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singularityderp2011-05-09 11:42 pm
dismembers.livejournal.com) wrote in singularityderp2011-05-09 11:42 pm
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ANON FIC MEME
...yeah okay, that was lame. DWI. As a change of pace from our usual kink memes, here's an all-purpose fic meme to cover all our bases. While adult prompts and fills are still a-okay, general prompts for fic are just as welcome here! As usual, there are a few guidelines that should probably be followed to keep this flowing smoothly;
☆ one request per comment!
☆ if you make a request, please try to make a fill as well!
☆ if a request specifies a certain rating (such as keeping it pg-13 and under/non-porny/etc), please honor it!
☆ have fun!
☆ ???
☆ profit!
Moondance 1/2
(Anonymous) 2011-06-11 03:31 am (UTC)(link)---------
“And all the leaves on the trees are falling//To the sound of the breezes that blow…”
The music was turned down low in his helmet, barely noticed as he dozed. He’d needed a little peace and quiet away from the base, and had found a roof in Residential 5 that he could access easily via fire escape. The sun was warm on his armor, but not so much that the temperature control in his suit kicked in hard. All in all, a pleasant day. And a perfect place for a nap.
So he’d settled his back against the lip of the roof, stretched out, arms curled around his submachine gun, and drifted off. It was only in shorts bursts – typical, really – but he stayed dead-still no matter if he was asleep or not.
“And when you come my heart will be waiting//To make sure you’re never alone…”
Something slammed into his legs and he was awake and pulling up his gun long before he saw what had run into him. Almost before it even hit the ground. Back in some long-gone and so distant theater of war with him having to play dead to escape and some stupid Grunt tripping over his shins and there goes his cover. It takes noticing that the figure is human before he lowers the SMG. Don’t shoot humans. Never again. Not after…
He shakes his head slightly and shuts off the music without a second thought, making an effort to recall where he is. Not some hellhole crawling with Covenant. Sacrosanct. The station. Only one Covvie here and he’s keeping the peace like the Arbiter before him. Sort of.
The man that ran over him is dressed in sleek black armor that doesn’t look nearly effective enough for combat, cut with lines of brilliant white light. Ah, yes. Programs. He recalls them mostly from that debacle in Zone 7. The specter of Yevgenny whispering in his ear Red is dead, just like the VISR before launching into some tirade about convergence and the spiral rock he could see if he squeezed his eyes shut just a little too hard.
But he recognized this one from the network. Quiet one, talked even less than he did. Used blue text. Weird for a guy in black and white. What was his name…? Ah, whatever. He shifted slightly to poke the Program with a toe. It seemed to startle him and he twitched, flipping over to look at him. Helmet meet helmet.
He shifted again, looking the black-clad figure over from head to toe and nodding his chin. ‘You okay?’ The Program nodded, dipping his head in apology. ‘I’m sorry if I hurt you.’ He waved it off. Nothing to worry about.
Didn’t most of these programs live together in this district? Some penthouse high rise place. This guy probably roof-hopped a lot, then. Hard to anticipate some leggy Marine would pick one to sleep on, then. Though he had to wonder what this program would be doing on a roof in the first pl-
Wait, he’d caught sight of him at the prom. He’d been working on a pleasant buzz and trying too hard to pretend to ignore O’Brien – he kept saying the rejected invitation hadn’t mattered but dammit it did – when he’d caught sight of some flash of white running up a wall and dashing out. This is one of those wallrunning roof-jumping ones like Rinzler, isn’t it? The phrase ‘System Monitor’ popped to mind unbidden. That was right, wasn’t it? System Monitor Something-Or-Other.
Moondance 2/2
(Anonymous) 2011-06-11 03:32 am (UTC)(link)Anon! That was the name! Geeze, no wonder he’d been having problems. How much more generic could a name be?
… Not that he has to think of the answer. James Dante. J.D.
John Doe.
Shit.
He noticed Anon tilts his head slightly, like a confused dog. Apparently the line of thought – that led invariably to trying and failing to identify what was left of people that were possibly his friends – was somehow visible. Which was when he realized that he’d slumped his shoulders a little bit as he considered all of that. He squared them again, shaking his head. Just fine.
And that was when he got a look. He wasn’t even sure how he could tell he was getting a look, but there it was. Like the Program – whom he’d always pegged as the hyper-loyal, hyper-hopeful type – knew exactly what he was thinking and that he was most certainly not fine.
After a few moments he shrugged. Okay, okay, so maybe his head was in a bad place for a bit there. Well, more than a bit. It’s not like he can exactly help it around here. All of these broken fucking soldiers and not one psychiatrist. And he copes because he forced himself to get some help before he applied for the ODSTs – there’s crazy and then there’s crazy – but it’s hard sometimes.
Anon could apparently read him like a book because the Program shifted towards him and hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder.
Huh.
Maybe this Monitor, from a world that doesn’t know the terrors some of their lauded ‘Users’ face and wouldn’t ever be able to handle themselves in a fight with firearms, understood better than he thought.
He checked the time on his HUD and thought for a moment. “… Hey. Know this nice spot to watch sunset from. You up for it?”
The Program let out a noise like static that he could still pick up a note of as Anon spoke. “If you can keep up with me.”