Drabble tree?

[kahvi.livejournal.com]

I had so much fun writing that drabble yesterday, that I thought I'd suggest a drabble tree. For those who've never participated in one before, here's how it works:

Below the cut is a drabble (100 words exactly). Anyone who wants to participate replies to this post with another drabble containing one of the sentences or phrases from the original drabble. The subject line should be the words you took. The next person should continue the trend, stealing a sentence or phrase and beginning their own.

Any particular drabble can be drawn from as many times as you want. If you don't feel like posting 100 words exactly, that's OK. Near-drabbles of approximately 100 words are fine too. It's about having fun, not exact definitions. ;)

Still confused? Here's one we did earlier!



Why hadn't they thought of this before? Holly controlled all of Rimmer's senses; turning off his hearing was 'easy-peasy', as she put it.

Now they sat in their quarters; Lister working his way through The Best Of Rasta Billy Skank from memory. He thrilled at the feel of strings beneath his fingers; the twangy sound of each chord. Then he noticed Rimmer.

The hologram sat, ogling Lister's moving fingers, his face flushed, his eyes wider than his nostrils. For some reason, he was crossing his legs.

"Holly, turn it on again," Rimmer mumbled. She did, and relief flooded his face.

Comments

Then he noticed Rimmer

[oz-the-bobble.livejournal.com]

Rimmer’s always known his place in the world – firmly at the bottom. He’s had enough experience of trying to get higher, and being spat back to where he came from. No one noticed, or cared. At least not to do anything other than laugh.

Then he noticed Rimmer.

Rimmer doesn’t feel worthy under Lister’s gaze. Lister looks at him like he’s perfect, like he can see inside his lightbee and know that everything inside is wonderful. When they’re lying in a bunk, after a nice session where everyone’s been satisfied, Lister traces Rimmer’s face with a single finger and stares into his eyes, looking as though all he’s ever wanted is lying there in a facsimile of life.

Re: Lister looks at him...

[roadstergal.livejournal.com]

Stupid twat.

Lister looks at him like he’s perfect, like he can see inside his lightbee and know that everything inside is wonderful. Rimmer knows better. Under that bacofoil and that wig, he's him. Pompous, egotistical - and cowardly, when it comes right down to it.

Not to mention, smegging gay. See how he looks at Lister, how he grabs Lister's arm, how he gazes with that goofy, glassy-eyed expression into Lister's face...

Wait - if he's Rimmer, and if he's gay...

Rimmer felt his holo-stomach sink into his holo-colon. Could he snark his way out of this one?

Wait - if he's Rimmer, and if he's gay...

[metalkatt.livejournal.com]

Wait - if he's Rimmer, and if he's gay... then, what did that make *his* Rimmer? The thought of the tightassed little smeghead fumbling behind the garden shed made Lister tip his head; he couldn't possibly... Could he? More to the point, would he?

And, even more to the point, would *Lister?* Could he cope with, even embrace the idea of feeling Rimmer arch under him, see those beautiful eyes wide with surprise and--wait, beautiful? Where had that come from?

And with that thought, Dave had to admit to himself--after having seen that toned, firm body on the planet formed by Rimmer's mind--that there was a very good chance that he just might.

...even more to the point, would *Lister?*...

[laurenthemself]

Rimmer clamped his hands over his ears and buried his face in the pillow, but the singing went on. It didn’t matter how many times they patiently explained to Cat that male cats didn’t go into heat, he still insisted on pretending to do so once every few months – yowling and growling and, for some inexplicable reason, serenading them with ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’.

‘Is this the real life, is this just fantasyyyyyeeeooooowww!’

Would he ever stop?

Even more to the point, would Lister stop smegging harmonising?

At last Rimmer gave up, rolled over, and joined in.

‘I’m just a poor boy...’

At last Rimmer gave up, rolled over, and joined in.

[roadstergal.livejournal.com]

"Really," he told the sexy young princess, "I'm not interested." His own voice tried to squeak out indignantly on the last word, and he squelched it into Ace's gruff tones.

"But Ace," the newly-rescued princess cooed, "it's your due, as a hero!"

"I don't like this kind of thing..." Rimmer complained.

"Come, now," the princess purred, her hand in the jar of slippery substance, "you'll enjoy it."

At last Rimmer gave up, rolled over, and joined in. "Fine," he sighed, as she administered what might be a priceless bath of finest Sirian mud, but still smelled like dog poo, to his chest.

"Really," he told the sexy young princess, "I'm not interested."

[kahvi.livejournal.com]

The room grew eerily quiet as all eyes turned to Lister. Swallowing hard, he looked towards Rimmer, silently pleading to be let off, but the hologram just smirked, shaking his head.

Gritting his teeth, Lister went for it. "Really," he told the sexy young princess, "I'm not interested."

A single tear fell down the princess's cheek. "Then all is lost," she said, quietly. "Our planet will never be repopulated. It is all over." She faded away, leaving only the default AR-grid.

"Now," Rimmer beamed, "time for Napoleonic Strategy Festival III!"

Lister glared at him. "I hate that I love you."

See how he looks at Lister, how he grabs Lister's arm...

[kahvi.livejournal.com]

"I don't know why you're showing me this," Rimmer told the Wildfire's computer nonchalantly. Secretly though, he was worried. Why WAS she showing him it?

"You can't go back there, Ace."

Rimmer snorted. "I can do whatever the smeg I want. So they've found another Rimmer. So what? Look at him; look at his vacant, inane grin. See how he looks at Lister, how he grabs Lister's arm, how he gazes with that goofy, glassy-eyed expression into Lister's face..." Rimmer stared.

Computers couldn't cough, but this one tried. "You don't belong there anymore," it said, gently. "You belong with me."

"You can't go back there, Ace."

[hazeltea.livejournal.com]

"You can't go back there, Ace." The Wildfire's voice was calm, her pitch calculated to soothe the human mind.

"I'm Ace Rimmer." he growled. "I'll do as I see fit." Rimmer's hand jerked as he tried the release latch on the door, only to find it locked. "Let me out!" he cried, kicking the door with all of his hard light strength. Panic rose in him as he calculated the seconds remaining. More pulling, and the handle came off the door panel, twisted in his grip.

"Lister!" he screamed, clawing at the interior panels.

"I'm sorry, Ace." The Wildfire replied.

"Lister!" he screams, clawing at the interior panels.

[ldhenson.livejournal.com]

With every passing hour, the titanium-alloy walls of the malfunctioning light bee feel as though they're closing ever more tightly around him. In this impenetrable fog, in this swampland mire, the others could walk by within scant metres of him, and miss him completely.

But they won't miss him, he tells himself; they've got torches and sensors and...and they'll be persistent, they'll carry on searching and searching, surely they'll...they...

"Lister!" he screams, clawing at the interior panels.

They won't miss him, they won't. There in absolute darkness, he shudders, and knows that it's true.

They won't miss him at all.

They won't miss him at all.

[kahvi.livejournal.com]

It's a very nice wake, all things considered. Lister drains bottle after bottle of precious, scavaged alcohol, until his thoughts dull and mellow, losing their sharpened edges. Kryten, buzzed on some mechanoid concoction, keeps going on about how unfortunate it was that Mister Ace couldn't stay for the festivities, and Lister snorts at the word.

Someone hands him another bottle, and Lister downs it greedily, not even savouring the flavor. The world goes sort of blurry as he watches their faces; laughing, chattering. It's easy for them, he thinks. They won't miss him. They won't miss him at all.

The world goes sort of blurry as he watches their faces; laughing, chattering.

[hazeltea.livejournal.com]

The world goes sort of blurry as he watches their faces; laughing, chattering. Extinction is the farthest thing from their minds. Lister shivered as he watched the young women dance gaily, their smiles immortalized on grainy film. You're dead now, he thought, regarding a pouting blonde sitting on the sidelines. You're all dead now.

"Off!" Rimmer's voice cut through his haze of self pity. Rimmer gestured to the growing pile of empty cans, a look of contempt on his face. He was saying something about slobing about, about doing something constructive with his life or something, but Lister was too drunk to care. He was just happy to not be alone. Lister smiled then, earning him a fresh barrage of insults.

Extinction is the farthest thing from their minds.

[laurenthemself]

Extinction is the farthest thing from their minds. All they are interested in is feeding, fucking, and watching The Flintstones. Most of them ignore the priests; their mirrors are of more interest and their attention spans aren’t long enough to keep them still through a whole sermon.

But the time comes when rumours of the Promised Land becomes too strong to disregard, when a strange yearning for something more takes over. They set aside their hairbrushes and take up hammers, and build the Arks, and widen the chasm between their warring parties, permanently and irrevocably. Until there is only one.

All they are interested in is feeding, fucking, and watching The Flintstones.

[kahvi.livejournal.com]

This is it, Rimmer thinks. This is what is left of Earth - a barely human slob, and a creature born from the rejects of a race of housecats.

Disgusting.

Not that the two of them care. All they are interested in is feeding, fucking, and watching The Flintstones - only two of which is possible with no women on board...

...and they've just found out they'll reproduce. Rimmer knows there's 50% chance either parent will be him, because this is it. No other options, if Terran civilization is all there is.

And they wonder why he feverently believes in aliens?

Lister drains bottle after bottle...

[ldhenson.livejournal.com]

Lister drains bottle after bottle, until his thoughts dull and mellow; props his feet up, smiles at nothing in particular. Even Rimmer, he notes, is pretending not to see the Cat dozing in the hologram's own bunk.

Rimmer hasn't turned a page in twenty minutes. Lister's rarely seen him like this: brow unfurrowed, mouth unmarked by a sneer. Only the gleaming 'H' mars that profile...well, that, and..."Where'd you get that scar on your jaw anyway, man?"

He regrets it the instant the lines of strain return to Rimmer's eyes.

But before he can retract the question, Rimmer blinks and says, very quietly, "I suppose my trunk wasn't the only thing my father ever gave me."

Rimmer doesn’t feel worthy under Lister’s gaze.

[kahvi.livejournal.com]

Throughout his life, people have looked at Rimmer with various degress of contempt or blank indifference. And so, Rimmer has trained himself to see other people as gits whose opinions do not matter. He's polite to officers, rude to his peers, and no longer feels much of anything.

The system worked like a charm until Lister arrived, because Lister looks at him in a way that cannot be ignored.

Rimmer doesn’t feel worthy under Lister’s gaze. For the first time in years, he sees his bastardly self reflected in someones eyes.

What scares him the most is that he cares.