Fic: Colorless - R/L (imp) - PG-13
Feb. 4th, 2007 09:21 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
kahvi.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
reddwarfslashTitle: Colorless
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister (implied).
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don't own Red Dwarf, don't make money from it. Man, if only.
Spoilers: Parallel Universe
Notes: A little something while I work on meatier things. :) Based on an idea given to me by person or persons unknown - I have a list of suggestions written down, but have sadly lost the names somewhere along the way. Thank you, whoever you are! Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
It was funny, Lister thought, snuggled up into his bunk with his knitting, how being stuck in space with a dead bunkmate, a senile computer and a man-shaped cat for a year or two could change a person. His definition of 'normal' had been warped beyond recognition. Cat people on roller-skates licking their laundry clean on top of a vending machine? Routine. Bits and pieces of the aforementioned bunkmate detaching at random and floating aimlessly around the hallways, with the rest of him in desperate pursuit? Humdrum. Anthropomorphic toasters hacking into the PA system and waking him up with urgent demands for toasted breakfast treats? Tedious and annoying. Getting impregnated by a female version of yourself from another dimension? All right, that one had been a bit of a surprise. Lister still wasn't entirely sure how he was going to deal with that. He'd gotten his needles and yarn out again with the vague idea of making some sort of baby-related thing, but so far he was just moving the needles around randomly. He wasn't really very good at knitting. Come to that – why was he knitting at all? He never had, before.
He really had changed.
It was the same with Rimmer, he could tell. The hologram was actually getting used to being incorporeal. Oh, he moaned and groaned about it to no end, but he did it while navigating carefully around objects to avoid them interfering with his projection. He had even learned to sit in chairs and lie in bed in such a way as to make it seem like he had mass and weight. Holly's pranks hardly fazed him anymore, which in turn seemed to annoy the computer to no end. Lister was all for that, after the whole Queeg thing.
They even ignored one another differently. Back when there were other people around, they would actively avoid one another, but when they couldn't, they would bicker and argue until they got sick of it, then glare angrily at one another for the rest of their enforced togetherness. Now? It was odd. They had the entire ship to themselves, yet they stuck together like some form of malevolent glue. Apparently human beings needed the company of other human beings, even if the only person on offer was someone you utterly despised. So they couldn't be apart, but they could still smegging well ignore one another. It had gotten to the point where they had constructed their own little individual pockets of privacy, having trained themselves not to notice anything else that was going on around them. Each of them would just go about their business as though the other man was not in the room at all. But the fact that he was - well - that made life a little less intolerable. Somehow.
Lister frowned at the confusing mass of hoops and pins and yarn in his hands. It was hard to tell where the mess of yarn ended and what would eventually become the finished product began. What was obvious was the color; a bland sort of light pink-ish beige. He sighed. It was the only skein he had left. He had no idea where they kept disappearing to. He kept them in his locker, but ever time he went in there, another one seemed to be missing. With a sigh, he started unwinding the loose threads from whatever it was he was working on, trying to remember how many stitches he had started out with.
“Listy.”
Lister did not look up at the curt greeting, knowing it was just Rimmer's way of compensating for the fact that his weightless feet did not make any sounds that would alert Lister to the fact that he was in the room. It certainly wasn't an invitation to start a conversation. Instead, he just nodded, concentrating on moving the stitches from one pin to the other.
Rimmer coughed. Out of the corner of his eye, Lister could just about see him cross the room to where his hologrammatic exercise bike had been faithfully simulated by Holly yet again. Not really knowing why, Lister turned his head to get a closer look. The ridiculous biking gear was back, he noticed. That day-glo yellow shirt and shorts so tight they could easily double as a sausage skins (that threatened to push Lister onto a train of thought he did not want to buy a ticket for); gloves in a color that had probably been in fashion when Rimmer was in his teens back on Io, but now put Lister more in mind of elderly women's raincoats, and to top it off; the helmet! Smegging hell – the helmet! The clothes could possibly be explained away as a psychological aid in having him look just like any other person working out, but who in their right mind wore a helmet on an exercise bike? What did he think could possibly happen? Come to that, he was already dead!
Lister knew better than to actually voice these observations. It was impossible to miss when Rimmer wanted to talk, because he'd just start rambling on about whatever it was he felt he needed to get off his chest. When Rimmer didn't want to talk, however, any attempts at conversation on Lister's part would be met with icy stares or sullen silence; frequently both. Now, all that could be heard was the clicking of Lister's pins, and the sound of Rimmer's measured and pointless breathing, as the soundless wheels made of light went round and round and round.
Those trousers really were amazingly tight. Lister tried not to look at them, most times, but, well, he was more bored than usual. As if being pregnant wasn't confusing and depressing enough, he could no longer drink or smoke, or eat what he liked. All the vending machines on the ship had been instructed not to provide him with cigarettes or alcohol, which vaguely offended him. Did Holly really think Lister was incapable of looking after the health of his embryos inside him? Yeah, he was a mindless, boozing slob, but he wouldn't hurt his own offspring, would he? So no lager, no cigarettes, no cigars. Not even beer milkshakes, because there were trace elements of alcohol in them. It all just added to the blandness; the colorlessness of his stupid, rotten life these days. Was it any wonder he was looking at Rimmer's bum?
Smeg, was he?
Click click click went the pins. Lister knitted faster, as though this would help push his head in another direction; away from those strong thighs, those moving muscles. It didn't. Rimmer was sweating now, sucking his lower lip in with the effort, riding faster. Lister knitted faster in response, the needles ramming into one another and his hands. He wasn't looking at them, after all. He was probably losing and adding stitches by the dozen, but he hoped it would turn out to be an even number, and thus work itself out in the end. He had a vague idea that this wasn't exactly how it worked, but there were other things on his mind right now. Glistening things. Lycra-covered things.
Rimmer exhaled with a heart-felt “ooh,” leaning further forwards, pushing his weight against the handle-bars. Lister's groin twitched. What the goited hell was wrong with him? Was it the hormones he was taking to compensate for what his body was unable to produce on its own in this universe? Kryten had said there would be side-effects, but Lister would never have imagined... dammit, he dropped another stitch. Rimmer was still going at it, his mouth a little open, his whole body pushing forwards, working hard. Lister was transfixed. He felt his own mouth open in response, needles still moving in his hands, leaning forward; breathing rapidly. And then Rimmer met his eyes.
For a moment, all Lister saw on Rimmer's face was absolute shock. But he did not look away. Neither of them did. Instead, they kept going, eyes locked, mouths open, and finally, Lister's kitting dropped into his lap, as Rimmer groaned with effort, pushing himself far beyond his usual limits, until, with a surprised gasp, he lost his balance, falling sideways off the bike and tumbling to the deck. His sensors kept him nicely level with the floor, preventing him from falling all the way through the decks and into space, but the fall couldn't hurt him, of course. He rose with lightning speed, his eyes screwed shut, mumbled “shower,” and bolted from the room.
Stunned, Lister fell back against his pillow. Smegging hormones. Had to be. His head was still spinning, as if Rimmer had been riding it, and not that bike. In a way, Lister supposed, he had.
He looked up again in time to see a color co-ordinated blur rush away from his locker, grinning ingratiatingly. “Hey bud!” The Cat slinked a little closer, carefully. “I wasn't about to go rooting through your locker looking for things. You're crazy – I would never do that! You're just seeing things.”
“I didn't say you were,” Lister said, a little baffled.
Cat beamed. “All right! Glad we cleared that up.” He sniffed the air around Lister, leaning in. “What's that you making?”
It was, Lister realized, a very good question. “Dunno. A cozy, I think.” He nodded, satisfied. He'd actually managed to finish the thing while Rimmer was doing... whatever the smeg he was doing by the end there. “See?” He held the item up for inspection.
Wrinkling his nose, Cat backed away just a little, frowning. “Well, to each their own, buddy. But I generally like to keep that bit of myself warm in other ways.” Raising an eyebrow, he sniffed suspiciously again, then shook his head, and left.
“What was that about?” Lister mumbled to himself, craning his head around to look at the cozy he was still holding up. He'd done a bad job of keeping track of stitches, all right. It started off sort of rounded, then kept the same width for a while, just bending a little at the middle, but as it reached the end, it widened out again into two sort of circular shapes, like... Lister stared at the pale pink construction. Then he ripped the pins out, and started unraveling it violently. He longed for proper blandness. He longed for normalcy that was actually normal. Not this. What the smeg, he thought, as the yarn filled his bunk, curled and twisted from having been knit, was he going to do with this?
In the corner of the room, the holographic bike quietly disappeared.
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister (implied).
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don't own Red Dwarf, don't make money from it. Man, if only.
Spoilers: Parallel Universe
Notes: A little something while I work on meatier things. :) Based on an idea given to me by person or persons unknown - I have a list of suggestions written down, but have sadly lost the names somewhere along the way. Thank you, whoever you are! Written for the
fanfic100 challenge - my table is here. It was funny, Lister thought, snuggled up into his bunk with his knitting, how being stuck in space with a dead bunkmate, a senile computer and a man-shaped cat for a year or two could change a person. His definition of 'normal' had been warped beyond recognition. Cat people on roller-skates licking their laundry clean on top of a vending machine? Routine. Bits and pieces of the aforementioned bunkmate detaching at random and floating aimlessly around the hallways, with the rest of him in desperate pursuit? Humdrum. Anthropomorphic toasters hacking into the PA system and waking him up with urgent demands for toasted breakfast treats? Tedious and annoying. Getting impregnated by a female version of yourself from another dimension? All right, that one had been a bit of a surprise. Lister still wasn't entirely sure how he was going to deal with that. He'd gotten his needles and yarn out again with the vague idea of making some sort of baby-related thing, but so far he was just moving the needles around randomly. He wasn't really very good at knitting. Come to that – why was he knitting at all? He never had, before.
He really had changed.
It was the same with Rimmer, he could tell. The hologram was actually getting used to being incorporeal. Oh, he moaned and groaned about it to no end, but he did it while navigating carefully around objects to avoid them interfering with his projection. He had even learned to sit in chairs and lie in bed in such a way as to make it seem like he had mass and weight. Holly's pranks hardly fazed him anymore, which in turn seemed to annoy the computer to no end. Lister was all for that, after the whole Queeg thing.
They even ignored one another differently. Back when there were other people around, they would actively avoid one another, but when they couldn't, they would bicker and argue until they got sick of it, then glare angrily at one another for the rest of their enforced togetherness. Now? It was odd. They had the entire ship to themselves, yet they stuck together like some form of malevolent glue. Apparently human beings needed the company of other human beings, even if the only person on offer was someone you utterly despised. So they couldn't be apart, but they could still smegging well ignore one another. It had gotten to the point where they had constructed their own little individual pockets of privacy, having trained themselves not to notice anything else that was going on around them. Each of them would just go about their business as though the other man was not in the room at all. But the fact that he was - well - that made life a little less intolerable. Somehow.
Lister frowned at the confusing mass of hoops and pins and yarn in his hands. It was hard to tell where the mess of yarn ended and what would eventually become the finished product began. What was obvious was the color; a bland sort of light pink-ish beige. He sighed. It was the only skein he had left. He had no idea where they kept disappearing to. He kept them in his locker, but ever time he went in there, another one seemed to be missing. With a sigh, he started unwinding the loose threads from whatever it was he was working on, trying to remember how many stitches he had started out with.
“Listy.”
Lister did not look up at the curt greeting, knowing it was just Rimmer's way of compensating for the fact that his weightless feet did not make any sounds that would alert Lister to the fact that he was in the room. It certainly wasn't an invitation to start a conversation. Instead, he just nodded, concentrating on moving the stitches from one pin to the other.
Rimmer coughed. Out of the corner of his eye, Lister could just about see him cross the room to where his hologrammatic exercise bike had been faithfully simulated by Holly yet again. Not really knowing why, Lister turned his head to get a closer look. The ridiculous biking gear was back, he noticed. That day-glo yellow shirt and shorts so tight they could easily double as a sausage skins (that threatened to push Lister onto a train of thought he did not want to buy a ticket for); gloves in a color that had probably been in fashion when Rimmer was in his teens back on Io, but now put Lister more in mind of elderly women's raincoats, and to top it off; the helmet! Smegging hell – the helmet! The clothes could possibly be explained away as a psychological aid in having him look just like any other person working out, but who in their right mind wore a helmet on an exercise bike? What did he think could possibly happen? Come to that, he was already dead!
Lister knew better than to actually voice these observations. It was impossible to miss when Rimmer wanted to talk, because he'd just start rambling on about whatever it was he felt he needed to get off his chest. When Rimmer didn't want to talk, however, any attempts at conversation on Lister's part would be met with icy stares or sullen silence; frequently both. Now, all that could be heard was the clicking of Lister's pins, and the sound of Rimmer's measured and pointless breathing, as the soundless wheels made of light went round and round and round.
Those trousers really were amazingly tight. Lister tried not to look at them, most times, but, well, he was more bored than usual. As if being pregnant wasn't confusing and depressing enough, he could no longer drink or smoke, or eat what he liked. All the vending machines on the ship had been instructed not to provide him with cigarettes or alcohol, which vaguely offended him. Did Holly really think Lister was incapable of looking after the health of his embryos inside him? Yeah, he was a mindless, boozing slob, but he wouldn't hurt his own offspring, would he? So no lager, no cigarettes, no cigars. Not even beer milkshakes, because there were trace elements of alcohol in them. It all just added to the blandness; the colorlessness of his stupid, rotten life these days. Was it any wonder he was looking at Rimmer's bum?
Smeg, was he?
Click click click went the pins. Lister knitted faster, as though this would help push his head in another direction; away from those strong thighs, those moving muscles. It didn't. Rimmer was sweating now, sucking his lower lip in with the effort, riding faster. Lister knitted faster in response, the needles ramming into one another and his hands. He wasn't looking at them, after all. He was probably losing and adding stitches by the dozen, but he hoped it would turn out to be an even number, and thus work itself out in the end. He had a vague idea that this wasn't exactly how it worked, but there were other things on his mind right now. Glistening things. Lycra-covered things.
Rimmer exhaled with a heart-felt “ooh,” leaning further forwards, pushing his weight against the handle-bars. Lister's groin twitched. What the goited hell was wrong with him? Was it the hormones he was taking to compensate for what his body was unable to produce on its own in this universe? Kryten had said there would be side-effects, but Lister would never have imagined... dammit, he dropped another stitch. Rimmer was still going at it, his mouth a little open, his whole body pushing forwards, working hard. Lister was transfixed. He felt his own mouth open in response, needles still moving in his hands, leaning forward; breathing rapidly. And then Rimmer met his eyes.
For a moment, all Lister saw on Rimmer's face was absolute shock. But he did not look away. Neither of them did. Instead, they kept going, eyes locked, mouths open, and finally, Lister's kitting dropped into his lap, as Rimmer groaned with effort, pushing himself far beyond his usual limits, until, with a surprised gasp, he lost his balance, falling sideways off the bike and tumbling to the deck. His sensors kept him nicely level with the floor, preventing him from falling all the way through the decks and into space, but the fall couldn't hurt him, of course. He rose with lightning speed, his eyes screwed shut, mumbled “shower,” and bolted from the room.
Stunned, Lister fell back against his pillow. Smegging hormones. Had to be. His head was still spinning, as if Rimmer had been riding it, and not that bike. In a way, Lister supposed, he had.
He looked up again in time to see a color co-ordinated blur rush away from his locker, grinning ingratiatingly. “Hey bud!” The Cat slinked a little closer, carefully. “I wasn't about to go rooting through your locker looking for things. You're crazy – I would never do that! You're just seeing things.”
“I didn't say you were,” Lister said, a little baffled.
Cat beamed. “All right! Glad we cleared that up.” He sniffed the air around Lister, leaning in. “What's that you making?”
It was, Lister realized, a very good question. “Dunno. A cozy, I think.” He nodded, satisfied. He'd actually managed to finish the thing while Rimmer was doing... whatever the smeg he was doing by the end there. “See?” He held the item up for inspection.
Wrinkling his nose, Cat backed away just a little, frowning. “Well, to each their own, buddy. But I generally like to keep that bit of myself warm in other ways.” Raising an eyebrow, he sniffed suspiciously again, then shook his head, and left.
“What was that about?” Lister mumbled to himself, craning his head around to look at the cozy he was still holding up. He'd done a bad job of keeping track of stitches, all right. It started off sort of rounded, then kept the same width for a while, just bending a little at the middle, but as it reached the end, it widened out again into two sort of circular shapes, like... Lister stared at the pale pink construction. Then he ripped the pins out, and started unraveling it violently. He longed for proper blandness. He longed for normalcy that was actually normal. Not this. What the smeg, he thought, as the yarn filled his bunk, curled and twisted from having been knit, was he going to do with this?
In the corner of the room, the holographic bike quietly disappeared.
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no subject
Date: 2007-02-04 08:59 pm (UTC)Smegging hell – the helmet! The clothes could possibly be explained away as a psychological aid in having him look just like any other person working out, but who in their right mind wore a helmet on an exercise bike? What did he think could possibly happen? Come to that, he was already dead!
*sighs and then giggles* Silly Rimmer!
Needed that this morning. Wonderfully written, as always. :)
no subject
Date: 2007-02-04 09:15 pm (UTC)Glad you enjoyed. :)
no subject
Date: 2007-02-04 10:04 pm (UTC)And it is, isn't it? Courtesy of
http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y138/Linds1013/Parallel%20Universe/pu12.jpg
http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y138/Linds1013/Parallel%20Universe/pu13.jpg
And
http://home.online.no/~cobos/Parallel%20Universe/PU12.jpg
http://home.online.no/~cobos/Parallel%20Universe/PU13.jpg
http://home.online.no/~cobos/Parallel%20Universe/PU14.jpg
http://home.online.no/~cobos/Parallel%20Universe/PU15.jpg
;)
no subject
Date: 2007-02-05 01:00 am (UTC)I'm begging for a sequel. Please?*g*
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Date: 2007-02-05 01:05 am (UTC)*looks at pile of WIPs* Hm... Maybe I can adapt something?
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Date: 2007-02-05 02:51 am (UTC)"They had the entire ship to themselves, yet they stuck together like some form of malevolent glue."
-Lovely.
"that threatened to push Lister onto a train of thought he did not want to buy a ticket for"
-Giggle.
Blandness and colorlessness. Sigh. Like VIII.
"I wasn't about to go rooting through your locker looking for things. You're crazy – I would never do that! You're just seeing things."
-Cat love.
Ah, the penis cozy comes to life!
no subject
Date: 2007-02-05 02:59 am (UTC)I had not forgotten the penis-cozy! I mean, how could I? Is it wrong to make a pregnant man knit a penis?
Glad you liked - thank you. :)
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Date: 2007-02-05 05:49 am (UTC)I always had a fondness for that outfit of Rimmer's for some reason. Especially the helmet.
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Date: 2007-02-05 11:20 am (UTC)You know, I never thought about the helmet before. I just accepted it, much in the same way Lister and Rimmer accepted one anothers odd behavior. Then, as I was writing this thing, it came to me. My reaction was more or less like Lister's.
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Date: 2007-02-05 09:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-05 11:30 am (UTC)There is a melancholy to Red Dwarf, isn't there? Especially the early series. And yes - that's Lister. Precisely. He has a stubborn, dogged determination to keep at it (that gerbil optimism), but by the end... I do worry about him after series VIII. Disregarding the problems with that series, he's lost pretty much everything, hasn't he? Can even he cope with that kind of loss? But I digress.
Hey, anything is possible. That's the good thing about this fandom. Grant/Naylor write like fangirls. ;)
no subject
Date: 2007-02-07 01:44 pm (UTC)I don't know if Lister would lose his optimism after series VIII. It's an interesting question. Wasn't the original plan to have Ace Rimmer (his Ace) come back to save the day, and then them all to find earth somehow? I expect that would have kept him busy :D.
Anyway, I've digressed all over the place now too. I really liked the fic, and I'll stay hopeful about a sequel.
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Date: 2007-02-07 02:05 pm (UTC)I wrote my own ideal ending for VIII in Death (http://community.livejournal.com/reddwarfslash/179234.html) (link to part II - there's a link to part I at the beginning of the story), and roadstergal and I wrote two stories that take place post-VIII that deal with some of the same questions. They are called "Spanners" and "Breaking the Chain", and you can find them here if you're interested:
http://www.roadstergal.info/misc/col.htm
But enough shameless self-promotion, heh. ;)
no subject
Date: 2007-02-13 04:05 pm (UTC)I'd actually already read Death - I've done a bit of browsing here lately and really liked lots of your and Roadstergal's fics - but I reread it since you pointed it out. I found it enjoyable and pretty suspenseful with all those twists. I especially liked the final scene with the hologrammatic light tipping off Lister about who'd really arrived in the pod. (I didn't work that out myself before it was explicitly revealed in the story.)
I have one issue though with your characterisation of Lister: I don't think he would ever hit a woman. A lot of guys have a very strong aversion to hitting women, and see it as a specially shameful and dishonourable thing to do. From what we see of Lister's morality during the series I really believe he'd be in that camp. I can see him tricking Kochanski, tying her up or locking her up, even arguably giving her sleeping drugs, but not hitting her to get his own way even in extreme circumstances.
Your story also got me wondering just how far Lister would go to rescue Rimmer anyway. How attached is Lister to series VIII-Rimmer? His mixed reaction to first meeting him suggested he much preferred post-hologram Rimmer, but maybe he developed affection for non-hologram Rimmer too in jail? Or are both versions just "Rimmer" to Lister? I can't decide, myself. I guess we'd only find out for sure if there was another series (highly doubtful, which makes me sad) and "his" Ace Rimmer did come back.
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Date: 2007-02-13 04:35 pm (UTC)Ah yes, you're not the first to comment on that.
To begin with the latter point - I personally disagree with the idea that hitting a woman should be any more or less wrong/immoral/what have you than hitting a man - for men or women. I regard that idea as being outmoded, and hence I don't think a man from the 23rd century would still be holding on to it. That point could be argued, of course, but since this is my personal version of the G/N future universe, that's what I've chosen to go with. ;) I do however agree with what I precieve to be your main sentiment - that Lister would be unwilling to hurt someone unnessecarily; particularly someone who trusted him, and would not expect the attack.
To put it another way - is this something I think Lister would normally do? No, not at all! And he's deeply ashamed of having done it, something that I didn't manage to show clearly enough in my first draft (the one
Or are both versions just "Rimmer" to Lister?
Personally, I think absolutely not. *points to icon* I think that Lister is in such a bad place in VIII. I think he's confused and worried and lonely, and that he keeps looking for his Kochanski and Rimmer in the Kochanski and Rimmer that are there. But he doesn't find them, obviously. The reason I had him holding out for Rimmer as long as he did in Death was partly that I think he sees nano!Rimmer as a symbol for his own Arn (who might well be dead now, and - as Lister might see it - all because Lister egged him on to become Ace). He can't rescue Arn, but he can rescue this Rimmer. You know?
Thanks again for all this great feedback - I love discussing stories and canon. :)
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Date: 2007-02-14 06:54 pm (UTC)Whether hitting a woman should be any more or less wrong than hitting a man - well, even taking gender issues out of it (and I don't reckon the divide is gone in the 23rd century; look at Parallel Universe) I think Lister would have scruples about hitting someone clearly weaker than he is, which would include most women. I could raise the fact that he doesn't hit Kochanski back when she whacks him in series 7 (can't remember ep - the virus one I think)... But since he probably doesn't because he's rolling around the floor clutching his nose at the time that, erm, kind of undermines my argument that she's weaker than him :D. Can we just call that incident inconclusive?
Anyway, it's only one character issue in your story and it didn't detract from my enjoyment of it, so I'm not hung up about this. Especially since it's obvious you gave it loads of thought before you wrote it that way. If a writer's done that, it's fair enough really.
He can't rescue Arn, but he can rescue this Rimmer. I hadn't thought of it like that. It is a valid motive, at least from Lister's point of view. Do you think Lister regrets egging Rimmer on to become Ace though? I mean, it's a notion I'll cheer for madly in fanfic, it's just I don't remember any canon evidence for it. I know in Blue Lister misses Rimmer, but that's not the same as thinking he did the wrong thing in sending him away. Would he deprive the world of a hero just so he can carry on playing daft games and bickering entertainingly with his bunkmate?
I love discussing this kind of stuff too, as I'm sure you've worked out by now! Also, good news about the sequel to Colorless!! (Are you American btw? I ask because of the spelling of color/colour, which I've only just registered.)
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Date: 2007-02-14 07:47 pm (UTC)Would he deprive the world of a hero just so he can carry on playing daft games and bickering entertainingly with his bunkmate?
Not exactly. Something
Are you American btw?
I'll take that as a compliment - I'm Norwegian. ;) AmE is my adopted accent and spelling, though I can also speak RP and a few other British accents - working on Scouse!
no subject
Date: 2007-02-15 02:17 pm (UTC)But as for Lister regretting what he did - for any reason - I still think it's a great thing to explore in fanfic, but where's the evidence? It's clear he misses Rimmer, that he prefers hologram-Rimmer (you've convinced me there), but nothing to suggest he's angsting over forcing Rimmer to go. I think the only times he mentions the old Rimmer are in Blue, when he first meets nano-Rimmmer, and when he's trying (and failing) to remember what Rimmer contributed to the team.
I've also been thinking over what you said about Doug Naylor being a fangirl and I think you're right to an extent - mpreg, AUs, crossdressing, and oh so slashy dialogue! But he doesn't make it easy for L/R slashers. The obvious window between Rimmer getting a hardlight body and becoming Ace is so narrow, and then it's back to the beginning character-wise with nano-Rimmer. I admire your and Roadstergal's ingenuity in coming up with so many slashy plots!
Anyway, I'm just wittering now. I'm enjoying this chat a lot but I'm off on holiday tonight and have to finish packing...
no subject
Date: 2007-02-13 04:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-05 07:07 pm (UTC)Hee.
a train of thought he did not want to buy a ticket for
And yet he seems to have a seasonal rail pass.
Love your pregnant!Lister. Fun fic =D
no subject
Date: 2007-02-05 10:47 pm (UTC)Thank you - glad you enjoyed it!
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Date: 2007-09-17 11:00 pm (UTC)