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| 2007-12-08 12:20 |
| (no subject) |
| Public |
| fic |
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Loki the Enthumbed, our super-adorable shorthair kitty, was cuddling me at the same time I was reading fic. So I thought, "I know! I'll do a pussy challenge!"
Name a character, or two or three, and I will write a snippet with said character(s) and a kitty. Or, you could write me a snippet with a kitty. It's basically a kittyfest, here. Fire away.
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![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) olegriz |
| 2007-12-08 19:21 (UTC) |
| (no subject) |
| Little Bear |
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How about:
-- The Goddamn Batman
-- One or more of the regulars at The Pie Hole
-- House
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To be clear: do you want generalized Batman + kitties, or do you want specifically the Goddamned Batman?
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| olegriz |
| 2007-12-10 19:49 (UTC) |
| (no subject) |
| Little Bear |
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The general Batman + kitties, though I was thinking closer to the Christian Bale Batman rather than the Adam West Batman.
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I can only be glad of this, seeing as the Goddamned Batman would probably have involved him *eating* the kitties, and I'm just not sure I could have written that.
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| olegriz |
| 2007-12-14 06:52 (UTC) |
| The joke was just too easy... |
| Murdered |
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Yeah, the Goddamn Batman would be much more likely to eat a pussy rather than stroke it affectionately. I can totally understand your reluctance to write such nasty behavior. ;)
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I'm not entirely sure this came out how I wanted it to; it certainly came out *longer* than I wanted it to, and also I think perhaps there is not enough kitten.
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Emerson Cod swirled into the Pie Hole in a gust of sartorial brazenness that went completely unnoticed, despite the accompanying chime of the bell over the door; only Digby looked up at his entrance. Emerson adjusted the hand-knitted scarf wound carefully around his neck and sidled up to the counter.
"Hey, Emerson," Chuck chirruped, carefully setting out two freshly sliced pieces of pie before a nauseatingly love-dovey couple occupying the same stool. Emerson Cod gave the couple a disdainful look.
"I would break them up, but there's only one open stool here," he said, sitting down. "Is your boy baker around?"
Chuck's face closed up. "I don't know," she disclaimed. "Why don't you check for yourself?"
Emerson Cod raised an eyebrow.
"Oh hi, Emerson!" Olive called, coming out of the kitchen. "Would you like an espresso?"
She toddled over on her high heels and caressed the levers of the gleaming machine.
"I drink coffee," Emerson informed her suspicously. "Black."
"Well, I know you do," she said, "But I just thought you might want to try something different. You know, sometimes people do that, try something different. Sometimes you wake up in the morning and you say, 'Wow, what I did yesterday and the day before that and the day before the day before that and every other day for the entire rest of my life is the old, and I want to try something new, so maybe I'll have a cup of espresso today because what I did every single solitary other day clearly isn't working." She smiled, and Emerson could hear the paranoid writer who was always in the back corner diving under the table for cover. "So, what'll it be? Espresso?"
Emerson Cod raised his other eyebrow. "Coffee," he said. "Black." Then he added to the figure roughly twice Olive's size--a figure that could only belong to the pie maker--emerging from the kitchen, "I have someone for the two of us to go have a slightly-impossible talk with."
"That sounds reasonable," Ned agreed, setting two steaming trays of cup pies on the counter. "In fact, it sounds exactly like something which is perfectly reasonable, and not at all like something which no person in their right mind would do, much less ask someone they theoretically care deeply about to do for them." He looked at Emerson. "When should we leave?"
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"That depends." Emerson pushed his coffee away in disgust. "If by 'we' you mean 'you and I', I think we should leave as soon as your rush moves off. If by 'we' you mean 'you and I and my big pot full of issues', I think that you and I should leave as soon as the rush does, but your big pot full of issues should stay the hell here."
"What does that mean?" Ned asked.
"Does that mean you think Ned has issues?" accused Olive.
"Does that mean you think you don't have issues?" asked Chuck.
"Because you definitely have issues," finished Ned.
"There's nothing wrong with having issues!" Emerson said. "What's wrong, is all this talking about them! It's not..." His eyebrows drew down as he searched for a word, before finally deciding on, "...manly."
Emerson Cod tried not to notice the tickling sensation on his neck, or the boggling expression creeping onto his interlocutors' faces.
"Manly," repeated Chuck doubtfully.
"I really don't think you get to say anything about manly," Olive smirked, eyes glinting. "Ever again."
"Oh, what the hell are they on about?" demanded Emerson, now desperate to ignore soft brushing against his left ear.
Ned's face said it all, but to clarify, his mouth added, "You have a kitten down your shirt."
The kitten started cleaning the ear. "I do not."
Chuck joined Olive in the smirking. "Oh, yes, you do!"
Emerson gave his best, "Do not fuck with the private investigator who, by the way, could probably bench press you," look. "I am not the sort of person who could have a cuddly, adorable kitten down my shirt. I am certainly not the sort of person who would then double up a hand-knitted scarf around the alleged kitten to keep its nose from getting cold. Therefore, there is some other explanation for you seeing an adorable, cuddly kitten down my shirt. Like a gas leak."
"Right." Ned smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "A gas leak. No kitten." He nodded at the crowds. "This rush should be over in about an hour; until then, your usual table just cleared up."
"Thank you." Emerson nodded, trying to convey that not only did he have all of his dignity intact, but that he was, deep down, grateful to the pie maker for helping to keep it that way. He spun his stool around so that he could rise and make his way to his usual table.
On the floor that had just been immediately behind the private investigator, Digby rose on his back legs, placing his front paws against Emerson's suit-covered shoulders. Slowly, Digby reached out and gently touched his nose to that of the kitten--the adorable, cuddly kitten who was definitely not snugly nestled within the folds Emerson Cod's hand-knitted, feline-nose-warming scarf.
Twenty minutes later, the utility company shut down the store to minimize the harm from the gas leak; Emerson's niece adopted the non-existent kitten.
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"What is this?" House stood in the door of his office, looking at the package on his desk like it was a cow turd.
The package was in the shape of a basket, top and bottom latched together. There was a large red ribbon tied all around it, culminating in a big, floppy bow on top. A carrying handle was on top.
Actually, given House's personality, it was even odds on him being happier about the manure.
"Which one of you morons got me a present?" House looked at Thirteen. "Oh, please say it wasn't you."
Silence reigned around the coffee table, before Kutner asked, "Well? Aren't you going to open it?"
"Oh, God," groaned House. "Would that make you happy? Would it fill you with Christmas cheer?"
Thirteen sipped her coffee. "I don't know about him, but it would satisfy my curiosity," she said.
House weighed it, then wandered into the office and unlatched the basket. Slowly, he lifted off the cover, stared inside for a minute, then looked into the conference room. "Taub," he said, "You're fired."
Taub looked stunned, then appalled. "Me? Why? What did I do?"
"What did you do? You got me a kitten!"
House lifted the furry bundle from the carrier in one hand; the creature fitted comfortably on his admittedly large palm. Thirteen tried in vain to close her dropped jaw; out in the hallway, one of the nurses did a double-take before starting to laugh hysterically.
Taub just spluttered. "I didn't do it!"
"Well, it wasn't Thirteen, because she'd be smirking instead of gaping like a fish; and it wasn't Kutner, because he's never here early enough to have sneaked this onto my desk. Therefore..."
"But, I wasn't the first one here!"
"It's true," Thirteen confirmed, while Kutner nodded. "Taub came in late today, something about car trouble, I think it was."
House frowned. "Well if you didn't do it, and neither of you could have done it..." A suspicion grew plainly in his eyes. "Oh, no."
At the end of the table, Foreman put down his magazine, smiling smugly. "Merry Christmas," he said.
In House's hand, the kitten mewled pitiously. House looked at it, the cursed, rolled it gently into the other palm, and picked up his cane. "Come on," he said. "If any of you have cases, you can present them to me in the cafeteria; I have to get Homer here some corned beef."
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| karaokegal |
| 2007-12-10 19:15 (UTC) |
| (no subject) |
| Real Men Pink |
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Wilson/Cameron kittyfic.
Optional karaokegal song lyric prompt: The angels sigh, the little girls cry. The tears run rings around your eyes.
And if you give me a prompt, I'll try to write something for you.
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| chibi_squirt |
| 2007-12-13 20:57 (UTC) |
| (no subject) |
| Nice =/= Weak |
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"Allison, what are you doing?"
Cameron sniffled. "Someone's got to do it," she said. "It's only for a few days, but they'd starve if no one did it."
"They'd probably do their business on the rug, too, but they wouldn't die." Wilson leaned in the door frame of the anonymous apartment, coffee in his free hand, watching the young doctor feeding the many assembled cats. They yowled, demanding the food that had been unforthcoming since their "mother" had died in surgery that afternoon.
Cameron sniffled again. "It's just--damnit!" She swiped at her eyes. "Some of them still get me, after all this time. I'm not as bad as I was; I don't chase after all of them anymore; but Maureen, this afternoon, she didn't have anyone, and she had so much love to give, and she clearly just spent it all on her cats..." Cameron smiled wetly up at him. "She had cat fur all over her, you know."
"You will, too," Wilson pointed out, holding out his hand.
Cameron accepted his aid rising, but resisted his pull towards the door. "It's just... I want to save them all, and I can't."
Wilson sighed, looking at her, lost and upset, standing in a dead strangers apartment to feed the cats. "Come on," he said. "They'll be here to pack everything away soon, and the cats will go to animal services." He reached down and picked up the nearest, a scruffy-looking calico with pretty golden eyes. "Except this one; we'll find someone to take this girl in." He smiled, and wrapped her arms around the meowing feline. "You can't save all of them, but together... maybe we can save one."
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| chibi_squirt |
| 2007-12-13 21:00 (UTC) |
| (no subject) |
| Nice =/= Weak |
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Man, I love that icon. I respond with my Dominic Deegan icon, as Donovan Deegan frequently recites the very text your icon cites.
As to a prompt... One of the potential new doctors + kitty, as long as it *isn't* CTB. Anyone else from this season would be cool, though.
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| karaokegal |
| 2007-12-21 23:31 (UTC) |
| (no subject) |
| cat-mike |
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Here ya go babe. 100 words exactly.
Just because he was an old guy with a cat, didn’t mean he was an old guy who talked to his cat.
Sylvia seemed to know as soon as he walked into the apartment after his last day as one of House’s supplicants. The day his particular dream had died because he wasn’t young and crazy or even stupid enough to give House anything he wouldn’t have thought of by himself.
She rubbed against his ankles, mewing what he knew was only hunger, but sounded a little too much like, “I’m sorry, but at least you get your name back.”
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