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Anyway, at some point in his career Stephen King was on: Valium , Cocaine, Cough Syrup (seriously), and a large amount of alcohol, to the point where he got drunk on mouthwash (Scrope, to be exact). Note the large number of alcoholics who work their way into his books. All of this is thought to the reason why he doesn't remember writing Cujo or the production of Maximum Overdrive. This is all the information I have on the subject.

Most of the hits on Google when I looked up "sexy Irish costume" just looked like Generic Tavern Wench var. Green. This looks like it would actually translate into something cute. I love the shamrock in the hair; I'd have included something like that or a tiny top hat, but it wasn't really relevant to the passage. Thank you! ^^

No follow-up scene, sorry. I believe Gall has a fairly high tolerance and enough self-control to cut herself off while she still has some of her wits, because someone in the partnership has to. She can in fact be slightly responsible when pressed.

What's wrong with Derik in a thong, shamrock or otherwise? It's only his face that's mangled. ^~

~Neshomeh

I honestly wasn't sure if you'd like it or not. Glad you did.

If you can't wear the pants to begin with, how can you take them off? This is an important question!

Silliness aside, this was adorable. :)

So I'mma hazard a guess at no. =]

Thank you for the kind words, though, I really appreciate it. =]

I think, upon rereading, I could probably have tightened up the references a bit more so that the ending was even more of a surprise, but yeah. Thank you for the kind words. =]

My point was just that I don't think nuclear power is a significant threat to humanity.

Gall's thirsty, and not just for beer. :P Derik in a shamrock thong is not a mental image I wanted or needed. Eeks.

(I did want to make her outfit, so I made it! Whee!)



There weren't any tankard options, weirdly enough, so I went with the next best thing. :)

Oh, please tell me there's a followup scene where she comes back drunk and loudly proclaims her love for him.

Gardener's main motivation is his fear of the health effects of nuclear power plant operation. It's the only reason he goes along with helping the Tommyknockers—he feels that the technologies they develop will provide a safer source of power for the world. By the end, of course, he finally realizes that their tech can be used violently, just like human tech can, and that the Tommyknockers's original social structure got broken down through their irresponsible use of it. Gardener constructs a rhyme about it that sums it up pretty well:

"I had a perfectly good reason to raise this fuss
I met the Tommyknockers, and they were us."

—doctorlit

1. Don't write shipfic involving yourself unless it's a canon ship. Doing that is weird.
   
   Previously, the rule was “Don't suggest a ship involving yourself ...”, implying that we could write whatever somebody else had suggested.
   
   HG

Are the sweatpants there just because Nesh said nobody would wear them on a date?

Anyways, yeah, this is great. Like, so good I kinda wish I'd thought of it.

You totally got me there, until realization hit at the last line. Awesome, Scape!

HG

It had been quiet for just long enough that Kaitlyn was wondering if she needed to rescue her husband from whatever trouble had befallen him.

There was still rustling in the attic, that was a good sign- and even better, a familiar pair of legs still perched on the unfolded ladder. Huinesoron descended, grinning- and then started when he saw his wife.

"You're never going to guess what I found," hS said.

"Given that I found an entire barony last time I was up there, probably not," Kaitlyn said.

In answer, Huinesoron reached back up into the attic and brought out a pair of black leather pants.

"No," Kaitlyn breathed. "Those aren't..."

"The original pair," Huinesoron said. "As far as I can tell. As worn in the very first shipfest."

"Wow," Kaitlyn said. "That brings back a lot. Feels like it was just yesterday, and yet-"

Kaitlyn gestured around herself, somehow encompassing house, marriage, and a decade of shared life.

Huinesoron grinned a very familiar grin.

"I wonder if they still fit?"

Kaitlyn made a face and reached out to feel the stiff leather. "They've probably perished, love. But the point of leather pants was never in the wearing."

"Oh?" Huinesoron said.

"The point of leather pants," Kaitlyn said, pulling her husband towards their bedroom, "is when and where you take them off."

The sky was the colour of television, tuned to a dead channel, and Tomash was stumbling around the cold streets violently snogging himself. He was really going at it. He pawed at his own arms, grabbed at his own jacket and belt, flicked his own tongue out and twisted it about, left to right, in an attempt to wrap it around itself.

'Oh, Tomash, you know how I love these cold cyber-afternoons,' exclaimed Thoth, pulling his lips from themselves.

'Oh, how could I not know, Thoth, my lover? You're me, after all.'

'How could you not,' said Thoth wistfully, the subtext of his phrase understood almost immediately by Tomash because, again, they were the same person, literally the exact same person, same traits and tendencies and you should see them talking about computer nerd stuff together, it's uncanny.

'Ah, but my darling,' exclaimed Tomash or alternately Thoth, suddenly standing straight. 'Why, it's just about PPC-time!'

'Yes! Of course!' realised either Thoth or Tomash. 'Quick! We must hurry back and log into our two separate accounts to continue pretending and claiming that we are two, distinct, different people, despite it being incredibly clear that this is one person, sheeple! This is a single individual! Check the facts! Think a little!'

And so, Thoth and Tomash skipped merrily back to their cyber-computer - though not without, here and there, giving themselves light pecks on their own cheeks, or reaching over and gently massaging their own shoulders -
and everybody was none the wiser as to their dark secret.

Hopefully she's starting to get towards the point where she's not scared to show her face in public.

Actually, I might have to recycle this prompt for an interlude at some point...

Scape, you mad troll. I love you.

"You know, ya really should've planned for something like this."

Cassie fixed Em with a withering glare. "How the hell was I supposed to plan for this? Tell me, O wise one, that I might learn your ancient secrets."

Em just laughed, which was definitely helpful and in no way at all made Cassie want to nail her to the outside of a speeding train. "Gurl, HQ's a weird place, 's'all I'm saying. You were bound to wind up on a date some time."

"Oh really?" Cassie's voice had that forced politeness to it common to teachers about to go absolutely postal on the little turds in Form 4B. "And I suppose you are too, by that logic."

"Like I said, HQ's hella weird. One time, I got chased around by animated luncheon meat, so a date like this one you're on? Not so crazy. At least your date didn't eat your laptop or something."

"Eat my - you know, I was just thinking the dessert menu around here was a little lacking in variety." Cassie glanced around at her surroundings. "Too heavy on the fruit for my liking."

Em cackled. "Damn, Cass. This is why I keep you around."

"That and I'm the only person willing to go in a bathroom you've used in the last four millennia."

"Yeah, that too."

"Merlin's sweaty taint." Cassie paced around a little bit. "I just feel so sticky. It's horrible."

"I knoooow." Em shrugged. "Could be worse. The heat could be stuck on again."

"I need about half a dozen showers and a Scourgify. These robes have absolutely had it. And now is a really bad time to find out my shoes don't fit properly any more. Bloody hell. My feet are killing me."

"Mine too. These sweatpants are designer."

"Isn't that a contradiction in terms?"

"Haaaa."

The two agents paced around a bit more, grimacing at the state of themselves.

"And that guy from Building Maintenance was really unhelpful," Cassie said after a while. "I told him about this bloody date I'm on and what did he do?"

"Said 'Congratulations', mumbled something about a bomb threat, and hung up. Which you told me. Like, four times now."

"Well, it bears repeating."

"Not. Four. Times."

"... I suppose not, but it irked me a bit, that's all. Sorry, Em, I don't mean to go on."

"I know, Cass, it's fine. It'll be okay."

They embraced for a moment, then recoiled before they stuck together.

"Cass?"

"Yes, Em?"

Em pointed at the edge of the giant date they were standing on top of. "Uh... how do we get down?"

---

I'm a complete cow sometimes. >=]

Ix being dapper is always a delight- and as ever, I love how you write her nervousness!