Dead cats...dead cats... did you see what they were at...
Thursday, 14 August 2003 00:58![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
apollaHi all!
Me again! My good RL friend Rachel just got herself an LJ! Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gryffinseye. *fangirls*
Anyway, her LJ ismarquiserachel, she's a History graduate, a very cool chick and an H/Hr shipper!
Just saw some of a show on VH1 about Hot & Sexy stars that are dead. Guess which of my boys I saw?
Weird thing: I came in halfway through Morrison's segment, but every single thing everyone said, including Father Ray Manzarek, was something I said in my dissertation. He even did the 'to become immortal, Jim had to die' thing! Now, seeing as I hadn't seen this program before, I think they stole from me!
That, or we all read the same bloody books, watch the same footage and listen to the same people.
EDIT: I so cut off in the middle of a thought. Anyway, while I was watching, I realised something: although I'm primarily concerned with dead rock stars, I usually ignore the fact that they're dead. I'm not sure how I do this exactly, but I do and I know why. I don't like thinking that they're dead. I hate in fact, knowing that Jim is lying in a Parisian grave covered in fecking graffiti and that Dean Martin is buried very near Marilyn Monroe. People often ask me if I like these people because they're dead but it's the opposite- I like them in spite of it. I like old music, so it stands to reason that more of its practitioners will be deceased. That's my story and I'm bloody well sticking to it!
Now that Eb's birthday has passed, I thought I would also post the ficlet I wrote for her here.... You can also find it at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
the_paradise.
Moondance
11th August 2003, a small but perfectly formed house somewhere outside London.
Britain couldn't remember when it had ever been quite this hot. As the Fahrenheit thermometers edged ever closer to the mythical 100, the great British public tried to cope. Trains got delayed as rails buckled and overhead cables overheated. Random tourists jumped into the Trafalgar Square fountain. Air conditioning units across the country finally got switched on while ice cube trays were hastily filled and stuffed into freezers. Ice creams were sold by the gross. The tabloid press brought out their tired "Phew! What a scorcher!" headlines and pictures of bikini clad girls pretending to like Blackpool beach. Some tempers mellowed in the sun while others frayed in the heat. People who complained all year round about the poor weather now complained it was too hot, despite having had much hotter weather on holiday two weeks before.
The little house nestled deep in Green-Belt land somewhere outside London had every single one of its windows open, but it didn't make much of a difference- there hadn't been a single breeze for hours. Like everyone else, the owners had filled ice trays and even resorted to buying a mini-fan that was sadly no match for 97.5 degrees. The woman of the house, a young lady by the name of Hermione, was curled up on a blanket in the shade of an oak tree in the garden. Despite the heat turning most people's brains to gooey mush, she was engrossed in a serious looking book.
The man of the house, a tall black-haired man of 23 called Harry, was currently trying in vain to conjure some Cooling Charms that would actually work. Although he was widely considered the greatest wizard of his generation, Harry was not having much luck. Giving up, he poured two tall glasses of pumpkin juice crammed full of ice and headed out into the garden.
The sight of a bare-chested Harry was far too much for weather like this, Hermione thought a little wistfully. It was just far too hot to properly appreciate him. She took her glass from him rather greedily and gulped the contents down, not caring about brain freezes or stomach cramps.
"We could go down to the pool," Harry suggested, setting himself down beside her and realising it wasn't any cooler in the shade. He put his head down in her lap but she pushed him away.
"It's too hot, Harry," she said by way of explanation. "And the pool will be jam packed on a day like this. It's school holidays."
"You're just bashful because the only swimming costume you own is a tiny purple bikini."
"That is not my fault," she said sternly. Harry smirked and winked at her.
"Oh, I accept full responsibility."
"It's too hot for joking, Harry. It's just too hot."
"It's too hot to think, but that hasn't stopped you," he said, tapping her book. As he pulled his hand away from the book, he brushed against the back of her knee and tickled her.
"Harry…" she whined. "It's too hot."
"I know. What do you want me to do about it?"
"Are you a wizard or not?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, but I doubt even Dumbledore himself could cast a Cooling Charm to combat this."
"Humph."
"I have been making ice all day for you, you know."
"I'm very grateful," she said, shaking her nearly empty glass. The ice was almost entirely melted.
"Accio ice!" Harry called. Several trays of ice shot out of the kitchen and landed beside him. He put some of the ice into her glass before taking a cube and shamelessly putting it down her back.
"Harry!" she screeched, feeling it fall down the back of her shirt.
"Want me to get it back for you?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows in a most over-exaggerated manner.
"I," Hermione said rather haughtily "am going for a cold shower. I suggest that once I'm done, you do the same. But not, of course, for the same reason."
As she stalked inside the house, Harry suspected that at some point during their conversation her temper had snapped and he had gone too far.
***
Even after lying in a cold bath for a while, Hermione was not feeling much better. She was not by nature or temperament a person who liked hot places and she was starting to feel really rather miserable. Even though the sun had set a couple of hours ago, it was still stiflingly hot.
"Hermione!" she heard Harry call. "Come out here for a minute!"
"Oh," she moaned, still more ticked off about the ice cube that she knew she should be. "Just leave me be!"
"Please? Just for a second?"
"Fine," she said with a sigh, pushing herself off the sofa and stumbling out of the house into the garden.
She noticed the difference straight away.
"What did you-"
"Cooling Charms are working. Finally. And the insect repelling charm I found in your Witch Weekly, as well. Come here," he asked, holding out his arms. Hermione went to him without hesitation, revelling in the cool night air.
"I was thinking we might take a holiday," he started.
"Where?"
"Oh, somewhere nice and hot. Barbados maybe, or the rainforests of Brazil perhaps."
"Don't you dare!" she said, thwapping him lightly on the chest.
"How about Siberia then? Or the fjords of Norway? The geysers of Iceland?"
"That sounds better to me," she said, relaxing into his arms for the first time that day. She was dimly away of him muttering a spell before some music started.
Well, it's a marvellous night for a Moondance
With the stars up above in your eyes
A fantabulous night to make romance
'Neath the cover of October skies
And all the leaves on the trees are falling
To the sound of the breezes that blow
And I'm trying to please to the calling
Of your heart-strings that play soft and low
And all the night's magic seems to whisper and hush
And all the soft moonlight seems to shine in your blush
"Nice tonight, isn't it?" Harry mumbled to her rather huskily.
"Only in the circle of Cooling Charms."
"Nah," he said. "I bet it's just as nice elsewhere too."
"I'm sure it's not," she told him firmly.
"Let's see," Harry grinned mischievously and pulled Hermione a few metres away and out of the range of the Cooling Charms. He was still holding her tight, still swaying to the music.
She could feel beads of sweat forming again. She could feel the weight of the humid air bearing down upon her. And yet…
"It's not ever so bad," she admitted.
"I knew you'd see it my way."
Well, I wanna make love to you tonight
I can't wait 'til the morning has come
And I know that the time is just right
And straight into my arms you will run
And when you come my heart will be waiting
To make sure that you're never alone
There and then all my dreams will come true, dear
There and then I will make you my own
And every time I touch you, you just tremble inside
And I know how much you want me that you can't hide
The End
Like? Don't Like?
Me again! My good RL friend Rachel just got herself an LJ! Thanks to
gryffinseye. *fangirls*Anyway, her LJ is
marquiserachel, she's a History graduate, a very cool chick and an H/Hr shipper!Just saw some of a show on VH1 about Hot & Sexy stars that are dead. Guess which of my boys I saw?
Weird thing: I came in halfway through Morrison's segment, but every single thing everyone said, including Father Ray Manzarek, was something I said in my dissertation. He even did the 'to become immortal, Jim had to die' thing! Now, seeing as I hadn't seen this program before, I think they stole from me!
That, or we all read the same bloody books, watch the same footage and listen to the same people.
EDIT: I so cut off in the middle of a thought. Anyway, while I was watching, I realised something: although I'm primarily concerned with dead rock stars, I usually ignore the fact that they're dead. I'm not sure how I do this exactly, but I do and I know why. I don't like thinking that they're dead. I hate in fact, knowing that Jim is lying in a Parisian grave covered in fecking graffiti and that Dean Martin is buried very near Marilyn Monroe. People often ask me if I like these people because they're dead but it's the opposite- I like them in spite of it. I like old music, so it stands to reason that more of its practitioners will be deceased. That's my story and I'm bloody well sticking to it!
Now that Eb's birthday has passed, I thought I would also post the ficlet I wrote for her here.... You can also find it at
the_paradise.Moondance
11th August 2003, a small but perfectly formed house somewhere outside London.
Britain couldn't remember when it had ever been quite this hot. As the Fahrenheit thermometers edged ever closer to the mythical 100, the great British public tried to cope. Trains got delayed as rails buckled and overhead cables overheated. Random tourists jumped into the Trafalgar Square fountain. Air conditioning units across the country finally got switched on while ice cube trays were hastily filled and stuffed into freezers. Ice creams were sold by the gross. The tabloid press brought out their tired "Phew! What a scorcher!" headlines and pictures of bikini clad girls pretending to like Blackpool beach. Some tempers mellowed in the sun while others frayed in the heat. People who complained all year round about the poor weather now complained it was too hot, despite having had much hotter weather on holiday two weeks before.
The little house nestled deep in Green-Belt land somewhere outside London had every single one of its windows open, but it didn't make much of a difference- there hadn't been a single breeze for hours. Like everyone else, the owners had filled ice trays and even resorted to buying a mini-fan that was sadly no match for 97.5 degrees. The woman of the house, a young lady by the name of Hermione, was curled up on a blanket in the shade of an oak tree in the garden. Despite the heat turning most people's brains to gooey mush, she was engrossed in a serious looking book.
The man of the house, a tall black-haired man of 23 called Harry, was currently trying in vain to conjure some Cooling Charms that would actually work. Although he was widely considered the greatest wizard of his generation, Harry was not having much luck. Giving up, he poured two tall glasses of pumpkin juice crammed full of ice and headed out into the garden.
The sight of a bare-chested Harry was far too much for weather like this, Hermione thought a little wistfully. It was just far too hot to properly appreciate him. She took her glass from him rather greedily and gulped the contents down, not caring about brain freezes or stomach cramps.
"We could go down to the pool," Harry suggested, setting himself down beside her and realising it wasn't any cooler in the shade. He put his head down in her lap but she pushed him away.
"It's too hot, Harry," she said by way of explanation. "And the pool will be jam packed on a day like this. It's school holidays."
"You're just bashful because the only swimming costume you own is a tiny purple bikini."
"That is not my fault," she said sternly. Harry smirked and winked at her.
"Oh, I accept full responsibility."
"It's too hot for joking, Harry. It's just too hot."
"It's too hot to think, but that hasn't stopped you," he said, tapping her book. As he pulled his hand away from the book, he brushed against the back of her knee and tickled her.
"Harry…" she whined. "It's too hot."
"I know. What do you want me to do about it?"
"Are you a wizard or not?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, but I doubt even Dumbledore himself could cast a Cooling Charm to combat this."
"Humph."
"I have been making ice all day for you, you know."
"I'm very grateful," she said, shaking her nearly empty glass. The ice was almost entirely melted.
"Accio ice!" Harry called. Several trays of ice shot out of the kitchen and landed beside him. He put some of the ice into her glass before taking a cube and shamelessly putting it down her back.
"Harry!" she screeched, feeling it fall down the back of her shirt.
"Want me to get it back for you?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows in a most over-exaggerated manner.
"I," Hermione said rather haughtily "am going for a cold shower. I suggest that once I'm done, you do the same. But not, of course, for the same reason."
As she stalked inside the house, Harry suspected that at some point during their conversation her temper had snapped and he had gone too far.
***
Even after lying in a cold bath for a while, Hermione was not feeling much better. She was not by nature or temperament a person who liked hot places and she was starting to feel really rather miserable. Even though the sun had set a couple of hours ago, it was still stiflingly hot.
"Hermione!" she heard Harry call. "Come out here for a minute!"
"Oh," she moaned, still more ticked off about the ice cube that she knew she should be. "Just leave me be!"
"Please? Just for a second?"
"Fine," she said with a sigh, pushing herself off the sofa and stumbling out of the house into the garden.
She noticed the difference straight away.
"What did you-"
"Cooling Charms are working. Finally. And the insect repelling charm I found in your Witch Weekly, as well. Come here," he asked, holding out his arms. Hermione went to him without hesitation, revelling in the cool night air.
"I was thinking we might take a holiday," he started.
"Where?"
"Oh, somewhere nice and hot. Barbados maybe, or the rainforests of Brazil perhaps."
"Don't you dare!" she said, thwapping him lightly on the chest.
"How about Siberia then? Or the fjords of Norway? The geysers of Iceland?"
"That sounds better to me," she said, relaxing into his arms for the first time that day. She was dimly away of him muttering a spell before some music started.
Well, it's a marvellous night for a Moondance
With the stars up above in your eyes
A fantabulous night to make romance
'Neath the cover of October skies
And all the leaves on the trees are falling
To the sound of the breezes that blow
And I'm trying to please to the calling
Of your heart-strings that play soft and low
And all the night's magic seems to whisper and hush
And all the soft moonlight seems to shine in your blush
"Nice tonight, isn't it?" Harry mumbled to her rather huskily.
"Only in the circle of Cooling Charms."
"Nah," he said. "I bet it's just as nice elsewhere too."
"I'm sure it's not," she told him firmly.
"Let's see," Harry grinned mischievously and pulled Hermione a few metres away and out of the range of the Cooling Charms. He was still holding her tight, still swaying to the music.
She could feel beads of sweat forming again. She could feel the weight of the humid air bearing down upon her. And yet…
"It's not ever so bad," she admitted.
"I knew you'd see it my way."
Well, I wanna make love to you tonight
I can't wait 'til the morning has come
And I know that the time is just right
And straight into my arms you will run
And when you come my heart will be waiting
To make sure that you're never alone
There and then all my dreams will come true, dear
There and then I will make you my own
And every time I touch you, you just tremble inside
And I know how much you want me that you can't hide
The End
Like? Don't Like?
