We Shepard or we Wrex, that's the plan.
...написанная мной на чужие заявки. Ну, был еще один почти-фик по FMA, больше года назад, но его я вам не покажу, потому что стыдно.
Фандом: «Песнь Льда и Пламени» Мартина
Название: Stories she never read before
Размер: 2367 слов
Пейринг: Сандор/Санса
Для кинк-феста asoiaf_exchange на ЖЖ.
Заказ: Девушке хотелось, чтобы в фике так или иначе были обозначены ответы на следующие вопросы:
- Why does Sansa remember a kiss when none happened?
- How does Sandor feel about her?
- How would they react to meeting each other after Sansa has been Petyr's student and Sandor has become a religious novice?
Комментарий: Кажется, это мой самый-самый первый фик на английском, и написан он был в конце 2009 года; не то чтобы я вообще писала много фиков на английском, правда... Помнится мне, лишь кинув взгляд на заявку, я поняла, как хотела бы начать, как развернуть повествование - и переживала, потому что на фесте заявки между исполнителями распределял администратор, и мог мне достаться какой-нибудь слеш, да еще про персонажей, которых я плохо знаю. Мне повезло. А заказчицу, по-моему, фик не особенно порадовал.
Aunt Lisa loved books. Sansa could barely remember the library of Winterfell with its high arches, endless shelves and1 as Meister Luwin claimed, hundreds of thousands of books. She rarely felt like reading back then, and when she did, Septa Mordaine would go and choose an appropriate book for the young lady’s age and status. But even so, Sansa could still tell that Lord Arryn’s library was no comparison to the Winterfell depository. All the tomes the former Lord of the Vale collected were gathered in one bright room atop the tower, in the room that was Lord Arryn’s once but belonged to Alayana’s father now, and he enjoyed taking these down from the shelves, leafing through – “The Complete History of Westeros”, volume VI, or “The full biography of Richadus the Crestfallen, revised and augmented” – and putting them back.
Lady Lisa, however, cherished and treasured other books. Sansa found them in her cloakroom, hidden in the chests under old gowns and furs, and she couldn’t help but wonder which her aunt preferred. Sansa had never seen Aunt Lisa with a book, but then again she wondered, how much did I see those days? Curious, she took one of the tattered tomes with her into the bedroom.
She found out the book was full with stories, though they were not of a noble kind. Noble knights don’t exist, so said the Hound. Sansa wasn’t able to find them in King’s Landing and now she wasn’t able to find them even in the poems. Old yellowed pages were eager to tell her about rogues and sly boots and about beautiful ladies that fell in love with them; about obstacles put in their way and about evenings when the passionate lovers finally joined their lips in a kiss, and that was just the beginning of the night – and the poem. They were so frivolous and shameless that Sansa didn’t believe her eyes at first, closing the book and feeling the color rushing to her cheeks even though she was alone. She opened it once again, probably hoping the lewd verses would turn into the well-known tale of chivalry, but it stayed and she continued to read, slamming the book closed and hiding it under the blanket every time she seemed to hear some sound.
I better know what happens between a man and a woman after all. Sansa tried to justify herself, but if the tales of chivalry were lies, who could say if these tales of passion were true? She finally understood why her aunt stopped reading these: after all these years of waiting and dreaming the rogue from King’s Landing came and stole her heart, so the tale did come true for her. At least until he stole her life.
But the books also had stories of another kind. They were about dreadful pirates who feared neither the Stranger nor the wrath of the Drowned God, terrible brigands with scarred faces and ebony eyes, fierce barbarian warriors from the distant lands where women only exist to please the men. They were stealing maidens against their will, just like the Hound almost did, and… And there was something in these stories and the memory of the kiss that made Sansa feel strange. Even if one of these stories were true and the maidens did really start to like and love their abductors, if they enjoy that, then she’d rather be…
There was no point thinking about this: both the Hound and Sansa were supposed to be dead. But this night she dreamed about being a princess locked in a castle, while her father – her real father, not Littlefinger – was locking the doors and gates promising no one would get her and harm her. But wasn’t she waiting for someone to save her from the prison? No, this castle is the only place where she would be completely safe, said her father who wore Littlefinger’s face and asked for a kiss.
The castle was under siege: it’s the Hound who had come to get her. She just knew it, she felt him despite all the stone walls and the spaces between them. Her father was gone, halls and passages echoed with Jeoffrey’s laughter and Sansa opened the doors, not sure whom to believe and what to do. She opened the doors and let Sandor in, and he decided to burn her.
She was afraid, but it wasn’t a fear of death. The tongues of flame were licking her belly, breasts and naked shoulders, and she felt fire’s hot breath on her face. The fingers of fire caressed her cheek and touched her lips. They felt almost like a burning passionate kiss, making their way down along the curves of her body, resting on the lips between her legs. Then, she felt herself light and weightless as a scrape of ashes, a plumelet caught by the warm air, so she soared up to the sky, higher and higher, higher and… higher.
The wind was getting harsher with each passing day but Sandor was not used to someone or something being kind to him, be it a human or the weather, so he didn’t care.
He always said that he didn’t give a damn about anything. He never actually thought of it as a lie until recently. He did care about Joffrey a bit, in his own way. He did choose to serve him after all. He did care about his brother, hoping for the moment it would be possible to kill him. He did care about Sansa and… And he preferred not to think about it. But Joffrey had kicked the bucket and ravens were feeding on Gregor’s guts, and Sansa was married to the damned dwarf – worse than dead – and for the first time in his life Sandor had nothing. Nothing…. Nothing at all. No fight to feel the blood boil, no wine to laugh and no one to care for. He found it strange that his life was still going on.
Life went on and it was pretty monotonous because of the monastery’s daily routine. Something always needed to be done so Sandor’s hands were always occupied, though not his mind. Even the seething waters of the waterfall may in the end reach the hidden lake and become still and stagnant; having lost both love and hate. Sandor let his mind wander and notice the things he never paid attention to before: the dark shaggy waves of the bay, the sky; steel-blue because of endless heavy clouds, and the rare ray of sun, but he didn’t pay much attention even to that.
The winter was coming.
By tradition of the monastery, three brothers were to set out to visit the Vale of Arryn after the first snow fell and covered the brown, heavy leaves. The day they departed was the second day of the snowfall. The ground was all white and so was the sky, its rare snowflakes small and icy. Stranger was impatient as ever. He pulled Sandor’s sleeve as if he wanted him to saddle up as soon as possible.
Brother Narbert pulled his hood lower to cover his face, Brother Rahk rubbed his hands before grasping the reins and setting out, Sandor didn’t look back.
The Vale protected by the mountain walls still managed to maintain a bit of the autumn warmth. The ground was still bare. Pools and fallen leaves were covered with hoarfrost webs. The trees had dropped all their leaves and seemed to be so naked that it was almost obscene. Sandor had seen only one tree, a willow, that didn’t let go of its red and auburn leaves, and for some reason it made him think of Sansa. He flinched and continued his way along with the brothers.
They didn’t have much to do besides helping people here and there if needed and healing those that required it. Brother Narbert occasionally spoke with people about the faith. Their goal was the castle of the Lord Protector of the Vale; they had to stay there for three days before going back.
In the times when Lord Arryn was the Lord Protector, the gates of the castle were always open for the brothers. Now they found the gates locked and clenched as tight as teeth. They had to wait for half an hour, exclaiming who they were before they were let in. The castle was eerily silent, filled only by the whispers and careful steps of the servants and menials. It seemed that everyone was waiting for something – for some bad news that was to come.
“We have come to the Lord Protector,” repeated brother Narbert.
There was a moment of silence before a young lady in a sand-coloured gown finally spoke.
“The Lord Protector of the Vale, my father...” she said; and Sandor suddenly recognized this voice, those eyes, that auburn hair, and all the time he had spent in the monastery was forgotten. “He is dying.”
It was five o’clock in the morning when lord Petyr had finally closed his eyes. He had been holding Sansa’s hand till the end though it is hard to say whose fingers were colder.
Sometimes Sansa wondered how she felt towards Littlefinger. Was she really attached to this person or just used to him like one becomes used to a medicine that’s necessary for survival and strength– a medicine that’s not too bitter to swallow it up? She looked at this face that became sallow and distant but wasn’t able to find a single tear, and it wasn’t grief she was feeling, but the weight of her own fate on her shoulders. She wasn’t fond of Harry the Heir despite his beautiful locks, shining eyes and a smile that was indeed charming, she inwardly hoped that someday – somehow – the engagement would be broken off, but now her future looked even less pleasant. No matter who would become the next Lord Protector, the bastard daughter of the previous one would likely be forgotten; she didn’t have any influence, she didn’t even have money and Harry would rather marry the daughter of the next Lord.
She moved to the window and raised the curtain just a little to see the deep blue sky with a brighter spot in the east: the dawn was to break soon. The servants were already getting up – she could hear the steps down the hallway – and soon she would have to admit there’s no Petyr Baelish anymore. Littlefinger had been teaching her how to gain friends and manipulate people, but it seemed that all his words and teachings had died with him as Sansa tried to think something out and couldn’t. The sky was getting bluish, the stars were pale and hardly visible. She didn’t hear any footsteps this time so the rough knock at the door almost scared her. Sansa even recognized the hooded figure: it was one of those travelling septons – or were they from the monastery? – that came yesterday. Yesterday seemed so distant.
“Thank you for taking interest, but I believe my father doesn’t need a- a septon anymore.”
“Well then,” the man’s voice was familiar and, even though Sansa didn’t recognize it at first, its roughness sent shivers down her spine. “I thought you may have need of a dog.”
The hood finally fell down to the man’s shoulders, and Sansa’s heart skipped a beat when she saw Sandor’s face, terrible as ever.
“Don’t look at me like that little bird, I guess I didn’t become prettier unlike you.” He sneered but he wasn’t angry. “Or were you expecting someone else – a knight, or that pretty fiancé of yours?”
“No, I -” the throat was dry, and it was difficult to speak. “No, ser -”
“I'm a ser just like you're Alayne,” his mouth crook, it was almost a smile. “Why do you think I’m here – to listen to your civilities?”
He had finally come to steal me, Sansa thought, or to take me, to burn me -
“…to take me away?”
There was a moment of silence broken by a strange sound – it was Sandor roaring with laughter, throwing his head back, but the laughter was bitter.
“You think I still want you?” He stepped forth and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look him directly in the eyes. It was almost painful but not terrible, not at all. “You think you can drive a dog away when you don’t need it and call it back when you do, and it would come licking your hands happily?”
I’ve never driven you away, she wanted to tell him, but Sandor was holding her chin so firmly it was difficult to speak. His skin was grey in the faint morning light coming from the window, the knots of scars were dark - she felt a sudden urge to touch his face – but there was a dangerous hungry glitter in his eyes, and when Sandor’s fingers weakened, Sansa found the strength to whisper.
“Can you please close your eyes, s- Sandor.”
And he did.
Sandor was taller so she had to stand on her tiptoes, but that wasn’t enough; she gingerly laid her hands on his shoulders and Sandor stooped down a bit. We have done this before, Sansa reminded herself, but her heart was beating so heavily she thought she would die when she finally pressed her lips against his.
The first moments can hardly be called a kiss, but then Sansa felt strong arms wrapping her so tightly it was almost painful, the cruel mouth lusting for more, but Sandor suddenly pushed her away.
“Wait here,” his voice was muffled and hoarse. “I’d make Stranger ready and get back for you.”
Sansa nodded and shivered: it was suddenly cold without his arms. Sandor had almost left, but stopped, jerked the strings, threw his old seedy cloak off and slipped it over Sansa’s shoulders. One second and he was gone.
Sansa’s heart was wrung with so many feelings that she didn’t even try to name them. There was one thing she knew for sure though: stories do usually come true not the way you imagined them to, but they still can make you happy.
FIN
Фандом: Игра Mass Effect
Название: Happy endings
Размер: 1319 слов
Персонажи: Зори Шепард (протагонистка получательницы), Шиала
Место действия: Бар «Вечность», Иллиум
Написан как новогодний подарок в рамках того самого community event'а, благодаря которому я получила в подарок Арью с лайтсейбером Вейдера.
Заказ: "I'd like to see my FemShep Zori sis/bromancing with Tali, Kasumi, Shiala or Feron."
Комментарий: Писать было сложновато, потому что я, во-первых, боялась накосячить с чужой Шепард, а, во-вторых, боялась накосячить с Шиалой, но в итоге получательнице понравилось. Алсо, мои описания такие описательные, даже когда я пишу на инглише.
The sun has already set, the sky has darkened from shady blue to a dark and vibrant shade of purple; yet, Zori could hardly see stars above. Like all the vast magnificent metropolises, Nos Astra never fell asleep. Both the ground and the air, warm and heavy after rain, were studded with traffic lights and low beams flashing; the port bathed in warm orange and neon blue of numerous displays and counters; the sun, though hidden beyond the horizon, was still touching tops of the skyscrapers, making them glitter like flutes of sparkling wine. The sight was outstanding, and Zori felt her heart soften.
"Polonus," said Shiala, pointing at a pale dot just above the Armali Staduim's sloping roof. "It usually appears a few minutes after sunset this time of year and is hard to miss. It's known mostly for an accident when a research station had been hit by a meteor followed by a fast loss of pressure, and only six didn't make it. Our family friend was one of them."
There was a moment of silence as Zori was caught by surprise by a sudden change of topic. "I am sorry to hear that."
"Don't be. As a scientist she was excited by how all the things known, from substance and machinery of nature to ideas, are connected to each other and form a single, magnificent existence. Her spiritual energy - soul, as you say - is part of it now. At least that's what Matriarch Benezia taught us, and that's what I believe in. She had always said that death is mere dark step towards light and new life."
There was no light, she also said. The words almost escaped Zori's lips but she held herself in check, just hoisting her light glass in response.
"For those who have gone or fallen."
"For those who are no longer with us."
The Eternity bar had been full at this hour, attracting idle patrons, couples and travelers in need of whiling away their time before next flight alike. Still, Aethyta reserved a small table for the two on the balcony, away from other visitors and curious stares: being green, Shiala attracted way more attention than she wanted to.
Zori relaxed in her seat. It was good to leave the Normandy just like that, not on another mission, but to lounge in a bar with someone she trusted with no guns other than her Phalanx pistol and no bugs planted by Cerberus; at least she hoped there were no tricky listening devices hidden in the folds of her casual clothing, or under a table, or in one of the lava lamps.
"I've been always wondering, why did you join Benezia in the first place?"
"A spiritual crisis, one can say," Shiala responded. "I had tried myself in different spheres, from engineering to art criticism, even considered taking commando training, but found I have neither liking for it nor any talents that would've made me valuable as a specialist. I had many friends and partners, but none worth living for. I had reached my Matron stage but was as unsure of my own life and future as a young Maiden. That was when I made myself familiar with Matriarch Benezia's teachings."
Her look was faraway and distant, her fingers playing with near-empty wineglass, Shiala was stirring up memories of that time long gone.
"Benezia and us, her followers, were visiting different planets and cities, making people familiar with the principles of siari and helping those who are in need of spiritual guidance - until she met Saren."
Zori frowned. "He managed to screw many things up, didn't he?"
"Saren was also Sovereign's victim worthy of sympathy," Shiala pointed out.
Zori winced, hearing the name once again. As much as Saren deserved pity after having been manipulated and tricked, she couldn't help but recall thin, bloodthirsty Dragon's teeth on Eden Prime, debris crushing the Citadel Tower, and an unnatural, half-cybernetic turian skeleton coming to life. Ugh, Saren's name had a taste of cold iron and blood on her tongue.
She took a sip, and elasa liquor immediately warmed her up and made her tongue tickle, as if she had been kissed by a lover. There, much better.
"Now that I recall our meeting I see some cruel irony in it. Saren accused us of being inactive, saying that compassion we offer others wouldn't do any good unless accompanied by actions. But that was the exact reason we had joined him: we were led by both compassion and desire to do something to prevent the tragedy. We pretended to be on his side at first, but you know what happened later."
Zori nodded slowly, recollecting her own experience and finding unpleasant similarities between Shiala's story and her own life. "I am afraid this would happen to me as well."
Zori continued before Shiala even had a chance to respond. "I had despised Cerberus since the moment I learned of its deeds. But what am I supposed to do if the Council doesn't believe me and the Alliance broke all ties? If working with Cerberus gets the job done, so be it; but why am I starting to doubt their ways are wrong? Miranda is always so logical, so convincing when it comes to Cerberus; crewmen are ordinary, pleasant people, not fanatics or xenophobes one may expect them to be. What if I'm adapting to their views, beginning to feel and see the world as they do-"
"We call it 'the loneliness syndrome', Shepard" interrupted Shiala politely, but firmly. "Most sentient beings are born with a need to understand those around us and to be understood, while feelings of despair and futility may turn this need into one's ordeal. If so, the person shifts her opinion, consciously or not, for it to match majority. That is also a behavior of a victim agreeing with her captor. Are you one?"
Zori felt a quick pang of protest in her chest - me? - but that was exactly the type of response Shiala expected: some emotion or resistance. It made Zori straighten her shoulders, press her lips together, and there was a steel undertone in her voice when she spoke. "I owe him my life and ship, but never my loyalty. I would consider my collaboration with Cerberus over as soon my part of bargain is done and the abductions are stopped."
"Now that is the commander Shepard I've mind-melded with," said Shiala, and a smile touched her lips, lighting up her usually serious face. "Besides, there's also one last lesson Matriarch Benezia and Saren gave me."
She paused to pour elasa liquor into their almost empty glasses, and a sweet, stirring smell of alcohol filled the air. Artificial lights were dim in their corner, music was soft and gentle, and its irregular beats reminded Zori of a heartbeat.
"I finally found what I had been looking for - a purpose, something I can dedicate myself to. I am happy helping rebuild Zhu's Hope and seeing the colony as it grows stronger and attracts new scientists. So, when something forces your life go wrong, there's always a chance it would take a correct route after the next turn. It's not much of a revelation," she added honestly. "But it proves right."
It was neither a revelation nor something new, but it still made Zori feel confident and gave her hope. Hope was bittersweet, but that was so much better than nothing.
"Thank you. I would remember your words and... I am looking forward to telling the Illusive Man that I would be in charge from now on."
"For doing things the right way, then," said Shiala, hoisting her amber glass, and Zori hoisted her flute as well. The sound of clinking glasses faded away, the liquor left a pleasant bittersweet aftertaste in her mouth, and she came up with a next toast.
For happy endings.
FIN
Фандом: Portal
Название: Именем твоим
Размер: 460 слов
Пейринг: Челл/girl!Утяжеленный Грузовой Куб-компаньон
Для фемслеш кинк-феста cherche_la_femme
Заказ: «Проходя тесты, Челл невольно проникается симпатией, а потом и одушевляет сопровождающий ее Куб. Вопреки всем убеждениям ГЛэДОС, утверждающей, что Куб является неживым существом. Любовь девушки и Куба. Много-много безумия. Сюр, психоделика, возможно, ангст, на усмотрение автора».
Комментарий: Мда, написать про отношения человека и вещи - уже само по себе сюр )
Но даже в этом Челл не была уверена до конца. Изо дня в день ее окружал серо-белый мир, состоящий из кубов комнат и квадратов панелей, и иногда ей начинало казаться, что сама она - лишь набор кубиков, собранных, как детали конструктора, по инструкции Aperture Science. Поменяй детальки местами - и вот тебе бешеная авантюристка, ускользающая в портал за мгновение до того, как у ее ног разобьется энергетический шар. Снова поменяй - и получишь трусиху, и Хьюго скользит в потных руках, и турель за углом издевательски гудит - эй! Выходи! Пули заждались! Кажется, позавчера Челл понравился ветчинный гамбургер, а сегодня с одного запаха воротит. Наверное, эти детальки в ее голове переставляет ГЛаДОС, пока Челл спит, но это не страшно, лишь бы она не подменила Куб на одного из ее безликих серых собратьев.
И Челл критически посмотрела на Куб, по-домашнему прижавшись к ней щекой.
- Нет, тебе не идет быть Эмили. Придется тебя переименовать. Ты знаешь, тебе не идет и быть моей младшей сестрой, ты для этого слишком много меня защищаешь, а должно быть наоборот: я - тебя, я же старшая. Давай мы не будем родственниками, и тогда какие мы отношения захотим, такие между нами и будут. М?
Челл быстро поняла, что в этом белом равнодушии ГЛаДОС упивается звуком собственного голоса, а потому никого другого не замечает. Пришлось выговариваться Хьюго - и он оказался отличным слушателем, к слову - и даже в тему шевелил тремя усиками, расположенными параллельно стволу, выражая то сочувствие, то неодобрение, то радость после прохождения очередного теста. Челл однажды испугалась и выронила его, и потом испугалась повторно, еще сильнее, когда увидела длинную серую царапину на его боку.
Еще Челл наполовину с опаской, наполовину с предвкушением ждала момента, когда устройство - ну, то, прикрепленное на левой ноге - в очередной раз подведет и не сработает в нужный момент. Это будет уже третий раз, и тогда можно будет с полным правом сказать, что у него дурной характер, и дать ему соответствующее бунтарское имя.
Впрочем, подумала Челл, поудобнее устраиваясь на полу и прислоняясь спиной к Кубу, впрочем...
Какая-то мысль, какая-то идея появилась на краю сознания, и спустя мгновение и ледяная королева ГЛаДОС, и коварное устройство на левой ноге, и даже Хьюго перестали что-то значить. Челл, улыбаясь, развернулась к Кубу, обвела пальцем ее выпуклое сердечко на теплой грани и выдохнула имя.
- Вот такое мне придумалось! Красивое, и тебе идет. Правда, идет! М?
Куб согласно и счастливо промолчала.
FIN
Фандом: Mass Effect
Название: Непристойность
Размер: 726 слов
Пейринг: М!Шепард/Джокер
Для кинк-феста по малопопулярным фандомам Шанс!
Заказ: «Слэш или юст. Необязательное условие: время действия - после самоубийственной миссии, где выжили только Шепард и Джокер».
Комментарий: Нет, я вовсе не слешер - но и не антислешер. Просто смотрела, смотрела я на все эти заявки по малопопулярным фандомам и думала: черт, как у них мал шанс оказаться выполненными. Почему бы не сделать кому-нибудь приятное по любимой игре? Тем более что энцу писать не просят... В итоге получившийся пре-слеш ужасно нравится мне (в смысле исполнения)... Что-то не уверена насчет заказчика.
Я два года изучала тебя, Шепард.
- Эй, кэп, спать стоя вредно, вам доктор Чоквас не говорила?
Шепард вздрогнул и, будто проснувшись, провел рукой по лицу. В последнее время он и правда недосыпал, а тут, глядя поверх головы Джокера на черное, расчерченное голубыми сполохами масс-поля пространство, глубоко задумался, хотя спроси его сейчас Джокер, о чем - Шепард не смог бы внятно ответить. Так, о жизни... О «Нормандии», о своем месте в этой звездной тишине.
- Доктор Чоквас велела передать, что засиживаться после смены тоже не очень полезно.
Джокер почесал бороду.
- Передайте доктору Чоквас, что Джокер уже большой мальчик и сам составит свое рабочее расписание.
- Ну нет, - Шепард притворно свел брови, - сам и скажешь, а то кэп то, кэп се - сделали из коммандера передаста.
- Ууу, - Джокер сделал вид, что скривился, - дурная шутка, кэп. Вам бы взять пару уроков остроумия не мешало. Только не у меня сейчас, я тут в процессе кое-какой... Калибровки.
- Над чем можно работать после окончания смены? - заинтересовался Шепард, наклоняясь чуть ближе к экрану, но - увы - техническая премудрость так и оставалась для него кроганской грамотой. - Если что-то вроде регулярной проверки, с этим вполне может справиться СУЗИ-
- Я знаю, что она справится, - отрезал пилот, - и дело не в этом. Слушайте, кэп, я провел два года на суше - для вас это, может, нормально, но для меня - я вам уже говорил - было препаршиво. Я просто рад снова оказаться в пилотском кресле, вот и все. Послушайте меня, идите в постельку, а я тут доработаю и тоже пойду.
- Ко мне? - и Шепард тут же прикусил язык - дерьмо, это все от недосыпания, и от расслабухи, иначе он бы себе никогда не позволил такого ляпнуть, - но было уже поздно, и Джокер смотрел на него снизу вверх округлившимися глазами, поправляя в растерянности бейсболку.
- Эээ, я не уверен, кэп, по-моему, это шутка из разряда про передастов-
- Это не шутка, - оборвал Шепард, кидаясь вперед, как в бой, но на этот раз в руках не было оружия - руки были пусты, и хотелось их сомкнуть вокруг Джокера. - Я хотел сказать-
Давай, Шепард, сделай серьезное лицо - то есть нет, лучше не надо, Джокер как-то сказал, что твоя физиономия по серьезности может соперничать с кирпичом.
- Я ни на чем не настаиваю. Я понимаю, у тебя, может быть, совсем другие вкусы, - лишь сказав это, Шепард вдруг осознал, что и вправду ничего не знает о пристрастиях пилота - девочки? мальчики? инопланетянки? корабли? ведь с порно-играми про ханаров и асари только ленивый не баловался, а повода для серьезного разговора на эту тему не подворачивалось. - Но, если что, я долго ждал... И всегда буду ждать.
На мостике повисла тишина, лишь техника тихо, почти неслышно окутывала их мягким гудением. Джокер отвел глаза.
- Я, э, приму к сведению. А теперь мне нужно кое-кто проверить. СУЗИ, выведи мне данные о блоке номер пять!
Шепард тихо развернулся на пятках и ушел. Ему действительно стоило выспаться.
- Кэп, вы в детстве котят домой с улицы носили, да? Не то чтобы я был против, но куда вам такое большое домашнее животное? Надеетесь, оно приручаемое?
- Если нет, сделаю прививку от бешенства и буду держать на поводке, - Шепард был доволен собой, и жажда сражения еще бурлила в крови. Он хотел продолжить мысль, но тут Джокер потянулся, случайно задел не ту кнопку - и раздались приглушенные, страстные звуки занимающейся любовью парочки.
- Упс, должно было пойти в наушники, - без тени извинения пробормотал пилот, мельком глянув на Шепарда из-под козырька бейсболки. Мгновение - и пристойность была восстановлена.
- Командир, вас вызывает Призрак! Желаете поговорить с ним сейчас?
- Да-да, - согласился Шепард, и, когда он спускался с мостика, улыбка на его лице была совершенно дурацкая. Неподобающие звуки раздавались секунды две, не больше, но этого хватило ему, чтобы распознать: парочка была гейская.
FIN
Фандом: «Песнь Льда и Пламени» Мартина
Название: Stories she never read before
Размер: 2367 слов
Пейринг: Сандор/Санса
Для кинк-феста asoiaf_exchange на ЖЖ.
Заказ: Девушке хотелось, чтобы в фике так или иначе были обозначены ответы на следующие вопросы:
- Why does Sansa remember a kiss when none happened?
- How does Sandor feel about her?
- How would they react to meeting each other after Sansa has been Petyr's student and Sandor has become a religious novice?
Комментарий: Кажется, это мой самый-самый первый фик на английском, и написан он был в конце 2009 года; не то чтобы я вообще писала много фиков на английском, правда... Помнится мне, лишь кинув взгляд на заявку, я поняла, как хотела бы начать, как развернуть повествование - и переживала, потому что на фесте заявки между исполнителями распределял администратор, и мог мне достаться какой-нибудь слеш, да еще про персонажей, которых я плохо знаю. Мне повезло. А заказчицу, по-моему, фик не особенно порадовал.
| aunt Lisa loved books |
SANSA
Aunt Lisa loved books. Sansa could barely remember the library of Winterfell with its high arches, endless shelves and1 as Meister Luwin claimed, hundreds of thousands of books. She rarely felt like reading back then, and when she did, Septa Mordaine would go and choose an appropriate book for the young lady’s age and status. But even so, Sansa could still tell that Lord Arryn’s library was no comparison to the Winterfell depository. All the tomes the former Lord of the Vale collected were gathered in one bright room atop the tower, in the room that was Lord Arryn’s once but belonged to Alayana’s father now, and he enjoyed taking these down from the shelves, leafing through – “The Complete History of Westeros”, volume VI, or “The full biography of Richadus the Crestfallen, revised and augmented” – and putting them back.
Lady Lisa, however, cherished and treasured other books. Sansa found them in her cloakroom, hidden in the chests under old gowns and furs, and she couldn’t help but wonder which her aunt preferred. Sansa had never seen Aunt Lisa with a book, but then again she wondered, how much did I see those days? Curious, she took one of the tattered tomes with her into the bedroom.
She found out the book was full with stories, though they were not of a noble kind. Noble knights don’t exist, so said the Hound. Sansa wasn’t able to find them in King’s Landing and now she wasn’t able to find them even in the poems. Old yellowed pages were eager to tell her about rogues and sly boots and about beautiful ladies that fell in love with them; about obstacles put in their way and about evenings when the passionate lovers finally joined their lips in a kiss, and that was just the beginning of the night – and the poem. They were so frivolous and shameless that Sansa didn’t believe her eyes at first, closing the book and feeling the color rushing to her cheeks even though she was alone. She opened it once again, probably hoping the lewd verses would turn into the well-known tale of chivalry, but it stayed and she continued to read, slamming the book closed and hiding it under the blanket every time she seemed to hear some sound.
I better know what happens between a man and a woman after all. Sansa tried to justify herself, but if the tales of chivalry were lies, who could say if these tales of passion were true? She finally understood why her aunt stopped reading these: after all these years of waiting and dreaming the rogue from King’s Landing came and stole her heart, so the tale did come true for her. At least until he stole her life.
But the books also had stories of another kind. They were about dreadful pirates who feared neither the Stranger nor the wrath of the Drowned God, terrible brigands with scarred faces and ebony eyes, fierce barbarian warriors from the distant lands where women only exist to please the men. They were stealing maidens against their will, just like the Hound almost did, and… And there was something in these stories and the memory of the kiss that made Sansa feel strange. Even if one of these stories were true and the maidens did really start to like and love their abductors, if they enjoy that, then she’d rather be…
There was no point thinking about this: both the Hound and Sansa were supposed to be dead. But this night she dreamed about being a princess locked in a castle, while her father – her real father, not Littlefinger – was locking the doors and gates promising no one would get her and harm her. But wasn’t she waiting for someone to save her from the prison? No, this castle is the only place where she would be completely safe, said her father who wore Littlefinger’s face and asked for a kiss.
The castle was under siege: it’s the Hound who had come to get her. She just knew it, she felt him despite all the stone walls and the spaces between them. Her father was gone, halls and passages echoed with Jeoffrey’s laughter and Sansa opened the doors, not sure whom to believe and what to do. She opened the doors and let Sandor in, and he decided to burn her.
She was afraid, but it wasn’t a fear of death. The tongues of flame were licking her belly, breasts and naked shoulders, and she felt fire’s hot breath on her face. The fingers of fire caressed her cheek and touched her lips. They felt almost like a burning passionate kiss, making their way down along the curves of her body, resting on the lips between her legs. Then, she felt herself light and weightless as a scrape of ashes, a plumelet caught by the warm air, so she soared up to the sky, higher and higher, higher and… higher.
SANDOR
The wind was getting harsher with each passing day but Sandor was not used to someone or something being kind to him, be it a human or the weather, so he didn’t care.
He always said that he didn’t give a damn about anything. He never actually thought of it as a lie until recently. He did care about Joffrey a bit, in his own way. He did choose to serve him after all. He did care about his brother, hoping for the moment it would be possible to kill him. He did care about Sansa and… And he preferred not to think about it. But Joffrey had kicked the bucket and ravens were feeding on Gregor’s guts, and Sansa was married to the damned dwarf – worse than dead – and for the first time in his life Sandor had nothing. Nothing…. Nothing at all. No fight to feel the blood boil, no wine to laugh and no one to care for. He found it strange that his life was still going on.
Life went on and it was pretty monotonous because of the monastery’s daily routine. Something always needed to be done so Sandor’s hands were always occupied, though not his mind. Even the seething waters of the waterfall may in the end reach the hidden lake and become still and stagnant; having lost both love and hate. Sandor let his mind wander and notice the things he never paid attention to before: the dark shaggy waves of the bay, the sky; steel-blue because of endless heavy clouds, and the rare ray of sun, but he didn’t pay much attention even to that.
The winter was coming.
By tradition of the monastery, three brothers were to set out to visit the Vale of Arryn after the first snow fell and covered the brown, heavy leaves. The day they departed was the second day of the snowfall. The ground was all white and so was the sky, its rare snowflakes small and icy. Stranger was impatient as ever. He pulled Sandor’s sleeve as if he wanted him to saddle up as soon as possible.
Brother Narbert pulled his hood lower to cover his face, Brother Rahk rubbed his hands before grasping the reins and setting out, Sandor didn’t look back.
The Vale protected by the mountain walls still managed to maintain a bit of the autumn warmth. The ground was still bare. Pools and fallen leaves were covered with hoarfrost webs. The trees had dropped all their leaves and seemed to be so naked that it was almost obscene. Sandor had seen only one tree, a willow, that didn’t let go of its red and auburn leaves, and for some reason it made him think of Sansa. He flinched and continued his way along with the brothers.
They didn’t have much to do besides helping people here and there if needed and healing those that required it. Brother Narbert occasionally spoke with people about the faith. Their goal was the castle of the Lord Protector of the Vale; they had to stay there for three days before going back.
In the times when Lord Arryn was the Lord Protector, the gates of the castle were always open for the brothers. Now they found the gates locked and clenched as tight as teeth. They had to wait for half an hour, exclaiming who they were before they were let in. The castle was eerily silent, filled only by the whispers and careful steps of the servants and menials. It seemed that everyone was waiting for something – for some bad news that was to come.
“We have come to the Lord Protector,” repeated brother Narbert.
There was a moment of silence before a young lady in a sand-coloured gown finally spoke.
“The Lord Protector of the Vale, my father...” she said; and Sandor suddenly recognized this voice, those eyes, that auburn hair, and all the time he had spent in the monastery was forgotten. “He is dying.”
SANSA
It was five o’clock in the morning when lord Petyr had finally closed his eyes. He had been holding Sansa’s hand till the end though it is hard to say whose fingers were colder.
Sometimes Sansa wondered how she felt towards Littlefinger. Was she really attached to this person or just used to him like one becomes used to a medicine that’s necessary for survival and strength– a medicine that’s not too bitter to swallow it up? She looked at this face that became sallow and distant but wasn’t able to find a single tear, and it wasn’t grief she was feeling, but the weight of her own fate on her shoulders. She wasn’t fond of Harry the Heir despite his beautiful locks, shining eyes and a smile that was indeed charming, she inwardly hoped that someday – somehow – the engagement would be broken off, but now her future looked even less pleasant. No matter who would become the next Lord Protector, the bastard daughter of the previous one would likely be forgotten; she didn’t have any influence, she didn’t even have money and Harry would rather marry the daughter of the next Lord.
She moved to the window and raised the curtain just a little to see the deep blue sky with a brighter spot in the east: the dawn was to break soon. The servants were already getting up – she could hear the steps down the hallway – and soon she would have to admit there’s no Petyr Baelish anymore. Littlefinger had been teaching her how to gain friends and manipulate people, but it seemed that all his words and teachings had died with him as Sansa tried to think something out and couldn’t. The sky was getting bluish, the stars were pale and hardly visible. She didn’t hear any footsteps this time so the rough knock at the door almost scared her. Sansa even recognized the hooded figure: it was one of those travelling septons – or were they from the monastery? – that came yesterday. Yesterday seemed so distant.
“Thank you for taking interest, but I believe my father doesn’t need a- a septon anymore.”
“Well then,” the man’s voice was familiar and, even though Sansa didn’t recognize it at first, its roughness sent shivers down her spine. “I thought you may have need of a dog.”
The hood finally fell down to the man’s shoulders, and Sansa’s heart skipped a beat when she saw Sandor’s face, terrible as ever.
“Don’t look at me like that little bird, I guess I didn’t become prettier unlike you.” He sneered but he wasn’t angry. “Or were you expecting someone else – a knight, or that pretty fiancé of yours?”
“No, I -” the throat was dry, and it was difficult to speak. “No, ser -”
“I'm a ser just like you're Alayne,” his mouth crook, it was almost a smile. “Why do you think I’m here – to listen to your civilities?”
He had finally come to steal me, Sansa thought, or to take me, to burn me -
“…to take me away?”
There was a moment of silence broken by a strange sound – it was Sandor roaring with laughter, throwing his head back, but the laughter was bitter.
“You think I still want you?” He stepped forth and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look him directly in the eyes. It was almost painful but not terrible, not at all. “You think you can drive a dog away when you don’t need it and call it back when you do, and it would come licking your hands happily?”
I’ve never driven you away, she wanted to tell him, but Sandor was holding her chin so firmly it was difficult to speak. His skin was grey in the faint morning light coming from the window, the knots of scars were dark - she felt a sudden urge to touch his face – but there was a dangerous hungry glitter in his eyes, and when Sandor’s fingers weakened, Sansa found the strength to whisper.
“Can you please close your eyes, s- Sandor.”
And he did.
Sandor was taller so she had to stand on her tiptoes, but that wasn’t enough; she gingerly laid her hands on his shoulders and Sandor stooped down a bit. We have done this before, Sansa reminded herself, but her heart was beating so heavily she thought she would die when she finally pressed her lips against his.
The first moments can hardly be called a kiss, but then Sansa felt strong arms wrapping her so tightly it was almost painful, the cruel mouth lusting for more, but Sandor suddenly pushed her away.
“Wait here,” his voice was muffled and hoarse. “I’d make Stranger ready and get back for you.”
Sansa nodded and shivered: it was suddenly cold without his arms. Sandor had almost left, but stopped, jerked the strings, threw his old seedy cloak off and slipped it over Sansa’s shoulders. One second and he was gone.
Sansa’s heart was wrung with so many feelings that she didn’t even try to name them. There was one thing she knew for sure though: stories do usually come true not the way you imagined them to, but they still can make you happy.
FIN
~ ~ ~
Фандом: Игра Mass Effect
Название: Happy endings
Размер: 1319 слов
Персонажи: Зори Шепард (протагонистка получательницы), Шиала
Место действия: Бар «Вечность», Иллиум
Написан как новогодний подарок в рамках того самого community event'а, благодаря которому я получила в подарок Арью с лайтсейбером Вейдера.
Заказ: "I'd like to see my FemShep Zori sis/bromancing with Tali, Kasumi, Shiala or Feron."
Комментарий: Писать было сложновато, потому что я, во-первых, боялась накосячить с чужой Шепард, а, во-вторых, боялась накосячить с Шиалой, но в итоге получательнице понравилось. Алсо, мои описания такие описательные, даже когда я пишу на инглише.
| the sun has already set |
The sun has already set, the sky has darkened from shady blue to a dark and vibrant shade of purple; yet, Zori could hardly see stars above. Like all the vast magnificent metropolises, Nos Astra never fell asleep. Both the ground and the air, warm and heavy after rain, were studded with traffic lights and low beams flashing; the port bathed in warm orange and neon blue of numerous displays and counters; the sun, though hidden beyond the horizon, was still touching tops of the skyscrapers, making them glitter like flutes of sparkling wine. The sight was outstanding, and Zori felt her heart soften.
"Polonus," said Shiala, pointing at a pale dot just above the Armali Staduim's sloping roof. "It usually appears a few minutes after sunset this time of year and is hard to miss. It's known mostly for an accident when a research station had been hit by a meteor followed by a fast loss of pressure, and only six didn't make it. Our family friend was one of them."
There was a moment of silence as Zori was caught by surprise by a sudden change of topic. "I am sorry to hear that."
"Don't be. As a scientist she was excited by how all the things known, from substance and machinery of nature to ideas, are connected to each other and form a single, magnificent existence. Her spiritual energy - soul, as you say - is part of it now. At least that's what Matriarch Benezia taught us, and that's what I believe in. She had always said that death is mere dark step towards light and new life."
There was no light, she also said. The words almost escaped Zori's lips but she held herself in check, just hoisting her light glass in response.
"For those who have gone or fallen."
"For those who are no longer with us."
The Eternity bar had been full at this hour, attracting idle patrons, couples and travelers in need of whiling away their time before next flight alike. Still, Aethyta reserved a small table for the two on the balcony, away from other visitors and curious stares: being green, Shiala attracted way more attention than she wanted to.
Zori relaxed in her seat. It was good to leave the Normandy just like that, not on another mission, but to lounge in a bar with someone she trusted with no guns other than her Phalanx pistol and no bugs planted by Cerberus; at least she hoped there were no tricky listening devices hidden in the folds of her casual clothing, or under a table, or in one of the lava lamps.
"I've been always wondering, why did you join Benezia in the first place?"
"A spiritual crisis, one can say," Shiala responded. "I had tried myself in different spheres, from engineering to art criticism, even considered taking commando training, but found I have neither liking for it nor any talents that would've made me valuable as a specialist. I had many friends and partners, but none worth living for. I had reached my Matron stage but was as unsure of my own life and future as a young Maiden. That was when I made myself familiar with Matriarch Benezia's teachings."
Her look was faraway and distant, her fingers playing with near-empty wineglass, Shiala was stirring up memories of that time long gone.
"Benezia and us, her followers, were visiting different planets and cities, making people familiar with the principles of siari and helping those who are in need of spiritual guidance - until she met Saren."
Zori frowned. "He managed to screw many things up, didn't he?"
"Saren was also Sovereign's victim worthy of sympathy," Shiala pointed out.
Zori winced, hearing the name once again. As much as Saren deserved pity after having been manipulated and tricked, she couldn't help but recall thin, bloodthirsty Dragon's teeth on Eden Prime, debris crushing the Citadel Tower, and an unnatural, half-cybernetic turian skeleton coming to life. Ugh, Saren's name had a taste of cold iron and blood on her tongue.
She took a sip, and elasa liquor immediately warmed her up and made her tongue tickle, as if she had been kissed by a lover. There, much better.
"Now that I recall our meeting I see some cruel irony in it. Saren accused us of being inactive, saying that compassion we offer others wouldn't do any good unless accompanied by actions. But that was the exact reason we had joined him: we were led by both compassion and desire to do something to prevent the tragedy. We pretended to be on his side at first, but you know what happened later."
Zori nodded slowly, recollecting her own experience and finding unpleasant similarities between Shiala's story and her own life. "I am afraid this would happen to me as well."
Zori continued before Shiala even had a chance to respond. "I had despised Cerberus since the moment I learned of its deeds. But what am I supposed to do if the Council doesn't believe me and the Alliance broke all ties? If working with Cerberus gets the job done, so be it; but why am I starting to doubt their ways are wrong? Miranda is always so logical, so convincing when it comes to Cerberus; crewmen are ordinary, pleasant people, not fanatics or xenophobes one may expect them to be. What if I'm adapting to their views, beginning to feel and see the world as they do-"
"We call it 'the loneliness syndrome', Shepard" interrupted Shiala politely, but firmly. "Most sentient beings are born with a need to understand those around us and to be understood, while feelings of despair and futility may turn this need into one's ordeal. If so, the person shifts her opinion, consciously or not, for it to match majority. That is also a behavior of a victim agreeing with her captor. Are you one?"
Zori felt a quick pang of protest in her chest - me? - but that was exactly the type of response Shiala expected: some emotion or resistance. It made Zori straighten her shoulders, press her lips together, and there was a steel undertone in her voice when she spoke. "I owe him my life and ship, but never my loyalty. I would consider my collaboration with Cerberus over as soon my part of bargain is done and the abductions are stopped."
"Now that is the commander Shepard I've mind-melded with," said Shiala, and a smile touched her lips, lighting up her usually serious face. "Besides, there's also one last lesson Matriarch Benezia and Saren gave me."
She paused to pour elasa liquor into their almost empty glasses, and a sweet, stirring smell of alcohol filled the air. Artificial lights were dim in their corner, music was soft and gentle, and its irregular beats reminded Zori of a heartbeat.
"I finally found what I had been looking for - a purpose, something I can dedicate myself to. I am happy helping rebuild Zhu's Hope and seeing the colony as it grows stronger and attracts new scientists. So, when something forces your life go wrong, there's always a chance it would take a correct route after the next turn. It's not much of a revelation," she added honestly. "But it proves right."
It was neither a revelation nor something new, but it still made Zori feel confident and gave her hope. Hope was bittersweet, but that was so much better than nothing.
"Thank you. I would remember your words and... I am looking forward to telling the Illusive Man that I would be in charge from now on."
"For doing things the right way, then," said Shiala, hoisting her amber glass, and Zori hoisted her flute as well. The sound of clinking glasses faded away, the liquor left a pleasant bittersweet aftertaste in her mouth, and she came up with a next toast.
For happy endings.
FIN
~ ~ ~
Фандом: Portal
Название: Именем твоим
Размер: 460 слов
Пейринг: Челл/girl!Утяжеленный Грузовой Куб-компаньон
Для фемслеш кинк-феста cherche_la_femme
Заказ: «Проходя тесты, Челл невольно проникается симпатией, а потом и одушевляет сопровождающий ее Куб. Вопреки всем убеждениям ГЛэДОС, утверждающей, что Куб является неживым существом. Любовь девушки и Куба. Много-много безумия. Сюр, психоделика, возможно, ангст, на усмотрение автора».
Комментарий: Мда, написать про отношения человека и вещи - уже само по себе сюр )
| экспериментальный центр напоминает вам, что грузовой куб не умеет говорить |
- Я всегда хотела себе младшую сестру по имени Эмили - то есть, мне кажется, что хотела, понимаешь, не могу быть уверенной наверняка, - Челл стряхнула с пальцев сырные крошки. Неизвестно, что еще там с тортиком, но пока что еду ГЛаДОС готовила отменную! - Тебе нравится имя Эмили? Жалко, что ты не можешь есть: один бутерброд остался, а он с ветчиной. По-моему, я не люблю ветчину.Но даже в этом Челл не была уверена до конца. Изо дня в день ее окружал серо-белый мир, состоящий из кубов комнат и квадратов панелей, и иногда ей начинало казаться, что сама она - лишь набор кубиков, собранных, как детали конструктора, по инструкции Aperture Science. Поменяй детальки местами - и вот тебе бешеная авантюристка, ускользающая в портал за мгновение до того, как у ее ног разобьется энергетический шар. Снова поменяй - и получишь трусиху, и Хьюго скользит в потных руках, и турель за углом издевательски гудит - эй! Выходи! Пули заждались! Кажется, позавчера Челл понравился ветчинный гамбургер, а сегодня с одного запаха воротит. Наверное, эти детальки в ее голове переставляет ГЛаДОС, пока Челл спит, но это не страшно, лишь бы она не подменила Куб на одного из ее безликих серых собратьев.
И Челл критически посмотрела на Куб, по-домашнему прижавшись к ней щекой.
- Нет, тебе не идет быть Эмили. Придется тебя переименовать. Ты знаешь, тебе не идет и быть моей младшей сестрой, ты для этого слишком много меня защищаешь, а должно быть наоборот: я - тебя, я же старшая. Давай мы не будем родственниками, и тогда какие мы отношения захотим, такие между нами и будут. М?
Челл быстро поняла, что в этом белом равнодушии ГЛаДОС упивается звуком собственного голоса, а потому никого другого не замечает. Пришлось выговариваться Хьюго - и он оказался отличным слушателем, к слову - и даже в тему шевелил тремя усиками, расположенными параллельно стволу, выражая то сочувствие, то неодобрение, то радость после прохождения очередного теста. Челл однажды испугалась и выронила его, и потом испугалась повторно, еще сильнее, когда увидела длинную серую царапину на его боку.
Еще Челл наполовину с опаской, наполовину с предвкушением ждала момента, когда устройство - ну, то, прикрепленное на левой ноге - в очередной раз подведет и не сработает в нужный момент. Это будет уже третий раз, и тогда можно будет с полным правом сказать, что у него дурной характер, и дать ему соответствующее бунтарское имя.
Впрочем, подумала Челл, поудобнее устраиваясь на полу и прислоняясь спиной к Кубу, впрочем...
Какая-то мысль, какая-то идея появилась на краю сознания, и спустя мгновение и ледяная королева ГЛаДОС, и коварное устройство на левой ноге, и даже Хьюго перестали что-то значить. Челл, улыбаясь, развернулась к Кубу, обвела пальцем ее выпуклое сердечко на теплой грани и выдохнула имя.
- Вот такое мне придумалось! Красивое, и тебе идет. Правда, идет! М?
Куб согласно и счастливо промолчала.
FIN
~ ~ ~
Фандом: Mass Effect
Название: Непристойность
Размер: 726 слов
Пейринг: М!Шепард/Джокер
Для кинк-феста по малопопулярным фандомам Шанс!
Заказ: «Слэш или юст. Необязательное условие: время действия - после самоубийственной миссии, где выжили только Шепард и Джокер».
Комментарий: Нет, я вовсе не слешер - но и не антислешер. Просто смотрела, смотрела я на все эти заявки по малопопулярным фандомам и думала: черт, как у них мал шанс оказаться выполненными. Почему бы не сделать кому-нибудь приятное по любимой игре? Тем более что энцу писать не просят... В итоге получившийся пре-слеш ужасно нравится мне (в смысле исполнения)... Что-то не уверена насчет заказчика.
| упс |
Миранду Лоусон ценили многие - и за многое. За острый - и вовсе не женский - аналитический ум, за фирменный биотический приемчик, оставлявший от противника самое что ни на есть мокрое место, за торжествующий крик в битве, да за буфера, наконец - но Шепард ценил ее за добродетель, которая вряд ли значилась в ее личном деле. За молчание. Потому что когда он поднимался на озаренный рыжими экранами мостик, чтобы, как считали все, поболтать со своим старым приятелем, Миранда знала - и держала свои мысли при себе.Я два года изучала тебя, Шепард.
~ ~ ~
- Эй, кэп, спать стоя вредно, вам доктор Чоквас не говорила?
Шепард вздрогнул и, будто проснувшись, провел рукой по лицу. В последнее время он и правда недосыпал, а тут, глядя поверх головы Джокера на черное, расчерченное голубыми сполохами масс-поля пространство, глубоко задумался, хотя спроси его сейчас Джокер, о чем - Шепард не смог бы внятно ответить. Так, о жизни... О «Нормандии», о своем месте в этой звездной тишине.
- Доктор Чоквас велела передать, что засиживаться после смены тоже не очень полезно.
Джокер почесал бороду.
- Передайте доктору Чоквас, что Джокер уже большой мальчик и сам составит свое рабочее расписание.
- Ну нет, - Шепард притворно свел брови, - сам и скажешь, а то кэп то, кэп се - сделали из коммандера передаста.
- Ууу, - Джокер сделал вид, что скривился, - дурная шутка, кэп. Вам бы взять пару уроков остроумия не мешало. Только не у меня сейчас, я тут в процессе кое-какой... Калибровки.
- Над чем можно работать после окончания смены? - заинтересовался Шепард, наклоняясь чуть ближе к экрану, но - увы - техническая премудрость так и оставалась для него кроганской грамотой. - Если что-то вроде регулярной проверки, с этим вполне может справиться СУЗИ-
- Я знаю, что она справится, - отрезал пилот, - и дело не в этом. Слушайте, кэп, я провел два года на суше - для вас это, может, нормально, но для меня - я вам уже говорил - было препаршиво. Я просто рад снова оказаться в пилотском кресле, вот и все. Послушайте меня, идите в постельку, а я тут доработаю и тоже пойду.
- Ко мне? - и Шепард тут же прикусил язык - дерьмо, это все от недосыпания, и от расслабухи, иначе он бы себе никогда не позволил такого ляпнуть, - но было уже поздно, и Джокер смотрел на него снизу вверх округлившимися глазами, поправляя в растерянности бейсболку.
- Эээ, я не уверен, кэп, по-моему, это шутка из разряда про передастов-
- Это не шутка, - оборвал Шепард, кидаясь вперед, как в бой, но на этот раз в руках не было оружия - руки были пусты, и хотелось их сомкнуть вокруг Джокера. - Я хотел сказать-
Давай, Шепард, сделай серьезное лицо - то есть нет, лучше не надо, Джокер как-то сказал, что твоя физиономия по серьезности может соперничать с кирпичом.
- Я ни на чем не настаиваю. Я понимаю, у тебя, может быть, совсем другие вкусы, - лишь сказав это, Шепард вдруг осознал, что и вправду ничего не знает о пристрастиях пилота - девочки? мальчики? инопланетянки? корабли? ведь с порно-играми про ханаров и асари только ленивый не баловался, а повода для серьезного разговора на эту тему не подворачивалось. - Но, если что, я долго ждал... И всегда буду ждать.
На мостике повисла тишина, лишь техника тихо, почти неслышно окутывала их мягким гудением. Джокер отвел глаза.
- Я, э, приму к сведению. А теперь мне нужно кое-кто проверить. СУЗИ, выведи мне данные о блоке номер пять!
Шепард тихо развернулся на пятках и ушел. Ему действительно стоило выспаться.
~ ~ ~
- Кэп, вы в детстве котят домой с улицы носили, да? Не то чтобы я был против, но куда вам такое большое домашнее животное? Надеетесь, оно приручаемое?
- Если нет, сделаю прививку от бешенства и буду держать на поводке, - Шепард был доволен собой, и жажда сражения еще бурлила в крови. Он хотел продолжить мысль, но тут Джокер потянулся, случайно задел не ту кнопку - и раздались приглушенные, страстные звуки занимающейся любовью парочки.
- Упс, должно было пойти в наушники, - без тени извинения пробормотал пилот, мельком глянув на Шепарда из-под козырька бейсболки. Мгновение - и пристойность была восстановлена.
- Командир, вас вызывает Призрак! Желаете поговорить с ним сейчас?
- Да-да, - согласился Шепард, и, когда он спускался с мостика, улыбка на его лице была совершенно дурацкая. Неподобающие звуки раздавались секунды две, не больше, но этого хватило ему, чтобы распознать: парочка была гейская.
FIN
@музыка: Sugababes - Freak Like Me
@настроение: К.С. Льюис, «Пока мы лиц не обрели»
@темы: смерть автора, Mass Effect, Portal
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04.01.2011 в 13:13-
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30.05.2011 в 17:53-
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31.05.2011 в 00:25