of bland surprise. "Was it?"

"I was in a rehearsal. A full dress rehearsal." She thumped the seat beside her. "And now you're dragging me halfway across town in my costume!"

"Oh, that's a costume?"

"Of course it's a flaming costume! Do you think I'd dress like the dictator of some stupid banana republic otherwise?" She gestured at the stylized fatigues she was wearing. "And whatever you're planning, this had just better not get damaged, or I'll never hear the last of it from Valerie."

He finally looked at her, as if trying to place her. "Didn't you tell me your current production was set in Rrrroman times?"

"That's right. It's Giulio Cesare. But it's all been moved to the Thirties."

"Even so, that's only eighty years... Ah. You mean the Nineteen-thirties."

"Of course I do. What did you think I—" Donna broke off as the bus shuddered to a halt, and another question occurred to her mind. "How long are we staying on this thing, anyway?"

"To the end, whatever that may be," her enigmatic companion replied. "You must prepare yourself: it is likely that a dark, soul-destroying horror awaits us at the end of our journey."

Despite herself, Donna felt unease creeping over her. "Like what?"

"The likelihood is that this vehicle is taking us to the municipal bus depot."

Donna waited, in case he explained any further. When he didn't, she said "What's so bad about that?"

Her companion tucked the umbrella between his knees and made an elaborate propitiatory gesture with both hands. "Believe me, Mrs Temple, there are few worse places in the known Universe than a bus station."

[clocketpatch]

That's amazing! Bus stations! :D

[ghost2.livejournal.com]

Trick or treat!

[john_amend_all]

This is a Sherlock ficlet vaguely based on The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge.

"And there you are!" our client finished. "When I woke up the next morning, the flat was just as it is now. No sign of Pedro at all." He turned to Lestrade. "Will that be all, Inspector? Only I've got to be at Woolwich Studios in" — he glanced at his phone — "about an hour. We're filming the new series of Trivia Tournament."

"I think you can go now, Mr. Fraser." Lestrade glanced across at Sherlock, who was lolling on the late Pedro Garcia's sofa, looking up at the ceiling. "Sherlock, was there anything else...?"

Sherlock waved a hand.

"Then thank you for your help, Mr. Fraser." Lestrade got up. "If you'd like to come with me, sir?"

We waited until the two had gone. Then Sherlock looked at me.

"Do you believe him?" he asked.

I tried to get my thoughts in some kind of order.

"It's such a crazy story I think it's got to be true," I said. "There's no reason why he shouldn't have hooked up with Garcia and gone to stay the night, is there? It's hardly a secret that he's gay. And if he was involved in the murder why would he come to us about it?" I tried to think back. "If he'd been involved, wouldn't there have been some blood spatter on his clothes?"

"There wasn't," Sherlock said flatly. "No, he didn't kill Garcia. I think Garcia wanted him there in case he needed an alibi for something. He wanted someone that everyone would believe, and who better than Simon Fraser?"

"I suppose that makes— Sherlock, what are you doing?"

Sherlock had jumped to his feet and pulled the sofa cushions off. Now he was thrusting his hand into the depths of the sofa. He was obviously looking for something, and I didn't think it was loose change.

"Probably looking for this," the local inspector said. He was leaning against the doorframe, holding up an evidence bag with a small piece of plastic in it. "Memory card from a smartphone. Encrypted, of course."

Sherlock broke off his search, and looked up. "You were looking for it?"

The inspector shrugged. "Seemed obvious to me. Garcia was obviously planning something dodgy."

"So if he was caught he wouldn't want forensic to get anything off his phone."

"Which means, after he got that text, he needed to get rid of the memory card without our friend Mr Fraser noticing. That meant it had to be where he was sitting."

"Shove it down the side of the sofa, and—"

"Bob's your uncle!" the two chorused.

Sherlock gave the inspector an appreciative look. "You're not bad at this. Where did they find you?"

"Long story." He tucked the memory card away and held out a hand. "Pleasure working with you, Mr. Holmes."

"Sorry," I said. "I don't think I caught your name?"

He shook my hand. "Detective Inspector Clyde Langer. Nice to meet you, Doctor."

[ghost2.livejournal.com]

Thank you! Clever story, and I love the ending. :D