elrhiarhodan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
elrhiarhodan) wrote2013-01-31 11:27 am
elrhiarhodan) wrote2013-01-31 11:27 am
Entry tags:
Meme - Ask Me about A/U's I'll Never Write
Okay, my flist has spoken, and the overwhelming winner of the Help Me Pick a Meme post was the "A/U's I'll Never Write" meme. Which is not a completely accurate title, since I've played this meme before and ended up writing complete stories for quite a few of the suggested A/Us.
So, here goes:
Give me an A/U and I'll write a few paragraphs about a story that I may or may not write.
Fandoms are White Collar, White Collar, and yes, White Collar. My brain isn't working well enough for any solo A/Us for my peripheral interests at the moment, but I will entertain crossovers with Lewis, Sherlock, Skyfall and Star Trek: AOS, so long as the primary fandom is White Collar.
And if you'd like, repost on your own journal and I'll play there, too.
So, here goes:
Give me an A/U and I'll write a few paragraphs about a story that I may or may not write.
Fandoms are White Collar, White Collar, and yes, White Collar. My brain isn't working well enough for any solo A/Us for my peripheral interests at the moment, but I will entertain crossovers with Lewis, Sherlock, Skyfall and Star Trek: AOS, so long as the primary fandom is White Collar.
And if you'd like, repost on your own journal and I'll play there, too.
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“This isn’t going well.” Elizabeth made a moue of distaste, her pretty lips curled into a frown.
Peter had to agree. Between them, they had interviewed over two dozen potential handlers for Arundalia His Banana’s Majesty Champion, a/k/a Satchmo. None of them were right. There was one handler who insisted on wearing an electric blue tuxedo and acid green high tops, another was more interested in eating the bait. Then there was the woman who thought she could handle Satchmo while wearing her 5-inch stiletto Jimmy Choos. He and El had a hard time not laughing when she went down on her ass (she slipped on dog poo).
Time was running short. They needed a handler for Satch for Westminster. In a pinch, El would put her name down as the handler and submit a modification when they found a handler they liked, except that she was in a walking cast, which made handling in the show ring impossible.
Peter supposed he could put himself down as a handler, except he suffered from agoraphobia and would probably freak out at the Garden. All those people, all those dogs. He tried not to shudder at the thought.
There was one more handler candidate to interview. A Mr. Neal Caffrey. He had no experience with Westminster, but his resume was impressive. Two best of breed showings at the national level for Irish Wolfhounds, multiple top threes for other large breeds, including one turn at Krufts in the UK.
“He’s awfully pretty, don’t you think?” El handed him the headshot that accompanied Caffrey’s resume.
Peter raised an eyebrow. “Very pretty, indeed.”
“Would you like to fuck him?”
Peter laughed. They’d come a long way from the bitterness and acrimony of divorce court. It took years, but they learned to trust each other again, to become friends. “And if I said, ‘yeah’ – would it bother you?”
“Only if it interfered with showing Satch.”
“That’s my girl – keeping her priorities straight.”
“Someone has to.”
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Goes off into a corner to think about the possibilities.
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